Jenny Colgan 3-Book Collection: Amanda’s Wedding, Do You Remember the First Time?, Looking For Andrew McCarthy. Jenny Colgan
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‘Did you phone him?’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
‘More than once?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many times?’ I asked, not wanting to know the answer.
‘Oh, well … I pretty much just –’
‘– pressed the redial button all night?’ I interrupted.
She nodded mutely.
‘Pfff. Bad news. How long have you two been together.’
‘Six weeks.’
I heard Psycho music in my head.
‘Oh … OK.’
I settled back into the potted plant. This story was obviously a long one.
It was, but nothing original. After being dumped by her fiancé well into plate-planning stage, she had clung on to any passing flotsam ever since. James was a stockbroker and sounded perfectly dull and nice and nothing to worry about.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ I said. ‘He sounds perfectly … nice. And at least he’s rich.’
‘I know.’ She pouted a little. ‘When we get married I think we could get one of those nice houses in Clapham … if he ever speaks to me again.’
Hang on there, schizo girl!
‘He doesn’t know you’re getting married, does he?’
‘No.’
‘Then for God’s sake, Janie, leave him alone. He’s going to do what he’s going to do anyway, whether you’re crying about it or not.’
She looked as if she was about to cry again.
‘Come on. Stop it. You know it’s true. Leave him alone. He sounds nice and you’re going to drive him away.’
She sniffed in a final kind of a way and looked up at me.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I just get a bit daft.’
‘Huh! Don’t worry about that,’ I said heartily, trying to get my hand round to where my sandwich was.
‘What about you?’ she said suddenly. ‘How’s your love life?’
‘Oh …’ I raised my eyebrows quizzically. ‘It’s good. It’s fine. No, really, I mean, it’s OK, most of the time … Well, ha ha, you know how it is.’
‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘Any time you want to talk about it, just let me know.’
Hang on, I thought. Wasn’t this … I mean …
‘Righty-ho!’ I said. (I never say ‘Righty-ho.’)
I looked out through the atrium into the rain.
‘Hula Hoop?’
‘Thanks,’ said Janie, and took four.
Alex phoned that night.
‘Hey, pumpkin.’
‘Hey yourself.’
‘What are you up to?’
‘Oh, you know, just hanging around the house in my black, silky, lacy underwear – oh, it’s so warm! I must unfasten my negligée.’
‘Yeah yeah yeah.’
‘Oh! Is that the door? Goodness me, hello, plumber. Have you come to … clean out my pipes?’
‘Mel, shut up for just one second.’
‘OK … big boy.’
‘Listen, ehm, Charlie really wants to come to this do on Saturday night.’
‘No he doesn’t. He said it sounded complete crap.’
‘Well, when I got back on Sunday he said he really wanted to come, and could I ask you.’
‘God, what’s the matter with the boy, is he a Johnny No-Mates? Is this the first party he’s ever been invited to? Hang on, no, I mean, is this the latest party he hasn’t been invited to?’
‘No, I don’t know what it is. He just keeps pestering me, and I said I’d ring you, that’s all.’
‘Ah ha ho – I think I know.’
‘What? What is it?’
‘I’m not telling you. And no, he can’t. He’s annoying.’
‘Oh, go on, Mel – please. Please. For a mate.’
‘A mate? Who, you?’
‘Well, you know what I mean.’
‘You’re my mate?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Your soul mate. Now, please, please can you get Charlie an invite?’
‘Alex, is he going to chuck you out if you don’t wangle him into this party?’
‘Ehmm … yes?’
‘Good. No, he definitely can’t come.’
‘I’ll … do the washing-up.’
‘I … probably wouldn’t notice.’
‘Oh, go on, Mel. It’ll be a laugh.’
I sighed. ‘Fine, fine, if it means that much to you.’
‘Fantastic.’ His voice turned curious. ‘Why does he want to come so much then?’
Ha! I don’t think Alex really needed to know that. Fran had obviously commenced the process.
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Well …’ I said. Then inspiration struck. ‘Apparently, Charlie’s never seen a stripper before and there apparently … might … be one.’
‘No, really? I’ve never seen one either.’
‘Good God, what is the public school system coming to these days? Anyway, good. I’m glad you’re happy. I’ll see you on Saturday … unless you feel like popping round now …?’
‘Jeez, Mel, it’s two hours away.’
‘Oh! So it is. Saturday, then.’
‘Bye, pumpkin.’
‘Bye, sweetpea.’
I phoned Fraser to check the rapidly extending guest list was going to be all right. Angus had already OK’d our presence by threatening to withhold stripper privileges if we weren’t granted entrance, so at least Fran and I were in the clear. Amanda answered.
‘Oh, hi,’ I said coolly. I was prepared for this. ‘Is Fraser there?’ Hee hee hee.
‘Is that you, Mel, darling?’
Uh-oh: what was this, scary reverse psychology? Maybe she was planning on turning my legs into the legs of a chicken.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry about the other day, darling. Pre-wedding tension and all that.’
I didn’t know what to say. She seemed to have had pre-wedding tension for the last twenty-six years.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I mumbled.
‘Darling, I’d love you to come to my hen party. Honestly.’
‘But …’
‘No, no “but”s, darling. Please, do come.’
‘What about Fran?’ I said loyally. Also I’d be too