‘I did read somewhere that dog spit is cleaner than humans’,’ Neve countered, feeling a paw thump against her leg in agreement. It stayed there until she fed him one half of her steamed veggie dumpling. The only food Keith wouldn’t eat was celery. ‘Seels, let him have a bit of your egg roll and you’ll have a friend for life.’
‘I’m not giving him one of my bloody egg rolls.’ Keith turned imploring eyes on her until she broke one in half and gingerly fed it to him. ‘I thought he’d have one of my fingers,’ she said in surprise and Neve smiled as Celia patted Keith’s head and gave him the rest of her egg roll.
By the time Celia had worked her way through wonton soup, sweet and sour chicken, egg fried rice, prawn Foo Yung and the egg rolls with Keith’s help, the two of them were becoming firm friends.
‘If he’s sick, you’re clearing it up,’ Neve told her.
‘He’s not so bad for a mangy, flea-bitten mutt who probably mauls toddlers when no one’s looking,’ Celia cooed, scratching Keith under his chin. It seemed that the creepy voice was buried deep in both their DNA. ‘So, you’ve told me off about Sunday and I’ve bored you to tears about Yuri and that lame graphic designer, and I still say they won’t last another week. I think it’s time we bitched about Charlotte.’
‘I’m not coming down to her level,’ Neve said sanctimoniously, as she waited for the kettle to boil and squirted Fairy Liquid over the remains of Celia’s egg fried rice so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat it later.
‘Yeah, you always say that but you always do once I’ve warmed you up.’ Celia grinned and cracked her knuckles. ‘Where to begin? She’s got a new Juicy Couture tracksuit – powder blue. Wonder how much that cost Douglas?’
‘She works, she probably paid for it herself,’ Neve said, sitting back down and taking a sip of peppermint tea.
‘How much do you think she gets paid for piling slap on the faces of her unwilling victims?’ Celia sneered, because although she hated Charlotte for many valid reasons, most of her contempt was directed at Charlotte’s choice of career, which largely consisted of standing behind a make-up counter and trying to interest shoppers in the new spring colours. ‘She doesn’t even work somewhere cool like Selfridges. She works in a large branch of Boots, and those tracksuits don’t come cheap.’
‘They’re tracksuits! How much could they cost?’
Celia gave Neve a pitying look. ‘Try a hundred quid for the hoodie and about ninety for the bottoms.’
‘Two hundred pounds for a tracksuit?’ Neve nearly choked on her outrage. ‘That’s disgraceful! It’s so typical of her to pay for the privilege of having the word juicy scrawled over her bottom.’
‘There you go! I knew you couldn’t hold out much longer. Now, what do you think about their latest row? Did you hear what Douglas called her?’
Neve hadn’t, and before Celia could fill her in on the details, her phone rang. Nothing unusual in that but the way her stomach flip-flopped as she retrieved her phone from the worktop, because she thought it might be Max, was new territory.
‘Hold that thought,’ she said to Celia as she answered the call. ‘Hello?’
‘Is that Neve? Max’s Neve?’ asked a young woman with a lilting Mancunian accent.
‘Er, yes, this is Neve,’ she replied.
‘Great! This is Mandy. He’s told me all about you. Well, he didn’t want to but I threatened to knock a half percentage point off his royalties and that worked like a charm. So, how are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ Neve said carefully. She didn’t have a clue who the woman was, but she seemed to know Max very well. ‘I’m sorry – Mandy …?’
‘Mandy McIntyre. Max said you weren’t very up on your current affairs. And when I asked why, he said you’d recently come out of a convent ’cause you weren’t ready to take Holy Orders, but I thought he was taking the piss. He usually is.’
Oh God, that Mandy! ‘Oh yes, hi. Sorry about that, couldn’t quite place the name,’ Neve said, pulling an anguished face at Celia and mouthing ‘Mandy McIntyre’ as she pointed at her phone. ‘He was taking the, um, piss. I haven’t been in a convent, I just don’t watch a lot of TV or read heat magazine.’
Celia was practically on her lap, face pressed against Neve’s as she tried to listen in. ‘What’s she saying?’ she hissed.
‘What do you do with yourself if you don’t watch telly?’ was what Mandy was saying. ‘We had a power cut last week and the Sky box didn’t record Glee and I thought I was going to die. Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I’m calling, though it’s nice to get to know each other, isn’t it?’
‘Very nice,’ Neve said, elbowing Celia who was jostling her so hard she was in danger of falling off the chair. ‘Congratulations on the wedding. You must be very excited.’
‘It’s a total mare, if you must know,’ Mandy sighed. ‘But that’s why I’m calling. Now has Max told you about the dress code, which is black and white? That’s black or white but it can also be black and white. For instance, you could wear a white dress if it had a black floral pattern.’
Celia moaned like she was in pain, then stuffed as much of her hand as she could get into her mouth to mute the giggles.
‘I think I’m going to wear black,’ Neve mumbled. ‘Um, is that all right?’ Mandy seemed to be the sort of person who didn’t like to get caught unawares.
‘Black’s fine and you’ll need a sexy little number for the Friday when we’re having a girls’ night out. That’s the other reason why I’m calling. Honestly, you put my head next to a sieve and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,’ Neve simpered, as Celia pulled a face to let Neve know she was very unimpressed at her sister’s lame attempts at conversation. ‘But I’m not sure when we’re coming up. It might be too late to go out on Friday night.’ Or rather, she was going to make certain she wasn’t available for a girls’ night out with Mandy and her friends. Mandy seemed like comedy gold, but her WAG friends? It would be like going out with a gang of Charlottes.
‘Well, I already told Max that you have to come up on the Thursday and that’s a Mandy McIntyre order,’ Mandy said without one jot of irony. ‘So you need to get a lush frock ’cause we’re going clubbing in town and we’re having a spa day before that, so don’t worry if there’s no chance to top up your tan before you leave London. They do terrible tans down there anyway. I went to one place in Mayfair and I came out beige. You can have anything you like at the spa, as long as it’s not a deep facial ’cause I don’t want anyone looking blotchy in my wedding photos.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but—’
‘Now, Neve, are you about to say no to me?’
‘Well, it’s just that—’
‘Because the word “no” is not in my vocabulary, along with the words “can’t” and “Victoria Beckham”. So, even if you did say no, I wouldn’t understand – and don’t worry about the expense. It’s a freebie ’cause I’ve already done a pre-wedding photo-shoot at the Spa for Voila, and one of the other girls had to drop out. See, my sister Kelly’s best mate, Shelly, she was going out with one of Darren’s team-mates until she copped off with someone from Chelsea and she got found out and she sold her story so I said to Kelly, “I don’t care if she is your best mate …”’
Neve held the phone away even though she could still hear Mandy chirping happily about what she’d said to Kelly about Shelly. ‘I’m going to kill Max,’ she told Celia, who was flapping her hands and contorting her face into a terrible grimace as she tried to contain her mirth.
‘… need you to sign a privacy agreement so you don’t blab to the papers about anything that happens during the weekend.’ Mandy paused – by this stage oxygen had to be getting scarce. ‘I should have probably faxed that before I called but you’ve got a really nice voice and I’m sure you wouldn’t go to the papers. I’m a really good judge of character about these things. I never liked Shelly; her eyes are too close together.’
/> Mandy stayed on the phone for another ten, very long minutes, then she had to ring back because she’d forgotten to get Neve’s fax number. When she finally rang off and the phone stayed silent this time, Neve collapsed on the table. ‘Oh my God, I’m going to be an honorary WAG for a whole weekend.’
‘They’re going to eat you alive,’ Celia announced with grim satisfaction. ‘I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me about this wedding. It sounds hysterical! And, more importantly, what are you going to wear?’
‘That black vintage dress I wore to the Skirt party, which only fits if I wear foundation garments under it,’ Neve muttered.
‘Oh, you’ve lost loads more weight since then.’
‘I haven’t. I’ve lost four pounds and barely an inch off my hips,’ Neve said, trying to resist Celia’s attempts to pull her to her feet. ‘And I’m meant to have – and I quote – “a va-va-voom number which shows off your girls” to go clubbing in. I can’t do this.’
‘Now, now, the word “can’t” isn’t in Mandy’s vocabulary,’ Celia teased, wedging a hand in Neve’s armpit and hauling her up. ‘You must have something halfway sexy in your wardrobe. Let’s go and have a look.’
Celia was another person who had never heard the word ‘no’, Neve thought as she was dragged to her bedroom, then made to stand in front of her wardrobe while Celia rifled through the contents and provided a running commentary.
‘Five black wrap dresses! Five! Why do you need five?’ Celia threw them on the bed, as if she couldn’t bear to look at them any more.
‘Well, one has long sleeves, and one has kimono sleeves and that one has a satin edging at the waist, and—’
‘How did you get a massive rip in this?’ Celia had already moved on and was holding up the black vintage frock Neve had worn the first time she’d met Max, taken him home and torn a huge frayed hole in the dress in her haste to properly lose her virginity.
Neve stared at the dress and blinked rapidly. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘I suppose I must have caught it on something?’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ Celia demanded sternly. ‘Max didn’t tear it off you in a fit of passion, did he?’
‘No! God, why do you say these things?’ Neve snatched the dress from Celia, tearing it even more in the process. ‘Just concentrate on the problem at hand. Is this repairable?’
‘No, you’ve torn it right across the skirt,’ Celia said sulkily. ‘You’ve ruined vintage. There’s a word for people like you.’
If there was, then Neve didn’t care to know what it was. She gestured at her sparse wardrobe. ‘Will you please focus? In your professional opinion, is there anything here that’s remotely suitable for a wedding or a night out on the town with a bunch of girls who are really into fake tan?’
Celia flung herself down on the bed and put her arms behind her head. ‘This pancake relationship of yours … I mean, I thought you’d have broken up with him by now. It was only meant to be for a couple of months and you didn’t sound like you were that happy with him this time last week. But then when we had dinner on Sunday you were being really sweet to him like you meant it and weren’t just doing it to rack up some relationship points.’
Neve sighed and sat down on the bed because Celia was sounding very belligerent and it was clear that making over her sister’s wardrobe was very low down on her list of immediate priorities. Also, Celia had unknowingly hit upon an uncomfortable truth; a few days ago the thought of dumping Max had seemed like the answer to several problems, or at least the problem of not being able to successfully sleep together, but now everything had changed. Not that she could tell Celia why everything had changed. No matter how many times Neve explained it to other people, the arrangement always sounded odd and callous. But when Neve wasn’t explaining it and it just was, it was starting to feel natural. As if Neve was exactly where she needed to be, which was with Max.
‘Well, he has grown on me in the last few days,’ she admitted. ‘And yes, I suppose in some ways it’s sort of become a proper relationship, albeit with the understanding that it’s not going to last beyond a certain point.’
‘I’m still not convinced,’ Celia decided, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees. ‘I get that sometimes you might meet a guy and there’s no way in hell he could ever be The One, but you still end up shagging him for a while. But to be with someone who knows that you’re in love with another bloke … Max does know about William, doesn’t he?’
‘Of course he does,’ Neve said huffily, because really, what kind of girl did Celia think she was?
‘Well, I know why you’re all about the pancakes, but what does Max get out of it? Apart from the pleasure of your charming company, which is beyond price,’ Celia added quickly as she saw her sister’s eyes flash.
That was a question that Neve still didn’t have an adequate answer to, so she tried to shrug insouciantly. ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.’
‘Yeah, like he’d tell me.’ Celia dragged herself off the bed so she could survey the sorry state of Neve’s wardrobe. ‘There is nothing here I can work with.’
‘You don’t think I could wear one of my wrap dresses to the wedding if I added some accessories?’ Neve suggested.
‘Er, unless it’s a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress in an on-trend graphic print, then no. You have nothing remotely sexy to wear clubbing either. I don’t think any of your clothes have even sat next to sexy on the bus.’ Celia put her hands on her hips. ‘We’ll have to go shopping.’
‘Anything but that.’ Neve squinched up her face in horror as if Celia had asked if she could pull out all of her toenails one by one. In fact, that would be preferable. ‘I’m completely broke and I promised myself I wasn’t going to buy any new clothes until I was a size ten.’
‘But sweetie, you’re going to a WAG wedding, you need a new frock.’ Celia patted Neve’s shoulder. ‘Just to make your misery a hundred times worse, Mum’s down for the weekend and I said I’d go shopping with her on Saturday. Except she thinks we’re going to Oxford Street but actually I’m taking her to Westfield – it’s so much cooler. You’ll have to come too. I can’t let you buy two statement dresses unsupervised.’
‘I’m not going shopping with Mum and there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind.’ Neve tilted her chin defiantly.
‘Well, a) I’m going to tell Mum that you refused to go shopping with her and let her wear you down with hourly phone calls demanding to know how she could have raised such a heartless daughter who doesn’t want to spend quality bonding time with the woman who almost died giving birth to her. I should also warn you that she’ll spend at least quarter of an hour reminding you that the midwife had never seen a baby with such a large head. And b) Grace is lending me her discount cards so I’ll get between twenty and forty per cent off in all the shops we go to.’ Celia smiled beatifically. ‘But if your mind’s made up, then fine.’
‘Have I told you how much I hate you lately?’
‘All the time and right back at you,’ Celia replied, flopping down on the bed so she could put an arm around Neve’s slumped shoulders. ‘Now, if we have to spend a day with Mum, then we need to talk about all the things that we’re absolutely not to talk about in her hearing.’
Chapter Twenty-three
Neve knew that she’d lost almost thirteen and a half stone. That her hips had gone down from sixty-one inches to forty-three inches. Her bras were now a 34DD and not a 52GG. Objectively, she knew that.
But subjectively, when she went shopping and was trying on clothes in a harshly lit changing room and could see all her flabby white flesh on display, she still felt like a Death Fat – was sure she looked like one too.
Even worse, clothes shopping with her mother was giving Neve a terrible sense of déjà ew back to those horrific August afternoons when they’d gone shopping for a new school uniform. By the time she was fourteen, Neve was too big to get into Marks & Spencer’s largest school skirt and ha
d to make do with a navy one from their plus-size collection instead. Then there was the year that she’d busted out of the regulation school blazer and her mother had got special permission to have her friend Agnes run one up in a cheap poly blend that hadn’t looked even remotely like everyone else’s blazers. Charlotte had just about exploded with spite when Neve had turned up for school wearing Agnes’s best effort which didn’t do up over her chest, had puckered seams and gave her electric shocks in the Physics lab.
Neve perched on the bench in the fitting room and tried to avert her gaze from her reflection because, really, did anyone look good under fluorescent striplight when they were wearing the sturdiest bra and knickers that money could buy? And what was taking Celia so long?
Neve had thought that Celia and their mother were on the same page as her – the page that had a picture of a nice black dress on it. But Celia had decided she was going to bully Neve into buying a black trouser suit ‘with a fitted tuxedo-style jacket. You’ll look just like Marlene Dietrich.’
As Neve had stared at her in disbelief because the only thing that would make her look like that lady was radical plastic surgery, liposuction and a different set of genetics, her mother had added her two-penn’orth.
‘You can never go wrong with a smart pair of black slacks,’ she’d informed Neve. ‘And they’ll come in useful for job interviews and court appearances. Oh, and funerals too.’
‘Here you go,’ said Celia’s voice from behind the cubicle curtain, because Neve had trained her well enough to know she wasn’t allowed into the hallowed space without express permission. ‘Try these on.’
Two black trouser suits were thrust through the gap in the curtain, but because this was an upmarket high street chain that had delusions of grandeur, the curtains were billowy, swagged chintz.
‘Celia, can you please get me some black dresses?’ Neve called, but there was silence.
Without much enthusiasm, Neve hung up the suits. Why Celia had brought her a size fourteen, she didn’t know, but she’d try on the size sixteen first just to show willing, and when the trousers got stuck on her child-bearing hips, she’d firmly insist that they moved on to black dresses.
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