Venus Envy (27 page)

Oh, spare me. I wanted to start p!aying an invisible violin. The bloody man had proposed, hadn’t he, and the fact was, Ellen, the unmarriageable lump who was as dull as ditch water, was about to marry a millionaire, and my list of exes would have been enough to fill two full Oprab shows. Ellen was going to be a society wife and gracing the pages of Tatler next to Dolores Mahon and the rest of them downstairs.

‘I expect he likes your sense of humour,’ I lied.

‘Oh, do you think so?’ Ellen asked, pathetically eagerly.

I told her yes with the same fervour I used to tell her that puppy-fat was a stage she’d grow out of. ‘You two have probably had some brilliant laughs,’ I said

insincerely. Like maybe you both looked in the mirror. She brightened. ‘We have. We have excellent talks.’ ‘And you probably have great plans for your future careers, that sort of thing,’ I shouted over the hiss of the shower attachment. To my dismay, Ellen followed me into the bathroom and lowered the loo seat to sit on while I got under the water.

‘His future career. Obviously I’m not going to have ‘one,’ she beamed. ‘I’m going to stay home and have lots of wonderful babies.’

Well hey, at least nobody’ll notice you’re pregnant, I thought, maddened. She had just said the single thing most likely to send me nuts. Obviously? Obviously? Was Ellen part of a giant set-up by my mother, to make me feel utterly inadequate as a female? Mother thinks that despite all equal-rights legislation - which she and Dad still call ‘Women’s Lib’ - girls who ‘have to work’ are missing out on their oestrogen destiny.

‘You’re so lucky, not having a boyfriend. You can

still sow your “wild oats”.’ Ellen laughed at that idea. ‘What does Charlie think of you giving up work?’ ‘He’s all for it, of course. And so’s Tom.’

‘Is he indeed,’ I said tightly, scrubbing Pantene into my locks.

‘He says he thinks babies and looking after Charlie will be a fulltime job, and he thinks I’ll be totally fulfilled.’

I might have known. Tom was such a sexist pig, listen to that. Oh man, he and Gail would get on beautifully, all she would want to do would be to take his credit card and start shopping. She would neyer try

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and make it as an artist. Or bother about having an independent job of her own. No, girls like Linda and Gail were perfect for Tom. Looking back, I must have misinterpreted it. Why would a guy like him ever ask out a girl like me?

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I towelled myself off as fast as I could. Anything to get away from Ellen and her constant bleating. Charlie, babies, home decoration … some people apparently find carpets and curtains utterly fascinating.

‘I was asking Tom, should we go for a Regency

stripe on the sofas, or French chintz, or should we pick , one of the William Morris prints? And do you know

what he said?’

‘ “That’s something for you girls to choose”?’ ‘Exactly!’ Ellen beamed. ‘How did you know?’

‘A wild guess. Look, Ellen, I’ll be down in ten minutes, OK?’

.’Sure. You’re such a brick, Alex,’ Ellen said, clumping mercifully out of the door.

I pulled on my 5os and a tiny Joseph sweater and padded along the corridor to Gail’s room. The door was shut so I pushed it wide open.

Gail was standing at the window, her mouth tilted open, looking up doe-eyed at Tom Drummond, who had both hands on her shoulders.

I froze. I couldn’t believe it. I know I’d been going on about it, but seeing him and her like this - it was a shock, and it felt all wrong, and I suddenly realised wretchedly that a wave of jealousy was crashing

through my stomach. Jealousy of my own sister. ‘Excuse me,’ I gasped.

Tom slowly lifted his hands away-from Gail. ‘Wait, Alex, we need to talk.’

I wanted to come back with some dry, but not bitter,

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busy - er …’

I shut the door on them like I was clashing shut the gates of hell. Oh man, if Tom was going to start kissing Gail, I’m sorry but I didn’t want to be around to see it.

Downstairs Ellen was tucking into a huge plate of bacon and eggs, with fried toast on the side. I wondered if I could get a photo of her somewhere to stick on my fridge as a deterrent.

‘Eat up, darling, you’ll need all your strength,’ Mrs Jones advised. Like mother, like daughter, she was racing through the Cumberland sausages herself. ‘Oh, good morning, Alex. Ready to be the maid of honour? I expect y#u’ve been a bridesmaid lots of times before.’

‘At least three times,’ I said, thinking of various childhood disasters.

‘Oooh dear,’ pursed Mrs Drummond with her cat’s arse mouth, ‘then you shouldn’t really do Ellen: you know it’s four times a bridesmaid, never a bride. Although I gather you’re not very likely to be a bride any time soon, are you?’

‘Huh,’ I grunted. Who did she gather that from? Did she have a hotline to my mother? Or had Tom just been shooting his mouth off?

‘You were engaged to Justin Roberts, weren’t you? But then Tom told me you dumped him, almost at the altar.’

I looked down at my cornflakes. I didn’t want to feel grateful to Tom, thank you very much. Justin had dumped me fifty foot underground like I was nuclear waste, but I had to thank God the Merciless Marrieds didn’t know about it.

‘You have to be careful, Alexandra,’ cried MrsJones gaily. ‘Only the really sparkling beauties get several

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proposals. The rest of you girls just wind up gathering dust.’

‘I’m gathering paycheques at the moment,’ I said firmly.

Gillian Loman sniggered. ‘As an Administrative Resource.’

‘Human Resources Administrator. It’s a start, it means I’m independent. I’d hate to have to rely on a

man to pick up my bills,’ I told the Merciless Marrieds. ‘Not to worry,’ said Melissa snidely.

‘You should take a tip from Gail. She wants to get married as soon as possible. After all, I never heard a rsum read out at a funeral,’ Mrs Jones lectured me.

‘Yes, I mean, what do you see on gravestones? Wife of such-and-such, daughter of so-and-so, mum of…’ Penny Radcliffe bored on, as her husband grinned approvingly.

‘I get the idea,’ I said quickly.

Oh my God, I was under siege from the Stepford Wives. I thought of Wonder Wgman, taking off her glasses and twirling around and then deflecting bullets with her funky bracelets. I wanted to be Wonder Woman. It would also give me the advantage of being unrecognisable, even though I would look exactly the

same, except wearing a swimsuit.

And I could fly out of there.

‘What I mean is, it’s marriage that matters. Marriage and family,’ said Penny in saintly Women’s Institute way.

‘I don’t know,’ I protested, ‘William Shakespeare isn’t best remembered as the father of Judith.’

‘Yes, well,’ Seamus chimed in, with a scornful look, ‘you’re not exactly William Shakespeare, are you?’

Mrs Drummond, wearing a royal blue cashmere jumper and small tartan skirt, appeared at the doorway, her tiny frame weighed down by a sea of magenta.

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‘Alex! Come and try on your gownl’ she said. ‘It’s very different,’ Mrs Jones said enthusiastically. ‘It’s certainly striking,’ Mrs Drummond agreed. ‘Bright colours are the in thing this autumn,’ Dolores Mahon told me sympathetically. I think Dolores had worked out that I hated Seamus almost as much as she did, with the added bonus .that, unlike her, I didn’t sort of love him while I was at it.

Anyway, if she was minded to have her revenge, God was smiling on her now. The dress was worse even than I remembered it. The violent magenta would give an acid house fan a migraine, and there were enough ruffles for a whole series of Blackadder. Not to mention the enormous velvet bow, so kindly drawing attention to my arse. And lest we forget, could my clashing hair colour take a bow, and my skin that looked pasty against this neon horror, and my plump shoulders with little bits of flesh gathering at the armpit because the bodice didn’t fit, and my tits looking as flat as Ellen’s feet.

Maybe I could keep it. I could go as an Ugly Sister to the next fancy dress ball. Or use it as my Halloween costume. Or audition for the Rocky Horror Show. Or—

‘Nobody’s going to miss you in that, Alexandra,’ said Melissa sweetly, but I could tell she was just dying to get away with the .other girls and shriek with laughter.

My reflection stared back at me. I looked like an erect penis. With ruffles.

Seamus Mahon popped his head around the door. ‘Very enticing,’ he mocked, making faces like he wanted to puke up. ‘Perhaps there’ll be photos in a magazine.’

‘Oh yes, we’ve asked tons of press,’ Mrs Jones said smugly. ‘But off you go, Seamus, no men are allowed to see the bride.’

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‘Seamus should be fine, then,’ I insisted, and he gave me a look of pure loathing. Man, I had trouble when we went back to work. But sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as Dad would tell us on Sunday after a few glasses of vintage port.

Melissa shut the door, trilling and cooing as Eilen opened her door and emerged.

She was wearing the most incredible dress. White silk and lace, tinted by age to the-mellowest gold, with stiff brocade sleeves that hid the plumpness of her

. arms. The bodice must have been Victorian; it was a corset, a proper, old-fashioned corset that had laced tightly at the back. It didn’t transform Ellen into Amber Valetta, but it hid her fatness and made her

‘ simply statuesque. The most glorious bosom spilled out, creamy and inviting, from the top of her heart shaped neckline. A tiny white rose in the centre only drew the eye to the chasm in between Twin Peaks there. Her generous bottom and thighs were nowhere to be seen under the billowing crinoline-style skirt, decorated with stitching so delicate it looked like the mice from The Tailor of Gloucester had done it.

‘Amazing, darling,’ sighed Mrs Jones and Mrs Drummond together.

Ellen blushed a pretty pink and attempted a heavy twirl in the mirror. She still had the grace of a drunk hippo, but she certainly did look good.

‘And Tom’s got people coming over to do my face and hair,’ she said. ‘Oh Alex, how pretty you look, just like a flower.’

‘The lesser-spotted stinkwort,’ Gillian said in a loud whisper, at which the coven giggled.

Ellen and I regarded our reflections. Ellen looked like Juno, a huge Roman goddess, a Titian beauty. And I looked like neon frilly puke. Ellen’s waist now looked defined and imposing. Mine looked nonexistent - everything was huge. Ellen’s ass had. disap

peared under clever hoops of bone. Mine had a huge bow advertising its presence.

There was no denying it. I actually looked worse than Ellen Jones. Much worse.

‘Can I borrow the bridesmaid for a minute?’ Gail twittered, bouncing into the room like Bambi, in one of her horrible natural knits. ‘Great breakfast, Mrs D, thanks, I loved the organic unsweetened muesli. So much better than that nasty commercial poison my flatmates eat.’

I would have made a loud slurping noise here, but I supposed that was too immature.

‘What muesli’s that, dear?’ Mrs Drummond asked blankly. ‘We have Alpen in the pantry.’

‘No,’ Gail looked horrified at the thought of refined sugar, ‘I Ineant the marvellous, natural brand in the grey stone jar.’

Gillian Loman gave a nasty cackle.

‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Drummond said faintly, ‘you haven’t eaten the goats’ feed, have you?’

Gail looked like she wanted to heave. Normally this would be grand news but I saw Melissa and co. starting to snigger, so I bundled her out of the room. I mean, only I am allowed to laugh at Gail’s pretentious diet. They just want to have a go at the common Wilde girls, and I’m not having that, even if Gail does bore me to tears about essential oil aromatherapy burners for the 1oo every month.

‘Goats’ feed?’ Gail sputtered.

‘Never mind about that, what is it?’ I demanded. Keep her talking. Anything to take the focus off the Frill of a Lifetime here.

‘I think - oh, Alex, I think we should tell Snowy to go home,’ Gail started whining.

‘You’ve been talking to Tom.’

‘Yes, and he seems very insistent,’ Gail said smugly.

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She couldn’t help but relish Tom hitting on her. It was what she had always wanted.

‘Gail! No way. How can you say that? She’s your friend. Tom is just being a crashing snob.’

‘Well, it is his house,’ said Gail virtuously, ‘and I think we should do as he asks.’

‘I’m not going to help Tom Drummond sling Snowy out,’ I told her, digging my heels in. The irony being that I couldn’t stand the bitch. But just to spite Tom, I would insist she stayed. ‘Did he give you a decent reason?’

‘Well. He said he had a very good reason indeed,’

Gail said importantly.

‘And what was it?’

‘He said he couldn’t tell me. But that she was a dangerous person to have around the house.’

‘If Charlie Drummond has romantic amnesia, that’s his problem,’ I snapped.

‘I think we should listen to Tom.’

‘Just because you fancy him,’ I said bitterly. “And what’s wrong with that? He’s quite dreamy actually. So charming. Such a gentleman,’ Gail blithered. ‘So rich.’

‘What? You know I don’t care about material things. Anyway, Tommy says Snowy isn’t a fit person for us to have as a friend and we should drop her immediately.’

‘Oh?’ My voice was dangerously cold coming out of the hot-pink nightmare. ‘And why is that? Because his brother can’t keep his hands off her? Because she’s a bit of a flirt? Sure, women are damned to hell for that sort of thing in Tom Drummond’s book. Now he actually thinks he can tell me who to have as a friend?’

‘Well.’ Gail folded her stick-insect arms petulantly. ‘I’m going to take his advice. You’ll have to t.ake me

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back in your car. I’m going to tell Snowy I don’t want to see her any more.’

I gaped at her. Even for Gail, this took the biscuit. It had been Snowy this, Snowy that, when the cow moved in: Snowy was bribing my friends away from me with her make-up and her tickets, and Gail was doing all the cheerleading. Gail was first in line to go