Enraged, I ram the paper plate and the cupcakes into Rosie the Ginger Dinner’s cleavage. The cakes make a satisfying squashing sound. Rosie, covered in pink and white icing, screams, loses balance, and her little bum hits the ground with a thud. Oh, dearie dear.
Then a flash of lightning blinds us all.
‘I got the flash working again,’ John declares victoriously.
‘How dare you! You crazy cow!’ Rosie the Ginger Dinner erupts, trembling with indignation, glaring at me.
‘Mummeee! Cake gone! Cake gone!’ Mia wails.
Scott, who unfortunately hasn’t heard any of Rosie’s horrible speech and must only have seen me push her, comes over, attracted by the commotion. He crouches sympathetically by her side. ‘Are you OK, Rosie? I’m sorry – Jess has been under a lot of stress lately.’
‘Yes, I-I’m fine,’ Rosie whispers melodramatically as if she were at death’s door, the back of her hand resting on her forehead.
Scott shakes his head, his face betraying disappointment and hurt. He utters a single word, his voice full of reproach. ‘Jess.’
‘Do not speak for me, Scott.’ I lift Mia, still howling, up on my hip, and plod away, my head held high.
Chapter 18
The Last Word
The Last Word
Ingredients
45 ml gin
15 ml green chartreuse
15 ml Maraschino liqueur
15 ml fresh lime juice
10 ml cold mineral water
Cherry to garnish
Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker with a cup of ice.
Shake vigorously. Strain into a martini glass. Drop a cherry in.
Enjoy.
The Girls
The following Friday. Chicago Bar. 8 pm.
‘Let’s watch it again! In slow-mo!’ Emily requests eagerly, almost spilling her drink in excitement.
Louise willingly complies and plays the video of Jess squashing the cupcakes on Rosie the Ginger Dinner in slow motion.
‘I still can’t believe you managed to film that without anybody noticing,’ Carla laughs.
‘Everybody was too busy watching the scene.’ Louise explains.
‘Lou, put the sound down a bit, I can’t handle her hyena screaming,’ Jess requests, putting her hands over her ears.
‘What do you mean? It’s highly enjoyable. It’s the scream of a hyena in distress.’ Louise drops the volume down only one bar, an unmistakable look of satisfaction on her face.
‘Can we watch the Boomerang one? Carla hasn’t seen it yet and it’s hilarious.’ Emily waves to Mateo at the bar.
Louisa plays the app creation, looping back and forth on the cupcakes smashing into Rosie’s chest, and her screeching in outrage.
Mateo shouts over to them, in a baritone voice, ‘A round of Tootsaw’d coming up, ladies!’
Emily regains her composure. ‘Jess, what’s going to happen with you and Scott?’
‘The shambles with that Rosie slut… He did have a crush on her. Who wouldn’t, right? The car tracker and my recorders never showed anything. I don’t think Rosie and Scott slept together. Scott swears it on the girls’ life. Rosie would have bragged about it, especially after the cupcake showdown, to hurt me. He’s not innocent though. He had an emotional affair – he went into territory he shouldn’t have. She only had to say the word and he would have been right there.’
‘Yes, but it didn’t happen. You can’t live a life of what ifs. So, what’s the plan?’ Carla asks.
‘We talked – a lot. I think we still have love each other. We love the girls. We don’t want to break up our family if we can help it. We decided we’re going to start sex therapy next week. We did think about traditional couple’s therapy, but I’ve read glowing reviews about this sex therapist who lives around the corner from us. I thought why not?’ Jess blushes. ‘I hope it can help us rebuild our intimacy and improve us as a couple. The program sounds great. There’s visualisation techniques and meditation to do in between sessions.’
‘Yuck, you sound like Nick. He would make his Labrador meditate if he could. What is it with everybody meditating about anything these days?’ Louise rolls her eyes.
‘Don’t listen to her, Jess. I think it’s amazing. You’re going to save your marriage and you’ll all live happily ever after. And the girls will get to spend Christmas Day with both parents. Love it!’ Emily enthuses.
‘What about you? You haven’t mentioned Freddie, but Em said you’ve moved out?’ Jess queries.
‘It’s temporary,’ Carla admits bashfully. ‘I couldn’t hijack Em and Lola’s flat any more with all my stuff. Freddie has this huge duplex and I didn’t want to rush into renting a new place I didn’t really love. Our relationship is not going anywhere; it’s just a bit of fun for now.’
‘Are you still freaking out about him being younger than you? Men don’t think twice before going out with women half their age! I know, I’ve had my share. Tell me, why should we? Get over it. He’s only ten years younger than you, so can’t technically be your son. Date him. Properly. And fall in love if it feels right and if it’s not done already. Life’s too short – stop overthinking,’ Louise sermons, all pragmatic and sensible.
‘You’re one to talk! Your relationship with Nick seems like a war master plan.’ Carla takes a sip of her cocktail and flinches. ‘These are way too strong.’
‘You do need a strategy if you’re serious about your love career. There’s a glass ceiling for girls like me. I don’t have the right job, the right education, or the right hobbies to land someone like Nick. I can’t get on the marriage ladder without a game plan,’ Louise states crisply.
‘I’m not being funny, but you don’t make it sound very romantic.’ Emily grimaces, from the sourness of her drink and Louise’s opinionated point of view.
‘Em, you’re only twenty-two, I’ve got another decade on you. You and Max – it’s just puppy love, eating marshmallows and watching romcoms. The equivalent of your first part-time job in retail when you start uni. I’m going for the president’s seat. You don’t just roll out of bed, flip a coin and go to the interview. You come up with a set of tactics, you prepare, you rehearse, and you go for the kill.’ Louise swirls the ice cubes in her tumbler and takes a sip. ‘This is vile. Where is Lola when you need her? She can’t have written the recipe down right.’
‘Well, we can’t send them back; they’re free,’ Emily observes, sliding her glass over to Jess before grinning. ‘Max and me? It’s the real deal. He’s totally serious about me. He bought me-’
‘-A ring? That’s the only thing men buy you when they’re serious about you.’ Carla wisely states.
‘No! Not a ring, don’t be silly. He bought me a bike helmet, so I can ride with him. He had it personalized with my initials!’ Emily announces triumphantly.
‘I got a ring from Scott, and look where we are today,’ Jess chimes in bitterly. ‘If you want real loyalty, get a dog. Men are like windmills. They can’t help it; it’s in their DNA. Tying them down keeps them from moving for a bit, but when the storm comes all hell breaks loose. At last, a proper drink!’ She claps her hands as Mateo brings over a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc and four glasses.
‘He put stickers on your bike helmet? I can’t decide whether that’s chavy or cute.’ Louise comments.
Carla puts her hands flat on the table, sits up straight in her chair and proclaims loudly, ‘Girls, I have news.’
‘Again? Last time you said that, you made us all believe you got engaged. Red herring!’ Jess pretends to shrug indifferently.
‘Right, it can’t be a promotion because you’ve just had it Hmm. Let me think. It’s something inconsequential but which really matters to you. You’re turning Buddhist?’ Louise suggests.
‘Shut up, you two. Have some respect, let her talk,’ Emily reprimands.
Carla pulls out a little blue and white plastic stick and slides it on the table next to the wine bottle. She stares at it, her exp
ression unreadable.
‘You peed on that, didn’t you? I can’t believe you’d put that on the table. It’s just gross.’ Louise removes a tub of antibacterial gel from her handbag and squirts some on her hands, even though they haven’t been anywhere near the stick.
‘P-pregnant? It says pregnant! That thing says pregnant! It’s not a joke, is it? Is it yours? Are you pregnant, Carla? Are you?’ Emily stutters, her eyes wide.
‘Em! Shut up! Of course, it’s hers. Why would she bring someone else’s pregnancy test? Duh!’ Louise exclaims, annoyed at Emily’s agitation.
‘Fuck. Shit and piss,’ Jess comments darkly, lost for any more eloquent words.
Carla takes a sip of her gin and tonic and sighs.
‘Wait! You shouldn’t be drinking, should you?’ Emily lays a hand on her forearm.
‘Is Freddie the father?’ Louise asks, unusual concern in her voice.
Defiantly, Carla downs her drink, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and replies,
‘I don’t know.’
‘Time for Jägermeister shots, I say. At least, for me,’ Jess proclaims decisively.
‘Nothing has changed. This is still our night out. Selfie time, I say,’ Carla chirps.
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Copyright © 2019 Linh Le James
Cover design © 2019 by Linh Le James
Cover art © Linh Le James
Have you enjoyed this book?
Would you like to read the next instalment of the toots’ lives?
Can Jess and Scott’s heal their relationship? How will Jess reclaim herself?
How can Louise keep up the pretence to be Nick’s ideal woman? What if all her lies come back to haunt her?
Will Carla find out whether Ben or Freddie is the father? What choices will she make once faced with the truth?
How will Emily harness her inner Khaleesi and keep hold of Max with Leo in the picture?
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Releasing 2019.
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