Читать книгу Jenny Colgan 3-Book Collection: Amanda’s Wedding, Do You Remember the First Time?, Looking For Andrew McCarthy - Jenny Colgan - Страница 19

Unfortunately, my ankle felt practically fine in the morning. Well, stiff, and it hurt if I really put my weight on it, but not quite enough to justify sickie status. And as I felt, overall, that my morality rating wasn’t at its highest, I got ready to go in.

My mind felt like scrambled eggs, so I decided to make some for breakfast.

‘Linda, do you want some scrambled eggs?’

She emerged, fully dressed but looking sleepy, from her bedroom. The look on her face plainly told me how amazed she was at this whole me-cooking thing. However, surprisingly, she took me up on it. Well, there was food involved, I supposed.

There would be no point, I surmised, in asking for her advice. So I asked her about the bank instead.

‘What bank?’

‘Ehm, don’t you work in a bank?’

‘No.’

Actually, I could pull my own teeth out just fine, thank you.

‘So, where do you work, again?’

‘Brimley’s.’

‘Brimley’s …?’

‘Insurance.’

‘Right! Right … So, how’s it going?’

‘Fine.’

I sipped my tea. It was going to be a long day.

‘I need the weekend,’ she said suddenly.

I thought she might be asking me to give back something I’d borrowed off her, and I racked my brains to remember, but couldn’t.

‘The what?’

‘The weekend,’ she said, enunciating very slowly as I was clearly such an idiot.

‘Right … the weekend,’ I said. This was turning into some sort of perpetual conversational nightmare.

‘Before Christmas. I need the flat for the weekend.’

‘Oh, right. You want me to get out?’

She nodded. There didn’t seem to be much room for argument.

‘Fine, OK,’ I said without thinking. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. Which one?’

‘All of it.’

‘Which weekend?’

‘The one before Christmas,’ she explained patiently.

Oh. Speak in sentences, you dozy cow.

‘OK. OK, fine.’

That was the weekend of the wedding, so I supposed we’d be away anyway, somehow or other. But what on earth was Linda up to? Her actually doing something threatened the stability of my already fragile view of the universe.

‘What are you up to?’ I asked her.

She stared at me, stood up abruptly from the table and walked out. Great.

I couldn’t face washing up the scrambled egg pan, so I left it and limped into work.

‘Ey up, snoots.’ I bumped into Steve coming in. ‘You been in the wars, then?’

I groaned. ‘You should see the other guy. And he was a Cockney.’

‘Yeah, right. You’d be dead.’

‘Actually, now I think about it, that’s true. I’d rather kill myself than have physical contact with a Cockney.’

I walked into the office, and got a huge sense of déjà vu. Sitting on my desk was another cheap bouquet; and there was another crying jag from my next-door neighbour.

‘What’s the matter now?’ I said brusquely, dumping the flowers in the bin.

‘I thought they were for me.’

‘Do you want them?’ I looked at them in the bin, now covered in banana skin and old plastic coffee cups.

‘No. Aren’t you even going to read the card?’

‘I can predict the card.’ Nonetheless, I took a quick peek.

‘Sorry about your ankle, pumpkin. Can I see you tonight? I’ll pick you up,’ it said.

‘Fuck off,’ I said sourly, and plumped myself down on the stool. The phone rang.

‘Fuck off,’ I said again, and picked up all the unopened post that was spilling over my in-tray.

The phone rang fourteen times that morning. Each time I swore at it and concentrated on what I was doing instead. Finally, Janie leaned over and said quietly, ‘You know, you could put that on voice mail, then you wouldn’t even have to hear it ring.’

It pissed me off that that was such an eminently reasonable suggestion, so I just said ‘huh,’ and went back to being in a big sulk.

At lunch time the receptionist put her head round the open-plan office door.

‘Melanie Pepper!’ she shrieked.

I tentatively put my hand up.

‘You’re not answering your phone!’

Stop shrieking at me! I stood up carefully.

‘There’s someone here to see you in reception.’

Jesus. ‘Is it a man?’

‘It sure is.’

‘Can you … tell him I’m on a business trip?’

‘You ain’t on no business trip!’

‘No, but could you tell him that?’

‘You can come right upstairs and tell him yourself.’

‘How can I …? Oh, forget it, never mind.’

The receptionist had already retreated up the stairs. I followed slowly, trying to figure out a strategy. The bastard. He was going to pay, the selfish bastard.

Fraser stood nervously at the top of the stairs, pretending to admire our annual report. He looked tense. If it were an earlier age, he’d have been playing with his top hat and gloves.

I stood looking at him for a second, then crept up behind him.

‘Don’t tell me: you’re a masochist,’ I said suddenly. Startled, he turned round, then smiled shyly.

‘Hullo.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Well, Angus gave me your work address …’

‘You spoke to Angus? What did he say?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Would you like to go to lunch? I work quite near here. Anyway, there’s a little Italian around the corner …’

‘I know it,’ I said. ‘Yes, please.’

Steve was crossing the reception area.

‘Hey, Steve, can you tell Flavi I’ve gone out for lunch?’

‘Blow it out your arse.’

‘Thanks.’

Fraser looked quizzical. ‘One of those informal offices?’

‘Something like that.’

The Italian was busy and smelled wonderful. I remembered that I hadn’t had any dinner the night before, and the scrambled eggs were a few hours away, so I ordered spaghetti carbonara. And some garlic bread. With cheese. And minestrone soup. And a glass of wine.

‘How’s the ankle? Angus told me.’

‘Much better, thanks. So, what happened between you two? Tell me everything.’

Fraser eyed me munching my way through the garlic bread. ‘Well, you seem in good shape.’

I grimaced. ‘Did you come over to see if I was still a snivelling wretch or not?’

‘Something like that. Angus asked me to pop in and see if you were OK. He was worried about you, and he knew I worked nearby – you know the Xyler building?’

‘The big pinky-coloured one? Yes, I know it, that’s just across the road. Huh! And I thought you’d flown in to whisk me off to some glamorous lunch.’

‘This isn’t glamorous?’

We heard two of the waiters having a loud disagreement in Italian through the multicoloured plastic strips of door covering.

‘Well, you know, for those of us more used to the delights of Quagli’s …’

‘Ha ha.’

He took some bread and mopped up the remnants of my soup with it.

‘So, tell me,’ I said, agog to know how they’d managed to make it up.

‘Really, it was nothing. The Gustard and I fight all the time.’

‘That’s not what he said.’

‘Oh yes, sure, Star Wars figures and, you know, all the usual stuff.’

‘Girls?’ I asked him mischievously.

He grinned.

‘You’re feeling better, all right. No, we don’t usually fight about girls.’

‘Except this one.’

He misunderstood.

‘Who, you?’

‘Ehm, no … Amanda.’

‘Oh, right, I see what you mean.’

Momentarily embarrassed, we looked around in a flurry for our waiter.

A steaming plate of pasta was put in front of me, and I inhaled greedily.

‘So, what did you say?’ I urged.

‘We made up. You’re never going to eat all that.’

‘Watch me, skinny boy.’

‘He came round late last night after you’d gone, and apologized. Actually, I think he was more worried about you than me.’

‘That was just a cover. Boy thing.’

‘Hmm. Anyway, he took it all back, blah blah blah, promised not to mention the wedding any more, etcetera, etcetera.’

‘Right.’ I felt perversely disappointed.

‘You’re pissed off with him, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘It’s OK, you know.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t mind if you don’t want me to get married.’

‘It’s not that,’ I protested, lying. ‘I just don’t want you to get married to her.’

‘Ah, so you admit it.’

‘Of course I admit it. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you. I told you already. And, anyway, I listened to the rest of the tape.’

‘Oh shit, did you?’

‘Don’t worry, I forgive you for what you said about my castle.’

‘Your big pile of rocks.’

‘Whatever.’

I toyed with my pasta.

‘Don’t marry her, Frase. It’s only money.’

I realized I’d said the wrong thing again, but he took it all right.

‘God, if it’s not one thing it’s the other with you two. Now suddenly, I’m the bastard. She’s fine and I’m a money-grabbing bastard, marrying for the wrong reasons.’

‘I’m sorry! I always say the wrong thing.’

‘Forget it. I’m boring myself to death with this damn wedding business. Mel, please, we’ve been friends for a long time. Can you promise to stop going on at me, like Angus did?’

I thought about it. ‘What, just because it’s none of my business?’

He nodded.

‘OK. Seeing as it’s you. And we’ve been friends for such a long time. Apart from the five years in the middle when we lost touch.’

He held out his hands. ‘You vanished. One moment you were being a bit pissed at Graduation, next thing you phone up out of the blue five years later.’

I never had been able to say goodbye.

‘OK then. I promise.’

Having finished his lasagne, he launched into my spaghetti.

‘Don’t you get fed at home?’

‘Not really. Less than five milligrams of fat a week until the wedding.’

‘See, you started it! Less than two seconds that lasted! Wedding, wedding, wedding. Here, help yourself.’

He smiled sadly, and I felt awful. I mean, what did we think we were playing at, with tape recorders and all that shit? This was someone’s life we were fucking around with.

Whenever I get into one of those arguments about nature over nurture – which isn’t that often, to be honest, as I don’t seem to see my genetical ethicist biology friends so much these days – I always bring up my overwhelming desire to feed people I feel a bit sorry for, despite my absolute lack of culinary ability, and think about my mother.

‘Do you want to come round to dinner?’ I asked him. Damn genes.

Fraser of course has known me for a while and looked up from my plate, where he was gulping down pasta.

‘Are you feeling sorry for me?’

‘No, definitely not. Definitely, definitely not. In fact, I’ve been planning it for ages.’

‘Really? Who were you thinking of inviting?’

‘Well …’ – fuck! – ‘you’re guest of honour, you choose.’

‘God. How amazing. You’re having a big dinner party?’

‘YES!’

‘With all of us?’

‘Who’s us?’

‘You, me, Amanda and Angus.’

‘I’m not sure about that definition of “us”. But yes, why not?’

‘Oh, can I bring Nash? He’ll be down. McLachlan … kind of resigned as my best man, so I’m asking him instead.’

‘Wow. Yes, sure.’

‘And Amanda will want to bring one of her bridesmaids.’

‘Don’t push it.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought you were doing a big thing.’

‘I am. Ehm, can you make it be Mookie then?’

‘I cannot for the life of me tell them apart. Why that one?’

‘No reason.’

‘Is she the one on the end of the tape who sounds like Bagpuss?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I thought so.’

He looked at me and smiled.

‘Are you sure you want to put yourself to all this trouble?’

‘What, just shopping, cooking, serving and washing up for six? How hard can it be? I made scrambled eggs this morning.’

‘Well – what a nice surprise! Thank you. It’s really kind.’

I beamed.

‘Ehm, can I ask you something?’

Uh oh. Not another one of those.

‘Just out of interest …’ he leaned over the table, ‘what exactly is going on between you and my wee brother?’

I was genuinely shocked.

‘Nothing!’

‘That’s what he says. Which means one of you must be lying.’

‘Thank you, Socrates.’

‘Aw, go on. Tell me.’

‘There’s precisely nothing going on. I’m seeing someone.’

‘Angus says he’s a bastard.’

‘Angus seems to think he has the last word on everyone’s relationships around here.’

Fraser smiled. ‘Well, yes. But do you like him?’

‘Your wee brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why, what’s he said?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Fine. I’m not saying anything either.’

‘So you do.’

‘Piss off, piss off, piss off!’

‘Oh my God. You really like him.’

‘Look, shut up,’ I said. ‘Truthfully, I don’t know who or what I like at the moment. Everything is so fucked up. Everyone goes out with the wrong people. Everything’s so mixed up at the moment. Alex is driving me crazy, but what’s the difference between that and your brother driving me crazy? So, maybe you were right just now when you said that maybe we should all keep our heads in our own affairs.’

I must have sounded more serious than I’d intended, because Fraser dipped his head and slowly nodded.

‘Yikes. Yes, ma’am.’

‘Yes ma’am, indeed. Can you buy me lunch, given that you’re nearly loaded?’

‘You should buy me lunch for trying to ruin my wedding.’

‘You should buy me lunch for turning up unannounced.’

‘You should buy me lunch for ambushing me in my own house.’

‘You should buy me lunch for asking inappropriate personal questions about your brother.’

He laughed.

‘Ha! You should buy me lunch for giving me inappropriate diktats about my fiancée, don’t you think?’

The waiter returned, holding the bill.

‘Actually,’ I said quietly. ‘You should buy me lunch because I left my wallet in the office.’

He laughed. ‘Minx! But it would be a pleasure.’

‘I’ll get it next time. Also, I want to see whether you write “laird” on your Switch card.’

‘What, in case anyone around here doesn’t already think I’m a wanker?’

We headed back up the road, through the crowds of people wandering their lunch times away aimlessly.

‘Thanks for taking me out to lunch,’ I said.

‘Thank Angus – he suggested it. Angus and Mel, up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N –’

‘Shut it.’

‘How much abuse can one man take?’

‘You’re about to find out for the next forty years of your life. Now, scram.’

And I waved him off, much lighter in my heart than I had been just an hour before.

I had a record-breaking twelve voice-mail messages, a mixture of fawning from Alex and offence from the receptionist. And one from Fran. Immediately I heard it I thought, ‘Oh my God, Fran!’ I’d completely forgotten her for my dinner plan. But now we had a six, plus Alex, I supposed. Plus I probably had to invite Linda as she wouldn’t be out … and I only had five chairs as it was … maybe I’d just not tell her. That was an alien thought to me. Normally I couldn’t put my socks on without phoning her up a couple of times. I wrestled with my conscience slightly – I was going to have to invite Linda, because she’d be there anyway, and wasn’t known for her ability to enhance the ambience … maybe I could persuade Amanda not to bring Mookie …

Suddenly it dawned on me what I’d let myself in for. God, what had I got myself into? I didn’t have a pot big enough to scramble eggs for eight people. I didn’t mind fiddling about in the kitchen when I had hours and it was just me, and Alex who would eat tadpoles if there was nothing else available, but this was bad. I wished I wasn’t such a show-off, and so desperate to make it up to Fraser.

I decided to phone Angus. What was he up to anyway, backing down like that? It wasn’t very Braveheart of him. He was busy, unfortunately. He’d been asked to stay longer in London, so at least his job was going well.

I took the voice mail off in case he rang. Which it immediately did. My heart leapt – God, he’d got back to me quickly. However, it was Alex.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Please, for God’s sake. We were a bit pissed round the flat, and it got out of hand. I should have sent a cab for you.’

‘You creep. You completely embarrassed me in front of my friends.’

‘Who?’

Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know I’d been out with Angus on my own.

‘Just Angus and Fran – we went over to Fraser’s.’

‘Fran?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Ehm, no reason, I thought I saw her on the tube last night.’

Bugger it, what a stupid lie.

‘Ehm, I didn’t mean Fran, I meant Holly.’ I named another friend I scarcely saw these days.

‘Right.’

There was a pause, and I was sure he knew I was lying. But he obviously decided to ignore it.

‘Do you forgive me, pumpkin?’

I sighed.

‘Why do I feel like I spend the whole of my life forgiving you? I’m getting sick of this.’

‘What do you mean?’

I became very conscious of Janie and Steve on either side of me, ears on poles.

‘Well, you know, I’m just …’ I heard myself saying it: ‘I’m not sure I want to put up with this kind of behaviour any more.’

There was a silence. Suddenly I felt very, very cold inside. Where had this come from?

‘Look, I …’ I could hear Alex run his fingers through his hair, like he did when something irritated him. He took a deep breath. ‘Can we talk about this?’

‘Not now.’

‘Fine. Any time. Can I meet you from work? We’ll go for a drink, maybe. I think … we need to talk.’

My heart was in my throat. Was this it? I mean, it was all so sudden. One minute I’d been planning to give him a hard time about being so selfish, and the next I seemed to have inadvertently started the chain which would eventually lead to the break-up process. It always started with ‘we need to talk’, always. Unless of course they simply left the country. God, I wasn’t sure about this at all.

‘Sure, whatever,’ I managed to say, casually. Stage two, agreeing to the need to talk.

He named a place, and trembling, I wrote it down, put the phone down and stared into space in disbelief.

Janie was agog. ‘Oh my God, did he just dump you?’

‘No,’ I said crossly. ‘I nearly dumped him, as a matter of fact. He’s currently pleading for his life.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Why would you dump him?’

‘Because he’s a selfish son of a bitch who only pleases himself?’

Her expression didn’t change.

‘Have you ever dumped anyone?’ I asked. She shook her head mutely.

‘What do you think might be grounds for dumping someone?’

Still silent, she shrugged. I managed a half-smile.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a substitute.’

Her eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.

Cockney Steve was deliberately ignoring all this girlie chat – or had been, from the moment he found out I wasn’t on the receiving end.

‘Have you ever been dumped, Steve?’

‘Course not.’ He flushed to the roots of his over-gelled hair.

‘Have you ever had a girlfriend, Steve?’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Are you sure you’re not gay? Lots of people who work in marketing are, you know. Look at the colour of the walls.’

He fingered his gold chains and muttered at me.

It made me feel better, but didn’t solve the problem. What in the hell was going on? This was beginning to feel like a very fucked up time in my life.

God, I’d spent months drooling over Alex, waiting for him to come back to me. Which he had. And now, well, I didn’t know what I was doing at all, or even how I felt. I loved him, but he was driving me crazy. More than anything, I wanted someone to come along and point me in one direction and say, This way. This is the way to go to be happy. Go this way.

I didn’t think that was going to happen. But I phoned Fran anyway.

‘I’m thinking of finishing it with Alex,’ I said to her as soon as she picked up.

She gasped. ‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, “why”? You think he’s a good-for-nothing cocksucker. Isn’t that a good enough reason?’

‘No, I mean, why now?’

‘Oh, like about a billion little things. Like last night, I really hurt my ankle and he wouldn’t even come and get me. He said he was in with some mates, but I don’t believe him. I think he was just being a lazy bastard. I mean, he really doesn’t care about me at all.’