Chapter Three #2
‘Of course I have a dress,’ I say defensively, emerging from the bathroom. ‘Honestly, what do you think I’m going to wear? T-shirt and jeans?’
By the look on her face that’s a yes.
She narrows her eyes. ‘Well . . . where is it?’
‘In my suit bag.’ I gesture to the black vinyl bag hanging on my closet.
‘Can I see it?’ she asks, reaching for the zipper.
‘Not really. It’s all packed,’ I say, hastily making an excuse. ‘In tissue paper,’ I add.
Good thinking. Tissue paper makes it sound as if it’s from a really expensive boutique.
Stella looks suitably impressed, but still suspicious. ‘Describe it,’ she demands, folding her arms.
‘Erm . . . well, it’s . . .’ I falter as I think about my shopping trip a couple of days ago on a mission to find something. And how I flailed around in H&M with armfuls of dresses, feeling overwhelmed and desperate, until finally I just went for the most— ‘Festive,’ I say vaguely.
‘Festive?’
‘And fun,’ I add hopefully.
‘Festive and fun?’ she gasps in disbelief. ‘Emily, are we talking about a dress here or a novelty blow-up Santa?’
I make a last-ditch attempt. ‘It has sequins,’ I venture doubtfully.
Stella’s face collapses. She looks distraught, standing there in her vintage pussybow blouse and asymmetrical skirt from a boutique that’s so intimidating I daren’t even peer in the window.
‘Festive is not fun, Emily, it’s a fashion nightmare,’ she’s shrieking, clutching her temples. ‘Festive has zero style. All those boring little black dresses, sequinned scarves and sparkly eyeshadow.’ She gives a little shudder and suddenly I remember.
Oh, no. Please don’t let her see my new—
‘What’s this?’
Too late.
Pouncing on my new sparkly eyeshadow that I bought in the same desperate shopping trip, Stella sweeps a shimmery stripe across her eyelid, then stands back and peers at herself.
‘Iridescent Frost?’ she accuses.
I knew I should have bought matt. I knew it.
‘So, back to Freddy. There’s definitely no chance of romance?’ I ask, trying to distract her before it gets worse and she discovers the sequinned scarf I bought on a whim at the weekend.
Thankfully it works.
‘Absolutely not,’ she gasps and flops down onto my white cotton comforter.
‘I may be married, but I’m very much single.
And I need my best friend.’ Pouting, she rolls over onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows.
‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you to ditch the old folks on the minibus and come have some fun in Mexico instead?
There’s still one space left.’ She pretends to whimper.
‘It’s a luxury coach,’ I correct her. ‘And no thanks.’ I shake my head.
‘I know you find this hard to believe, Stella, but I want to go on this tour.’ It’s true.
Now I’ve had the chance to think about it, I’m really looking forward to it.
‘I’ve always wanted to go to England, ever since I read Jane Austen, and now’s my opportunity. ’
‘Well, the British men can be pretty cute,’ concedes Stella, completely missing my point. ‘Just look at Daniel Craig.’
‘I’m not going for the men,’ I gasp impatiently, attempting to stuff The Time Traveller’s Wife through a tiny gap in the zipper of my suitcase.
‘Not even James Bond?’ she sighs dreamily. Then, seeing me struggling, snaps, ‘Honestly, Em. Haven’t you got enough books already?’
‘Some people pack too many clothes, with me it’s books,’ I say coolly, in an attempt to justify myself.
Hoisting herself up from my bed, Stella shoots me a look that says she’s not buying it.
‘I never know what I’m going to want to curl up in bed with.’ I shrug.
‘How about trying a man?’ she retorts, tugging on her scarf and mittens.
Now it’s my turn to shoot her a look.
‘Seriously, Em, how long has it been since you actually . . .?’
‘I’ve told you. The only men I’m interested in are in here . . .’ I grab my copy of Pride and Prejudice and slap it on the top of my suitcase.
‘OK, OK, I won’t say another word.’ She holds up her mittened hands in surrender. ‘Anyway, I’d better go. I’ve got a few last-minute things to do before I leave for Mexico.’
We both look at each other and I realise it’s time to say goodbye.
‘Well, toodle-pops,’ trills Stella in an appalling attempt at a British accent.
‘I think it’s toodle-pip,’ I grimace, laughing.
‘Oh, well, whatever it is those crazy Brits say.’ She shrugs, and then her face softens. ‘You look after yourself and have a good time, OK?’ Throwing her arms round me, she gives me a hug. ‘Promise?’ she asks, uncharacteristically emotional.
I squeeze her tightly. ‘Promise.’
For a brief moment I feel a twinge of doubt about spending New Year’s alone and not with Stella and her friends, but just as briefly I dismiss it. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. ‘Now, make sure you call me from Mexico, let me know how the margaritas are, won’t you?’
‘Definitely.’ She nods, throwing me that famous Stella grin. Releasing the latch, she tugs open the door. ‘Oh, and by the way . . .’ she pauses in the doorway ‘. . . this eyeshadow is awesome.’ And winking at me, she disappears into the hallway.