The Wedding Countdown (23 page)

‘Anyway,’ Eve says, ‘what about your horoscope today? Don’t pretend you didn’t look at it when I showed you.’

I groan. Eve’s latest fad is reading her horoscope. She’s driving Nish and me crazy. ‘Not that again. Me and every other Aries, right?’

‘Wrong,’ says Eve. ‘It’s a far more exact science than that. It said me and Da– I mean it said lots of things that have come true for me.’

I make a W sign with my hands. ‘Whatever.’

‘Yours said you were going to be with the love of your life this Saturday! He’s tall, dark and handsome, you lucky cow!’

‘
Sheesh!
Isn’t this the same paper that once claimed Freddie Starr ate hamsters?’

‘Well, maybe he did? Anyway, don’t change the subject! You’re so going to be with the man of your dreams this evening, I just know it. And about bloody time too. After all those idiots from Muslim Matrimonials you could do with some fun.’

It’s a fair point. I’ve been feeling really low since Micky and I split up, and I suppose it’s time I dusted myself off and got on with my husband hunt. Even though I know horoscopes are nothing but twaddle I feel a tiny spark of excitement.

‘Five minutes,’ says Eve, sensing I’m weakening. ‘Then I’m dragging you there even if you’re not ready.’

‘Slave driver,’ I mutter at her retreating back. Honestly. Who needs friends? All I want to do is curl up on my lovely snuggly bed and munch my way through a massive bar of Dairy Milk. Why can’t a girl be left alone to mope in peace? The last thing I want to do is make stilted small talk with strangers.

I peer into the mirror and decide the bags under my eyes could hold our entire week’s groceries. Work’s been really busy – there was lots to do following the fashion shoot – and I haven’t been sleeping well either, a fatal combination. For a minute I toy with the idea of nicking – err… I mean borrowing – some of Eve’s Touche Éclat, before remembering that the last time I did so I resembled something out of
Dawn of the Dead
.

‘Three minutes!’ hollers Eve.

This is like a task on a TV game show. Get the tired and miserable girl ready for a party in sixty seconds! If I knew why I’m feeling so down it would be a start. It’s not as though I was in love with Micky, so I shouldn’t be feeling this despondent. I slick some gloss across my lips and give myself an experimental smile, but the skin feels so taut across my cheekbones that for a moment I think it’s going to rip. Get a grip,
saheli
, I tell myself, brushing inky black mascara onto my lashes; there’s months left to find a husband. Stop stressing just because the first few haven’t worked out. There’s plenty more fish in the sea.

Only I never did like fish much.

There’s no time to straighten my hair so I pull it into a high ponytail and tease out some corkscrew curls to frame my face. Then I spritz myself with Coco
and slip my feet into my beloved Jimmy Choo sandals, guaranteed to lend glamour to any outfit. I’m just in the nick of time too because a car is hooting from the square and Raj is shrieking, ‘Come on, Rajies angels!’

Grabbing my lovingly wrapped gift for Wish, I look ruefully at my bed before closing the door.

Against my better judgment I’m going to Wish’s birthday party.

‘Phew!’ says Eve, squeezing in after me. ‘Thank Christ for that. Mills is over her pre-party blues, Nish is relatively sober and I can just about breathe in this corset.’ Leaning forward, she taps on the glass partition and the cabby’s eyes nearly pop out at the sight of that creamy bosom. ‘Let’s go!’

As the cab winds its way through the city I listen to the ebb and flow of my friends’ chatter. I can hardly believe it’s winter; those hot summer lunch hours are a thing of the past, along with the light evenings spent at pavement cafés. As if I’m not already conscious enough of the weeks zooming by, even the seasons are rubbing my nose in it.

‘Stop chewing your nails!’ Raj slaps my hand. ‘Ghastly habit!’

I look down at my fingers and sure enough I’ve gnawed away two nails on my left hand without even realising. Fan-blooming-tastic. I’ve been trying my hardest to grow Minty-style talons, only to ruin weeks of non-nail-biting Hell in about twenty thoughtless seconds.

‘This is it! Tanners Wharf,’ Eve says excitedly when the cab pulls up outside a stark-looking warehouse conversion. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’

We all pile out and while Eve deals with the fare I crick my neck and peer up at the tall red-brick building, which is right on the south bank of the Thames and painfully stylish. I don’t know a great deal about property – people on interns’ salaries are more likely to fly to the moon than get on the property ladder – but even I know this area of the docklands is ridiculously expensive. Tanners Wharf is a hot address for the most successful people in London as well as a sprinkling of actors and pop stars. This whole set-up underlines the vast gulf between the life I’ve led in Bradford and the life led by more privileged folks such as Wish and Minty. I know having money doesn’t make some people better than others but suddenly I’m very conscious of my nibbled nails, hastily thrown together outfit and Yorkshire accent.

‘That must be Wish’s flat.’ Nish points up at the penthouse where the windows blaze with light. The reflections shimmer in the dark river water and the sounds of R ’n’ B and chatter drift on the night breeze.

The party’s in full swing, the music booming and it takes a good five minutes before someone finally hears us and the door swings open. We zoom up to the twelfth floor in a groovy cage-style lift and are transported into a hothouse heaving with trendy media types and emaciated-looking fashionistas.

‘What an amazing place,’ I breathe, taking in the acres of blonde wood floor, exposed brick walls and the floor-to-ceiling window of glass at the far end of the open-plan area. ‘It looks like something out of a magazine.’

‘It is,’ Nish says. ‘
Twenty-Five Fantastic Flats
featured it last month.’

‘So?’ Eve helps herself to a glass of champagne. ‘Our place could be in that.’

‘You’d better muck it out first,’ Nish grins. ‘Unless you were planning to invite
Twenty-Five Pretty Pigsties
round?’

I feel as though I’ve wandered onto a film set. Do people really live like this, with all this empty echoey space and burnished metal? Apart from two hard-looking sofas, a monster of a plasma screen and a massive stereo, the room is totally empty. I find this rather surprising given that Wish seemed so fond of the library at Eldred House, which is the antithesis of streamlined minimalism.

Then, as though just thinking about Wish makes him appear, here’s the birthday boy himself, late to his own party and laughing at something Raj calls out when he enters. Minty is hanging onto his arm as though her life depends upon it. From what I know of her she won’t be letting go, give or take a few breaks to powder her perfect nose (in more ways than one, according to Kareena) and slick some gloss onto her lips.

‘Come and dance,’ says Nish, stretching out her hands to me.

The girls worked their way through a bottle of wine before we left Chelsea and are already in full party mood, whereas I’m minus the Dutch courage and feeling more out of place than Nellie the elephant on the Paris catwalk. There’s no way I’m dancing until everyone else is sufficiently out of it not to laugh at me. Besides, I’m weighed down with Wish’s present and I need to hand it over before I can get on with the serious business of partying.

‘In a bit,’ I promise. ‘Let me get rid of this first.’

‘Good luck,’ says Nish, wiggling her slim hips in time to NWA. ‘That’s some queue for the birthday boy.’ And off she shimmies into the crowd, laughing when she cannons into a gorgeous guy whose eyes light up as she takes his hand and pulls him into the throng.

I sigh. If only I could be as confident as Nish.

Or maybe that should be if only I could glug my way through a bottle of wine and feel as confident as Nish.

Left alone while my friends lose themselves on the dance floor, I join the throng of bodies gathered around Wish and Minty. It reminds me of the crowd at Versailles gathering to watch Marie Antoinette get dressed, only in a post-modern and ironic way, of course. Annoyingly, every time I almost make it to the front of the queue someone shoves me back again. I have no idea who these well-wishers are with their hee-haw voices, but they have the glossy look of the very wealthy and judging from all the air-kissing they are on very friendly terms with Minty. I suppose this select bunch must be her groupies. You know the type: all butterscotch tans from skiing in Klosters and Gucci belts from the shopping in exclusive boutiques.

People who are a million light years from Bradford girls like yours truly.

As I wait I try not to think about how underdressed I am in comparison to Minty, who’s breathtakingly beautiful in a green suede slip dress and thigh boots. The front and back sections of the frock are held together with what look like crisscrossed bootlaces, revealing taut tanned skin and the swell of her breasts. Aunty Bee would burst a blood vessel at such a
besharam
display of flesh, which I suppose is the point. Anyway, Minty looks amazing; her hair has been curled into long snaky ringlets and around her slender neck she has the most massive emerald choker, the exact colour of Wish’s eyes. Oh, and don’t forget the perfect nails, which are gore red today.

Feeling more and more awkward by the second, I’m on the verge of giving up the will to live, dumping my present and diving headfirst out of the window when the clones move off towards the bar, leaving me right at the front of the queue.

I clutch the gift against my chest, taken aback by how tongue-tied and exposed I suddenly feel.

‘Mills!’ cries Wish. ‘You made it!’

‘Happy birthday, Wish.’

‘Thanks, Mills! You shouldn’t have,’ he scolds, taking my present.

‘Of course I should: it’s your birthday!’

‘I bought him a Rolex,’ brags Minty, tapping the chunky gold watch on his wrist.

I laugh. ‘I’m afraid my finances don’t quite stretch to that!’

‘I’ll love whatever it is,’ Wish promises.

His fingers tug at the silver ribbon and I find I’m holding my breath. I really hope he likes it. I’m not very experienced at buying presents for the opposite sex, with the exception of Daddy-
ji
and Qas, for whom I just tend to purchase aftershave or PlayStation games. But with Wish I know he’ll value the thought that’s gone into the gift just as much as the present itself. And believe me a heck of a lot of thought has gone into this present.

A Rolex wasn’t an option so I browsed and browsed eBay, returning over and over again to the Art and Photography category. On one of these visits I stumbled across a hardcover copy of Annie Liebovitz’s
A Photographer’s Life
– and not any old copy either, but a signed first edition, which is as rare as hen’s teeth. Although I’m no expert I did pay attention to Wish over our lunches, and lately I must admit I’ve found myself paying extra attention to anything linked to photography. Any road, I ended up getting into a bidding frenzy and eventually forked out about one hundred pounds for the book, simply because I remembered Wish mentioning how much he admires Annie Liebovitz.

‘Oh! A book,’ says Minty scathingly, as the paper peels back a little to reveal a corner. ‘How very intellectual. I’ll leave you to look at it, darling! I’m going to open the bubbly before we all die of boredom.’

Minty wiggles off and for a split second Wish’s face clouds over.

‘I asked her not to buy alcohol,’ he sighs. ‘We keep a dry house here but once Minty gets an idea into her head nobody has any peace until she follows it through. When I got home yesterday half of Threshers was in my kitchen, along with Mints telling me not to be a party pooper.’

I think about Dawud and how he tried to encourage me to drink.

‘It really winds me up when people try to force their opinions on others,’ I say. ‘But maybe teetotalling is hard for some people to understand?’

‘I don’t see why.’ Wish unknots the silver ribbon. ‘I’m not a vegetarian but I wouldn’t force Nish to eat meat, would I?’

I make vague agreement noises and then there’s a charged silence. I wrack my brains for a way to fill it.

‘This is an amazing flat,’ I say, eventually. ‘I love the view.’

‘Thanks,’ Wish says, ‘but I can’t take the credit. I just live here. It belongs to Raza, a mate of mine. As you’ve probably gathered, he’s loaded.’

‘I must introduce him to Eve,’ I joke. ‘I think they’d have a lot in common.’

Wish pulls off the wrapping paper.

‘Oh Mills!’ He shakes his head when he sees the book. ‘That’s a first-edition Liebovitz! You shouldn’t have spent so much on me!’

‘It wasn’t that expensive,’ I fib. ‘Anyway, it was payday so I thought why not splurge a little?’

Wish flicks through the book, pausing over a photo of John Lennon. ‘I understand the splurge sentiment, but isn’t that meant to be on you? Like a girl shopping thing?’

‘Well normally! Just be thankful that your birthday falls near payday.’ My eyes stray to the stunning Rolex. ‘I think my gift pales into insignificance compared to some of the splurging that’s gone on today.’

Wish scowls. ‘Do you really think I’m that shallow? I’m sure that I could live without yet another Rolex or all-expenses-paid trip to the Caribbean.’

‘Yeah,’ I sigh. ‘Tell me about it. I’m sick of all the Louis Vuitton handbags and Tiffany’s jewellery.’

Wish looks appalled. ‘Is that what I sound like? You must think I’m such a spoiled brat. What I was trying to say was I’m sick of the one-upmanship. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.’

‘Hey.’ I nearly touch his arm and then withdraw my hand quickly. ‘I was only teasing! It’s your birthday so enjoy all your presents. Anyway, if money’s the root of all evil you’re totally safe with me. My finances make me angelic!’

Wish looks up and suddenly the banter evaporates.

‘You are an angel, Mills Ali,’ he murmurs, ‘and I–’

‘Wish!’ Bang on cue, Minty appears. ‘Darling! Kate’s here. She’s hoping you’d take some shots.’

Wish gives me an apologetic smile.