Take Mum Out (33 page)

‘Aren’t you going to say hi?’ Viv asks, eyes wide.

‘Er, not sure, Viv. It all ended a bit coolly when he dropped me off …’

‘But you’ll
always
have Paris,’ Ingrid sniggers into my ear.

‘He’s cute though,’ Viv observes, ‘in that louche, rather knackered kind of way. Like, if he could get it together to do it, the sex would actually be great.’

‘Isn’t he a bit old for you, though, Viv?’ Ingrid teases.

‘He’s seen us,’ Viv hisses, arranging her face into a broad smile as he grins and waves, then hops off his stool and murmurs something to his companion, before making his way over.

‘He looks a bit pissed,’ Ingrid observes.

‘Hang onto your nibbles,’ Kirsty whispers, shoulders bobbing with mirth, ‘before he tries to stuff them in his pocket.’

Ingrid hoots with laughter and places her hands over the bowls with fingers outstretched, as if guarding them.

‘
What’s
in my pocket?’ Charlie is right up at our table now, grinning squiffily and more than a little sweaty around the gills.

‘Just a joke,’ Ingrid says quickly.

He peers at her, then turns to me. ‘This is Charlie,’ I say, trying to keep a straight face. ‘Charlie, this is Viv and Kirsty, and you’ve already met Ingrid …’

‘Hi,’ everyone says as he wobbles in front of us.

‘We had fun in Paris, didn’t we, Alice?’ he drawls.

‘Er, yes,’ I say with a smile.

He smirks. ‘I think I maybe drank a bit too much …’

‘It’s okay,’ I say truthfully, ‘it was still great.’

‘We could go again,’ he blurts out, looking around as if for a vacant chair to drag to our table.

‘Um … probably not,’ I say pleasantly, ‘but thanks anyway, Charlie.’

His bleary gaze sweeps over the four of us. ‘So, just a few drinks tonight, is it?’ I swear he glances covetously at our bowl of rice crackers, and nearly splutter with laughter.

‘It’s Alice’s fortieth,’ Ingrid explains.

‘Oh, you mentioned that was coming up.’ He bobs down to plant a wet-lipped kiss on my cheek. ‘Happy birthday! Let me get you another cocktail. I’ll get you
all
one. What are you all having?’

‘It’s fine,’ I say quickly, knowing with absolute certainty that I don’t want Charlie, or his curtain-haired friend – who is making his way over to join us – tagging on to our night.

‘Go on, I wanna buy all you lovely girls a drink – Andy, find out what they want …’

His friend grins, and it feels so awkward with them towering over us, with nowhere to sit, that I’m relieved when Ingrid cuts in, ‘It’s lovely of you to offer but we’re actually going on somewhere else.’

‘Are we?’ Viv asks, frowning. ‘Already?’

‘Yes,’ Ingrid says, giving her a significant look. ‘It’s
time
.’

‘Time?’ I repeat, laughing. ‘Time for what?’

‘What’s it time for?’ Charlie slurs.

‘Nothing,’ Kirsty says quickly.

‘Time for another drink!’ Charlie bellows. I smile tightly and glance around at my friends, all of whom are up on their feet now.

‘We’ll have your table then,’ he announces.

‘Well, nice to see you again,’ I say.

He beams unsteadily. ‘You too. And have a lovely rest-of-birthday.’

‘Thanks,’ I say brightly as Viv grabs my arm and virtually manhandles me out of the bar.

This is
very
weird. The mood has changed to one of urgency as everyone hurries upstairs.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask Ingrid, who is trotting ahead and seems to be in charge of the proceedings.

‘You’ll see,’ she calls back.

‘Let’s go to a pub,’ I suggest. ‘That cocktail’s whooshed straight to my head and it was really hot down there. I fancy a nice cold beer before our sushi.’

‘I know a place we can go,’ she says, stopping as we reach the hotel foyer.

‘Where?’ I ask.

Ingrid grins, and I detect her exchanging a confusing array of glances and eyebrow raises with Kirsty and Viv. ‘Let’s see what’s going on through here,’ she says, setting off at a trot with the rest of us scurrying behind her. We are heading not to the exit but in the opposite direction, along a corridor illuminated with mini versions of the bunches-of-grapes chandeliers.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask. ‘To a
room
?’

‘Not quite,’ Ingrid says with a throaty laugh.

‘Well, sort of,’ Kirsty adds.

‘A
sort-of
room?’ I’m starting to feel unsure about this. Since the boys were so sweet this morning, I’d like to spend a bit of time with them before they go to bed. They’ll still be up, hopefully, if I’m home by eleven. While I don’t want to be a killjoy, it’s occurred to me that Logan and I have very little time left.

‘Here we are,’ Ingrid announces as we stop at a polished wooden door. On the door is a brass sign which reads F
LEMING
S
UITE
, and I can hear a babble of voices behind it.

‘What’s this?’ I stare at Ingrid.

She grins and pushes the door open. And – oh, my lord. It’s a room, yes – but one full of people. As my mouth falls open, and my eyes scan the sea of faces all turned towards me, it dawns on me what tonight is really all about.

The first person I see is Jacqui and a whole bunch of teachers from school. They all hug me, and when I come up for air I see all my old friends from toddler group, who I rarely have a chance to hook up with these days.

‘How did you all know?’ I exclaim. ‘Who tracked you all down?’

‘Clemmie,’ announces the voice behind me, and I spin round to see Logan, Fergus and Blake all sniggering away.

‘But I left you at home! You were going to order pizzas … what are you all
doing
here?’

‘I heard the food here was a better standard,’ Logan says with a smirk.

Laughing now, I look around at all the people in this beautiful room. ‘I can hardly believe this. I didn’t even
suspect
.’ Red and silver helium-filled balloons hover at the ceiling, and there’s an enormous hand-painted banner which says HAPPY 40
TH
ALICE pinned along a wall. The boys have, very sweetly, all made an effort – Logan is wearing his favourite top and skinny jeans, while Fergus is modelling Topman’s finest, and they’re liberally doused in Tommy Hilfiger and Joop!. Clemmie is here, grabbing me for a bone-crushing hug, and without warning my eyes fill with tears.

‘Did you really organise all this?’ I ask, wiping my eyes with a hand.

She nods, grinning. ‘Guilty as charged – but Ingrid, Viv and Kirsty put their oar in too.’

‘But how did you manage to contact everyone?’

‘Well, the boys helped, of course … it just took a bit of detection work.’

‘Wow.’ I grin at her. ‘You
are
an organisational genius.’

‘It is my job, sweetheart. Anyway, I know you wanted to keep it low-key, so I hope you’re not horrified.’

‘Of course I’m not,’ I say as someone presses a glass of champagne into my hands, and I’m festooned with cards and presents and more hugs.

And it’s a fantastic party. I really
hadn’t
wanted one; the thought of organising anything had been overwhelming and, as Logan would testify, our flat isn’t really the place for a party. I’d also wondered whether my various groups of friends would get along, or if they’d curdle, like my custard. Which, of course, they haven’t. Clemmie and Kirsty are locked in conversation with Jacqui, whose goddess-like teenage daughter Kayla has just turned up, and the teachers are laughing raucously with my toddler-group friends. I glance around for a moment, drinking it all in; the music and laughter and everyone dressed up to the nines. Kirsty’s husband Dan has arrived, and I go over to say hello.

‘You look fantastic,’ he says.

I glance down at my dress, which now feels a little plain, considering the setting. ‘Thanks, but if I’d known it was going to be this sort of night, I’d have made more of an effort.’ While he’s a handsome man with striking blue eyes, there’s something rather brittle about him, as if, wherever he might find himself, he would prefer to be somewhere else. His detached gaze skims the dance floor, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Kirsty as she joins us. ‘I’m glad you could come, Dan,’ I add. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages.’

‘That’s because Kirsty won’t ever get a babysitter,’ he remarks.

She frowns at him, then rearranges her features into a determined smile. ‘Of course I will, Dan. It’s just, they can be quite a handful, you know …’

‘Oh, I’m aware of that,’ he says with a bitter laugh, as if it’s all her fault.

Her jaw tightens. ‘And we’ve got one tonight, haven’t we?’ she goes on. ‘I mean, we’re
out
,
in case you hadn’t noticed. And you’re being such fun, charming company that we must make the effort to do it more often …’ Clearly taken aback by her sarcasm, Dan glowers at his wife, then mutters something about being hungry – an impressive buffet has been set out – and marches off. ‘Sorry about him,’ Kirsty whispers.

‘You don’t have to apologise. Is everything all right, though? He seems so … so
angry
about something.’

She grimaces. ‘Yeah – about
life
.’

‘I take it he’s not happy about the kids starting at school?’

She takes a huge swig of wine. ‘You could say that. Anyway, never mind him. Hasn’t Clemmie done a brilliant job? And your boys, keeping it secret …’

‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’ I glance over at Ingrid, whose husband Sean has also appeared and is chatting easily to everyone. Looking incredibly smart in a charcoal suit, he makes his way over and kisses my cheek.

‘Some party,’ he says, grinning. ‘Never realised you were so popular, Alice.’

‘The thing is,’ I laugh, ‘I have no idea who half these people are.’

‘Gatecrashers,’ he says darkly. ‘Like them – those young people lurking over there. Who the hell are they?’ The music is being cranked up; Logan and Blake appear to be in charge, and are thankfully catering for grown-up tastes, and not just those born in the late nineties.

‘No idea,’ I reply. ‘They look dodgy, though.’

‘Better keep an eye out in case they get out of order … anyway, ready for another drink?’

‘Not yet, trying to pace myself.’ He laughs and drifts off to where a bar has been set up, while I hone in on the food. That’s another thing about turning forty: you absolutely have to eat. There is a dazzling array of dainty canapés, plus – oddly – tiny meringue kisses dotted between the plates.

‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Clemmie says, appearing at my side.

‘It really is. And those meringues …’

‘The hotel didn’t do those. Blake and Logan made them – I think they had some leftover mixture from making your cake, or whatever you’d call that amazing construction …’

‘They made these?’ I marvel. ‘God. It’s almost too much, you know? Like the old Logan has been whisked away and replaced with an incredibly domesticated alien …’

‘An alien with a whisk,’ she giggles. ‘I know. Aren’t they great boys? Mind you, Blake
is
incredibly good around the house …’

I’m about to agree when someone catches my eye – a tall, handsome Frenchman, with neatly cropped hair, wearing a pale linen shirt and dark jeans, a hint of stubble adding to his attractiveness.

‘Look who’s here,’ Clemmie hisses, almost choking on a filo parcel.

‘Pascal,’ I murmur. ‘What’s
he
doing here?’

She shrugs, eyes wide and glinting mischievously. ‘No idea.’

‘Did he do the food?’

‘No, the hotel took care of all that.’

‘You invited him, though,’ I say, grinning. ‘Clemmie, you’re
so
naughty. I’ve had Kirsty, Ingrid and Viv all trying to set me up with men, and now you’re at it too—’

‘I didn’t! I swear, it was nothing to do with me.’ I grin, trying to read her expression, quickly brushing a hand over my mouth to check for canapé crumbs. ‘He looks a little lost, though,’ she adds. ‘Over you go to say hi.’

Emboldened now, I make my way towards him, my heart quickening as his face breaks into a grin.

‘Alice, hi. Happy birthday.’ He kisses both cheeks, and everything goes a little swimmy, and not solely due to the orangey cocktail and a couple of glasses of champagne.

‘How did you know?’ I ask.

He laughs and taps the side of his nose. ‘I know what goes on.’

I smile, silently thanking Clemmie for her meddling. ‘Well, I’m delighted you’re here. Let me get you a drink—’

‘No, I’ll get you one, what would you like?’

‘Wine please …’ He heads for the bar, reappearing at my side moments later. I don’t know if it’s the setting, and the fact that we’re not in his shop, but I can sense something different between us. A sort of …
charge
of some kind. My heart is racing as we fall into conversation – about how he landed in Scotland ten years ago, and how his girlfriend and their daughter couldn’t settle here and went back to France.

‘I’d opened a shop,’ he says. ‘Not the one I have now but smaller, not very successful – but I had high hopes for it. But it wasn’t what Madeleine wanted …’ He shrugs. ‘We sort of drifted. We’re still friends, though. It’s okay.’

I keep glancing at him, drawn to his face. Slightly feline dark eyes, strong brows and very kissable lips. While I could appreciate his attractiveness in the shop, when he was all busy and brisk, it’s only now that I’m fully appreciating his finer qualities … maybe I’m a little drunker than I realise. ‘So how old’s your daughter?’ I ask.

‘Almost sixteen,’ he says as Kayla drifts past – she has her mother Jacqui’s fine, rangy build, and a mane of tumbling red curls. Pascal nods towards her. ‘Your daughter?’

‘No – I just have two boys, Logan and Fergus.’ I nod towards them, noting with interest that Logan and Kayla are now deep in conversation.

‘Oh, yes, I’ve met them. Is that your son’s girlfriend?’ He glances towards Logan and Kayla.

‘Wrong again,’ I say, laughing. ‘They’ve actually never met before. For all his bluster, Logan’s pretty shy around girls. I mean, there are girl mates from school, but you know …’

‘He’s still young.’

I smile as our eyes meet. ‘Yeah.’