Found (19 page)

‘You’re bloody kidding me,’ I hiss at Obélix. My day is going from bad to worse.

First the dress, now
this
. Am I on some hidden camera show,
You’ve Been Framed
for the internet generation? If this is a set-up to see how much more I can take before I start crying and screaming than the answer is not much more.

He looks at me with a puppy dog expression that I have no time for. How could he be so stupid? This is even worse than the dress. This is
unforgivable
.

‘Please don’t be mad,’ he says, looking at me hopefully.

‘Mad?’ I screech. ‘This goes beyond me being mad, Ob. How could you have invited those two?’

He starts to squirm. ‘It wasn’t really me who did.’

‘Then why are they here?’ I snap.

Standing in front of me, grinning like two idiots, are Noah and Peter Penrose. I knew this was a bad idea agreeing to come on Ob’s stag do.

The last time I saw those two creeps was when Peter and Noah had a fight on their parents’ lawn, when Peter confessed that Noah had only ever gone out with me as a bet, back when we were all teenagers. Well, when Peter and I were teenagers – Noah was in his early twenties.

I’m past all that now though. OK, I would rather my virginity hadn’t been the outcome of some hideous bet, but I’m with Piers.

I did, unfortunately, see Peter again after that fight. He came round to my parents’ house to apologise for not telling me about the bet sooner. If he had told me back when it happened, I wouldn’t have wasted all that time mooning over Noah, following him to Warwick University and all the rest of it.

Seeing those two reminds me of things I’d rather not remember. How Piers ended things with me because I just lazed around the house all day – that was when I wasn’t hitting the shops spending his money on designer clothes. How in a moment of weakness, when I thought Piers and I were over, I hooked up with Noah because I thought what we once had was
genuine
. I twiddle my engagement ring and wedding ring nervously.

Noah looks the same as ever. Chocolate-brown hair to match his dark-brown eyes; stubble perfectly shaved to give off that oh-so-casual air when really it will have taken him ages to craft it to that level of perfection. Peter, on the other hand, looks dishevelled, like he’s done nothing with his sandy blonde hair since he woke up.

I wonder when they became friends again. The last I heard from my mum who, to the best of my knowledge has never found out about the weird love triangle that existed between me and the Penrose boys, the brothers weren’t talking.

They’ve clearly made up though.
Great
. I could have coped with Peter, but Noah is a different story. That man is vile and has no regard for anyone but himself. I’m going to have to leave.

‘Then who did invite them?’ I hiss as Noah and Peter start to say hello to the rest of the guys.

Until they showed up there were ten of us, including me and Ob, standing in the beer garden of a pub called The Bear in Kentish Town. One of Ob’s uni friends insisted we start our pub crawl for Obélix’s stag do here. It’s a part of London I don’t really know, although Camden Town and Frocks and Socks are only down the road.

The beer garden is heaving, and we’re the only stag party here. The Bear looks more like a local pub for local people; we’ve had more than a few dirty looks since we arrived. I was always going to duck out at the point where they head to a strip club – so disgusting – but I’m now regretting coming full stop.

I’m glad I kept it casual though in skinny jeans and a floaty top – I can easily imagine Noah’s leery face if I’d worn a dress or anything revealing or tight – but I wish I was at home with Piers and Atlas, curled up on the sofa watching a box set. I’m relieved Piers isn’t here though. I can imagine exactly how that would have gone down.

‘Well, umm–’

‘Ob,’ I mutter warningly. I’m not in the mood for excuses.

‘My mum might have mentioned it to their mum, and since–’

‘Despicable,’ I interject.

This is the one situation where I needed Ob to be on my side, for him to stand tall. He should have said no. They are not on the wedding invite list, as far as I know, so why are they on his stag do?

‘And since Jade knows Noah–’ Ob continues.

‘I bet she bloody does,’ I mutter under my breath. What skank in Brockenhurst – nay, the entire New Forest – doesn’t know Noah Penrose? I’m still not convinced by her at all. Something doesn’t add up, and it’s going to take me a long while to forgive her for letting Atlas sleep on my wedding dress.

‘–and she was with my mum and Mrs Penrose when it came up in conversation...’ Ob shrugs.

‘So here they are.’ I shake my head and fiddle with my rings again. ‘Does Jade know what happened between me and Noah?’ I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

‘Yes, but–’

Bitch
. It’s going to take a lot of willpower not to stop their wedding when the officiator asks if anyone knows any reason why Jade and Ob can’t get married. My best friend deserves better than her, baby or no baby.

‘–what has that got to do with anything?’

Ob will never understand, and I get it. Jade is his soon-to-be wife and the mother of his child. He’ll defend her to the death.

‘Never mind,’ I mutter.

Ob is too thick – well, loved up – to realise that Jade has pulled off a Class-A bitchy move by inviting them, especially since she knew our history. It proves it though – she doesn’t like me. I suspect I’ll have to “force” myself on Ob from now on, or I can see our friendship drying up.

‘Arielle! Congratulations on getting married!’ Peter Penrose stalks towards me. He may be sporting an impressive tan and have the guns out, but he’ll always be that pasty wheezy boy who lived next door to me – thank goodness my other next-door neighbour growing up was Obélix. Still, Peter is better than Noah. I can at least be civil to him. There’s every possibility that I may swing for Noah depending on what bullshit comes out of his mouth.

‘Thanks,’ I mutter, ignoring his out-stretched hand. Like I’m going to give him the pleasure of touching me.

‘And congratulations, mate!’ Peter turns to Ob, sweeping his hovering hand through the air like it was meant for him all along. ‘Thanks for the invite.’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Noah booms out as he walks towards us clutching three pints. I hope one of them isn’t for me because I may not be able to stop myself from throwing it over him. Just seeing this man makes me feel out of control, though not in the way he’d probably like me to be. Irgh.
Hideous
.

‘Ariel,’ he acknowledges as he passes two of the beers to Ob and Peter.

How dare he call me that?

I ignore him. ‘How’s life as a paediatrician?’ I ask, turning to Peter. I can feel my blood boiling in rage.

‘Not talking to me, huh, Ariel? Don’t you trust yourself?’ Noah taunts at me before Peter can answer.

‘How’s Lara?’ I chirp swinging back around to glare at Noah. ‘She finally divorced you, right?’

Lara was Noah’s wife, the one he conveniently forgot to mention to me when we hooked up. OK, they were separated, but he certainly wasn’t baggage-free like he painted himself to be.

‘Found an idiot to replace her yet?’ I continue, unable to resist another jibe, though Lara’s not an idiot. She got rid of him, after all.

‘Guys,’ Ob says awkwardly, ‘come on. This is my stag do. It’s supposed to be fun.’

I refrain from pointing out to Ob that it might have been fun for me if my ex and his brother, the one who had some weird crush on me, weren’t in attendance. Ob lived through all of this; he knows the history.

‘Obélix!’ John, one of his veterinary friends roars as he staggers over to us with a disgusting-looking pint. ‘Stop being a pussy and come and join us.’

Charming.

‘Here,’ he continues as the rest of the group make their way over towards us. ‘This is for you, Arielle.’

He thrusts the full pint glass towards me as the rest of the men start to whoop. The customers in the beer garden look at us with disgust. I don’t blame them; who wouldn’t want to enjoy a
quiet
drink in the sunshine now that we’ve finally got some.

I wrinkle my nose. ‘What is that?’

‘A dirty pint! Come on, down it!’

The smell of it is making me want to gag, and I roughly push the pint glass away from me. The liquid inside it is the colour of wee.

‘No, thanks.’

‘Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit!’ the men all start chanting at me.

Noah gives me a smug look, and that settles it. I already feel like rubbish, and I do not want to spend my afternoon and evening with this bunch of rowdy men. Ob may be my best friend, but I don’t have to be on his stag do. He has friends better suited to help him have his one final night of freedom. I’m out of my depth.

‘I’m going home. Have fun, and buzz the doorbell when you get back. We’ll let you in.’

I didn’t trust him with a key, and I don’t really trust his memory to get him back to mine – hopefully he will see the piece of paper with our address on it that I tucked into his wallet. But, he’s a big boy. He can look after himself.

I hug him, which results in catcalls. Ob’s friends are the worst. ‘Enjoy your stag do,’ I mutter.

I leave the beer garden before he can stop me with both Noah and Peter watching me leave – Peter with a weirdly hopeful look; Noah with a weirdly calculating look – and I head inside.

The Bear’s garden is nicer than in here, though that’s not saying much. The only thing that looks new in here – ironic because it’s an old-school model – is the lit-up neon jukebox in the corner. James Brown’s “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag” is currently playing.

Pushing my way through the drinkers, I duck out of the way to avoid two men arguing at the bar and run smack bang into a woman who has just turned around from picking up what looks like a gin and tonic.

‘Fucking watch–’ The woman stops short as she looks up and recognises me. ‘
Oh
. It’s
you
.’

You have to be joking me, right?

‘Arielle!’ Matt says warmly as he steps out from behind Etta. He gives me a quick and unexpected hug. ‘What are you doing here?’

That question, if asked by his sister, would have had a completely different tone attached to it; Matt looks genuinely pleased to see me. I can’t believe I’ve bumped into them.

‘Hi Matt... Ooh, you smell lovely. What’s that?’ Anything smells nice after getting a whiff of that dirty pint.

‘His girlfriend is sitting over there,’ Etta smirks.

‘Etta, I’m married,’ I point out, and then flush as I realise that might sound insulting to Matt. ‘Not that I wouldn’t... I mean–’

‘It’s OK,’ Matt chuckles, saving me from my ramblings. There’s something about Matt that’s very likeable, but it’s probably because Etta is so frosty in comparison. ‘She’s being a bitch because I forced her on a double date,’ he shares, ‘but her date didn’t show.’

‘Oh?’ I think back to the
Daily Mail
sidebar of shame that I scrolled through this morning whilst I was waiting for Ob to arrive, but I don’t recall a story about Etta.

‘My sister is dating a woman,’ Matt whispers, which causes Etta to swear again and look around nervously. She’s dressed up to the nines, though I suppose she would be in case there are any paparazzi about. If I were famous, I’d hate to be snapped wearing crumpled clothes with a bare face.

‘For fuck’s sake, Matt,’ she snaps. He laughs as she turns to me. ‘If this gets in the papers that I was stood up,’ Etta cracks her knuckles, ‘I’m blaming you.’

I throw my hands up in protest. ‘You’re my business partner. Do you think I’d talk to the press about you? Do you even think I know how to talk to the press?’ I add.

OK, so I do know a journo who writes for
Metro
, but she wouldn’t be interested in gossip.

Etta’s expression says it all: she still doesn’t trust me. This is going to be the longest three years.

‘Well, have a lovely afternoon,’ I say, throwing them both a quick smile. ‘I’ll talk to you later about the gallery, Etta. I need to talk to you about Blythe’s replacement. I have someone who can start on Monday and–’

‘Hire them,’ Etta interrupts, cracking her knuckles again.

‘Brilliant, I will.’ I’m not going to explain further. I turn to Matt. ‘It was nice to–’

‘You don’t have to go right now, do you? Come and have a drink with us.’

‘I–’

‘I insist.’ Matt pulls out his wallet as Etta storms over to one of the tables with a tut. ‘What will it be?’

I think of the dirty pint and my stomach turns. ‘A Diet Coke would be lovely, thanks.’

‘Why don’t you join those two? Here, take these.’ He passes me his pint and a large glass of ros
é
. ‘And I’ll see you over there in a second.’

He turns back round to the bar and I have no choice but to head over to where Etta is sitting.

‘Hi,’ I say awkwardly as I approach the table. The girl sitting with Etta stares at me with a keen interest. Etta is too busy tapping her chewed-down nails on the screen of her phone.

‘Hi. Sit down.’

It’s more of an order than an ask, and it’s the least friendly greeting I’ve heard in a long time.

I put down the two glasses in the middle of the table and then pull out the little velvet-lined stool from underneath it. As I sit down I smile at Matt’s girlfriend, who is eyeing me up like I’m a threat. She’s a curvy brunette, her hair pulled up in a tight ponytail that distorts her face slightly. She could be nineteen or twenty-nine – it’s hard to tell

‘I’m Rose,’ she says, ‘are you Jessica?’

Rose looks me up and down with a look of disdain on her face – funnily enough, it’s a look Etta has pulled me, once or twice, in the past – but I see her eyes linger on my engagement ring and wedding band for a moment. She offers me a falsely bright smile as I laugh, somewhat alarmed by Etta’s growl upon hearing the name Jessica. I wonder if she’s the backing singer Dad told me about. I remember him telling me about Etta having a girlfriend.

‘No, no, I’m Arielle. Etta’s business partner,’ I expand at Rose’s blank look.

‘Hi Ariel,’ she trills.

My mind springs to Peter and Noah Penrose outside. Ariel was Noah’s nickname for me. I was, and it makes me cringe, his little mermaid. I can’t stand being called that diminutive by anyone.

‘It’s Arielle,’ I correct, ‘but it’s nice to meet you.’

I hope I don’t sound too catty, but this is super awkward. I’ve gone from being a threat – ha, that sort of makes me feel ancient that I’m no longer a worry to other women because I’m married – to her simpering at me like I’m her long-lost best friend.

Etta snorts and puts down her phone. ‘It’s OK,’ she drawls, ‘Sophie isn’t very good at remembering names.’

I look between the two of them, confused. Who’s Sophie?

Sophie, or Rose, or whoever she is, tinkles merrily, but there’s venom there. Uh-oh, there’s clearly no love lost between these two either. I’m slightly relieved that it’s not just me that Etta has beef with.

‘Etta has a problem with my name.’

‘Not that again,’ Matt chimes in as he places my Diet Coke down in front of me and passes a tumbler full of clear liquid to Etta. I notice that her first gin and tonic has gone already, and she quickly downs her new drink.

He takes the stool next to mine and sits down.

‘Thanks for the drink.’

Silence.

‘What’s wrong with the name Rose?’ I dare to ask, keen to fill the awkward silence.

Matt sighs. ‘Rose goes by her middle name. Sophie is her first name,’ he explains. ‘
Henrietta
has a problem with people being called Rose.’

Etta lurches up. ‘I’m going to pick some more music for the jukebox.’

I lean in closer to Matt so Etta can squeeze out from behind the table without knocking into me, which earns me a full-on glare from Rose, or Sophie, or whatever her name is. I look around the pub awkwardly, anything to avoid her narrowed eyes.

The pub is Victorian through and through and has a well-worn bar, torn, burgundy, flocked wallpaper on the walls, and rows of tarnished pewter mugs above an original cast iron fireplace. It’s not my cup of tea.

‘Matthew,’ Rose says silkily as I move back across, ‘you said your other housemates were out, right?’ She sticks out her chest as she leans across the table to grab his hand.

‘Err, yeah.’

‘I have a bit of a headache,’ she whispers.

What on earth have I walked into here? I think I’d almost rather take my chances outside with Ob’s stag do and the Penrose brothers.

‘Oh. Shall I walk you home?’

She simpers at him and I smile brightly, feeling like a third wheel. I should have declined Matt’s drink offer and escaped.

‘Sorry, Arielle, we’re going to go, but Etta will be back in a minute. Can you let her know we’ve gone home?’

Lucky me!

‘Sure. Feel better,’ I say to Rose.

‘We’ll see you at the launch party.’

‘See you then.’

Matt and Rose disappear, so I get out my phone and check through my Twitter feed for the first time in ages. I should just go, but I can’t leave without telling Etta they’ve gone. I’m a little surprised Matt left so readily without waiting for her to come back.

I fire off a quick tweet asking for suggestions for what Piers can do now he’s left the financial world, and I’m reading through my old mentions when Etta storms back over. I had looked over at the jukebox a few times, but she wasn’t there. I didn’t fancy seeing if she’d gone out into the yard.

‘Matt’s taken Rose home,’ I explain at her fierce questioning scowl.

‘I bet he fucking has,’ she mutters. ‘Bitch.’

She better not mean me. I take a large gulp of my Diet Coke, but the ice is making it too cold for me to down it, and I don’t want to give the impression that I’m trying to escape – even if I am.

‘What happened to your date then? Is she running late?’

The look Etta gives me is nasty. She looks like she would kill me happily – or visibly hurt me, at the very least.

I try and think of something else to say, something that won’t offend Etta who is in the blackest mood I’ve ever known her to be in, and my mind settles on the gallery.

‘You sure you’re OK with Piers running the gallery?’

‘Who?’

I study her face. Her eyes are darting around the pub; when I look at her face closer, her pupils are dilating. That’s when I clock the tiniest dusting of white powder by her nose. Shit, she
is
using again. This confirms it. Why did Matt have to go? I can’t leave her on her own now.

‘Piers. My husband,’ I remind her. ‘I said I’d found someone to take over from Blythe. She leaves after your party, remember?’

Etta snorts again. ‘Whatever, bitch.’

I am getting quite sick of this. All I have done since I came back from New York is run around trying to make sure that Etta has an awesome party for the launch of her album. Not once has she said thank you. Not once has she treated me like I’m her business partner and not just some skivvy.

‘What’s your problem?’ I demand.

Etta looks at me coolly. ‘It’s a bit fucking convenient, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘Like you’re ripping off Felicity all over again, except now it’s me.’

I ignore that jibe. I know from Etta herself that her mum used to work at the gallery.

‘Blythe leaves next week,’ I point out, ‘and I don’t see you finding someone. I think we can live with a convenient hire until she gets back.’

‘Well–’

‘Do you know what,’ I interrupt, ‘I don’t have to take this shit from you.’ I stand up. ‘I’ll talk to you when you’re clean.’

Her face confirms that I’m right.

Her first single did so well, and her album is out next week: why is she trying to self-destruct? I can’t deal with her today though, or deal with this. I feel sick and woozy, and I want to be with my husband.

I push my way out of the pub and through the people hanging around the doorway, and that’s where I run smack bang into Noah who is just finishing up a cigarette. Bloody brilliant.

‘I thought you’d left,’ he jeers.

‘Can I get by?’ I ask through gritted teeth. I want to leave Kentish Town as quickly as I can. It was a big mistake to come here.

Noah takes a drag of his cigarette, so I step to his right to walk around him, but he mirrors my move.

‘Noah,’ I say warningly.

‘What?’

‘Please move.’

‘You don’t have time to chat to an old friend?’

‘We’re not friends.’

He ignores me. ‘You’re looking well.’

I step back to the left quickly and try and walk forwards, but he blocks me again.

‘I’ll start screaming,’ I say, pushing him, but he goes nowhere. ‘Noah!’

Nothing. He just looks at me with faint amusement on his face as he flicks his cigarette to the ground. ‘Stay and chat,’ he orders.

‘Noah!’

He steps towards me, and I have nowhere to go as I’m already against the pub wall. He grabs hold of my face, and before I realise what he’s about to do, he’s kissing me. For a split second my lips instinctively respond, but then my brain kicks in and I knee him in the groin.

‘You’re pathetic,’ I hiss at him as he drops to the ground in agony. I hear a few chuckles from the nearby punters. ‘I wish I’d never met you.’

I turn to walk off, but change my mind.

‘Actually, no,’ I state. ‘I’m glad I met you, but only because being with you made me realise what an amazing husband I have and how lucky I am.’ I tower above him as Noah groans.

‘Have a nice life, dickhead,’ I add as I spy a black cab driving down the street towards me. This has been the worst afternoon ever.

I stick out my hand to get the cab driver’s attention and I hurry towards it without a backwards glance at Noah. I hope he’s in a lot of pain right now.