The Plus One Pact

by MacIntosh, Portia

  Jay is lying in what I’d imagine is his usual place, flat on his back across three seats, whereas I am next to him on the chaise longue at the end. It’s a pretty big sofa but it still looks odd. I must have just dropped off – and I must have fallen asleep before Jay because he’s covered me up with his duvet. God, I hope I didn’t make any embarrassing noises or sleep with my mouth open.

  ‘Interesting,’ Millsy says. ‘Very interesting.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ he says as he pulls himself to his feet. ‘At least I found you before anyone else did. Might not look ideal, if they spot you here…’

  ‘Oh, totally,’ I agree. ‘I’ll go get dressed.’

  I carefully peel back the covers and stand up in a way that doesn’t wake Jay up.

  ‘This is almost like a walk of shame,’ Millsy says as I tiptoe towards the bedroom.

  ‘It’s nothing like a walk of shame,’ I insist firmly. I’m so embarrassed though.

  As I hurry on clothes and try to cover my red cheeks with foundation I wonder why Millsy thinks it’s so interesting that I ‘slept with his brother’… Oh, God, you don’t think he thinks this is some kind of revenge thing, do you? If Millsy did sleep with Jay’s girlfriend, does he think Jay might sleep with me to level the playing field? Would Jay try to sleep with me just to even the score? I’m sure he wouldn’t. People don’t do things like that in real life, do they? Especially not someone like Jay, who seems as if his head is well and truly screwed on.

  By the time I get back out into the living room Jay is awake. Millsy must still be in the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning,’ he says with a smile.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply. ‘Sorry, did I fall asleep on you last night?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ he says with a casual bat of his hand. ‘I tried to wake you but you were flat out so I just covered you up.’

  ‘Oh, God, was I embarrassing?’

  ‘No, you were fine,’ he says. ‘You’re pretty cute when you’re sleeping.’

  I feel my cheeks starting to flush again so I quickly change the subject.

  ‘You off home today?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. You?’

  ‘After breakfast, I think. In fact, I’d better go give Millsy a hand with it. He said something about wanting to make breakfast for everyone to try and make amends for last night.’

  I don’t mention that the main reason I want to help him cook is because he literally started a fire yesterday.

  ‘Tell him I’ll take something cold to put on my bruised face,’ he jokes before wiggling his jaw, testing how much he can move his facial muscles without being in agony.

  ‘I absolutely won’t tell him that,’ I reply with a smile. ‘Anyway, see you soon.’

  ‘Yeah. You’ll be at Rod’s surprise party, right?’ he asks in hushed tones.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure I will be,’ I reply.

  ‘We can hang out more then,’ he says.

  He gives me that Prince Charming smile of his as I head for the kitchen.

  I find Millsy fussing around by the kettle, preparing cups of tea and coffee.

  ‘I figured you’d want tea,’ he says.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I reply. I can only wait for a second or two before I bring up the elephant in the room. ‘Millsy, you know nothing happened last night, right? I’m sure it goes without saying but I’m saying it anyway. I went to make a cup of tea, I got chatting to Jay, I fell asleep. I probably really embarrassed myself.’

  ‘Cara, it’s fine,’ he says. ‘You’re right, it does go without saying. Don’t worry about it. But if I can just say one thing… be careful with Jay, OK? He isn’t what he seems. Everyone thinks he’s so perfect but I see right through him.’

  ‘Morning, campers,’ Rod says as he joins us in the kitchen. ‘Assaulted anyone today?’

  ‘Not yet, but the day is young,’ Millsy jokes. ‘It was definitely an accident – it could have been either of us who got hit in the face. Better it’s the one who doesn’t need his looks to make his living.’

  ‘You get by just fine without your face,’ his dad reminds him.

  ‘I’m making breakfast to say sorry for the accidental altercation. What can I get you?’

  ‘You can get me an apron. I’ll help you,’ Rod replies. ‘The only thing you’ll make is a mess.’

  As Rod roots around in the cupboard below the sink, Millsy and I exchange a knowing glance. He doesn’t know the half of it.

  ‘Hmm, does this frying pan smell a bit funny to you?’ he asks as he emerges from the cupboard with it. ‘It smells really smoky.’

  Being on fire will do that to you.

  20

  What springs to mind when you think of hen parties? A gaggle of rowdy women with L-plates, cocktails, and penis-shaped everything from headbands to drinking straws? Dancing around handbags, going to the toilet in groups of no less than six, groping a male stripper in a police uniform? Something like that? That’s what I think of – it’s what pop culture has taught me to think of when I imagine hen parties. I’ve never actually been on one before today.

  Well, I say before today, but I’m not actually on one today either. I should have been tipped off that this wasn’t a real hen party when I realised that my mum, gran, auntie, et cetera were all invited. Flora was never going to give my grandma Stephanie a shot of tequila in a nob-shaped glass, was she?

  Shortly after I arrived I had a bunch of realisations at once. First of all I realised that this wasn’t going to be your typical hen party. Second of all I realised that we weren’t even going out for drinks, we were going to a crafting café. And my third and final realisation was that, not only is this hen party not really hen party-ish, this isn’t even Flora’s real hen party – she had her real hen party weeks ago and I wasn’t invited. This is just her fake hen party for her older relatives.

  I suppose when I politely bowed out of my bridesmaid duties I got myself disinvited from the real hen party too.

  So here we are at Tarts & Crafts, a craft café in the cute little town of Horsforth, about to take part in God knows what, but whatever it is I feel completely inappropriately dressed for it in my new black and white body-con dress. Lucky for me they provide aprons for everyone to wear. Unlucky for me it’s an impossibly ugly pink apron with excessive frills – no one had better take any pictures.

  ‘Hello, I’m Julie, I’ll be your activity co-ordinator today,’ a short woman with a loud voice announces to our group. ‘What we’re going to be doing today is… painting a portrait of the gorgeous bride!’

  Oh, God.

  ‘So, Flora, if you would like to take a seat over here, and if everyone else would like to sit at an easel,’ she continues.

  I link my arm with Stephanie, my grandma, as we walk towards our seats together.

  ‘I’m sitting with you,’ I tell her.

  ‘I haven’t painted in years,’ my gran says. ‘Perhaps not since school – my gosh, that’s seventy years ago.’

  ‘Well, I am hopeless at anything like this,’ I tell her. ‘At least we can be terrible together.’

  It might seem strange that I’m so impossibly terrible at art, given the creative nature of my job, but I really am hopeless. My job involves drawing blueprints – very neat, technically room schematics. I’ll illustrate where things go but I won’t ever have to actually draw them, and I’ll bet a padlock is way easier to draw than my cousin Flora.

  Flora excitedly takes her seat in the middle of the room. Obviously she knew this was what we were doing today, so she’s dolled herself up accordingly. She’s wearing a long, floaty floral dress, a full face of make-up and her hair looks so perfect I’ll bet she’s been to a salon for a blow-dry. Flora perches on her stool and crosses her legs before placing her hands on her knees.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she announces.

  So there’s me, my mum, my gran, my auntie, as well as Flora’s nanna and auntie from her dad’s side, all gathered around her, ready to immorta
lise her in paint (although I’m sure the best I could do is accidentally cover her in it).

  ‘Your mum tells me you have a boyfriend,’ my gran leans over to say.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I insist. ‘We’re just friends.’

  ‘She said you were living with him…’

  ‘Yeah but, again, we’re just friends. I’m paying to live with him.’

  ‘It is very fast to move in with someone,’ my gran points out. ‘But I’d only known your granddad for six months before we got married so… I suppose when you know you’ve met the one, you just know.’

  I nod thoughtfully.

  ‘But you’re just friends,’ she practically reminds me with a smile.

  ‘Yep,’ I reply, smiling back – why do I feel as if she knows something I don’t? ‘You can meet him at the wedding.’

  ‘I really think we need to meet him before the wedding,’ my mum chimes in from the other side of me.

  I didn’t realise she was listening and it makes me jump.

  ‘You can meet him at the wedding,’ I tell her.

  ‘I think we need to meet him before,’ she says again.

  ‘The wedding is a matter of weeks away – can’t you just wait?’

  My mum leans in close, looks around to make sure everyone else is too busy with their painting to pay attention, and lowers her voice.

  ‘Auntie Mary says I need to check him out,’ she whispers to me. ‘Don’t make that face.’

  I didn’t realise I was making a face.

  ‘She just wants to make sure he’s OK,’ she continues. ‘She doesn’t want strangers at the wedding.’

  ‘I don’t want ex-boyfriends at the wedding but you can’t always get what you want, can you?’

  ‘Oh, you know what she’s like,’ my mum says with a bat of her hand. ‘But, well, we would really like to meet him. You’re like a whole new woman and your father and I just really want to see the man responsible for the new you.’

  ‘I’m still me,’ I insist. ‘But I’ll ask him if he’s free any time soon. That OK?’

  ‘Thanks, darling,’ she says with a smile. When she catches sight of my painting her face falls. ‘Why have you drawn her in a big, poofy dress? And with a veil? Aren’t we supposed to be drawing her now?’

  ‘I am drawing her now,’ I say. ‘That’s not a veil, that’s her hair, and that’s not a big, poofy dress, it just keeps getting bigger every time I try to make it even.’

  ‘Thank goodness you don’t need to be able to paint to make a living,’ she says with a reassuring squeeze of my arm. She’s teasing me. ‘And you’ll always have your looks.’

  ‘I barely have my looks now, but I definitely won’t always have them,’ I reply with a laugh. ‘But thanks.’

  I glance at my handiwork. Yeah, it’s not great. I’m trying my best though, what more can I do? The problem I’m having – and it’s the same problem I have when I’m doing my eye make-up – is that I just can’t seem to get things even, and the harder I try, the bigger things get. When I’m winging my eyeliner I’ll start with one perfectly neat little flick on my left eye – I’m absolutely amazing at my own left eye – but then, when I try to do my right, it’s thicker or longer so I go back to the left to add more. I’ll do this until I wind up looking like Amy Winehouse. A similar thing has happened with my portrait of Flora; to try and make her even, I’ve kept adding bits until she looks like Mr Blobby, or Mrs Blobby, at least – you can definitely tell she’s wearing a dress.

  I finished my portrait long before everyone else so now I’m just waiting for them to catch up. I’ve caught a sneaky peek at my mum’s and my gran’s and they’re not winning any awards any time soon, but they’re way better than mine. Even if they’re not good, they’re flattering.

  I thought this was going to be so bad I actually arranged a get-out strategy with Millsy. Basically, if it were all to get too much, all I would need to do would be to text him a frog emoji and he would call me up pretending to be work with some kind of emergency, giving me an excuse to rush off. We decided on the frog because we couldn’t think of any possible reason why we would ever need to use it. So far though, as little as I’m enjoying myself, I haven’t actually needed to use it.

  Eventually, when everyone is done, Julie wanders back in and tells us that we all need to turn our canvasses around, so that they’re forming a semicircle around Flora. She’s going to pick the best one and whoever painted it is going to get a prize. Woo.

  ‘Oh my Gosh! They’re all so…’ Flora’s voice trails off. ‘What is that? Whose is that one?’

  I hazard a guess she’s talking about mine and step out from behind it.

  ‘What?’ Auntie Mary asks, hurrying out to join her daughter. ‘Oh, Cara, come on, that’s so offensively bad. You can’t have done it that bad by accident. Look how fat you made her!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I try to sound sincere but obviously I didn’t make her fat on purpose – why on earth would I do that? ‘I did try my best.’

  ‘Did you?’ Flora replies. Wow, she actually sounds a bit upset. ‘At least you made my legs skinny.’

  ‘I think that’s actually supposed to be the stool legs,’ Julie ever so helpfully points out.

  ‘I am really sorry,’ I say. I am. I didn’t do it on purpose, but I am truly sorry if she’s finding it upsetting. ‘I’m just not very good at this stuff.’

  ‘Flora’s nanna has cataracts and even hers looks better than yours,’ Auntie Mary points out angrily.

  To be honest, I’m sure I could have been Pablo frigging Picasso and they still would have told me that my painting sucked. Then again, with the way her face is so wonky, it wouldn’t look out of place next to a Picasso.

  There’s only one thing for it. I need to send a frog SOS.

  I take a sneaky step behind my canvas before removing my phone and smashing out a quick and stealthy frog emoji to Millsy. I click my phone off silent mode and return it to my apron pocket. In a matter of seconds my phone is ringing. Good old Millsy.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I have to take this, it’s work,’ I insist. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey,’ Millsy says. ‘Things are bad, huh?’

  ‘Oh my gosh, what happened?’ I ask theatrically.

  ‘Oh, solid acting, Cara.’ Millsy chuckles down the phone. ‘Maybe dial it down a notch. No one cares about their job that much.’

  ‘A child locked in a cupboard?’ I shriek. ‘And you can’t find the bolt cutters?’

  Suddenly everyone in the room is listening to my conversation.

  ‘Wow,’ is all he says.

  ‘Yes, of course, I’ll be there right away,’ I continue.

  ‘You want to meet me in town?’ he asks. ‘I’m popping out in a bit anyway.’

  ‘Yes, I will see you there,’ I reply. ‘I’ll sort it, don’t panic. Bye.’

  I re-announce my fake emergency at work to the room, even though I know they were listening, make my excuses and leave. I am only outside a couple of seconds before my mum joins me.

  ‘Let me give you a lift to work,’ she says when she catches me up.

  ‘Oh no, Mum, don’t leave the party,’ I insist, not stopping, edging in the direction of the train station. ‘I’m going to get the train.’

  ‘Well, let me give you a lift to the station then.’

  Why do I feel as if she's on to me? Her tone and expression are giving nothing away but that in itself speaks volumes. I think she knows I’m just trying to get out of here.

  ‘Honestly, Mum, it’s fine.’

  ‘You’re not going to work, are you?’ she asks, finally showing a knowing smile.

  It’s never worth trying to keep anything from your mum, is it? This is why it didn’t seem worth pretending that Millsy and I were a couple – she would have seen straight through an act like that.

  ‘OK, no, I just needed to get out of there,’ I admit.

  ‘I’m proud of you for sticking it out as long as you did,’ she tells me. ‘I
t’s no fun, is it?’

  ‘I just feel like they’re both so mad about the bridesmaid thing, I’m not going to be able to do anything right.’

  ‘I know, love,’ she says. ‘You know your auntie just likes to moan. Let me give you a lift to the station.’

  ‘OK, thank you. It is actually quite far from where we are, isn’t it?’

  My mum nods.

  ‘So are you going to meet this Joe?’

  ‘Yes. We really are just friends, Mum.’

  ‘Just make sure you’re happy,’ she says.

  She’s right, my auntie has always been a moaner, she’s just especially moany because of the wedding. Once the wedding is over everyone will forget about the time I didn’t want to be a bridesmaid in a dress that didn’t fit me. Until then I just need to clock as little face time with my auntie and Flora as possible. And, sure, I’d rather not endure an entire wedding with my ex-boyfriend sitting at the same table as me, but at least I’ll have Millsy there with me. It’s going to be weird when our plus-one pact is over and I have to go back to being truly single, turning up to events alone, having no one to laugh in the corner with.

  I feel really lucky to have him on my side now though. I just need to make the most of having his undivided attention. I’m even looking forward to seeing him now – well, everything is more fun with Millsy around.

  21

  When Millsy said he was popping into town I assumed it would be to do something very Millsy-esque. You know, something fun like shopping or drinking. What I have wound up doing instead is sitting on a sofa outside a fitting room in some stuffy menswear shop that specialises in suits.

  We’re here so that Millsy can be fitted for his suit, for Ruby’s wedding – he is her best man after all. Well, apparently we’re not calling him a best man, we’re calling him a bridesmale.

  When we arrived Millsy instructed me to sit on the leather sofa where patient friends and family members are supposed to wait while their loved ones try things on. Millsy assured me that it wouldn’t take long, he just needed to make sure his suit still fitted OK, and to pick out a shirt.