Coconuts and Wonderbras (35 page)

    ‘Is it something nice? Like has Penelope thrown herself out of a window?’

    ‘I can’t think what has come over you dear. It isn’t like you to be so rude.’

I fumble with my knickers and feel the perspiration running down my back. Trying to pull up your underwear with just one hand has to be an achievement worthy of a medal. I hear a sigh from mother and it dawns on me that she probably needs the loo.

    ‘I’m almost done. You won’t moan about the loos in Debenhams after you have used this one. You’re not wearing your girdle are you?’ I giggle.

I open the door and come face to face with my mother and…

    ‘Alex,’ I squeal reeling round to head back into the loo.

This is awful I don’t want him to see me like this. Mother is bustling around behind me and I turn to her irritably.

    ‘Stop it.’

She frowns and continues pulling at my dress. I slap her hand.

    ‘What are you doing?’

    ‘Your dress is tucked into your knickers,’ she whispers breathlessly. ‘Not the best impression to make.’

    ‘I look terrible,’ I whisper back. ‘Don’t let him see me like this.’

    ‘But he already has.’

Sod it. I turn to face him, thinking it better he should see my face than my arse. Although on reflection, with the rash all over my face, my backside is probably more appealing.

    ‘I always seem to be bumping into you outside a loo,’ he smiles.

    ‘I thought,
they said, you had flown the nest and everything.’

Why do I always sound demented when
in his company? I can’t stop staring at him, and feel sure I must be dribbling. He looks tired but still gorgeous. I wonder if Penelope has seen him and feel my heart flutter at the thought that perhaps he sought me out first.

    ‘You always think the worst of me,’ he says abruptly.

I walk back to the rest of the group.

    ‘I’m sure she doesn’t. You don’t do you, always think the worst of Alex?’ says mother, running behind me.

I fumble for something to say but nothing comes to mind. Whatever I say it will come out wrong.

    ‘I assure you, she does. I just wanted to apologise to you, I never meant for you to have an adventure in Cambodia, and to say that I hope you and Toby will be very happy.’

I stop walking and mother bangs into me. He still thinks I am marrying Toby?

    ‘But…’

    ‘I really can’t believe you would think that I would abandon everyone.’

    ‘No, she didn’t think…’ breaks in mother.

    ‘Mother, please keep quiet.’

    ‘I couldn’t fly home without knowing, you, well, everyone was safe.’

Christ, am I ever going to get a word in?

    ‘I…’

Why is it I can’t construct a sentence now?

    ‘There he is,’ roars Toby. ‘Have you been molesting my fiancée?’

And that was it. The one moment I had to put everything right with Alex was gone in a flash. You know that feeling, the one where you want the floor to open up and swallow you? I seem to spend my whole life experiencing it. I really don’t understand why Toby would think some other man would want to molest me when up until now Toby has had little interest in molesting me.

    ‘Alex,’ shrieks Penelope. She charges towards him like a bull. Mother and I
step out of the way. She flies into his arms and covers him with kisses. I bow my head and attempt to avert my eyes but he is looking at me.

    ‘I knew you wouldn’t leave us,’ Penelope squeals excitedly.

    ‘Oh, I’d forgotten all about her,’ groans mother.

I
wish I could.

Toby flings an arm round my shoulder and I can’t somehow find it in me to pull it off. I watch as Alex very gently moves Penelope away from him. She clasps his hand tightly and gives me an evil smile. It seems the premier league team wins again.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

    Did I really say I couldn’t wait to get back to my lovely cosy cottage in cold England? It is freezing. The olive oil in the cupboard is a frozen block. I have icicles inside the cottage and my pipes have frozen, the pipes in my cottage that is. Even the plumber had a good laugh at that one.

    ‘I bet they’re nice and firm then,’ he had joked. Don’t you just hate smutty plumbers?

Even with the heating on full blast I can’t
get warm. I wrap myself in my long Marks and Spencer shawl, tuck my legs underneath me and settle back onto the couch with a glass of Chardonnay and a packet of marshmallows. I turn on the TV to watch a New Year’s Eve omnibus edition of
EastEnders
. I don’t normally watch
EastEnders
but I figure if anything is going to add to my misery then this will. I am going to wallow in my misery. I cannot recall a time when I have been more miserable. Even the butcher thought I looked a bit peaky and threw in half a dozen duck eggs to build me up.

    ‘Have them with your bacon. That will bring the colour back to your cheeks.’

I never thought I would see the day when the butcher thought I needed building up. Every cloud has a silver lining I suppose. Duck eggs are fabulous in sponges. I decide to make one tomorrow. After all, what else will I be doing on New Year’s Day? I certainly won’t have my head down the loo like everyone else. I’ve been home for just over twenty-four hours and I am beginning to know just how Jack Bauer feels at the end of his twenty-four. I’m jet-lagged, weary, and still very single. Toby was lovely throughout the whole of the
flight but I just don’t love him any more. I didn’t quite find the courage to tell him this until the taxi had stopped outside my cottage and he was all geared up to come in with me.

    ‘I really want to be alone,’ I had said, shivering at the front door.

He
stood there, his nose running and unable to do anything because he was holding both of my suitcases. The temptation to wipe his nose
had been overwhelming but I fought the urge.

    ‘Now what’s up, Libs?’ he had asked between sniffs. ‘I thought we were getting on really well.’

I had stepped aside so he could plonk the suitcases in the porch.

    ‘Thanks Toby, I really appreciate everything you have done…’

He
then plonked his wet lips and snotty nose onto my face and if I had any doubts about breaking up with him they all went in that moment. I stepped back and fell over the suitcases and landed with a crash onto the floor taking Toby with me. At that moment, my neighbour popped by to welcome me home with a Battenberg cake and a pint of milk.

    ‘I saw you pull up,’ he said brightly, watching Toby and I struggle to our feet. ‘This is all we have I’m afraid, apart from a jar of beetroot.’

    ‘This is great,’ I said, taking the milk and Battenberg.

    ‘I hate bloody beetroot,’ commented Toby.

    ‘You’re not bloody getting any,’ I almost said but managed to
stop myself in time.

He had followed me, the Battenberg and milk into the kitchen and had filled the kettle for all the world like he lived there. I had taken a deep breath and then launched into my ‘it’s all over’ speech.

    ‘Toby, I really feel we have come to the end.’

    ‘The end of what?’ he had asked while
popping the milk into the fridge and sniffing a
tub
of yogurt.

    ‘Our relationship, I think it’s time to call it a day.’

    ‘This is off,’ he had responded pointing to the yogurt.

    ‘That is exactly what I’m saying. We are off, finished, kaput, over. I don’t want to go out with you any more Toby.’

I finally said it.

    ‘Is this because of that Alex Bryant?’ he asked while returning the yogurt to the fridge.

    ‘No, it’s because of Serena Lambert and because you make comments about my weight and because I don’t love you.’

For a moment I thought he was going to storm out, but
he put his arm around me and pulled me gently into the living room and sat me down on the sofa.

    ‘Shall I make you a nice cup of tea or something? Have a chocolate biscuit if you like. I promise I won’t say anything.’

    ‘I will have a chocolate biscuit if I want one but as it happens I don’t. I don’t have to ask your permission,’ I snapped, jumping up and opening the front door to which he had very swiftly walked through.

    ‘Let me know when you feel better,’ he had quipped and I had slammed the door with a scream.

So here I am. Five hours before a New Year, with Chardonnay and a packet of marshmallows for company, and an omnibus edition of
EastEnders
. What more could a girl ask for?

The phone rings and I
try
to ignore it. It rings incessantly. It has to be my mother.

    ‘Hello.’

    ‘Oh, darling, you’re there. I thought you would be out.’

    ‘If you thought I’d be out why did you phone?’

    ‘Well, one never knows. Good heavens, is that your neighbour screaming?’

I turn the volume down.

    ‘It’s
EastEnders
.’

She sighs.

    ‘Oh dear, you must be feeling depressed. Why don’t you come over? Daddy and I are going to the vicar’s for New Year, why don’t you come? They’re having a monks and nuns party. You would make a fabulous nun.’

She’s not wrong about that.

    ‘I wouldn’t enjoy it,’ I say shuddering at the very thought of it.

    ‘Your father said the same thing. But he’s coming. I talked him into it.’

More fool him.

    ‘I don’t think he would make a fabulous nun.’

    ‘Don’t be silly darling. He’s going as a monk. You can’t sit at home moping.’

    ‘Yes I can,’ I say, reaching for another marshmallow.

After all, I might as well enjoy the New Year as best I can, and then I can start my diet once the celebrations are over.

Mother huffs.

    ‘Are you absolutely sure he is going to marry that Penelope woman?’

I take a large gulp of wine.

    ‘She announced it to
The Times
, didn’t you see it? It was big enough. You usually read the wedding announcements,’ I say eventually.

It had been Jane who had alerted me to the notice.

    ‘What a wonderful way to start a New Year,’ she had squealed.

I had only been back at work one day and felt more depressed than ever.

    ‘I only read the wedding announcements in the
Jewish Chronicle
,’ says mother.

    ‘But we’re not Jewish.’

    ‘I know that dear, but they always seem more interesting as do their dead people.’

Christ almighty, I really should get my mother some counselling.

    ‘How can dead people be interesting?’

    ‘Anyway, I didn’t phone you to talk about Jewish people.’

I pop two more marshmallows.

    ‘You mentioned them, I didn’t. I don’t even read the
Jewish Chronicle
.’

    ‘So, what did it say?’

I sniff loudly.

    ‘I don’t remember,’ I say, opening
The Times
newspaper.

    ‘Here it is. The engagement is announced between Major Alex Michael Bryant, son of Mr and Mrs Ian Bryant of Derbyshire, and Penelope Katherine Vistor, youngest daughter of Mr Stephen Vistor CBE of Hertfordshire and Mrs Leoni Ann Vistor of Cambridge.’ I say with a hiccup.

    ‘I didn’t know he was a major and how could they do it so quickly. They’ve only been home a few hours?’ I say, reaching for a tissue.

    ‘Your father thought he was high ranking.’

    ‘And her father has a CBE. I can’t ever compete with that. Daddy won’t get a CBE will he?’

    ‘Well, he could try dear. Do you want me to ask him?’

Oh dear. I suppose she means well.

    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, feeling tears well up.

    ‘Well, we could try and get a fake one off the Internet.’

Oh God. I tuck the phone under my chin and unscrew the top off some blackberry juice.

    ‘Promise you’ll come round if you change your mind. We’re not leaving for another hour. I hope you’re not drinking too much?’

    ‘I’m drinking wine and blackberry juice.’

    ‘Oh dear, you’ll make yourself ill doing things like that.’

    ‘Doing things like what? I’m drinking wine and blackberry juice, not shooting up cocaine.’

    ‘Oh dear,’ she groans. ‘Promise you’ll come if you change your mind,’

I promise to think about it and put the phone down.

Chapter Thirty

    After the omnibus edition of
EastEnders
and what feels like a marathon session of
Strictly Come Dancing
repeats I feel quite exhausted. I check the time and am
despondent to see it is only seven o’clock. God, I have another five hours to go yet. I turn the heating on in the bathroom and pour myself another glass of wine and wallow in the bath for forty-five minutes with a Mills and Boon. This just leaves me more depressed. I wander back into the lounge, dripping onto the carpet and flop miserably back onto the couch and glance at the TV where
Bridget Jones’s Diary
is now on and Renée Zellwegger is kicking her leg high to ‘All By Myself,’ which is just what I don’t need. My Blackberry trills and I answer the call from Issy.

    ‘I’ve just spoken to your mother. You cannot stay home on New Year’s Eve. That is bloody ridiculous and I’m not having it,’ she screeches down the phone before I even have time to say hello.

    ‘I’m quite happy,’ I lie.

    ‘Get your glad rags on and some lippy. We’ll be there in about forty minutes.’

Oh no.

    ‘No, I don’t want to go out,’ I whine.

    ‘I don’t give a shit what you want. Make yourself glam, you never know who you might meet,’ she says chirpily, ignoring my objections.

    ‘I don’t want to meet anyone.’

    ‘Not even Bradley Cooper?’

    ‘Oh yeah, right.’

    ‘Be ready. We’re going to the Glass Dome. You’ve always wanted to go there. Jonathan has tickets.’

She hangs up and I am left listening to the dialling tone.

    ‘I already have a ticket,’ I whisper to no one.