by Katey Lovell
Nothing New for Sophie Drew
Katey Lovell
Copyright © 2021 Katey Lovell
The right of Katey Lovell to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913942-50-2
Contents
Love Women’s, Contemporary Fiction ?
February
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
March
Chapter 4
April
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
May
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
June
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
July
Chapter 28
August
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
November
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
Love Women’s, Contemporary Fiction ?
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For anyone who has ever felt they are not enough
February
Chapter 1
“Show me again,” Eve demanded, wrapping her hand around the door handle. “You’re supposed to look surprised, remember.”
My jaw dropped, my eyes widened and my hands flew to my cheeks, the way I’d seen actors in films behave when unexpectedly delighted. It might work in Hollywood, but I, quite frankly, felt ridiculous.
My best friend’s lips curled, her expression somewhere between disappointment and disapproval and she shook her head at my efforts, her perfectly coiffured chocolate-brown bob swaying from side to side. That, along with the two deep-grooved vertical lines that appeared between her eyebrows, was enough to tell me my acting abilities were well below par.
I don’t know why Eve expected me to be able to conjure up an on-the-spot Oscar-worthy performance. We’d been in the same GCSE Drama class at comprehensive school, both of us scraping passes. Neither of us excelled when it came to treading the boards. Eve was the brainbox who loved any scientific geekery and I was creative, but textiles and crafting were my mediums of choice, not performing. Our friend, Tawna, the third point of our friendship triangle, hadn’t been much good at anything at school, other than snogging boys around the back of the sports hall.
“No, Sophie, just no! It’s meant to be a surprise. Don’t over-egg it or they’ll think I’ve told you.”
“But you did tell me,” I reminded her. “If you were better at keeping secrets in the first place we wouldn’t be in this position and I wouldn’t need to act surprised because I would actually be surprised.”
“I wish Tawna hadn’t trusted me with getting you here,” Eve grumbled. “She knows I’m rubbish at keeping my mouth shut.”
Eve had always been the same. Back when we were at school, cocky teenagers with our skirts rolled up at the waistband to show off our pale, skinny legs, Tawna and I never shared who we were crushing on with Eve unless we wanted her to put the feelers out with the clichéd “my friend fancies you” line. She’d never been able to engage her brain before opening her mouth. For someone so clever she spent a lot of time in a dreamworld, and one which didn’t align with real-life in Newcastle. The phrase ‘away with the fairies’ could have been coined about Eve.
I picked a speck of fluff from the sleeve of my black velvet dress – bought especially for what Tawna had dubbed my birthday night out, although Eve had already told me it was a party – ready to make my grand entrance. If all eyes were going to be on me, I needed to look my best. That had been my thought process when I’d teamed the dress with a pair of sky-high sequin-coated silver heels and a thick diamond choker. I’d had it a year but never worn it, but I’d come to the conclusion that when it comes to partywear there’s no such thing as too much sparkle. I’d also stopped at the salon for a spray tan on the way home from the office, splashing out on a manicure and pedicure as well, seeing as I was there.
My credit card had taken quite a hammering and I hoped people would shout me a drink or two to celebrate the upcoming milestone birthday, because my card had to be edging closer to its limit. The bank had taken to sending me daily texts about my current account too, informing me I was well over my agreed overdraft limit. But I didn’t have time to waste worrying about my finances. A bar full of people were waiting for me to make an entrance.
“I won’t tell her you mentioned the party,” I promised, “although she must’ve known you’d not be able to keep something as huge as this to yourself. Come on, let’s get it over and done with. I could do with a drink. Pretending to be in the dark is stressing me out.”
A raucous cheer of “Surprise” rang out as Eve pushed the door open.
I pulled my best “I really had no idea this was going to happen” face, as Jane from work offered me a hug and Tawna, wearing a little black dress so skintight that I suspected she may have had to have be sewn into it, pressed a glass of something fizzy into my hand. The bubbles tingled pleasantly against the roof of my mouth as I took a large, grateful gulp. The alcohol hit the right spot – the spot that would get me through facing up to Tawna.
“I know she told you.” A flash of annoyance appeared on Tawna’s face despite the thick make-up she was wearing. Primer, foundation, concealer, blusher. Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara. Eyebrows pencilled into bow-shaped arches. Lips carefully lined and coloured in with a neutrally shaded lipstick. It was all part of the daily routine for Tawna.
“I didn’t mean to,” Eve fumbled, genuinely apologetic. “But she guessed and I couldn’t lie.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tawna said, with a sigh that suggested disappointment. “The most important thing is that everyone has a good night, especially you, Soph. After all, it’s not every day you turn thirty!”
I groaned, resisting the urge to remind her I had another two full days of my twenties left to revel in. Birthdays are a good excuse to get drunk, and of course, I like the presents (who doesn’t like presents?), but I didn’t relish the thought of edging ever-closer to middle age. Not purely through vanity, although that did amplify my concerns. A solitary grey hair had recently made an appearance,
and I had promptly plucked it out, wrapped it in a tissue and flushed it down the loo so I wouldn’t have to see it again. The first small creases were becoming visible at the corners of my eyes too – not prominent enough to class as wrinkles, but very definitely there. But it wasn’t only my changing looks making me twitchy. When I was young, I’d assumed that by the time I hit the big three-oh my life would be sorted. A successful career, a nice husband, a couple of kids…
It hadn’t happened like that though. Substitute the career for a dead-end admin job at a law firm in town, the husband for an ex-boyfriend who I missed more than I let on and the kids for next door’s cat (who kept sneaking in through the kitchen window to piss on the floor) and you’d be closer to my reality.
“I’m going to need more alcohol,” I said, having finished my first glass in record speed.
As I placed the empty glass on the table I noticed the cake – a full-on multi-tiered centrepiece like you’d see in the celebrity wedding spreads in OK! magazine. How I’d managed to miss it before, I don’t know. It was enormous.
“What’s that?” I gestured towards the showstopping cake. “It’s a birthday party, not a bloody wedding reception.” I realised how ungrateful my comment sounded after it had left my mouth.
As Tawna tightened her grip on the stem of her glass and bit down on her lip I felt bad for being such a grump, but I hadn’t wanted any of this fuss. When the girls asked how I wanted to celebrate my birthday I’d been perfectly clear – a night out on the lash, just the three of us. We’d bump into people we knew when we got into town, because that’s what Newcastle’s like. Even if you don’t plan to meet up with people, you end up in the same bars as friends, colleagues, acquaintances, exes… that’s what happens. There’s a good reason the city has a reputation as a party town and draws stag and hen dos from all over the country every weekend, and the lively welcoming atmosphere is part of that. It’s just irritating at times, because everyone knows everyone else’s business.
“We had it made especially at that cute place that does the cupcakes you like.” My friend looked stung.
“I bet it tastes delicious,” I said kindly, desperately trying to make up for my snappiness.
Despite its ridiculous size, the cake did look amazing. The frosting was thick and swirling, and piped pink buttercream roses decorated with edible metallic silver balls that looked as though they’d chip your teeth when you bit into them lined the cake base. Pale pink petals were scattered across the silver board. It couldn’t have been cheap. Even the cupcakes at that shop were pricey, so a gigantic cake must have been extortionate. Not that money was a worry for Tawna. Nothing was.
“I asked for the pink especially,” she said, admiring my freshly painted nails (baby pink except for the index fingers which were a glittery hot pink. My toes matched too, I couldn’t resist). “I know it’s your favourite colour.”
Her words softened me. The extravagant gesture was typical of Tawna – she could be so thoughtful. It was just one reason why although we frequently had our differences I could never stay mad at her for long.
“It’s incredible.”
I wrapped her in a hug, inhaling her familiar scent. Tawna had worn the same perfume forever – DKNY, the green one that came in a bottle shaped like an apple. It was my go-to present for her at birthdays or Christmas, whereas her gifts for me were always original, even if not necessarily what I’d choose for myself. The cake took the biscuit, pardon the pun.
“You should mingle,” Eve suggested, swaying her hips in time to the thumping chart music blasting out from the speakers. “Everyone’s here for you.”
The thought of being sociable after a long week at work exhausted me. That’s why I’d suggested a night out for just us three. I turn into a cowbag when I’m cream-crackered, only wanting to surround myself with people I like. Not that I didn’t like the people at the party. I should’ve been flattered they’d given up their precious Friday night to celebrate with me – but with the party being in my honour the pressure to be the hostess with the mostest landed on me.
The work posse – Jane and Kath and Marcie – were drinking like fish. Kath was the same age as my mum (fifty-six) but had become something of a party animal since her divorce. Maybe more of a party cougar, actually, spending her weekends on the prowl in town, eyeing up men half her age because she swore the males from her own generation couldn’t keep up with her. Jane and Marcie were more traditional, but they too loved a drink. Our Christmas staff night out had been an alarmingly messy affair which had shown me a different side to their personalities. Marcie’s in particular. At work she was a stickler for the rules, continuously reminding us that as head of the admin team she had to be. After four flaming sambucas the rules had gone out of the window. She’d been the life and soul.
My relatives were gathered around a circular table at the end of the room. Mum and Dad smooched like a couple of randy teenagers, which would’ve been quite sweet if they were anyone other than my parents. Even after thirty-four years they still can’t keep their hands off each other. They were the model couple, flanked on one side by my stunningly beautiful younger sister, Anna (who’d flown in from Austria for the event with her husband, Jakob), and on the other by my brother, Nick, and his wife, Chantel, who were playing hidey-boo with my gorgeous chunk of a nephew. Ten-month-old Noah was the apple of all of our eyes. I dreaded to think what he’d be like when he was older. We’d probably have ruined him by spoiling him rotten.
I’m the least settled of the Drew siblings, despite being the eldest. I hadn’t take the university route like Anna and Nick had. I hadn’t secured a regular job with a good wage either, instead moving from one temp job in an airless box of an office to another before settling at my current workplace when they’d offered me a permanent contract. Three years on the work itself remained mind-numbing, but at least the people were nice. Being that bit older they were like additional mums to me; always probing to see if there were any men on the scene and keen to offer words of wisdom off the back of their own life experiences.
A couple of former colleagues from one of the more long-term temp stints were throwing shapes on the dance floor, and the old gang from school swooped in early to hit the mini quiches and bite-size onion bhajis from the buffet. I’m not sure why Tawna thought them worthy of an invite, because although we got along fine, other than a quick hello or clicking a polite “like” on their Facebook posts once in a while, we didn’t mix socially. Maybe they were invited to bump up the numbers, because the private room she’d hired at the back of one of Newcastle’s most exclusive bars was gigantic.
The football posse were laughing in a corner. They’d been sitting near each other in the Gallowgate end at St James’ Park since I was a kid, back when we were in the Champions League and had a team worth shouting about. Dad took me to my first match – on Boxing Day, when I was five – and I’d only missed a handful of home games over the years that followed. People were surprised to hear that, because they hold on to this stupid idea that only a certain type of person goes to the football, and I don’t fit the stereotype of “pot-bellied middle-aged man in an ill-fitting replica shirt, knocking back pints for fun”. There are people like that at the football – I know, because I’ve seen them myself on a match day – but our friends smash that theory apart. There was Fred and Norma – spritely, despite being in their eighties – and Joel and Finley, who were the sweetest couple you could ever hope to meet. Burly Bez, who was a local legend after getting the club crest tattooed on his forehead as a dare, looked like a numbskull but was a total sweetheart once you got to know him. They were a motley crew, but I was glad Tawna had invited them. Dad kept me updated with what was going on, both on the pitch and in our friends’ lives, and even though the matches I went to were few and far between they were people I cared about. I knew they genuinely cared about me too.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, sidling up to Joel.
He put an arm around my shoulder and squee
zed. “Good surprise, eh? Didn’t know we were planning this for you, did ya?”
His delight was evident in his enormous smile, matched only by Finley’s toothy grin. They looked like a pair of gurning Cheshire cats, and although I’d wanted to tell them I’d rather be out on the Quayside, I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head.
“We nearly missed out on an invite,” Finley said, flamboyantly framing his face with his hands in mock horror. “I don’t usually answer unknown numbers, see, and I didn’t have Tawna’s number in my phone. I’m sick of those nuisance calls trying to flog insurance. Or telling me I’m due compensation for the road traffic accident I was involved in, even though I can’t drive.”
He tutted in annoyance, rolling his dazzling blue eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion. I should have gone to him for acting advice. Where I failed, Finley excelled.
“I’m glad you decided to answer. It’s good to see you,” I said, before crouching down to chat to Norma.
“Thanks for coming, Norma.” I raised my voice to a shout. She’s going deaf. “Make sure you get a piece of cake later. Have you seen it?”
I waved my arm towards the cake, knowing she’d approve. Norma never attended a match without being armed with sweets from the market. Midget gems, liquorice torpedoes, mint imperials… she wasn’t fussy, as long as she had something to ward off her sweet tooth. Dad jokingly threatened to send Norma his dentistry bill, saying she was the sole reason he needed a filling every time he went to the dentist.