The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit)

by James, Margaret

  ‘I could help you with the rent.’ Adam looked earnestly at Gwennie, touched her lightly on the shoulder, made her meet his gaze. ‘Jules would help as well, if you told him it was what you’d really like to do. But we both know he’s a village idiot when it comes to intuition. So you’d have to tell him, spell it out.’

  ‘But he’d only mock and sneer,’ said Gwennie. ‘You know how he feels about alternative and complimentary therapies. Anything that isn’t science-based, anything that doesn’t feature downing lots of drugs made in some sterile factory – it’s all a load of rubbish according to the Gospel of Saint Jules.’

  ‘He wouldn’t mock and sneer,’ insisted Adam. ‘He’s not into candles and rebirthing, but I’m sure he must have heard of music therapy. We’ll talk about it later, shall we?’

  ‘Do you mean it, about helping me?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  You know you’re not supposed to read another person’s letters, diaries, e-mails, texts, Cat told herself. It’s worse than stealing stuff from charity shops.

  But in the end she couldn’t resist temptation. So she peeled open the self-seal envelope and then took out the single sheet inside. She saw it was a woman’s handwriting. Some girl he had been seeing while he was supposed to be with Cat, she thought, and sighed.

  She didn’t want to read it, but of course she did.

  She had the biggest shock.

  It wasn’t from some girl, or even boy. It was from his mother, and she lived in Manchester – she’d written her address out carefully, in capitals. She’d underlined the postcode, like somebody who wasn’t very used to writing letters, and who was remembering what she’d been taught at school.

  She’d written to tell him that she’d tried to get him on his mobile. But it was never on, so she was hoping he was still at this address?

  She thought he ought to know his sister was at last engaged to Steve MacShane. Nana said it was about time, too. Harry was getting on for six, was growing up and asking awkward questions every day. He got on really well with Steve, who wanted to adopt him, and who behaved like he was Harry’s father, anyway.

  They were hoping Jack could soon come up for a weekend. Then they could have a party. Jack was more than welcome to bring along that lady friend he’d mentioned once or twice. Cat was it, or maybe it was Bunny?

  There was a photograph, as well. It was of a twenty-something woman who looked just like Jack – high cheekbones, big grey eyes, black corkscrew curls and everything – a thirty-something fair-haired man, and a good-looking, dark-haired little boy. She turned the picture over, saw somebody had written on the back – Harry, Steve and Crystal in Majorca.

  So, thought Cat, Jack hadn’t been a foundling. He had not been left inside a bag at Waterloo, or brought up in an orphanage. He had a mum, a sister, a nana and a nephew, and they lived in Manchester.

  What a lying, posturing, self-dramatising git.

  She glared up at the ceiling.

  She realised she was not upset, or bothered, or especially surprised. She wasn’t going to have a nervous breakdown, cry, ring counselling help-lines or do anything else which was a waste of precious energy and more precious time.

  Jack and Adam Lawley – what a pair of devious, lying bastards. One who fantasised about himself, and one who got his kicks from asking girls to marry him.

  Why had he come after Cat?

  She decided Tess must have been right, that Adam was attracted to the fact that Cat was wounded. A tiger following a deer which was already crippled, he was a lazy predator, and she’d been easy prey.

  Well, she wasn’t wounded any more. But it was a shame he was a head case, for sex with Adam had been wonderful. Adam could have given Casanova basic lessons in making girls feel special, cherished, loved.

  Cat could not believe she’d cried for Jack. She wasn’t going to cry for Adam. God in heaven, she’d been such a fool, the sort of woman she despised. The sort who let men walk all over her and then looked sad and martyred.

  How could any man respect a woman who behaved like that?

  Jack and Adam – sewer rats, the pair of them, and that was dissing rats.

  She chucked the stuff to be recycled in the colour-coded plastic boxes in the kitchen. She sealed Jack’s letter up again, wrote not known at this address and put it in her bag to post it on her way to work.

  She stuffed the rest of his old rubbish in a big black sack, shoved it in the wheelie bin then went to catch the bus.

  ‘Men,’ she growled, when Tess was up to speed again and knew all about Cat’s long and interesting weekend in Italy. ‘But I’ve made my mind up, and from now on I’ll be like you and Bex. I’ll pick them up and use them, chew them up and spit them out.’

  ‘Attagirl,’ said Tess. ‘Ooh, new ring tone, eh?’ she added, as Cat’s phone began to jingle-jangle.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Cat, but she let the Valkyries ride on and continued scrolling through the e-mails on her desktop. ‘I thought it was time for something different, something with a bit of zip and zing to it, you know?’

  ‘So answer it?’

  ‘I know who it will be.’

  ‘Yes, he’s quite persistent, isn’t he, your Adam? Whatever else is wrong with him, you have to give him that.’

  But when Cat glanced at her phone she saw it wasn’t Adam.

  It was Fanny Gregory.

  ‘Omigod, that’s all I need,’ she said.

  She thought she might be sick. She had been so preoccupied with not being preoccupied with Adam that she had forgotten about the other little problem in her life.

  Fanny Gregory wouldn’t have forgotten. Fanny would be calling to talk about the money which Cat didn’t have.

  But then she squared her shoulders, and she thought what are you – a strong, independent, modern woman or a little mouse? The new, kick-ass Cat – surely she could deal with Fanny Gregory, and there would be no messing?

  So she snatched up the phone.

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Good morning, angel,’ said Fanny genially. ‘We get to talk at last. Where have you been?’

  ‘Italy,’ said Cat, but then she cursed herself. She didn’t want to tell this awful woman anything, least of all about her personal and private life. Memo to myself, thought Cat – when I talk to Fanny, I must be on my guard.

  ‘Ah – bella Italia, how delightful,’ burbled Fanny. ‘So tell me, where exactly did you go?’

  ‘Lucca, it’s a town in Tuscany.’

  ‘Yes, I know, my sweet. I did geography at school, and it’s common knowledge among intelligent, cosmopolitan people, anyway. I’m so in love with Tuscany, aren’t you? The men are all adorable and the food’s divine. Did you go with someone nice, my angel?’

  ‘I went on my own.’

  ‘Oh yes, my love, of course you must have done. What a wicked waste, though, going jetting off to Italy alone. You always need to take a gorgeous man to Italy.’

  ‘Fan, I’m very busy—’

  ‘Darling girl, don’t be so curt with me. Manner maketh man, you know – and maketh woman, too. But we’ll let it pass. I need to let you know I’ve met with your fiancé. Or rather, ex-fiancé, isn’t he? Jack and I have sorted something out, and we’re both very happy with what we have arranged. So that leaves you. My princess, could you come into the office?’

  ‘I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘You won’t have to see him, sweetheart,’ Fanny said, and her voice became all soft and cooing, like a dove. ‘Jack is very busy, as it happens.’

  ‘Busy?’ echoed Cat. ‘Why, what’s he doing now?’

  ‘He has auditions everywhere, my sweet. I’m finding people just can’t get enough of lovely Jack. They’re beating down my door, to coin a very clichéd phrase. But that’s eno
ugh of him. I was also ringing about you.’

  ‘You want to talk about the money?’

  ‘Yes, the money. We must have a little chat.’ Cat heard Fanny tapping keys. ‘So let’s have a look. When I am free?’

  ‘Fanny, I do work!’

  ‘I know you work, my darling, you keep reminding me. You’re running eBay. Or is it Microsoft? But I need to see you. Of course, you’re miles from Oxford Street, the tube’s so slow, the buses are a joke, and I know you can’t afford a cab. But you do have lunch hours? So why not take a couple the same day? Ah now, here’s a window – next Wednesday, one o’clock.’

  ‘Yes, all right, I’ll try.’

  ‘You will do rather more than try, my angel,’ Fanny Gregory said silkily. ‘You will be here at one o’clock on Wednesday and you will be punctual – or else.’

  ‘Fanny, like I said—’

  But Fanny had already disconnected.

  ‘She wants to see me,’ Cat told Tess. ‘I expect she’ll have the bailiffs there and she’ll make me sign my life away.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so daft,’ said Tess. ‘Listen, you’ve got Jack and Adam sorted, haven’t you? So don’t let this woman do you down. If you make it clear that you won’t stand for any messing, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘It won’t be so easy. She’s a witch. She casts spells on people, makes them do all sorts of things they didn’t mean to do, and say things they didn’t mean to say. You think you and Bex are hard, but compared with Fanny you’re as soft as candyfloss.’

  ‘She can’t be as hard as Bex,’ scoffed Tess. ‘What does she look like anyway, you’ve never said – is she huge and does she frighten you, is she some enormous tattooed jelly-belly, is she like a weightlifter in drag? Do you think she’ll sit on you and squash you if you don’t do as you’re told?’

  ‘Fanny’s really tiny. She’s nowhere near as tall as you and me, even in her six-inch-heel stilettos. But that doesn’t mean she can’t—’

  ‘What’s her hair like?’

  ‘Moussed and styled until it begs for mercy and obviously dyed.’

  ‘What colour is it?’

  ‘Orange.’

  ‘Does she have crimson lipstick, scarlet nails?’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  ‘Eyelashes like a spider’s legs?’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘God, she sounds revolting. However does she manage to run her own promotions company? Doesn’t she scare everyone away?’

  ‘No, I told you, Tess – she casts a magic spell on them and makes them do her bidding.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ snorted Tess derisively. ‘Okay, here’s the plan – when you go to see Godzilla’s granny, why don’t I come with you?’

  ‘There would be no point, and anyway we’re getting some deliveries on Wednesday. Barry’s off to see a man in Chester who’s demolishing a bakery, and he thinks there’ll be a lot of pickings, pots and pans and stuff, and maybe ovens, too. So you’ll be needed here.’

  ‘We can change delivery dates,’ said Tess. ‘So tell me if you change your mind.’

  ‘I will, and thank you, anyway.’

  As a matter of fact, decided Cat, as she got started on some work, I wouldn’t have minded some support.

  But she didn’t think it would be wise to let Tess loose on somebody like Fanny Gregory. She’d end up being billed for twice as much if Tess told Fanny where she could get off.

  ‘She told me she and Jack have sorted something out, or come to an arrangement, and I don’t quite like the sound of that,’ she added as she keyed in figures.

  ‘They’re ganging up against you, do you mean?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past them.’

  ‘Omigod,’ said Tess. ‘So do you think she’s – do you think he’s – are they?’

  ‘Yes, I think they might be.’

  ‘But she’s old enough to be his mother, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’d have had to have had him very young. But yes, it’s very likely.’ Cat reached for a Kleenex. ‘Oh, this is awful, Tess!’

  ‘Come on, Cat, you’re over him, you said so.’

  ‘Yes, I’m over him, of course I am. But it doesn’t stop me thinking about when we were together first of all and everything was lovely.’

  ‘But it was a mirage, wasn’t it? He’s a git and she’s a bitch.’ Tess looked hard at Cat. ‘So if they want to shag each other senseless, let them both get on with it. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say. If you have any sense, you’ll say it, too.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ said Cat.

  ‘I’m always right,’ said Tess. ‘Oh, and by the way – Barry said to tell you the Anderson account needs sorting out. He says he entered something on a spreadsheet while you were away, and he thinks he might have put some figures where they didn’t ought to go.’

  ‘God, I wish he’d leave the books alone.’ Cat sighed and tapped some keys and made a mental note to change the password for the customer accounts so Barry couldn’t get at them and foul them up again. ‘I wish he’d stick to buying paving slabs and garden ornaments, and let me do the job I’m hired to do.’

  ‘Well, of course that’s men for you,’ said Tess. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Go blundering in there like a blind assassin, foul it up, then leave the mess for some poor woman to sort out.’

  Adam kept on calling, texting, e-mailing.

  Cat kept on ignoring him.

  But she knew she was weakening.

  As she was scrolling through the fourteenth, fifteenth text that day, she thought, I don’t know what to do.

  He wasn’t whingeing, moaning, carping, grumbling. He didn’t make excuses. Or justify himself. Or suggest that it was all her fault for reacting to the sight of Maddy like a jealous cow. Or tell her she should get a grip.

  ‘Please could we meet up and talk?’ he texted.

  ‘Cat, I’d love to see you when you have a spare half hour,’ he e-mailed.

  ‘May I buy you lunch some time?’ This was on a voicemail, and when she heard him speaking her thumb was on the icon straight away, ready to press call.

  The latest text said he was out of London for the next few days. But he’d be in the bar of the Red Lion in Wayland Road next Wednesday lunchtime and he’d hope to see her there.

  She couldn’t meet him then.

  She had a date with Fanny Gregory in her office.

  She couldn’t quite decide in which place she most didn’t want to be.

  Wednesday, 29 June

  The meeting came too soon.

  ‘Hello Fanny, hello Caspar,’ Cat began as she breezed into Fanny’s den. Or as she tried to breeze, but sadly failed.

  ‘Sit down, Cat,’ said Fanny, sounding like Judi Dench as M in the more recent James Bond movies, with her eyes still fixed upon her screen.

  ‘I’m sorry about all this.’ Cat tried again. ‘I know I’ve messed things up for you. But I—’

  ‘Spare me the sob stuff, sweetheart.’ Fanny glanced up now, and the expression on her face was one of deep displeasure. ‘Cat, my angel, if you think that doing the big-eyed, Puss in Boots routine is going to get you off the hook, you’d better think again.’

  ‘Fanny, listen!’ Cat retorted, stung. ‘I want to sort this out! I want to make it up to you! I want to know about the money!’

  ‘Do you have any money, darling?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Cat.

  ‘Then we’ll have to think of something else.’ Fanny smiled her vixen’s smile and stroked her greyhound’s head reflectively. ‘You do remember I have this barn in Surrey?’

  ‘Do I, Fanny?’

  ‘Yes, my sweet, you do.’ Fanny gave one laptop key a sharp, staccato tap. ‘I mentioned it when we met up in Dorset.’

 
; ‘Yes, of course you did,’ said Cat, thinking that perhaps she would be wise to be a bit co-operative now.

  ‘As you know, my angel, I don’t mess about. That man we met when we were all at Melbury Court in May – Adam something, wasn’t it? He said I should get an architect. I don’t have time for architects. I always know exactly what I want and how to get it. So I – do stop smirking, Cat. It really doesn’t suit you, makes your mouth look like a meerkat’s.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Fanny,’ Cat said meekly. But she hadn’t been smirking. She’d been wincing. The unexpected sound of Adam’s name had pushed a red hot skewer straight into her heart and had made her realise she was so not over him.

  She wished there were injections you could have, to stop you catching love. One shot, she thought, that would be all it took, and you’d be immunised for life, like you were immunised for German measles when you were fourteen. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘So,’ continued Fanny, ‘I got a local master builder in. We did the plans ourselves. His cronies on the council took the sweeteners, and they passed our drawings straight away. An extraordinary evening session, I believe they called it, hardly anyone turned up. Or they weren’t invited, possibly.’

  ‘You’re saying you and your builder fiddled it?’

  ‘I’m saying I don’t believe in wasting time.’ Fanny tapped three keys in quick succession, clack, click, clack. ‘I must admit his boys have earned their bonuses, and more. They’ve cracked on with the work at record speed. The rooms downstairs are ready to be decorated now.’ Fanny did a good impression of a judge about to send a criminal down for life. ‘Cat, my love, my princess – that’s going to be your job.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that on bank holidays and at weekends, my angel, you’ll be at my barn. As the plasterers, electricians, plumbers and the other men move out, you will move in. You’ll be glossing woodwork, emulsioning my walls and painting ceilings, and maybe even choosing colours, too.’

  Fanny paused to look Cat up and down, like a farmer sizing up some livestock and trying to decide if it was fit for breeding or should be sent for slaughter straight away.