Chapter 3 #2
Ellie opens her mouth, and then closes it, before saying, ‘It’s funny how you can see different sides to people. Marcus has always seemed very nice from where I’m standing.’
‘Yeah, well, get to the front of a carrot cake queue before him and you’ll see his true colours,’ I say, darkly.
Ellie nods very seriously, and we both drink some more. Quite a lot more, actually.
‘This wine is good,’ I say. ‘It’s making me feel better. We need more cake, though.’ I push the rest of the carrot cake away. It’s still good, but not as good as usual without the icing. ‘Let’s try the raspberry and pistachio one.’
That one is good, and we munch happily away for a while, swearing about Rick.
We’re making inroads into a second bottle of wine and discussing whether we should have some non-cake food this evening and save the brownies for tomorrow, or just accept that today is basically nutrition-free, when Ellie says, ‘Buggerrrrrrrr.’
‘What?’ I ask, alarmed.
‘It’s Miranda’s birthday party this evening, remember. We have to go.’
Miranda lives in the village and is a very good friend; I see her pretty much every time I come down.
She invited us both to her birthday party, but I didn’t think I could make it, because Rick always organised client or social stuff on the weekends.
I vaguely thought Miranda had mentioned Saturday, not Friday, and hadn’t actually remembered that it was this exact weekend, but I wasn’t really paying attention, knowing that I couldn’t make it.
Ellie’s frowning now. ‘I’m guessing you won’t want to go.’
‘You know what?’ I suddenly feel decisive again. ‘I do want to go. Remember when you said that I shouldn’t let Rick the Dick ruin my life? I want to go and help Miranda celebrate her birthday. Let’s do it.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ I down the rest of my glass and place it very firmly on the table, before pushing my chair back. There’s a big crash and I look down in surprise. ‘I did not expect that. Why has the chair fallen over?’
Ellie looks at it and considers. ‘I think you pushed it too hard,’ she says after a while.
‘I see.’ I nod a lot. ‘Okay. I’ll remember not to make that mistake again.
’ I pick the chair up, which is surprisingly difficult, because my vision has gone a little funny and I’m struggling to stand up as well as I usually do.
Finally I have the chair the right way up and next to the table. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Not yet,’ Ellie says. ‘I’m in Lycra and you have mascara all over your face.’
About twenty minutes later, we’re changed (I’m wearing a top of Ellie’s with my jeans, because right now getting my stuff out of my overly full car seems like too big a mountain to climb) and my cheeks are mascara-free, and we’re striding off down the lane towards Miranda’s, clutching two bottles of Prosecco and the brownies, which we’ve decided will be a good present.
When we arrive, we ring the doorbell.
‘It’s very quiet for a party,’ I observe.
‘Maybe we’re very, very early.’ Ellie is slurring her words a little.
‘Or,’ I say, feeling clever, ‘maybe they have really good soundproofing in their kitchen.’
‘Why would you soundproof your kitchen?’ Ellie asks.
‘So that people can’t hear your party from outside the front door?’
‘Hmm. I haven’t noticed it before.’ Ellie presses the doorbell hard again, just as the door is opened by Rob, Miranda’s husband.
‘Oh, hello,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. How lovely to see you both.’
We exchange hugs with him and then he ushers us into the kitchen, where it’s immediately apparent why we couldn’t hear any party noise.
We’ve just arrived in the middle of dinner.
‘Your birthday party?’ Ellie asks Miranda, brow furrowed.
‘Next Saturday,’ Miranda says, laughing.
I’m not laughing. I’m glaring. Rob is still standing, with Ellie and me. Around Miranda’s long (to-die-for), polished walnut dining table are Miranda, her four kids, two other kids, and bloody Marcus, the queue man.
‘You.’ I point at him. ‘You are like a bad penny. A very bad penny. You just keep turning up. I do not want you to keep turning up.’
Miranda does a stop-talking, hand-across-throat motion and swivels her eyes a bit.
I peer at her, confused.
‘Why are you doing that?’ I ask.
Miranda sighs. ‘So that you’ll stop talking.’
‘Oh.’ I’m even more confused now.
‘This,’ says Marcus to the girl on his left, ‘is the woman who took your carrot cake.’
‘Are you joking?’ I begin. I don’t get the chance to finish my sentence, because Miranda’s mouth forms into a silent oh, and then she stands up and takes one of my hands and one of Ellie’s and tugs us back into the hall and towards the front door.
‘I love you both very dearly and you know that under any other circumstances I’d invite you to stay, but Marcus just finished telling us about carrot-cake-gate and he really hasn’t taken to you, so I think just on this one occasion you should go.
Because it’s a dinner for Ruby’s birthday.
She’s Libby’s best friend so we thought it would be nice to do something for her here.
I’m so sorry and I’ll see you both very soon, yes? ’
‘Okay,’ we both say, as she bundles us back out of the front door.
‘Have a nice evening,’ Ellie adds.
‘I’ve never been thrown out of a friend’s house before,’ she whispers loudly to me once we’re outside.
‘Me neither,’ I say. ‘It was bloody Marcus’s fault.’
‘I think it was,’ she says.
And then we trudge back up the lane to her house, agreeing very loudly the whole way that men – all men – are shit, and that I was extremely right about Marcus the queue man being a bad penny.