Slightly Foxed (27 page)

spongy morsel which she ate in her usual fashion, by folding

it in half and popping it into her mouth in one go. Her

expression was absolutely deadpan. I couldn't get any kind of

impression as to what she thought about this, other than that

the emotion it generated was making her get through

confectionary products as if there was about to be a

prohibition order on Kit Kats. "You must be very exciting."

"Excit
ed
. Yes, I suppose I am. It's a lovely ring, you've got

to admit. Leo's got taste." We looked at it jointly for a few

moments and if the weight of our gazes had been physical,

the ring would have been atomised in milliseconds.

"Forgive me, Alys." Jace grabbed me by the wrists

suddenly and pulled me towards her until my face nearly

rested on the shelf of her bosom. "But as your friend I must

be speaking. This man is not the man for you, I am thinking."

I disengaged myself gently from her grasp. "What on earth

makes you say that? He's good looking, he's got money, he's

very
nice
." And Mrs. Treadgold had spotted that I was in love.

Even if I didn't know it myself.

"Well, I would not be asking you to marry me in a letter."

She sounded contemptuous. I hadn't known Jace was quite so

opposed to Leo, but now she seemed quite vituperative. It

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was strange how this attitude of hers made me even more

determined to see his side of things.

"Florrie likes him."

"Florence is liking Eminem. You are not wanting to be

marrying
him
, are you?"

I reached for a biscuit and lackadaisically bit the chocolate

off around the sides. "Oh, Jace. Why does it have to be like

this
? It should be all lovely and happy. We should be drinking

champagne with you telling me how lucky I am to have a

man who loves me and wants to give me a better life.

Instead, here we are, ingesting a lifetime's worth of calories

in one sitting. He's hardly going to want to marry me if I turn

up with a bottom the size of a principality, is he?"

Jace snorted like a bullock and declaimed in Spanish, but

when I asked for a translation, she just shook her head. "So,

what else is news? I was hoping you would be coming to the

shop yesterday, after you are visiting your sick person."

"I was feeling a bit shaken up."

After the hospital Piers had taken me to some bar he knew

and bought me sneaky, vicious little cocktails all day and well

into the night, which tasted like a potent treacle and

weedkiller mix with umbrellas in. They all had improbable

names like
Scrubbing the Puke off the Carpet on Sunday

Morning
. I'd become incoherently drunk and probably cried a

good deal too, but my memory of that was hazy. Piers had

taken me to visit Grainger, I remembered that. I had the

teeth marks to prove it. And Piers's arm around me

reassuring me that I needn't feel guilty, that Grainger was

fine where he was for another day or so.

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Then he'd listened to my list of things I
did
need to feel

guilty about, held my head while I was sick in the toilet and

given me a huge hug when I tried to apologise. This morning

I'd had an economy-pack headache and a horrible itchy

feeling in the back of my mind when I tried to remember

getting home.

"You were gone on a day with Piers, and you are having

nothing new to be saying? I am finding myself hard to

believe." Jace waggled a finger at me. "And Piers is lovely,

lovely young man, veerrrry pretty. I am not blaming you if

you are sweeping him backwards."

I loved Jace dearly, she was my best friend and

everything, but sometimes she just plain got on my nerves.

"No. No sweeping backwards." Our eyes swivelled back to the

ring. I ate another biscuit and was sure I felt my hips expand.

At this rate they were going to need planning permission.

"So. You are going to be saying yes to the man who is

always being with his horses."

"Florence was mad keen. She'll love it in Devon. Horses on

tap."

"But you will not be marrying to please Florence, will you?

Is this what
you
want?"

I made some noncommittal remark and we left the

subject, but that night I woke in a feverish sweat.

"Charlton Hawsell Stud, Leo Forrester speaking."

It was three a.m. and Leo was answering the phone like it

was midday. "It's me."

"Alys? Good Lord." Then his voice softened. "Can't you

sleep?"

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"No. Sounds like you can't either." I tried to think how to

say what I needed to say.
Before we get married there are

things I need to tell you, things you should know about me.

"Leo, I need to talk to you."

"Yes, and I'd love to talk to you too, but, actually I've got

a mare foaling."

"Not that kind of talking."

A sudden silence. "Ah. I see. You mean serious stuff."

Another quiet space. "Well, look. We can't really do this now,

can we? Is there any chance you could come down here? We

could have some proper time together, get some proper

talking done—how does that sound?"

There was a silence across which metaphorical

tumbleweeds blew and timber wolves called. "Yes. I'd like to

do that. I'll talk to Simon, see if I can get some time off."

There was a huge relief in his voice. "So, this isn't the Final

Speech you want to give me? You haven't. Decided. Yet, that

is."

"No. I was just ringing. Oh, I don't know why." The

howling empty sound of the phone line was doing nothing to

bridge the miles. "To say that I wanted to talk."

There was a sudden shuffling sound, an echoing voice said,

"Oh, she's down," and a straining, groaning noise like a hot-

water system in distress. "Things are getting moving here, I'd

better go." Leo was already distant. "Let me know when you

can come. Sleep well." The phone clicked off to a hum in my

ear.

While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I flopped onto a

stool and considered Leo's ring. Slid it onto my left hand,

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third finger, held out my hand at arms length and twisted it

around. Made tea with the unfamiliar weight on my finger,

clinking the gold band against the side of the cup for the

sheer novelty of it.

I went to pull the ring off, but although the fit was perfect

and it had gone on without any kind of a hitch, suddenly the

metal seemed to have shrunk. I pulled and twisted, twisted

and pulled, poured washing-up liquid over my finger to such

an extent that I worried my hand would froth in the rain, but

it remained immovable. What had begun as a charming

conceit was now beginning to look actively malign.

Jace's eyes widened the following morning as I followed

her into the shop. "Alys, you have said yes!"

I put my hands behind my back. "No, I haven't. I was just

trying it on and look." I gave a couple of exploratory tugs to

reveal the problem.

"We must remove it." There was a determined expression

in her eye which I didn't like the look of. "Have you tried

washing liquids?"

"And soap. And butter, lard, motor oil, beef dripping,

Vaseline and I even rubbed half a banana on it. I smell like

the strangest restaurant in the world and dogs are finding me

incredibly attractive."

Half an hour of protracted tugging later, even Jace had to

admit defeat. She'd gone off in search of a final remedy, and

would probably come back with a meat cleaver and two packs

of Elastoplast. I began sorting shelves. There had apparently

been a small party of schoolchildren in yesterday like a

marauding band of antilibrarians.

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"Hey. How's it going?"

I snapped around so quickly that my spine made little

protesting crackly sounds. "Piers! Hello—oh."

Piers stood at the entrance to Fantasy wearing black velvet

jeans, a pure white collarless shirt and red cowboy boots. His

hair hung loose, he sported enough stubble to highlight his

cheekbones and he'd put a couple of studs in each ear. Not

that I noticed, you understand. No, my eyes were too busy

staring at the girl he was wearing down one side of his body,

standing so close they appeared to be occupying the same

shoes. "Alys, this is Sarah. Sarah, Alys."

The girl and I eyed one another for a moment, then she

clearly wrote me off as any kind of potential rival.

"Hi, Alys." She even had a sultry, attractive voice, the kind

that growls its vowels.

"Thought—well, coming past, just kinda—you know." Piers

stepped slightly away from Sarah. I could almost see daylight

between their bodies. "See, y'know, like, how things are."

"Almost a complete sentence there, well done," I said,

slightly tartly. "I'm okay, Piers, thanks. Keeping busy. Is

Florrie coming back tonight, do you know?"

Sarah snuggled against him and I watched his arm curl

around her bare midriff with a crystalline feeling somewhere

in my stomach. This must be how it feels to have gallstones, I

thought distantly, if gallstones were hard and green and

comprised mostly of jealousy that I would never again be that

slim or have that flat a stomach.

"Er, sorry Alys, I dunno. I guess I'll not be over at the

house tonight, we're"—he threw a glance at Sarah, who

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tossed her predictable blonde hair and giggled—"we're going

to a movie."

There was a crushing, squeezing sensation in the region of

my heart and I felt slightly breathless. "That's nice," I said,

with an effort. "Enjoy." But she was so
thin,
it would be like

having sex with a pipe cleaner.

"Uh, yeah."

Why weren't they
going
? I pointedly turned back to my

books but had to face them once again when I moved a Frank

Herbert from one side to another.

"So. You're from Manchester?" I said to Sarah, who was

still leaning against Piers whilst he leafed through a Neil

Gaiman. His head flicked up.

"No, I'm from Durham. I'm in York on a placement, got

another six weeks to go."

I looked at Piers who shrugged.

"Are you going to buy it or read it here?" I indicated the

book. "Only, it's quite a long story and I notice you didn't

bring sandwiches."

Piers was focussed on my hand. "You—you've said
yes
?"

"Um." I snatched my arm back and folded it behind me.

"Oh, Jesus, no. God, Alys, tell me you're kidding. I mean—

" He seemed to grasp around for something to say. "What

about—Grainger? Yeah, how's he gonna feel if you go

shooting off to Devon? Poor guy, he'll be—yeah, he'll be

wrecked
."

I opened my mouth but no explanations came out and a

sense of annoyance crept in. Here he was, flaunting this
stick
,

who had less boobs than your average
bloke
, and he was

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getting uptight with
me
about
my
choices? "Look, if it's any of

your business I'm still thinking about it."

Jacinta chose that moment to come bowling through the

door clutching a Brown's bag. "Alys. I am saluting you!"

"What?"

"I have the salution to the problem with your finger." She

noticed Piers and smiled. "Hello, lovely person."

Piers didn't introduce Sarah, I noticed, but said something

I didn't catch. Jace moved smoothly into her native tongue

and the two of them undertoned Spanish at each other for a

few moments, Piers getting louder and quite emphatic.

Finally, Jace muttered something which sounded like
que

puedo hacer
, shrugged, causing this morning's blouse of

ruffles and flounces to cascade across her frontispiece like

tidal waves. Piers turned to go.

"Catch ya later." He headed for the door with Sarah

stapled to his side trying to match his stride. He didn't turn

back and pulled the door closed behind him so firmly that the

bell fell off its hook.

Jace stared after him with a faint frown furrowing her

smooth skin. "This is being most strange."

"Oh, that was Sarah. Which is odd, because he distinctly

told me she was from Manchester, and
she
told me she's from

Durham."

"This is not what I mean. Piers is telling me he is not

seeing womans at the moment. He has big thinking to do."

"Apparently it's taken them a while to get it together,

maybe that's why." I had rarely seen a woman look so
much

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like a girlfriend. Well, less a girlfriend, more a skin graft that

talks.

"Perhaps. Now, do you wish to know how we are saluting