Remind Me Again Why I Need a Man (38 page)

There's more laughter and I go into the conference room and slump into the chair, still trembling.

Best producer.

Oh my God.

Never in my wildest dreams, and I'm a pretty big dreamer, did I see this one coming.

The phone rings. Rachel. Sounding even more stunned than I am myself. ‘Darling, I have never been prouder in my whole life. Caroline just rang me to say she saw it on the lunchtime news. Sweet Enola Gay … this is
unbelievable
! Now, you do realize that from here on in, it's all going to be about the dress, right?'

‘Rachel, I'm knocked for six here. And that's not the half of it. What the lunchtime news didn't tell you is that I asked Philip—' The phone beep-beeps as another call comes through. ‘Can I put you on hold? I've another call.'

‘Sure, Miss Best Producer Nominee,' says Rachel. ‘But before you go, I've made an executive decision.
I'm going to be your personal stylist for the night so you just leave all your wardrobe considerations to me. No arguments. Silver, I don't know why but I'm seeing you in a long silver bugle-beaded gown, with your hair in a chignon. Oh! You'll be so gorgeous! Call me straight back!'

‘Hello?' I click on to the call that's waiting.

Caroline, sounding strastospheric. ‘I nearly died; I almost passed out when I saw the news! Amelia! You're up for an award! I have to go and ring everyone I know. Pet, I can't breathe. This is the most exciting thing I can ever remember … Oh, hang up, darling, that's Mike ringing my mobile. I rang him with the news as well as Jamie and Rachel … I'll call you back in two minutes!'

No sooner does she hang up than the phone rings again. Jamie. Straight to the chase as always. ‘I'd like to thank all the members of the Academy for this overwhelming award; I'd like to thank my parents for having me, my agent, publicist, colonic irrigationist, herbalist and mentalist. I'd like to thank my boyfriend – Oh wait a minute, I forgot, I don't have one. I love you all and I know one thing for sure. You like me! You really, really like me!'

‘Jamie! You sound like Sally Field. It's not the Oscars.'

‘Do you realize that you are now living out my fantasy? Ever since I became an actor I've practised
my acceptance speech in the bathroom mirror every day. All part of the creative visualization, baby. OK, so it's happened to you instead of me, but hey! Maybe I'm next.'

‘I'm in total shock. I thought Philip was going to axe either me or the show or both.'

‘OK, honey, here's the plan. I'm going to be your speechwriter, if you win. By the time I'm finished with you, your acceptance speech will brim with boiling eloquence. Think Winston Churchill. For no extra charge, I'll also coach you in your facial expressions, just in case you lose.'

‘Facial expressions?'

‘Vitally important. You have to look dignified and gracious in defeat, but at the same time really pleased for the bitch who did win. Then, of course, if you
do
win you need a really good sound bite for the press – you know, like Emma Thompson saying she was going to keep her Oscar in the downstairs loo. The papers love that kind of thing.'

‘I don't have a downstairs loo.'

‘We may need to work on your stair technique too.'

‘My what?'

‘Think about it. You'll be in high heels and you'll have to negotiate steps, both up and down, in a gown with a train. This could take hours of rehearsal to get just right.'

‘Jamie, I'm able to walk up and down stairs. I'm not ready for a stairlift just yet.'

He's on a roll, though. ‘Getting in and out of a limo, that's another thing; you don't want a tabloid getting a shot of your knickers. Then we need to discuss your make-up …'

Oh God, I think as he rabbits on. I haven't even had a chance to tell them I'm bringing Philip Burke.

What have I let myself in for?

If I thought I was going to get any kind of effort cup in class this week, I was very much mistaken.

Star pupil is a lovely woman called Emily, who I remember from the party but haven't seen since. Turns out, get this, she got back with one of her exes, went on a reconciliation holiday with him to Tuscany and came back … engaged.

Now that's what you call a result.

‘I can't thank you enough, Ira. This is all down to you. Meeting up with my first three exes helped me to realize what I'd been doing wrong all along. All three of them said I came across as, well, a bit … intimidating and emotionally cold.'

‘Tough feedback for you to hear,' says Ira. ‘What's great is that you learned from that and turned it to your advantage, just like any good marketer would.'

‘Well, you see, by the time I contacted Nick, my fiancé' – she smirks a bit at this and flashes the ring at us all. Again – ‘I realized that I was giving off signals
that I wasn't interested, when all the time I really was. Just down to nerves on my part, really. So I made a conscious effort with Nick to relax, open up and try to let the real me come through. He said he'd missed me a lot since we broke up, then it turned out we both had last week off work, so we booked the holiday. It went brilliantly; we got on like a house on fire. Then he proposed in this really romantic little taverna on our last night. I didn't even have to think about it. I said, “Yes, please, I'll marry you tomorrow.” '

‘May I be the first to congratulate you, Emily,' says a delighted Ira. ‘I wish you and Nick a long and happy life together. You see, ladies? For all you Doubting Thomases sitting here, here's the proof. My program
works
. A round of applause for Emily, please!'

We all clap her and before I know where I am, it's my go.

‘Shhhhh,' says Mags. ‘Amelia's stories are always the funniest.'

And tonight is no exception.

I tell Ira about Tim Singed-Underwear and the awful Florence, not forgetting to leave out the bit where he wanted me to shoot a documentary series in his house.

‘So what did you learn?' asks Ira.

‘I don't know really, apart from the fact that it's unlikely any woman will get him
near
an altar so long as bloody Florence is glued to his side like Mrs
Danvers.' Then I can't resist going for a gag. They're all looking at me so expectantly. ‘But, on the plus side, as my friend Jamie says, at least now we know what happened to Baby Jane.'

Laughter from everyone in the room except Ira.

‘And who else did you contact?'

I fill her in about Mr Non-Closure. ‘I don't know what I did wrong there and now I never will. What can I do? He still hasn't returned my call. All I've learned there is either (
a
) that he doesn't even deem me worthy of a phone call or (
b
) that he's the rudest git on the planet. My friend Rachel says it's a double shame because it's always handy to know a doctor. I've always had a terrible phobia that I'd end up dying on a hospital trolley.'

‘Your friend this, your friend that, your friend the other,' Ira says. ‘You won't like the next thing I'm about to say to you, Amelia.'

‘What's that?'
Can't be much worse than some of the stuff you've said to me over the past few weeks.

‘Just a word to the wise, that's all. Beware of making other single people your intimates.'

‘Sorry?'

‘Sometimes it sounds to me as if you're substituting your friends for a partner.'

‘Like I'm
what
?'

‘I see this a lot. A group of close friends can very often fill the emotional space that's meant for a husband
or life partner. Keep your goal to the forefront of your mind, Amelia. Your friends are important but you still want to be married. Otherwise, what happens to you if your friends all get hitched and you're left standing pretty in your bridesmaid's dress holding the bouquet and going home alone?'

She moves on to the woman beside me, which is just as well.

I have an instant flashback …

THE TIME: 3 January 1996.

THE PLACE: Barberstown Castle, Straffan, Co. Kildare.

THE OCCASION: Caroline and Mike's wedding day. You can imagine the state we're all in. It's right at the very end of the night and she's just about to throw the bouquet …

Rachel and I are standing outside, freezing cold in our bridesmaids' dresses as Jamie puts the finishing touches to the graffiti he's spraying in silly string all round the sides of the wedding car: ‘Officially off the shelf and have the papers to prove it'.

It's been a very long and emotionally draining day. I've been struggling hard to fight the tears back, but now that Caroline and Mike are almost off on their way to the airport to begin a six-week-long honeymoon, it's all getting too much. The sobs start.

‘I'm so happy for them both,' I blubber. ‘I'm just so …
haaaaaaappy
.'

‘I know,' says Rachel, lighting up a fag. ‘Thank Christ it's over though. Not my idea of a wedding.'

‘No?' I don't have a tissue and have to resort to wiping my eyes on the ribbon of my bouquet.

‘Too tense, too formal, too many guests. That's Mrs Egan showing off and inviting all her golf-club buddies, but at one stage I looked around me at the dinner and apart from you guys and Christian, I knew no one. Ughhhhh.'

She shudders a bit and I know what she means. It was a huge, impersonal wedding; there must have been well over three hundred guests, none of whom any of us even vaguely recognized. It was as if Caroline's mum was trying to stage a royal wedding. No expense spared.

‘Mrs Egan will go bananas when she sees what you've done to the car,' Rachel says to Jamie. ‘So that'll be a laugh. Be sure and get a photo of the old she-devil's face, won't you?'

‘Here they come!' says Jamie as Caroline and Mike emerge from the main entrance of the castle, surrounded by hordes of well-wishers all showering them with confetti. This starts me off again.

‘I'm so happy for her!' I bawl. ‘So happy …!'

‘OK, now you're starting to look like the runner-up in a beauty pageant that Caroline just won,' says Jamie.
‘Brave face. We're almost home and dry. Then I'll buy you a nice hot whiskey at the free bar, deal?'

‘Thanks, honey,' I say, squeezing his arm. Then Rachel links my other arm as Caroline makes her way through the throng and comes over to us. You've never seen a bride like her. I know all brides look beautiful on their wedding day, but Caroline's something more. She's glowing, radiating sheer, unadulterated happiness.

The four of us hug.

‘I love you,' she says simply. ‘Don't forget me now I'm married.'

‘We love you too,' we all chorus.

It's too much for me, I start howling again. ‘Ignore me,' I wail, ‘these are happy tears.'

‘Don't mind Amelia, she's been tippling away at the sherry all day,' says Jamie. ‘You know, the way spinsters do. Ever the cliché.'

‘You take her back inside and find her a lovely man, do you hear?' Caroline says, hugging us all again. Then she doesn't so much throw her bouquet as hand it to me. ‘Here, sweetheart, this is for you,' she says. ‘You're next.'

Next thing, Mike is over to drag her away from us into the graffiti-covered car and off to India. ‘Come on, Mrs Holmes, time we were going.'

‘She isn't Mrs Holmes,' says her mother, hatchet-faced as ever. ‘She is Caroline Egan-Holmes. A
double-barrelled surname is so much more elegant, I always think.'

And they're gone.

I don't think I ever felt as desolate in my life as when the car drove down the long driveway, clanking tin cans behind it.

Rachel, Jamie and I head back inside to the warmth, still linking arms. I think we're all feeling a bit vulnerable and we certainly could do with a drink.

‘What would we do without each other?' I ask, teary-eyed.

‘Oh, come on, there's nothing wrong with you that a good fling won't put right,' says Rachel. ‘I've got Christian, Jamie's got what's-his-name—'

‘It's Kurt, actually,' says Jamie. ‘I'd be very grateful if you could put yourself to the bother of memorizing his name. I have been seeing him for almost a week now, I'll have you know. Quite serious, for me.'

‘Before this night is out, you are going to get drunk and get laid, in that order,' says Rachel. ‘We're all feeling the loss of our best friend and believe me, this is the only thing that'll fill the void.'

Which brings me neatly to ex-boyfriend number nine on the list: Gary O'Neill.

There he was, standing at the bar when we went back inside, looking dark, swarthy, tanned and right up my alley.

‘Target identified,' I say to Rachel, instantly cheering up as we head in his general direction.

‘Yummy, yummy,' she agrees. ‘How come we didn't spot him earlier?'

He saw us coming, literally. Well, how could he miss us? Our bridesmaids' dresses are Little-Bo-Peep style.

‘You should have a staff and a stuffed sheep to complete the outfit,' he says to me, giving me a not-very-subtle once-over as Rachel gives me a discreet wink and moves off to find Christian.

‘Nice suntan,' I say, standing right beside him and pretending that this is the only available spot where I can stand to order a drink.

‘Thanks,' he says, looking right at me with devilment in his dancing black eyes. ‘I'm just back from a skiing trip. Annual thing. I rent the same chalet in Klosters at this time every year. The après-ski there is just amazing.'

Already I'm impressed. I don't know anyone who skis regularly, let alone rents the same chalet every year. Jamie and I are always talking about going, but we're both novices and secretly ashamed of being overtaken by five-year-olds on the nursery slopes.