Читать книгу The Wedding Date - Zara Stoneley - Страница 11

There are obviously loads of things that will might go wrong if I take a fake date called Jake to my best friend’s wedding.

1 1. I might hate Jake.

2 2. Jake might hate me.

3 3. Somebody might know him.

4 4. I could become a laughing stock.

5 5. Everybody will despise me when they realise I’ve tried to dupe them.

There are of course positives in any situation.

1 1. Everybody will admire how well I have moved on (if they don’t guess it’s a sham), and how little I care about Liam and his huge girlfriend.

2 2. His mother might regret being nasty and be insanely jealous when she sees me with another man, and realise that I can no longer be her daughter-in-law.

The fizz has worn off a bit by the time I get home, and the frizz has set in. There is no hair product known to man that will totally stop my hair going all frizzy when it’s damp outside.

I feel a bit daft, and all flat and deflated. I got totally carried away with Tim and his plan. I know he loves me and means well, but it’s a mad idea. Who in their right mind would take a total stranger to a wedding? This is practically a family wedding. Everybody knows me, everybody will realise that I would never meet a young, posh George Clooney lookalike.

I decide I need to forget all about Jake, and take my new hairdo out for a glass of wine while it still has a tiny trace of swish factor left.

‘What’s up?’ This seems to be Sarah’s opening line at the moment. I am obviously not hiding my concerns as well as I think I am.

‘I can’t decide whether to have another Aperol spritz, or have one of those espresso martinis.’ I’m eying up the one on the next table as I suck up the last drop of Aperol through a straw.

‘Well hurry up and decide before that sexy barman does a runner on me.’

‘Which sexy barman?’ I’ve been coming in this wine bar on a regular basis for the past year with Sarah, and I’ve never seen anybody I’d rate as even mildly sexy. Some of them think they are, but they need a reality check if you ask me. I mean, being able to toss a cocktail shaker in the air doesn’t make you anything more than a tosser, does it?

‘There is definitely something up with you if you’ve not noticed. Look, there.’

I glance over the top of my glass, trying not to be too obvious. ‘The one that looks about eighteen?’

Sarah nods. ‘Soo cute.’

Okay, maybe he is quite cute. In an eighteen-year-old way. ‘You can’t!’

‘Watch me.’ She winks. ‘Some men like a mature woman, I could teach him a trick or two.’

‘I bet you could.’

‘But I was looking for you, not me. You could take him to the wedding, it would be way cheaper than going to some agency. I Googled and it’s scary how much these people charge, and that’s just the normal places, not the type of guys that mag article was on about. I mean you can’t even get a quote from some of those places without producing your birth certificate, statement from your bank manager and proof you’ve got a million followers on Twitter.’

‘Really?’ It’s starting to look like if I’m going to do this, then it’s Jake or nobody.

‘And you have to swear on your dog’s life that you won’t tell anybody.’ Sarah has obviously spent some time researching this.

‘I haven’t got a dog.’ I haven’t even got a hamster.

‘See, I knew it was impossible. I mean you’re not going to get a dog just so you can hire a guy, are you?’

‘And you already know, so it wouldn’t be a secret either.’

‘Exactly.’ Sarah has what I can only describe as a look of mischief on her face. ‘So taking the cute bartender is an ace idea – they’d all be drooling, you’d be the centre of attention.’

Okay, feeling good about myself is what I’m after, attention is not. I’ve told Sarah about the wedding invite, and the ‘huge’ complications. I have not told her it’s got worse. I’ve not told her about my mother, or Scotland.

‘I don’t want to be the centre of attention.’ I am hoping to sneak in under the radar and hardly be noticed. I don’t want drooling any more than I want pity.

‘I’ll get you a surprise.’ Sarah is on her feet. ‘And his number.’ She’s off to the bar before I can stop her, and comes back surprisingly quickly which I think means wonder boy isn’t available to be whisked off for some private tuition.

The drinks are green. I’m never quite sure that anything I eat or drink should be green. Apart from M&Ms.

‘Appletini. Callum reckons they’re the in thing.’ Oh, so he didn’t blow her out of the water completely. ‘Vodka and apple schnapps.’ She takes a sip and sucks air in through her teeth. ‘Yikes.’

‘So you had time to discuss ingredients?’

‘And what time he finishes!’ She grins like a cougar that’s got the kitten and smacks her lips. ‘That has got a bit more kick than a V&T.’ She sits back and watches as I toy with the slice of apple, then leans forward. ‘You don’t have to go, Sam.’

We both know what she’s talking about. Sarah saw me through the break up, she fed me pizza, and supplied tissues and wine. And she listened. A lot. Sarah deserves a sainthood.

‘I do, Jess is my friend. And I’m supposed to be maid of honour.’

‘She’ll understand.’

‘Would you?’

‘Suppose not. In fact I’d think you were a bit of a selfish cow putting your broken heart above what’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life.’

‘Exactly.’ I know she’s said it tongue in cheek, but every word is true. ‘And I told her I was over Liam and had a hot new man.’

‘True.’

I take a big gulp of my drink, and my eyes water. ‘Wow.’ It comes out all spluttery and weak, I think my vocal chords have been damaged. ‘That has got a kick.’ It’s got a knock-you-over, brandy kind of kick. Maybe I should take Callum and just let him wreak cocktail havoc, nobody will remember a thing.

Sarah puts her hand over mine. ‘Sam you’re gorgeous, loads of men would kill for a date.’ We both know that’s the green cocktails talking.

‘Sarah, it’s got worse.’ I swig the rest of my lethal cocktail. ‘I haven’t just told Jess I’ve got a new man, I’ve told Mum as well.’

‘Shit.’ There is a long silence. ‘Your mother, why?’ Sarah knows what my mother is like (despite only meeting her once), because I have told her. And she has spoken to her on the phone.

My mother makes a habit of ringing me when I’m at work, and I make a habit of trying to avoid her calls. So she’s got sneaky and rings the travel agency number, and not my mobile. Sarah actually thinks it’s fun talking to Mum, so is more than happy to answer, and they’re practically on first name terms now. Getting Mum off the phone practically requires a degree in evasive manoeuvres though, so Sarah knows her pretty well.

She knows that my lie is now folklore.

‘I had to tell her, she rang to tell me she’s been invited to the wedding as well.’

‘Oh, double shit.’

We get another round of drinks, and by the time I’m halfway down I know I have to tell her about Amy. And Jake.

I take a deep breath. ‘I can’t take Callum.’ She looks slightly disappointed, but resigned. ‘And I think your escort idea is out, isn’t it?’ She nods glumly. ‘Even though it was a brilliant idea.’ I don’t want her to think I don’t appreciate her. ‘But, well, there is another option. A definite possibility.’ This is also the green cocktail talking. Cocktails have a serious role to play in society. I need a detached, independent opinion and Sarah is as detached as they come. And she’s all in favour of fake dates. ‘But it has to be a complete secret.’

If I ever do this, and I’m totally not sure I will, Sarah is the only person I know who definitely won’t drop me in it. She also tells the truth, apart from the bit about the stampede of men who’d kill for a date with me, but I know that is to cheer me up.

‘What kind of possibility?’

‘Tim knows this girl who’s got this brother.’ I can see her gaze wandering back to the cocktail shaker, I’m losing her. ‘Who’s an actor.’ She’s tuned back in. ‘Who would do it. You know be a fake date, but cheaper than those agencies.’ I hope. Maybe I need to ask Amy how much he’d charge. If we could work it out on a sliding latte scale I’d be okay, but if he wanted film star rates… ‘And I wouldn’t need a dog, and I’d know him.’ Kind of. ‘So it wouldn’t be as weird.’ Maybe.

‘Wow, a hot, sexy actor—’

‘I didn’t say…’

‘Picture?’

‘I haven’t…’

‘What’s his name? Come on, let’s Google him. God, I can’t believe you haven’t done that yet. I Google everybody.’ She does. Everybody and everything.

‘I’ve got his sister Amy’s number, she said to get in touch if I decide…’

‘Well, you’ve decided. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me straight away. Come on, let’s get another round of those apple things in and give sister Amy a call.’ Sarah giggles. ‘This is amazeballs.’ Sarah often gets carried away after a few drinks and ‘amazeballs’ is her latest word; at least she’s moved on from calling everything ‘sick’. I blame it on spending too much time playing online video games with teenagers. ‘The dog’s bollocks.’ See? ‘What if it’s Brad Pitt?’

‘It isn’t Brad Pitt.’ I reluctantly wave Amy’s card in front of her. ‘She’s called Amy Taylor-Smith.’

‘But he’ll have an acting name. Gimme.’ She snatches the card before I can stop her. ‘You go and get the drinks in, I’m going to ring Amy. Oh God, this is SO much better than just going to an escort agency, this is SO exciting.’

By the time I’ve walked to the bar and back I’ve changed my mind. Again.

‘I can’t do it.’

‘Bollocks, stop being a spoilsport. You know you want to!’

A little part of me does want to, but the logical, sensible part doesn’t.

‘It’ll be a right hoot!’

‘You’re not the one doing it. There are so many things that could go wrong, and he might be ugly, or gay, or have horrible blubber lips that I won’t want to kiss.’ I feel slightly sick at the thought of big fat lips heading towards me. ‘What if I agreed to this and then totally didn’t fancy him?’

‘Or what if he’s a sexier male version of his sister? I mean I’m firmly in the hetero camp, but she is seriously good looking. Family genes and all that, he can’t be a total minger, can he?’

‘How do you know what Amy looks like?’ I frown at her, suddenly suspicious.

She grins. ‘She didn’t answer when I called her, so I sent her a text, and she said she was in the middle of something. I had to do something while I was waiting, so…’

‘So you went on Facebook.’

‘Damn right I did. Look!’ Sarah shoves her mobile phone in front of my face. I look. ‘This is her, isn’t it? I have got the right woman, haven’t I? It would be so embarrassing if I’d got the hots for some totes different Amy.’

‘Yep, that’s her.’ She’s looking even more gorgeous than she did in the hair salon, and she’s got her arms draped round two very hunky men. Some girls have all the luck.

‘If her brother is dire, though I don’t see how that’s even possible, maybe she’ll lend you one of these? Or,’ Sarah pauses mid-sip, ‘maybe one of these is Jake.’ She enlarges the photo and we both peer. ‘They are seriously hawt.’

They are indeed quite hot. Easy on the eye, as my mother would say.

‘Isn’t this a bit stalkerish?’

‘Definitely not. It’s essential research. Right girlfriend, let’s get digging. If this is Amy’s profile then there’s bound to be a photo of her brother, isn’t there?’ She scrolls down, and I can’t help myself. I have to look. What if he is actually nice? More than nice? This could maybe work.

‘Have you seen this? Bloody hell, she was at the opening of that new bar, she’s a real mover and shaker, isn’t she?’ Sarah has got distracted from the mission. ‘Do you think she could get me an invite to some of these things, now you’re friends?’

‘I’ve only met her once.’

‘But you’re dating her brother.’

‘I’m not exactly…’

She carries on undeterred. ‘Or do you think she needs a holiday? I bet she could afford something really top of the range. Aunt Lynn would be seriously impressed if I could sell to her and her mates.’

‘Sarah!’ I try and grab her phone, but she’s got a firm grip. ‘I need to see him. Now!’

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ She holds her phone in the air out of my reach, a big grin on her face. ‘This is such a good idea.’ I realise I’m grinning back. ‘Oh God, we’re being seriously thick here. We should look at her friends list, if he’s on Facebook they’re bound to be friends are they? And what kind of an actor wouldn’t be on Facebook?’ She’s tapping away as she speaks and suddenly lets out a shriek. ‘Oh my God! It’s him, it’s him!’

I nearly shriek as well, because she’s clutching my arm. But she is bouncing about on her seat so much it’s hard to see anything at all, apart from a blur.

‘He is frigging gorgeous. You have got to do this, Sam, you have seriously got to do this.’

I take the mobile phone off her, and even though my hands are shaking, I can see him.

Jake Porter.

His gorgeous tawny-brown eyes are gazing straight back into mine as though we’re face to face. Which is stupid, it’s a picture. I touch it, I can’t help myself, and we ping on to his page. Where there are lots more pictures. Jake winking, Jake laughing, Jake with his arm round Amy, Jake gazing at a woman who has to be his mother, Jake looking cute with a puppy, Jake on a horse.

I scroll back. A horse?

‘He’s on a horse.’ It has to be an omen, apart from the totally sexy gorgeousness.

‘So?’ Sarah reclaims her phone. ‘He’s a real dish, isn’t he?

‘So, we have to do horse-riding and stuff in Scotland. He could fit in fine.’

‘Fit in?’ Sarah giggles – then stops and raises an eyebrow. ‘You never said anything about Scotland, that’s miles away!’

‘I know it’s miles away, and it’s for a whole week.’ I lean in closer to Sarah so I can stare at Jake. A whole week with a man like him could be quite nice. ‘Maybe I can do it.’ My stomach has gone all squirmy, so I take a big gulp of cocktail to try and distract myself.

‘Oh God, yes you can girl.’ Sarah is grinning slightly manically. ‘You defo can Sam.’ We both stare at his profile picture. His brown hair is tousled, casually sexy. He’s in a casual shirt, open so you can see his brown neck, the hint of a smattering of hair. The sleeves are rolled up, showing indecently strong, toned forearms. And those eyes…

‘Maybe he just takes a good photo?’ I have to be prepared for disappointment.

Sarah giggles. ‘Lots of good photos. He looks sexy in all of these, but we can always stalk him to make sure he doesn’t act like a douchebag.’

She says it like it’s an everyday thing. Stalking. Which is a bit worrying.

‘What if I can’t afford to pay him for a week?’ I’m saying it, trying to be sensible, but knowing that if I can raise the money then I have to. There’s a dimple at the corner of his full, firm looking lips. A naughty quirk to his eyebrow. He doesn’t just look hot, he looks fun. Mischievous. Everything that I’d forgotten to be when I was with Liam.

‘He’ll give you mates’ rates, he has to.’ Sarah says it with conviction.

A little, very indecent, shiver goes down my spine. This could be fun, this could be brilliant. I could have the hottest date at the wedding, in the whole of Scotland, and I don’t care if it means we are the centre of attention.

‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’m going to do it.’ I cross my fingers under the table. ‘Let’s get stalking!’

Sarah leaps in the air with a squeal (I swear she’s related to this mad springer spaniel we had when I was a kid) and punches the air. Everybody looks our way. I’m very tempted to pull her down and sit on her, which is roughly what I had to do to the dog once or twice. Well, not exactly sit on it – before you report me to the RSPCA – subdue is probably a better word. Strongly subdue. Pin down.

Sarah has not been subdued. ‘Go you! Wow, I’m seriously jealous. Let’s get another drink to celebrate!’

I feel slightly sick, but more excited-bubbling-stomach sick, than get-me-out-of-here sick. ‘I still want to see him, in the flesh, before I talk to him.’

‘We’ll follow him.’

‘He’ll think I’m crazy.’

Sarah giggles. ‘You are crazy, but I don’t mean follow as in crazy-woman follow; I mean just happen to be in some bar where he just happens to be, and observe him. From afar.’ She flings a hand in the air as though this is everyday, normal behaviour.

‘My eyesight isn’t that good these days, and it’s dark in bars.’

‘Not that afar. Come on, text Amy, find out if she knows what he’ll be up to the next few days.’ She reaches for my bag, to rifle for my phone, and I grab it protectively. Hug it to my bosom. ‘Oh do it, do it now. You’ve got to! This is so exciting.’

We’re grinning at each other like children about to unwrap the presents on Christmas day, and I feel a bit lightheaded and giddy. Which could be the cocktails.

I do it. And a message pings back from Amy before we even have time to order another drink. She has the perfect solution, they’re having a family get together. A meal in the Italian restaurant up the road. I can see the whole family. I can see him at his most normal (her words not mine, which rings a few warning bells) when he’s not acting a part.

Thursday at 8 p.m.

I show Sarah, and she squeals again, then grabs me for a hug.

This is really happening. I am planning on spending a week with a fake date.

And my fake date is far, far better than Desmond (I’ve seen him, Mum sent me a photo in case I changed my mind. He has a combover. The type designed to hide a thinning patch, not the trendy type. Nuff said) or the idea of being on the spinster and lonely hearts table.