Million Love Songs(69)
‘They’ll grow up. In a few years they’ll be leaving home.’
‘Daisy’s only twelve. Even if she goes straight to uni, that’s six years. Six years! There’s no way I could cope with all those resentful faces for so long.’
‘Go easy on them, Ruby. Their mum hasn’t long left. It must be tough for them. They don’t need another mum right now.’
‘I know. I have no intention of trying to replace their mum. I just hoped that I could be their friend. Joe was right. It’s too soon. He has to focus all his attention on them.’
‘Maybe it’s not over just yet. Give them a bit of time. They may come round to the idea.’
‘I called him and ended it,’ I tell her. ‘That’s definitely it.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t actually speak to him. I just left a message. I thought he might call me back but he hasn’t.’
‘You muppet,’ Charlie sighs.
I might be a little bit hurt, but I’m not entirely surprised. After yesterday, he’ll probably view it all as too much hard work. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t blame him.
Chapter Sixty
It’s the official opening of the Vibe Lounge. I’m here as Mason’s guest. It’s not a date. I just want to get that straight. It’s not a date. Not.
I pulled my new Primarni frock out of the wardrobe again which makes me think of my date with Joe a bit. That was a nice evening. I had high hopes after that. Fool that I am. Of course, I’ve heard nothing from him after our disastrous lunch with the kids and my subsequent message on his voicemail. Nothing at all. It’s probably a good thing. I’m not potential stepmother material. We’ve probably both come to that conclusion.
Still, I won’t let thoughts of my failure there spoil tonight. I feel good in this dress, but its impact is slightly weakened by the amount of designer labels on show. Are all these people from Costa del Keynes? They seem too sleek, too sophisticated. Where do they normally go in their Alice Temperley dresses with their Mulberry bags? I never see them in Lidl.
Having exchanged my invitation for a glass of champagne, I’m now hanging round at the door not knowing quite what to do with myself. We’ve already established that I don’t know anyone else here, so I feel like Billy No Mates. I should have asked Mason if I could bring Charlie, but then she would have only taken the piss.
I catch a glimpse of Mason at the other side of the room. He’s busy schmoozing, as I knew he would be. After all, it’s the thing he seems to do best. Then I remember our recent night of passion and revise it to second best.
The music is mellow – no idea what, except it’s not Take That. Hipster waiters drift by with platters laden with tiny, ultra-cool canapes. No cocktail sausages here, love. One of them stops in front of me and proffers his tray. ‘Chicken and mango skewers with basil raita.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’ I take one and it tastes great. Though I feel really self-conscious eating it as everyone else seems to be waving the waiters away without partaking of their fayre. It’s only when I’ve eaten it and I’ve not a clue what to do with the remaining wooden skewer that I realise why. Clearly they are veterans of these things and I am not.
I inch closer into the room and, surreptitiously, stick my skewer into the nearest vase. So, if food is off the menu, now what? Moving through the crowd, I go in pursuit of Mason – who seems to just keep moving ahead of me. There’s tinkling laughter filling the space, lots of bling on show, more designer label outfits than I have ever seen in one room. This is the life I could have with Mason Soames. I could become a social butterfly and flit from event to event. I could be his life and business partner – an indispensable party hostess, right at his side. I think we could do that well together.
Eventually, as I’m about to give up and go to the bar in search of more booze, Mason turns and sees me. He breaks into a smile, excuses himself from the group he’s talking to and comes over to me. He kisses my cheek in greeting, places a comforting hand on my arm and my confidence grows just from being with him.
‘I didn’t notice you slip in,’ he says. ‘Glad you could make it.’
‘As if I wouldn’t.’ I glance around me again and I can make a full appraisal now that I’m not alone and anxious. ‘The great and the good of Costa del Keynes are here.’
‘It’s going well,’ he says and Mason sounds slightly tense too, though he has no need to. As parties go, this seems to be a resounding success. ‘We just hope it translates into people signing up for membership.’
‘They’d be mad not to,’ I tell him and get a sudden rush of affection for him. Like the rest of us, Mason is only trying to do his best in the world.
‘Thanks, Brown,’ he says. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ He grabs one from a passing tray with a skill that’s clearly been honed by years of extreme socialising and hands it over. I glug it, grateful that I got a taxi instead of driving. ‘Let me introduce you to some people.’
We join a group of women, probably my own age. Clearly life has been kinder to them. They’re all as thin as a pin, groomed, tanned and toned. I don’t really know my labels – I was blagging earlier – but even I can spot a Chanel handbag and there’s at least one on show. And it’s definitely not a fake. The tan is, though.