Читать книгу Fair-Weather Friend - Patricia Scanlan - Страница 5

She’d known Melissa since her schooldays: blonde, blue-eyed, bubbly and very, very selfish.

Melissa was the centre of the universe in her own eyes. Or, as Denise cruelly called her, the Queen of the Me, Me, Me Planet. She was an only child, spoilt by doting parents. Melissa swanned through life taking adoration as her due.

In Sophie, she had the perfect handmaiden. It had been so from that first moment in the playground when Melissa had decided that she preferred Sophie’s little black-velvet bow to the red ribbon that held her own golden pony-tail.

Sophie had handed over the bow without a peep. She was spellbound by Melissa’s baby-blue eyes. Eyes that had the most perfect long black lashes. The invitation to join Melissa’s gang filled her with joy. The entire class longed to be a member of Melissa’s gang. Only the chosen few were given the honour. And the honour was withdrawn regularly, depending on Melissa’s mood and whim. Sophie would often find herself on the outside of the golden circle until Melissa had need of her services again.

This was the pattern of their friendship, through childhood, through their teens and while Melissa studied to become a beauty consultant and Sophie was a student nurse. Weeks could go by and Sophie wouldn’t hear a peep from Melissa. Then some crisis would occur. Melissa would arrive at Sophie and Denise’s flat in search of tender loving care and sympathy. She would sob over her latest heartbreak and declare ‘All Men Are Bastards.’

Tony Jenkins was the most recent addition to the All Men Are Bastard’s list. He and Melissa had been about to take Spain by storm. Sadly, Melissa had discovered him in a steamy clinch with a work-mate at a friend’s engagement party. It seemed they were having a rip-roaring affair. Before she left the party, she had thrown red wine over her rival’s brand-new white Versace halter-neck. It had been a very gratifying moment she told Sophie. Then she burst into tears.

‘I really loved him.’ Melissa wept. ‘I just don’t understand what he sees in her, Sophie. She’s an awful airhead and she’s got a flabby bum! When I think of all the times I did work on her hairy lip. I should have let the needle slip and scarred the sly cow for life.’

Sophie made a mental note never to let Melissa do work on her. Not that Melissa ever did beauty treatments for her now that she was qualified. It had been a different kettle of fish when she’d been training and needed guinea-pigs. Sophie had been manicured, pedicured and French polished. She had been tweezed and waxed within an inch of her life. That had been painful! Sophie had never waxed her legs again after what she had gone through with Melissa. The pain when Melissa had pulled off the strips had brought tears to her eyes.

‘Sissy,’ Melissa had jeered. Sophie had been raging. Her friend was so ungrateful. She took so much for granted. But mad as she was with Melissa, she was madder at herself for being such a doormat. Would she never learn?

When Melissa had asked her to let her practise waxing again before her finals, Sophie had told her to get lost. It was one of the few times she didn’t give in to her friend’s pleadings. There had been a frosty silence for weeks. Then Melissa had found out that the hairdresser she thought she had fallen in love with was gay. That had been a mega trauma. There had been weeks of sobbing on Sophie’s shoulder about her heart being truly broken.

‘I’ll never fall in love again,’ Melissa had stated dramatically. Then she had met Tony Jenkins and fallen hook, line and sinker. She’d even sunk to a new low in their friendship. She’d ditched Sophie to go on holidays with her new boyfriend. Denise had been hopping mad when she heard the news. ‘Don’t you dare ever speak to that bitch again. If I get my hands on her I’ll murder her,’ she yelled. Sophie didn’t know which was worse, Denise’s rantings or Melissa’s betrayal.

Sophie hadn’t spoken to Melissa for months. It was the longest they hadn’t spoken. Then Christmas had come and her soft heart got the better of her when Melissa sent her a Christmas card.

Now that the divine Tony had done the dirty on Melissa, she had come running to Sophie for comfort. This new disaster was the trauma of traumas, Sophie decided as she watched her friend pace the room.

‘That tart is going to Spain with him. Can you believe it?’ Melissa was bursting with rage. Her flawless pale skin was red with temper. ‘Sophie, you simply have to come on holidays with me. I’m damned if flabby-bum Jane is going to come into the salon sporting a tan and showing off photos of her and The Rat.

‘We’ll go somewhere and get the best tan ever and find the most gorgeous hunks to take care of us. Our photos will make that rat pea-green with envy. I’ll make sure he gets to see them. But even if he comes crawling back on his hands and knees, he’s history, Sophie. I’ll go straight to the travel agent tomorrow and book a holiday for us.’

Melissa of course assumed that Sophie would drop everything and be thrilled to go on holidays with her.

‘I don’t know. It’s very short notice. I wasn’t planning to go abroad,’ Sophie protested. ‘I’m a bit strapped for cash.’

‘Don’t be silly, Sophie. What do you mean short notice? You’re not doing anything are you? You weren’t planning on going away were you?’ Melissa demanded. ‘I’m broke too. When I found out about The Rat and that two-faced so-called friend, I went out and blew a fortune on a little black dress. It’s to die for, Sophie, but my Visa card is having a nervous breakdown. It will have to be a cheap holiday for me too. But who cares? You and I will strut our stuff on the beach and we won’t have to spend a penny,’ Melissa said confidently. Her eyes were shining at the thought of her next conquest. She couldn’t wait to letTony Jenkins see that he wasn’t the only man in the universe.

A fortnight in the sun would be nice, Sophie thought dreamily. Lazing on a lounger with a big, fat blockbuster novel and an ice-cold beer or a glass of chilled wine. Melissa could strut her perfectly toned and sculptured stuff. Sophie would be quite content to lie on her lounger, her flabby bits not being at all suitable for strutting.