My Fake Wedding(94)

Pussy and I sit in silence as he lopes into the kitchen to mix the drinks. The moment he’s out of earshot, she turns to me.

‘Are you actually going to wear that?’

I look down at my blue shirt dress in surprise.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘What else would I be wearing?’

‘Nothing.’ She looks at me benignly. ‘I just thought…’

‘Thought what?’

‘Well,’ she says, ‘I mean it’s like your mum said, isn’t it?’

‘You’ve met my mother?’ I say in surprise. ‘When?’

‘Lots of times,’ she says, innocently. ‘When we visit Sam’s dad she’s usually there. She despairs of you getting yourself a man, you know. We’ve discussed it in full.’

I suddenly have a vague recollection of Mum mentioning something about lovely manners. I bet the snide little cow’s been stirring all shades of shit round that dinner table.

‘Not that she’d say it to you, of course.’

‘I know.’

I think I know my own mother better than she does actually.

‘But it’s just like she says, isn’t it?’ Pussy picks at a stray bit of fluff on her girlie cardie and looks at me innocently with her big blue eyes. ‘I mean, if you will loaf around wearing baggy clothes and great big clodhopping shoes, no bloke within a mile is going to fancy you. I mean, she was almost in tears because she thought you’d never wear anything feminine or get married. I can tell you, Sam and I had trouble keeping our mouths shut about your wedding. It seems such a shame she won’t be there to see you get married. So selfish of you.’

‘What?’

But before the nasty cow can say anything else, Sam breezes back into the room with our cocktails. Pussy’s expression changes, as if at the flick of a switch, from bitch to blameless bimbo as he comes in, and all I can do is sit there seething. And it’s not only because, even in skintight white trousers, she’s managed to overcome the curse of VPL. It’s because I know what a manipulative little bitch she is. She’s managed to make me feel uncomfortable about my outfit in two seconds flat. And she’s made me worry for my mum. Sam, obviously is none the wiser. He has absolutely no idea. He can’t help it, of course; it’s partly because, being a bloke, he has the handicap of only having a penis to think through. But she’s pulled the wool over his eyes good and proper. She’s all sweetness and light now he’s in the room. Only I, with my feminine intuition, can tell that every time she turns to me, pretending to be interested in what I’m saying, her ‘barely there’ tinted moisturiser is cracking under the strain.

How the hell am I going to ask him what I’ve got to ask him with her in my way?

‘We should go, Sam.’ I look at my watch. ‘The table’s booked for nine and it’s ten to now.’

‘Kay.’ Sam stands up and grabs his jacket.

We both look at Pussy. It’s time for her to do the decent thing and butt out.

‘Great.’ She stands up, pulling her cardigan round her shoulders as if to protect herself from my glare. ‘Where’re we going? Somewhere you can eat your body weight in fattening food, eh, Katie?’ She slaps me on the shoulder a little too hard. ‘Sam’s told me what a great big foodie you are, you fat bloater.’

Sam laughs, unaware of how spitefully she intends this. I, however, can see straight through her. She’s as transparent as gin and tonic. And if he’s surprised at her inviting herself along to dinner, he’s too much of a gentleman to show it. I, on the other hand, am spitting fire. If I’d wanted her to come, I’d bloody well have invited her, wouldn’t I? And now I’m going to have to pay for both of them. I can’t be seen to be a complete skinflint.

Especially not by her.

Still, at least my money situation has improved somewhat, what with the round of weddings and christenings I’ve been doing of late. I’m almost in the black again, thank goodness.

But it doesn’t stop me feeling the need to get my own back.

‘Can I just use the bathroom quickly before we go?’ I ask Sam.

‘Go ahead.’

You can learn a lot about people from their bathrooms. Locking the door behind me, I have a quick wazz before rootling through Pussy’s stuff. I might have known she’d already have tried to wangle her way into his flat. And there’s evidence of her everywhere.

Two toothbrushes. One black, and one made of transparent plastic, with lots of tiny pink lovehearts floating around inside the handle. And the toothbrush isn’t the only sign of Pussy’s gradual takeover of Sam’s house. Bottles of expensive shampoo and conditioner, Trésor perfume, 2000 calorie mascara—frankly I’m surprised she hasn’t chucked this one out on the pretext that it’ll make her eyelashes look fat—and lipstick line the shelf above the basin. And the cupboard above the loo is stuffed full of Tampax, Immac and girlie pink razors. Quick as a flash, before I really have time to think about the consequences, I grab the Immac and squeeze a huge dollop into her conditioner. Then, spinning on my heel and refusing to feel guilty, I unlock the door and trip lightly down the stairs.