Girl Online (5 page)

“I was going to ask you if you fancied meeting tomorrow lunchtime?”

I glance at Ollie, wondering if maybe I haven’t woken up yet and everything that’s happened so far has just been a dream. I pinch my leg under the table to check—a little too hard.

“Ow!”

Ollie looks at me, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I . . .”

“You looked like you were in pain.”

“I was. It was—it —” I rack my brains for some kind of explanation. “I think I’ve been bitten.”

“Bitten? By what?”

“Er. A flea?”

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
my inner voice yells at me.

Ollie moves away slightly in his seat.

“I mean, i-it wasn’t a flea,” I stammer. “Obviously! I don’t have fleas or anything—it just felt like . . .”

I shift uncomfortably and the leather padding on my chair makes a loud noise. A loud farting-type noise.

“That wasn’t me—it was my chair!” I yelp. Why, oh why, did I have to sit in the chair with some kind of built-in whoopee cushion? I shift again, trying to make the same noise, to prove to Ollie that I didn’t just break wind, but now, of course, my chair remains deadly silent.

Ollie stares at me. Then he sniffs—he actually sniffs the air with a pained expression on his face. Oh my God—he thinks I farted. He thinks I have fleas and I farted! I start
praying for an asteroid to hit the café, or for the zombie apocalypse to start—anything to make Ollie forget what has just happened.

“Oh no! Is that the time?” I say, not even bothering to look at my watch or my phone. “I have to go. Have to get to work.” I stumble up from my chair.

“But what about tomorrow?” Ollie says.

“Yes. Absolutely. Text me.” Finally, I say something that doesn’t sound insane. That actually sounds quite cool. But then, as I gather up mine and Elliot’s coats, I trip on my scarf and crash into a waitress carrying a tray of toasted paninis. Cutlery is sent clattering to the floor and a terrible shocked silence falls upon the café. I can feel everyone’s eyes burning into me. Somehow I make it over to Elliot without any further disaster. “We have to go,” I hiss at him.

“What?” He frowns at me. “But what about our food?”

“Get it to go and bring it to the shop. There’s been an emergency. Thank you. Bye.”

And, with that, I fling his coat at him and stumble out onto the street.

Chapter Four

It takes about two hours for my cheeks to return to their normal temperature. Elliot thought the whole thing was hilarious. He even said I should have told Ollie, “Better out than in”! But he doesn’t understand. What happened today was the closest I’ve ever gotten to being asked out on a date by someone I have an actual crush on. I bet in the All-Time History of Dating no girl has ever told a boy who has just asked her out that she has fleas—and then farted! Or at least sounded as if she farted. That has to go down as the worst response
ever 
!

From my seat behind the counter, I look around To Have and to Hold. Andrea is over by the rails of dresses helping a young woman decide between a Barbie- and a Cinderella-themed wedding. The young woman’s fiancé is sulking in an armchair in the corner after being told we don’t do a Grand Prix theme. It’s only about three o’clock but outside the light’s already beginning to fade. The shoppers rushing by look grim-faced and wind-swept. I’m glad I’m in here, even if I am working. To be honest, coming to the shop doesn’t
ever feel much like working. Mum has created such a beautiful space it’s more like coming to a fairy grotto, what with the twinkling lights and the scented candles and the music. I reckon we must be the only shop in Brighton—if not the UK—to play background music on a vintage record player. But the crackling of the needle on the vinyl really adds to the atmosphere, especially with our playlist of soulful love songs. It’s impossible to leave To Have and to Hold without feeling all warm and melty inside. Unless of course you’ve just told the boy you’ve had a crush on for the past six years that you might have fleas.

To take my mind off “Flea and Fart Shame,” I decide to go and check the window display. Every couple of weeks Mum changes the display to feature our newest theme. At the moment it’s
Downton Abbey
so the bridal mannequin in the window is wearing a white ruffled long-sleeved dress with a collar so high it looks more like a blouse. I notice that the brooch on the collar has gone slightly askew so I climb into the window to adjust it. When I turn around to go back, I see a couple outside looking at the display. The woman is gazing at the bridal gown and although I can’t hear what she’s saying I can definitely lip-read that it’s “Oh my God!”

As I walk back to the counter, the bell over the door jangles and the couple walks in.

“It’s the cutest thing ever!” the woman says in a strong American accent.

I look at them and smile. “Hello, can I help you?”

They both smile back at me—their teeth are as perfectly straight and dazzling white as the keys on a piano.

“Yes, we were just wondering if you cater for international weddings?” the man asks.

As they reach the counter, I’m hit by a waft of aftershave. But it’s not the cheap stuff that Tom wears before a night out in town; it smells more subtle and spicy. It smells expensive.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” I tell him. Mum has organized some weddings abroad before. But they’ve always been for friends. I’m not about to lose her a potential client, though. “What was it you were interested in?”

“We’re supposed to be getting married right before Christmas,” the man says. He must see the shocked look on my face because he continues: “Yes,
this
Christmas, as in just over a week away! But we just this morning heard that our wedding planner has other commitments . . .”

“He ran off with the bride from the last wedding he organized!” the woman exclaims.

I fight the urge to grin. That’s exactly the kind of story that Elliot and Tom would find hilarious. “Oh dear,” I say.

“It’s so stressful,” the woman says. “Especially as we’re here in the UK on business so we’re not able to meet with any other wedding planners back home.”

“We were thinking of calling the whole thing off,” the man says.

“But then we saw your adorable display in the window,” the woman continues. “I just love
Downton Abbey
 . . . we’re all in love with it in the States.”

“And so we were wondering if maybe we could hire you guys to take over our wedding,” the man says.

“It would be so cute,” his fiancée says.

The man sulking in the armchair mutters something.

“Of course,” I say quickly. “My mum’s the manager of the business but she’s out at the moment. Can I take your details and get her to give you a call when she gets back?”

“Sure. I’m Jim Brady.” The man hands me a business card. It’s one of those expensive ones where the writing is embossed and the card is really thick and silky smooth.

“And I’m Cindy Johnson—soon to be Brady,” the woman says with a smile, handing me an equally expensive-looking card.

“Obviously we have the venue booked already so you guys would just need to do the styling,” Jim says.

“We’re getting married at the Waldorf Astoria in New York,” Cindy adds. From the expectant way she’s looking at me I’m guessing that’s a very good thing.

“That’s lovely,” I say with a smile.

“Oh, y’all have the cutest accent!” Cindy turns to Jim, her eyes wide. “Honey, if we do have a
Downton Abbey
wedding maybe we should say our vows in British accents.” She turns back to me. “Wouldn’t that be adorable?”

I smile at her and nod. “Yes, absolutely.”

The sulking man in the armchair looks at me and rolls his eyes.

•  •  •

“Why did the chicken cross the road, roll in mud, and cross the road again?” Dad asks me as soon as I walk into the living room.

He and Tom are both sprawled on the L-shaped sofa, munching on a huge bowl of popcorn with football blaring
away on the TV. This is what always happens when they’re left home alone together.

“Please don’t ask him,” Tom says, looking up at me with pleading eyes. “You’ll regret it till your dying day.”

“No, she won’t,” Dad replies quick as a flash. “Pen shares my refined sense of humor—good job one of my offspring does.” He pats the sofa next to him and I go and sit down. He’s right; we definitely share the same sense of humor. Whether it’s refined is another story.

“I don’t know—why did the chicken cross the road, roll in mud, and cross the road again?” I say, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“Nooooo!” Tom wails, burying his head under a cushion.

“Because he was a dirty double-crosser!” Dad and I look at each other and start buckling over with laughter. From beneath his cushion, Tom howls.

“How was it down at the shop?” Dad asks, as soon as we’ve pulled ourselves together.

“Pretty quiet,” I reply, and I see a flicker of worry cross Dad’s face. With most people choosing to get married in the summer, winter is always our quietest time, but this year it’s even deader than usual. “Oh, but I did get an American couple asking if we could do their wedding in New York. They seemed pretty serious too.”

Dad raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, they want a
Downton Abbey
theme. But they need it mega quickly. They’re meant to be getting married just before Christmas but their original wedding planner ran off with the bride from his last wedding.”

Now it’s Tom’s turn to start laughing.

“What’s the joke?” Mum says, coming in the door and taking off her coat.

“Why did the chicken cross the road, roll in—” Dad begins.

“No!” Tom yells. “That wasn’t the joke. The joke was why did the American couple have to call off their wedding?”

Mum looks at us all like we’re crazy. She looks at us like this a lot.

“Because their planner ran off with the bride from his last wedding.” Tom starts cracking up again.

Mum sits down next to me, looking even more puzzled. “What’s he talking about?”

I tell her about Cindy and Jim. “They’re getting married in a hotel called the Waldorf Astoria,” I add at the end.

Mum and Dad’s eyebrows do a synchronized lift.

“The Waldorf Astoria?” Dad says dreamily.

‘In New York,” Mum says, looking equally dreamy.

“Yes. I’ve got all their details here.” I hand Mum Cindy’s and Jim’s business cards. “They asked if you could call them as soon as possible. I know we don’t normally do international weddings but I thought it was best to let you talk to them. I hope I did the right thing.”

Mum and Dad look at each other and then they both grin at me.

“Oh, you did the right thing, darling,” Mum says, hugging me to her.

As Mum and Dad start chatting about the Waldorf Astoria, the text alert goes off on my phone. It’s Elliot.

OMG—my dad just asked me if I’ve got a girlfriend yet!!! Thinking I might have to hire a team of cheerleaders to spell it out for him. Enjoy your sleepover with Mega-Bitch :P

I quickly type a reply.

Either that or you could get Choccywoccydoodah to ice it on a cake for him. And thank you—I think ;) Pxxx

Almost immediately my phone goes off again. But this time it’s from a new number.

Hi, Pen, do you want to meet tomorrow at Lucky Beach? About 12? We could have lunch . . . Ollie x

I stare at my phone in shock. Even though I am the Clumsiest Person in the Universe, and even though he thinks I might have fleas and a chronic wind problem, Ollie wants to meet me! For lunch! At a proper restaurant! Oh my God . . . I think I’ve just been asked on a date!

Chapter Five