It’s just after seven and I’m in a taxi with Tim and Ryan, heading for Fez’s party.
Destination: The Vista Ballroom on the top floor of the Tower Hotel.
‘Your hair’s nice,’ says Tim from the back seat.
‘Praise indeed.’ I turn to give him a droll look and my new silky bob, with its deep chestnut glints, swings round and tickles my neck.
Tim is my most nit-picky critic. If Tim says it’s ‘nice’, it must look ‘sick’, which is, apparently, a huge compliment.
When I put on the turquoise dress, I couldn’t believe how perfectly it fitted me. Wearing shapeless clothes all the time, I’d assumed I’d lost my figure. But I haven’t.
In the dress and with my new hair, I feel almost like a different person – someone stronger and more confident.
The sort of person who can easily march right into that party and say the things that are begging to be said.
The views will be great, I think, as we draw up outside the twelve storey building on the river front and walk in to reception. It’s cutting edge modern inside, all glass and chrome, with talking point objects d’art at every turn.
I must make a point of looking at the views, I decide, as I wait for the receptionist to finish her phone call. And I’ll do a few deep breathing exercises as well. That’s bound to have a calming effect on my insides. Because however determined I am to do the right thing, I’m still feeling horribly apprehensive. My stomach is stuck on a sixty degree wash cycle with loads of spin.
The receptionist directs us to the lift and I call for Tim and Ryan who are smirking at a semi-nude statue in the corner.
‘This is a grown up party,’ I warn them as we wait for the lift. ‘I promised Fez you’d behave yourselves. Don’t let me down, lads.’
Tim looks indignant. ‘Of course we won’t.’
I’m not so sure. Why is it that pre-teen boys – normally fairly grown-up and sensible when they’re on their own – will regress about five years when they get together with their mates? Sometimes Tim and Ryan are worse than giggly schoolgirls. I’m praying this isn’t one of those occasions.
A man in overalls with a tool box gets in the lift with us and presses for the fifth floor.
I look at Tim and Ryan. Grins and secret looks are passing to and fro. They’re planning something, I can tell. And sure enough, before I can press twelve, Tim nips over to the control pad and with a big grin, hits each button in turn.
‘Tim!’ I give the workman a despairing ‘what can you do?’ look. He smiles and shrugs as if to say boys will be boys.
Naturally, Tim and Ryan find it hugely funny when we lurch to a halt at the first floor then have to wait ages for the lift to proceed.
When the doors open at the second floor, it’s clear there’s a kid’s fancy dress Christmas party going on. Two kids and their mum are searching through a large assortment of colourful costumes and wigs laid out on a table outside a function room. The boy, already dressed as Robin Hood, is running back and forward, firing off plastic arrows, while his younger sister’s whining that there are no Cinderella costumes left. Mum is valiantly trying to convince her that being a snowman is so much cooler.
She catches my eye and I give her a sympathetic smile. Good luck with that one, Mum!
‘Can we get out here?’ asks Tim, as the lift doors start to close.
‘No, of course you can’t.’ I laugh. ‘That’s not your party.’
At last we make it to the twelfth floor, follow the arrows on the wall to Fez’s event and step into a Christmas wonderland.
Ryan and Tim fall silent.
The space is huge. But ambient lighting and the twinkle of a thousand fairy lights – strung along the bar, dropping like icicles – give the room a festive, magical feel. There’s a magnificent, elaborately decorated tree in the corner and small tables with starched white cloths are arranged in a horseshoe formation around the dance floor.
‘Look up,’ says Tim, nudging me.
It’s my turn to say ‘wow’.
The ceiling is draped in midnight blue with hundreds of lights twinkling like tiny stars.
People are already milling about in their party sparkle, chatting, getting drinks from the bar and finding tables. Michael Bublé is wrapping us all up in love, hoping we have a ‘holly, jolly Christmas’.
Fez comes over.
‘Hi. You made it.’ He high fives the two boys, makes sure we have drinks (mulled wine for me, cokes for the boys) and whisks off to welcome more guests.
We stand on the fringe of the party, sipping at our glasses, watching the ballroom slowly fill with people. Part of me is dreading seeing Carol again after her speedy exit last night. And every time my eye lights upon a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair my heart does this funny little leap in my chest.
But they’re not here.
After all my brave talk in front of the mirror, rehearsing what I’d say to Charlie, it looks like I’ll have to wait a little longer to get it off my chest.
‘Come on,’ I say at last. ‘Let’s sit down.’
We wander over to the tables and a waiter refills my glass.
I point to the buffet to keep the boys interested. ‘Look, we’ll be having food soon.’
And just then, Charlie walks in.
At once, I feel shy and slightly awkward, like a pre-teen at her first disco. He’s wearing fitted cream chinos and a cornflower blue shirt. And he’s chatting to Fez as if he’s known him all his life. At one point, his eyes sweep the room and land on me. I quickly look away in case he thinks I was staring.
‘Earth to Bobbie!’
I’m suddenly aware that Tim’s trying to get my attention.
He holds up his empty glass. ‘I said, what sort of drinks do they have?’
‘Go and get some more.’ I grin at them and they’re off in a flash. ‘But no energy drinks!’
‘That’s something I could bloody do with,’ says a voice at my shoulder. ‘Energy.’
It’s Carol in a pale green strappy dress and high wedges.
I touch the little silver star that’s clipped in her hair. ‘That’s nice. You look great.’
‘So do you. Gosh, I remember that dress.’ She turns and looks at me properly. ‘I was there when you bought it. Those were the days.’
We smile wistfully.
Then she glances round. ‘Where’s Charlie?’
‘In the corner over there beside the artfully arranged twigs,’ I say, without missing a beat. ‘Chatting to the woman in the red dress.’
Carol gives me an odd look.
Bugger! I’m supposed to be completely indifferent to Charlie, not able to come up with detailed Ordnance Survey co-ordinates at a second’s notice. I have been trying my hardest not to look at him – with a sliding scale of success that relates inversely to the quantity of mulled wine I’ve consumed.
And then it occurs to me.
If I ever thought Carol might be harbouring notions of a love match with Charlie, I know now I was wrong. If she really liked him she wouldn’t have had to ask where he was.
She would have known, like hopeless, lovelorn me, exactly where he was in the room.
What this actually implies sinks into my brain slowly, like a cherry in a bowl of whipped cream.
Oh, God.
It’s time I faced it.
I’m in love with Charlie.
‘Are you all right?’ Carol peers at me. ‘You look a bit flushed.’
‘Must be the drink.’ I look at Carol. Really look at her. And suddenly, I know how she must have felt about Beau. Because that’s the way I feel about Charlie. Happy and sort of exhilarated. But scared and a little bit uncertain, too.
‘You know, Beau wasn’t good enough for you.’ (I can speak with authority. I’ve been online and seen his relationship track record. Plus he’s dyed his hair that funny auburny colour.) ‘And there was absolutely nothing going on between him and me.’
She shrugs. ‘I believe you. What I can’t believe is that I’ve held it against you for all this time.’
I glance at her in surprise. Is that an apology?
‘Neither of us was blameless.’ I nudge her shoulder with mine. ‘It was crossed wires. We were both in a state.’
‘Bloody stupid,’ she grumbles. ‘Bloody Beau.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Love, eh?’
We sink into silence, watching the milling crowd gradually head for the buffet.
Then she sighs. ‘I mean, how the Hell are you supposed to know who’s really right for you?’ She turns with a wry smile. ‘Any ideas?’
I ponder this for a second, trying not to look in the vicinity of the artistically arranged twigs.
‘Well … you’d probably think he was the most attractive man you’d ever met. And the hottest, of course.’
She nods.
‘And your heart would probably launch into a funny sort of tap dance routine whenever he entered the room. Plus you’d spend a ridiculous amount of time thinking about the all the little things you’d done together and laughed about.’
‘Right.’
‘Obviously, you couldn’t bear to imagine a future without him in it. And you’d get – I don’t know – ridiculously anxious when you think he might possibly fancy someone else.’
She’s looking at me a little strangely but I don’t care. I’m in the flow, expressing myself effortlessly for once and it feels good.
I gaze up at the twinkly lights on the ceiling for inspiration. ‘You’d wish you didn’t think about him as often as you do. But at the same time’ – I smile indulgently to myself – ‘you wouldn’t really want to think about anything else.’
Wow, I think, maybe I should write a book. It could be called How To Spot The Signs …
Carol is gaping at me like I’ve completely lost it.
‘Well, you did ask.’ I frown and fold my arms. ‘I haven’t even mentioned the ‘who goes over the cliff?’ test.’
‘The what?’ she laughs.
‘It’s a very well-known test for whether you’re really in love,’ I say defensively. ‘I’m amazed you’ve never heard of it.’
‘Please enlighten me.’
‘Okay, so you’re both standing on the edge of a cliff and one of you has to jump. It’s up to you to decide who goes over.’
‘And that’s supposed to reveal if you’re in love?’
I wrap one leg around the other. ‘Apparently.’
‘Well, that’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.’
I think I agree with her.
‘Okay,’ I say slowly, looking up at the ceiling, ‘There is one other way of finding out if you’re meant for each other.’
‘And that is?’
‘Ask him if he fancies a shag.’
She laughs. But it’s quite a harsh sound. ‘And have you?’
‘What?’
‘Shagged Charlie?’
I look at her, appalled. ‘No!’
‘Is that why you’re so keen to spill the beans to him?’ She sounds slightly scornful. ‘Because you’re in lurve?’
Oh my God, she really is the limit!
I shoot her a pitying look and walk away in disgust.
That’s it. She’s had more than enough chances to redeem herself. But it’s clear she’s never going to come clean.
So I am going to have to do it for her.
And there’s no time like the present.
Filled with resolve, I march over to Charlie who’s at the bar, watching a waiter fire soda into a glass of whisky. He turns and his face lights up when he sees me. ‘Want some?’ He points at the glass.
I shake my head. ‘Maybe later. There’s something I need to tell you first.’
He laughs. ‘Great minds think alike. But first I need to do this.’
He leads me round the side of the bar and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me hard against him and kissing me. My head spins and my entire body turns to jelly as I kiss him back. He’s doing such a thorough job that after a while, I become vaguely aware that if he weren’t holding me up, I’d probably fall down.
When we surface, after goodness knows how long, I collapse weakly against him while my head keeps whirling around in space, full of deliciously indecent thoughts.
‘Great party.’ Charlie murmurs in my hair. ‘But I wish we weren’t here.’
‘Me too,’ I croak, edging my hand under his shirt and feeling smooth, warm skin and taut muscles.
Oh God, tell him!
Now!
‘Charlie.’ I straighten up and step back slightly. ‘You’ve got to listen. There is actually something really important I have to tell you.’
He laughs and pulls me back. And I wilt.
No, no, no!
I’ve got to be firm.
‘It’s about Carol.’ It comes out like a panicky squeak.
He groans. ‘Do we have to talk business right now?’
‘Yes! We do!’ My heart is hammering fit to burst from my chest.
‘Okay. Let me get my drink first.’ And off he goes.
Breathlessly, I collapse back against the wall. It feels cold without his hands around my waist.
Idly, I glance around the room. The buffet is in full swing now. ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’ is blaring out of the speakers and some people are up dancing. But most are sitting at the little tables, chatting and laughing, eating smoked salmon and roast beef canapés and tiny mince pies.
Suddenly, my eye catches a couple standing at the edge of the dance floor.
He has his hands on her waist as if he wants to draw her onto the floor, but she’s resisting him, shaking her head and gesticulating with her arms.
It’s Fez, I think, surprised. But who … ?
Oh my God, it’s Shona!
She’s wearing a long silky rose-coloured dress that clings in the right places, and she’s ditched the glasses in favour of her new contacts. She looks incredible.
As I watch, she lays her head on Fez’s shoulder and he puts his arms around her.
I’m stunned. When did this happen? I had no idea.
Suddenly she catches my eye and instantly steps away from Fez.
Then she points in my direction and, apparently against Fez’s wishes, starts walking over. What’s going on? Surely she doesn’t think she needs to get my blessing for their relationship?
But then I realise she’s not coming to see me. She’s making straight for Charlie, at the bar, a focused gleam in her eye.
I watch her as she joins him and he turns in surprise.
Then she draws something out of her bag and hands it to him. It’s a red document that looks as if it’s seen better days. He’s taking it with a frown. Then he looks up at her quizzically and starts leafing through the file. As he does, Shona turns on her heel and – without even a glance in Fez’s direction – hurries out of the room.
My heart thuds painfully.
No!
It can’t be!
The accounts. The real accounts.
My legs are like lead as I walk over to him.
‘Charlie, that’s what I wanted to tell you—’
He looks at me, his face suddenly closed and guarded. His eyes are like chips of ice, all the warmth and laughter gone.
‘You knew about this?’ He hits the document with the back of his hand.
I stare at him miserably. ‘I … well … ’
‘Don’t lie.’ His tone is so curt, I cover my eyes with shame.
Gently but firmly, he pulls my hands away.
I swallow hard and force myself to look at him. ‘I knew Carol was desperate for your investment.’
‘Did you also know she lied about the state of the business?’
I nod.
‘And the fake accounts?’
His face is full of anger, mixed with bitter disappointment.
‘I’m so, so sorry. I realised they were bogus when we were in the restaurant.’ My cheeks are hot with shame. ‘But I … I decided to give Carol a chance to make things right. Before I told you. I was going to tell you tonight but—’
I can hardly say it was his fault because he grabbed me and kissed me just as I was about to …
He looks down at the floor.
There’s a muscle working in his jaw and I know he’s thinking of the past and the people who’ve let him down.
And now, that number includes me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.
At last, he looks up. ‘It’s funny.’ His blue eyes search my face. ‘I really thought that this time … ’ He breaks off and laughs harshly. ‘But more fool me!’
And before I can say anything to stop him, he walks away.
I’m tempted to follow him and beg his forgiveness but I know that right now, he won’t want to hear it.
I’ll give him a little time to cool off. Then—
Oh, no!
As he strides out, he passes Carol, stops and says something to her, flapping the old accounts file in her face. She freezes in horror.
Charlie shakes his head slowly and strides out of the ballroom.
Carol turns and looks straight at me. And I can tell from the destroyed look on her face that she thinks I was the one who gave him the document.
She gives me one last despairing look and rushes out.
I think about what she said about her father. How he’ll kill her if the business fails. How she felt he ‘bank-rolled’ her as if she was just another of his business contacts.
It strikes me suddenly that there’s no one in the world she can talk to. All she has is that cold, soulless flat to go home to. And even that belongs to her father.
I run after her, weaving my way through the party revellers, shouting her name.
She turns and gives me a look of such fury it stops me in my tracks.
‘Look, Charlie had to know.’ I’m pleading with her to see it. ‘What you planned to do was wrong.’
‘I’ve had it with you!’ she yells. ‘You think you’re so perfect. But you’re not.’
‘Okay! I admit it!’ People are staring but I don’t care. ‘I let you down in London. And I’m sorry for that.’
She gives me a ‘yeah, right’ look and hammers on the lift button.
‘Carol, I can help you! Let’s talk about it. There’s no reason why we can’t be friends again—’
She laughs, her face full of scornful disbelief. ‘You don’t think we can ever get back from this, do you?’
One of the lifts opens.
But to my horror, I realise that in her panic to get away, Carol’s missed the notice on the wall saying the lift is out of order.
‘Carol, no!’ I yell but she ignores me.
I jump into the lift to try and stop her but I’m too late. She’s jabbing at the ground floor button.
The doors close and we stand against opposite walls, panting at each other.
There’s a funny whining sound.
Then the lights start to flicker.
On, off.
‘Shit!’ breathes Carol in a panic. She hates lifts at the best of times.
I just have time to catch her ghostly white complexion before we’re plunged into total darkness.
On, off.
Three times.
Now it’s my turn to say, ‘Shit!’
Without warning, the lift suddenly drops a few feet and we lock eyes in shock.
‘Alarm!’ Carol squeaks. ‘Press the alarm!’
And then we’re plunging.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Terrifyingly fast.
In total freefall.
My insides are struggling to keep pace.
I’m going to die!
But I can’t! It’s too soon! I’ve got to make Charlie understand! I need to work things out with Carol! See Mum and Tim –