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Hello, Heartbreak

Page 18

by Amy Huberman

‘Oh, my God! What a focking nightmare.’

  ‘Total and utter.’

  ‘Now I feel bad we bought a second place in Marbella.’

  ‘Don’t, sweetie – you can’t stop living just because others aren’t as lucky. Make a donation online or something.’

  Gavin and I huddled together in a corner and knocked back our champagne. Then we tried to come up with a list of things we possibly had in common with these people. Just in case we came face to face with one of them and were forced to make conversation. I planned to say that my friend Caroline had been to Marbella, that my dress was from a boutique on the southside (Boutique de Zara in Dundrum town centre) and that I’d tried gel nails once – as a result, my own nails had fallen off but I’d stop short of telling anyone that. If Gavin was cornered, he’d tell them that his cousin ran a spray-tan booth in Malahide, and after that he’d tell them to go and shite.

  I told him he was so cool, so Colin Farrell.

  We kept telling ourselves that after the ‘next one’ we really should go and find the happy couple and offer our congratulations. It would be terribly rude if we stayed there all night drinking champagne, then just left, wouldn’t it?

  Or would it?

  A little later Laurence and Geraldine arrived and I could tell from Geraldine’s expression that she was wondering why she’d come. ‘I mean, Eve and I hate each other!’ she spat. ‘I feel like a total hypocrite.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that Eve and I are the best of friends either. But maybe no one here is. Maybe this lot came as a package when she booked the room, along with the balloons and the jazz band and stuff. Probably just have to tick a box on the application form that asks whether or not you wish them to provide friends for your party.’

  ‘That sounds about right for her,’ Geraldine chirped, then raised her champagne flute. ‘To Eve, our dear friend.’

  ‘To our dear friend.’ We clinked glasses.

  ‘I think Eve’s problem is the music she listens to,’ Laurence said authoritatively. ‘I reckon all that yoga and find-yourself stuff is a load of old hooey. She needs to start listening to some decent feel-good sounds. Things she can have a good old bop to in the kitchen – Cliff, Dicky Rock, Hanson. And an hour of Westlife is as good as an hour in therapy. You laugh, you cry, you reminisce, you get angry, and then you forgive and forget. By the end you’re as good as new. That’s my gift to her.’

  I totally agreed with him on the Westlife front.

  ‘Ah, Laurence,’ Gavin said. ‘You got her some CDs. That’s really kind.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said, taking a piece of paper out of his back pocket. ‘I made her a list of one hundred of my favourite upbeat tunes.’

  Aw. Laurence was so cute. And I just loved that he had no qualms admitting to his cheesy-pop-song fetish. He took his glasses out of his jacket pocket and placed them on the end of his nose. I bit my lip and Gavin shot me a glance. His eyes were dancing and I knew he was stifling a laugh.

  ‘Right so. I’ve colour-coded the list so she’ll know which songs she should listen to for whatever mood she’s in. If you’re down and feel a bit poo, try the songs highlighted in blue. S Club Seven’s ‘Reach For The Sky’ is an exemplary number if you’re struck down with a dose of the moody blues.’

  ‘Come on, Larry, you big stropping hunk, you’re dancing with me.’ Geraldine pulled his arm and the two of them hit the floor, just as the DJ dropped some serious gangsta rap tune. Geraldine joined in, bellowing about her ‘homies’, clapping and shuffling from side to side. Every so often she’d punch the air and shout, ‘Woo-hoo!’ After she’d done that six or seven times, the dance-floor had pretty much cleared.

  ‘I’m bloody roasting,’ she called to us, fanning her pink face with her hands. Menopausal hot flushes cut heating bills everywhere. I couldn’t imagine her shoulder pads were doing her any favours, though. There must have been at least six inches of stuffing in there. Geraldine had told me her outfit was some old yoke she’d found at the back of her wardrobe. I hadn’t known she was accumulating her own vintage clothing collection. She might have bought it in some expensive retro boutique in Rathgar or Killiney.

  ‘Izzy! Join us for a dance!’

  ‘Later,’ I lied, plucking another drink from a passing waiter. I was wondering whether Jonathan Ride Cunningham was going to put in an appearance. Eve had mentioned he might come. She’d invited him because he was good-looking and important, an all-round perfect party guest. I could have done with another of his melty kisses.

  ‘Iz, does Geraldine ever remind you of Mary FitzGerald from How Do You Do?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Yes! Particularly when she wears eighties clothes. She looks so like her!’

  ‘For me it’s when she tells me to be careful with scissors.’

  Poor old Geraldine. She often complained that she never had money for new clothes as all her cash had gone into straightening her eldest son’s teeth. Nearly broke her heart when he slipped on the porch letting the dog out just after his brace was off, cracking his two front teeth in half. I thought she looked fantastic in her orange puffball dress. The giant orange plastic flower in her hair might have been a tad too much – but whatever. To hell with all those dahlings who were pointing at her and whispering things behind their hands.

  My eyes drifted to the bar where Eve was chatting to an audience of perfectly coiffed women. They were all either extremely bored, didn’t have a clue what she was on about or over-Botoxed. I couldn’t tell. In the middle of her rant, she lifted her hand to fix her fringe, and I was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. I rubbed my eyes and looked at Eve again to figure out what had – Oh! It was her engagement ring! Shards of light beamed off it like lasers, catching the reflection of the mirrorball over the dance-floor.

  ‘Phew!’

  ‘Izzy, what are you doing? The limbo? If you want to dance I’ll mind your drink. Go on down to Laurence and Geraldine.’

  ‘I was trying to duck Eve’s diamond light saber!’

  Another few champagne cocktails and I was doing Swan Lake with Laurence – and new-found respect for the Strictly Come Dancing lot. I’d thought it looked easy and that they shouldn’t be complaining about their blisters and dislocated vertebrae because they got to wear cool clothes – but this was seriously hard work! I begged Laurence to let me have a breather before I ended up in a neck brace. He agreed, on condition that I dance with him later on if they played any Lulu. My neck and I prayed for no Lulu.

  On my way to the toilets to check in the mirror that my spine was still properly aligned, I was distracted by what seemed a familiar face coming through the door. I strained my eyes. Jesus – it was! It was Edna! Dear Christ, was Cian with her? I was hyperventilating as my eyes darted round the room. No sign of Cian. I ran into the cloakroom and forced myself to calm down.

  After hiding behind a large anorak for some time, when I finally found the courage to emerge, the room was thronged. If Jonathan Ride Cunningham was here, I might not bump into him at all. Geraldine and Laurence were standing near one of the tables. Geraldine was chewing, her hand hovering over the mini smoked-salmon wraps, and Laurence was sniffing a vol-au-vent suspiciously. Geraldine whipped it out of his hand and stuffed it into her mouth, leaving him stunned.

  Gavin was standing at another table, lost in conversation, his eyes narrowed. I shuffled through the crowd to get to him – but stopped suddenly in my tracks. He was talking to Edna – but they weren’t just chatting casually. She was leaning into him, her hand resting flirtatiously on his arm as she giggled coyly at his story.

  What was going on?

  I backed away, hoping they wouldn’t notice me. I was in shock. He didn’t fancy her, did he? She wasn’t his type – although a very attractive woman in a tight-fitting ruby red cocktail dress with a plunging neckline might be any guy’s type. And whatever about types, what about Kate? Why the hell was he flirting back with her like that? All of a sudden she leant forward and whispered something in his ear. I suddenly
felt incredibly angry.

  I stalked up to the bar and plonked myself down on a stool, flicked through the cocktail menu, ordered a Mojito and waited impatiently for it, my fingers drumming on the counter. After I’d drunk it I’d head home. I had so much to do tomorrow. I hadn’t ironed in ages and I still hadn’t registered for that barrier-free tolling on the M50. I didn’t own a car, but you could never be too prepared, could you?

  In the meantime, Eve had trotted up to the bar and squeezed herself in beside me, clicking her fingers for the barman’s attention. Why didn’t she just flash that rock in his eyes? I really wasn’t in the mood for her right now, but I felt guilty that I hadn’t spoken to her yet.

  ‘Eve, hi.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Isobel. Yes – I remember inviting you earlier on today.’

  Why had I bothered?

  ‘Eh, well, I just wanted to congratulate you once again on your engagement. It’s a terrific party.’

  ‘Why, thank you. Very kind of you. It was Philippe’s idea, really. I mean, I would have been just as happy to sit at home with a bottle of wine and watch the telly [yeah, right]… And he’s so sweet – he even asked Saffron Spencer to come so I could have a celebrity at my party.’

  Eve had been watching far too much of My Super Sweet 16 on MTV.

  ‘Have you seen her? She is here, you know!’

  I nodded. ‘Uh-huh, yep! I’ve seen her here, all right.’ My brain was officially saturated with Saffron Spencer. I was officially saturated with Saffron Spencer.

  ‘Excuse me, Isobel, but I can’t stay and talk now. Yoo-hoo! Bar person! Over here!’

  I downed my Mojito and left her to it.

  I went over to Geraldine and Laurence to say goodbye. They told me they’d be leaving soon, too, and that we should all jump into a taxi together. I glanced about the room for Gavin – and spotted him in a corner, sitting at a table with Saffron. He was saying something to her, leaning in close to her face. Jesus, why did I have a knack for letting arseholes like him into my life?

  Euch!

  I had to turn away. I tried to look composed. ‘Coming?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll get my coat, pet,’ Geraldine replied.

  I grabbed mine from the cloakroom and headed out of the door. Laurence had hailed a taxi, a mini miracle on a Friday night, and we began to climb in. I was afraid my voice would wobble if I tried to speak. I wanted to cry – Gavin had always been so kind when I got upset about Cian, calling him an idiot and telling me I was lucky to be rid of him. But now he, too, had shown himself to be two-faced and insincere.

  Laurence was giving the driver directions so I whipped out my phone and texted Jonathan Ride Cunningham. I was fed up waiting around for my life to start while everyone else was living theirs with gay abandon. He texted back straight away: Meet me beside the water feature out the back.

  ‘Stop the taxi!’ I shouted.

  ‘Izzy, pet, we haven’t even moved off yet,’ Geraldine reminded me.

  I jumped out and ran to the back of the hotel. Jonathan was there. Our eyes found each other and I marched straight over to him. He pulled me close and kissed me hard. Then, whispering in my ear, he asked had I ever stayed at the Four Seasons. Of course I hadn’t. We hurried to Reception and booked a room.

  22

  Huge step. Major achievement. I felt like the Neil Armstrong of my own little world. I was officially moving on. Cian, the love of my life, was no longer the last person I’d slept with. Progress!

  Now all I had to do was slip out of bed without waking Jonathan Ride Cunningham so I could fix my makeup in the bathroom and brush my hair before he woke up, saw me, screamed in horror and killed my buzz.

  ‘Morning, you,’ he mumbled sleepily, pulling me to him with one lovely strong-man arm. Oops, too late. However, he didn’t appear to have any prejudices against the scruffy Goth look. Maybe I owed it to myself to seal the deal. Just to make sure. Just in the name of progress…

  ‘Izzy, I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘You’ve come so far.’

  ‘All the hard work.’

  ‘And the dedication.’

  ‘And it’s finally paid off.’

  Wow. I really did feel like Neil Armstrong. I didn’t want to dilute all the praise by telling them it hadn’t been that difficult. We’d just booked a room and taken our clothes off. I also didn’t want to tell them that I’d felt like a slapper when we were checking out the next morning and I was in last night’s dress with mascara smudged beyond my eyebrows. Or that I’d been caught nicking the toiletries from the chambermaid’s trolley and was told that they did not appreciate that sort of behaviour at the Four Seasons, thank you very much.

  ‘And he’s such a ride. That’s the cherry on the cake. I’d love to see Cian’s face now!’ Susie laughed.

  ‘He can keep his lame Edna McClodmutton. You’ve trumped him with the delicious Jonathan Ride Cunningham!’ Keelin came back out of the kitchen with a pot of tea and a plate of Skittles.

  We sat on the rug, blowing on our tea and catching up on the events of the week. We laughed over the newspaper articles about Edna’s ‘true identity’. I’d had no idea that the tabloids would print literally anything without researching it or double-checking the facts. Everything I’d told that paparazzo on O’Connell Street the day of the shoot had ended up in the celeb-gossip columns.

  ‘Saffron Spencer’s true name revealed… Edna McClodmutton!’

  ‘Saffron Spencer’s next role… a transsexual maneater!’

  ‘Saffron Spencer’s ex-boyfriend reveals how his penis fell off after contracting rare sexually transmitted disease!’

  ‘Priceless, Izzy,’ Keelin gasped, as we split our sides laughing again.

  ‘I guess you really can’t believe everything you read.’

  ‘I told you that, Izzy, when you read in Zelebs that that actress in Fair City could read rabbits’ minds and were convinced it was true.’ Susie shook her head.

  ‘I just wanted her to tell me Dermot wasn’t traumatized by that rabbit-flavoured dog food Keelin brought home.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure Dermo can’t read and therefore had no idea what was in the tins,’ Keelin said.

  ‘Anyway,’ Susie interrupted, ‘back to Edna. She deserves whatever’s in those gossip columns because she’s a sneaky, nasty person who’s been bitchy to you whenever she’s had the opportunity.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ We clinked our mugs together.

  Enough about Edna McClodmutton. I didn’t want to talk about her any more. I couldn’t get the image of her and Gavin together at the party out of my head, and it really bothered me. I wasn’t sure why.

  I attempted to change the subject. ‘I bags the last red Skittle,’ I said, swooping in and snatching it from the plate. I caught Keelin grinning. She’d been doing it quite a lot lately. ‘What’s up with you?’ I asked her.

  ‘Who – me? Nothing,’ she said, and was grinning again.

  ‘Out with it,’ Susie ordered. ‘Either you’ve bought yourself a new pair of shoes or something’s happened with Simon.’

  ‘Something happened with Simon.’

  ‘No way!’ I yelped. Had she drugged him, then dragged him off to some lonely spot up in the mountains? Did she know that didn’t count? Not to mention the fact that it was illegal. To start with I’d been amazed that Simon hadn’t seemed interested in her. But now I was shocked that something had actually happened after months of nothing. What had changed? ‘Tell us!’ I was itching to hear all the details.

  ‘Well, last week I volunteered to do this soup-run thing for homeless dogs around the city centre. We all have to do a few every year as our boss likes the firm to be seen doing charity work.’

  ‘Do dogs drink soup?’ Susie seemed genuinely curious.

  ‘Suz, that was one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard you say. We give them our own dog food.’

  ‘Do you just walk around town with buckets of it looking for hungry stray dogs?’

  ‘Exactly.
So, anyway, there I was, heading off with my bucket, when Simon joined me. Apparently he’d been assigned to come with me. I was so chuffed I almost started dancing.’

  ‘Like you did in Topshop that time you found those shoes left in your size and we were asked to leave by the security man before you got a chance to pay for them because he thought you were drunk?’ Susie asked.

  ‘Yeah, a bit like that. A whole night with Simon. On my own! I couldn’t believe it! A chance for me to work my magic properly! Unlike Simon, who looked suitably unimpressed that he had to escort me. And then I just thought, Well, screw you! If he wasn’t interested, fine, but he didn’t have to act like he hated me, right?’

  ‘Right!’

  ‘So I just headed off and did my own thing, thinking, Sod him!’

  ‘Sod him!’ we repeated. This was fast turning into some sort of Simon-bashing cult.

  ‘Well, I’d fed two terriers and a Jack Russell when I was approached by this big collie cross. He looked so sorry for himself, his coat all matted and dirty. Little did I know he was a pervert!’

  ‘The collie?’ I asked. I hadn’t known dogs could be perverts.

  ‘Yep. Started humping my leg, and then, he tried to mount my back!’

  Susie and I burst out laughing, and Keelin sort of did too. But then she told us we weren’t taking her ordeal seriously enough, so we quietened down.

  ‘I was screaming like a mad woman in the middle of Temple Bar, trying to get the brute off me. There were loads of people standing outside the pubs, but no one would help me. They were all too busy laughing.’

  I couldn’t look at Susie in case I started laughing again.

  ‘Then I saw Simon pegging it towards me out of nowhere. And he just wrestled this animal off my back with his bare hands.’

  It was a dog we were talking about here, wasn’t it? Not a bear?

  ‘He was so nice and kind and not at all rude like he’d normally be. He was checking to see I was okay, and making sure I wasn’t hurt. And then I said to him, “Why are you being so nice to me, Simon? You hate me.”

  ‘“I don’t hate you,” he said. “I just don’t like your carry-on.”

 

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