Just My Luck(71)

‘Hello, Lexi, lovely party,’ Jennifer beams at me. I haven’t seen her since the press conference. Weirdly my first instinct is to hug her. That’s my body betraying my mind, muscles and nerves collaborating because of the long and intimate past we share. Drawing one another into an easy hug or honest conversation was normal for so long. Now I should slap her; I squeeze my hands together behind my back to avoid that. She lunges at me and kisses the air on either side of my face. As we pull apart, I stay stony silent and simply stare at her. I look at this woman who has lied and hurt me. Tried to steal from me. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ she asks. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to relax at one’s own parties.’

I don’t respond straight away. I want it to be awkward. I want the intimacy we had to be missed and grieved for. I want her to feel guilty and ashamed. Although I must be an idiot to think she has any depth that way. Our past was tissue thin. Our future is tumultuous and confused. My mind is struggling to catch up on the fact that she’s had the nerve to turn up. I know she was invited, I know she accepted, but a tiny part of me thought that when it came to it, she might have the good grace to realise that she ought not to be here.

No. She’s ballsier than that.

More threatening than that.

I try to understand what it means, her being here. Does she know yet that the bribe Jake offered her is never going to get into her bank account? What must she think about that? Then I notice her costume and I understand completely. She is wearing a skin-tight, silky catsuit that is a clash of primary-coloured diamonds of fabric, an elaborate ruffle around her face – framing her – and a cute pointy hat. She is the Harlequin. Pierrot’s competitor for Columbine’s heart. I am left wondering how it’s possible that I have been Jennifer’s friend for so many years and not been especially aware of her figure. She’s tall, a good five inches taller than I am, I’ve always known she had long legs, but now I notice the swell and curve of her breasts, her ramrod posture, her tight waist.

‘Who told you what I was wearing?’ I ask. I don’t see that there’s any point or room for dissembling.

‘I think Jake let it slip,’ she says with a smile that is as dishonest as it is broad. I want to know when. When she spoke to him and what else was said. But I won’t give her the satisfaction of asking. Her costume is a challenge. Defiance. A declaration of war.

‘What was wrong with your own husband?’ I ask suddenly. This just burst from me. I wasn’t planning on pushing the matter out in the open.

‘Wrong with him?’ She doesn’t catch my meaning at first, or at least pretends not to. She must have known I’d find out sooner rather than later, considering Fred knows. I was going to keep quiet forever, pretend it was beneath my notice, their sordid little affair, but if I facilitate the secrecy I might be adding to their drama, the thrill. Calling her out is not the same as giving Jake up. Once the secrecy is taken away, this thing they had – or even have – won’t be as exciting. It will fall apart. I’m culling it. Whatever it is. Love or lust.

‘Why couldn’t you just stick to him?’ I challenge.

‘Fred? There’s nothing wrong with Fred. I love Fred.’

‘No, you don’t,’ I say wearily.

She shrugs. ‘Well, maybe not. No. But I did, once, I think. I mean there is nothing wrong with him exactly, but your husband is simply better. Don’t you agree? It was clear from the start that you had the catch. Except for the money thing. He just couldn’t hold down a job, could he?’

‘That never bothered me.’

‘Yes, it did.’

We speak with hideous honesty. A pair of women who have been the very best to one another and now the worst. We have known each other at our most courageous and magnificent and at our most vile and depraved. ‘Well, money problems are behind us now,’ I point out.

‘Yes.’ The sudden intimacy of such cruel honesty only accentuates the void between us. ‘He’s a very wealthy man now. That lottery ticket win of yours has made him very wealthy.’

That’s a ridiculous understatement. From anyone other than J.Lo’s point of view, he is obscenely rich. I’m not naive, I know what this could mean. Wealthy men are catnip to women like Jennifer.

‘You know, I never thought you were the one I had to watch. I’d always have thought Carla was more Jake’s type. She’s so much more—’

‘Obvious?’ interrupts Jennifer.

‘I was going to say glamorous. Oh well, they do say the quiet ones are the worst.’ I didn’t watch closely enough though, did I? I can’t continue this conversation. I can’t pretend to be cooler, calmer, more in control than I am for very much longer. ‘Have a lovely time. Go easy on the cocktails, I understand they are really quite lethal,’ I say and then turn to melt into the crowd.





31


Emily


The party is off the scale!! I’m almost sick with excitement as I watch everyone’s reactions as they drive up and see the big top, the dancefloor – it’s awesome. And when they hear that Radio 1 DJ Greg James is actually going to be gigging tonight – their faces!! Scarlett, Liv and Nella are all over me. They stick to me like glue and even though I know I’m moving school and according to both Mum and Dad (in a rare moment of agreement) I ought to be digging out new friends, I cling to my new–old ones, gratefully.