The Other Woman(8)

‘Ooh, you look nice,’ remarked Pippa.

I smoothed down the front of my body-con dress, even though there was nothing to smooth down. ‘You think?’

I’d spent the best part of an hour choosing what to wear, agonizing between the casualness of a pretty blouse and white jeans, and the more formal look of a structured dress. I didn’t want to look like I’d tried too hard, but not making enough effort was probably worse, so the navy dress won out. The crêpe cinched in at my waist, out again over my hips and fell just below the knee. There was just the tiniest amount of cleavage showing, and the fabric shaped my breasts perfectly. As my mother would say, ‘That dress hangs in all the right places.’

‘Nervous?’ asked Pippa.

‘I’m all right, actually,’ I lied. She didn’t need to know that a further hour had been spent on blow-drying my hair, putting it up, then down, then up again. It was longer than it had been in quite a while, falling just below my shoulders, and I’d had a few highlights pulled through my natural auburn colour to give it a lift. I’d settled on pinning it up, and had coaxed a couple of loose curls to fall either side of my face to soften the look. The French manicure I’d had done a couple of days before was holding up well, and I’d kept my make-up light and natural. Effortlessly chic was the image I was going for – I was, after all, only meeting my boyfriend’s mother – but, in reality, I’d done less preparation for a good friend’s wedding.

‘Good luck,’ she called out as I reached the front door. ‘She’s going to love you.’

I wished that I shared her confidence.

I caught sight of Adam watching me as I walked down the path, with a bouquet in my hand, and emphasized my strut. ‘Whoa, you look gorgeous,’ he said, as I got in and reached over to give him a kiss. It went on a little longer than we’d expected and I lambasted him for ruining my lipstick.

‘Yeah, you might need to reapply that,’ he said, smiling as he wiped his lips. ‘You got a spare pair of tights as well?’ His hand travelled up between my legs. ‘Just in case I rip these.’

I looked up at Bill, who was buffing his car bonnet, and playfully swiped Adam’s hand away. ‘Will you stop it? The poor man’s already had one heart attack. I don’t want to give him another.’

‘It’s probably the most action he’s seen in years.’ He laughed.

I tutted and carefully laid the flowers on the back seat. ‘Trying to impress someone, are we?’ he asked, smiling.

‘Oh ha-bloody-ha,’ I said.

‘You feel okay about this?’ He reached over and took my hand in his.

‘A little bit sick,’ I replied, honestly. ‘I’ve only ever met one mum before.’

He laughed. ‘Well that couldn’t have gone too well, then, if you’re here with me.’

I gave him a playful dig. ‘It’s a big deal. If she doesn’t like me, I’m doomed. You probably won’t even give me a lift back.’

‘She’ll love you,’ he said, going to ruffle my hair.

I caught his hand in mid-air. ‘Don’t even think about it. Do you have any idea how long this up-do has taken?’

‘Bloody hell, you don’t even make this much effort when you’re going out with me. Maybe I should introduce you to my mum more often.’ He laughed.

‘I don’t need to impress you anymore,’ I said. ‘I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger, right where I want you. It’s your mum I need to get under my spell now. If I can get her on side, I can rule the world.’ I let out a sinister cackle.

‘I’ve told her you’re normal. You’d better start acting like it.’

‘You’ve told her I’m normal?’ I shrieked, in mock protest. ‘Well that doesn’t make me sound very exciting, does it? Couldn’t you have sexed it up a bit?’ I watched his face break into a grin. ‘What else have you said about me?’

He thought for a moment. ‘That you’re funny, clever, and can make a mean English breakfast.’

‘Adam!’ I moaned. ‘Is that it? Is that all I am to you? A purveyor of sausages?’

We both laughed. ‘Do you think she’ll like me? Honestly?’

‘Honestly, I think she’ll love you. There’s nothing not to love.’

If that was his way of saying he loved me, I’d take it. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. He hadn’t said it properly yet, but we’d not yet been together for two months, so I chose to see it in the things that he did, like showing up at my office at lunchtime, with a sandwich for me to have at my desk. Or when he turned up at the flat when I had a cold, and laid on the bed with me as I sneezed and sniffed all over him. Those things were surely worth more than three stupid little words? Anyone can say them and not mean them. Actions speak louder, was my philosophy, and I was sticking to it, until of course he said the immortal, ‘I love you’, and then actions wouldn’t mean diddlysquat.

We headed out to the A21 listening to Smooth Radio; it was his mum’s favourite station, he said. It would help get me in the right frame of mind. I could have done with something to think of other than meeting his mum, rather than channelling her favourite tunes into my head.

‘So, what’s she like?’ I asked.