by Cathy Kelly
‘You’re incorrigible,’ Tara whispered to Isadora. ‘What happened to the gorgeous Michael?’
‘I dumped him,’ Isadora said, eyes on Scott. ‘Three weeks was long enough.’
Tara laughed out loud. Situation normal.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Her parents’ big anniversary bash was just three days away when Holly gave her own party, a select birthday dinner for Tom. It had been her idea, although Kenny had taken it a step further and suggested making it a surprise and having it on Tom’s thirty-first birthday itself, which was a Thursday, instead of the day after.
‘He might have arranged something with his friends for that day,’ said Holly hesitantly when Joan and Kenny began brainstorming exactly how to inveigle Tom down to the pub, and then get him home in time for a surprise meal.
‘We’re his friends!’ Joan said, as if that was patently obvious. ‘Sure, he spends all his time with us.’
This was true. Tom went along with the three of them on their trips to the pub at the weekend, and on their forays to the Purple Mosquito, which, since the triumph of the speed dating night, was Joan’s favourite spot.
‘Imagine; so many men, so little time,’ she sighed. ‘I’m turning into a man magnet.’
‘Fridge magnet, more like,’ said Kenny. His fling with Raul was off and he was grumpy.
Holly found it fun going out with Tom along. She was never shy in his presence and when Kenny and Joan flitted off like social butterflies to talk to their enormous raft of acquaintances, Tom kept Holly company. It was nice to have someone to talk to instead of sitting on her own, pretending to look as if she was enjoying herself.
Tom, in turn, had brought the three of them hill-walking (not a huge success with either Joan or Kenny) and they’d all been out on a boat owned by a colleague of his (much more successful, although Kenny’s prized vintage Gaultier boating jacket turned out to be useless for keeping the cold out on the high seas. Tom had lent Kenny a windcheater and he’d spent the rest of the trip looking like a child in a grown-up’s clothing and moaning, ‘I can’t believe I’m actually wearing chain store clothes’ in a weak voice.)
Now, Holly tasted the sauce one last time. The subtle flavours of ginger, lemon grass and chicken all mingled together brilliantly. She smiled to herself with childish delight.
The flat was decked out in candles and balloons. Joan had done the blowing up, which she said was her aerobic exercise for the week. Holly had decked herself out in her best, slimming jeans and a daringly low-cut antique lace top in a glowing old gold. It was going to be a fantastic evening.
Joan had been in favour of a huge party, complete with flashing disco lights and a proper DJ. But because nobody had the funds, they reached a compromise: a small dinner for Tom, Holly, Kenny and Joan, followed by some wildness down at the Mosquito with the usual crowd.
It was all to be a big surprise, with Kenny and Joan charged with meeting Tom after work and dragging him off to the pub. They then had to get him home at eight on the nail.
The venue for the dinner was Holly’s flat because she was cooking, and she’d gone to great lengths to set the table beautifully, with her prettiest dishes, and Moroccan tea glasses containing candles lighting the whole place.
Joan had made a huge birthday card and Kenny had supplied the present: a soft-as-kitten-fur cashmere jumper which was from his shop’s winter line and therefore, out of date and, with staff discount, a quarter of the original price.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Holly reverently when she saw it. She imagined it on Tom; the sleek charcoal fabric flattering his big frame. He could do with some new clothes. He clearly never spent a penny on fashion and lived in comfortably worn sweatshirts and faded jeans, occasionally putting on a suit for important meetings.
Kenny had tried to style Tom, but he’d laughingly resisted saying: ‘There’s no place for Gucci shoes on building sites, Kenny. I’m an architect, not a fashion plate.’
Holly turned off the telly and switched on some music. It was five to eight and she was ready. Well, maybe she’d just add a bit more lippy and brush her hair again. Her face was becomingly flushed in the mirror and she couldn’t suppress a small smile of excitement. She had a present for Tom too, a private one she hadn’t told the others about. It was a book on Le Corbusier, an architect apparently, someone she’d never heard of until she did a bit of research. The man in the bookshop had said that Tom would love it.
‘He’s a lucky fella,’ the man had added, giving Holly a grin as he keyed in the exorbitantly-priced book.
Holly had blushed and knocked over a display of The Little Book of Serenity in her embarrassment. ‘He’s just a friend,’ she muttered, now an interesting puce colour.
‘Oh right so,’ said the man. ‘I hope there’s a few of you clubbing together to buy this. It’s a hell of a present.’
‘Y…yes, a few of us friends are buying it,’ stammered Holly.
The book was wrapped, tied with a blue ribbon and was now stored under Holly’s bed, waiting for the right moment to give it to Tom without anybody else noticing.
The doorbell rang lustily and Holly threw the lipstick into the cosmetic bag on the sink and rushed to open the door.
‘Happy Birthday!’ she said joyfully.
Tom looked stunned.
‘Surprise!’ carolled Kenny and Joan, pushing him into the hall.
Holly put her arms around Tom and gave him a shy kiss on the cheek. It was his birthday after all.
‘Holly…I didn’t expect this,’ said Tom. ‘I had no idea…’
‘But what a lovely idea it is!’ From behind Joan, appeared a petite blonde girl, wrapped up in a tiny denim jacket that could have easily fitted a child. Holly’s heart fell into her boots.
‘I’m Caroline, Tom’s girlfriend and I’ve heard all about all of you. It’s lovely to meet you.’ She wrapped her arms round Tom and snuggled close like a tiny woodland elf-typecreature snuggling into a tree. Holly felt like ape woman by comparison. Suddenly, her most slimming jeans didn’t feel very slimming at all and the lace top with its low front made her feel like a raddled old slapper compared to this fresh-faced little sprite.
‘I’m ravenous,’ said Joan, moving the party into the sitting room. ‘Let’s eat. There’s enough for Caroline, isn’t there, Holly?’
‘I don’t eat much,’ said Caroline sweetly. She even had dimples, Holly noticed. Dimples, a heart-shaped face and a sweet little rosebud mouth. ‘I hope I’m not barging in, but I came up from Cork to surprise Tom on his birthday. It’s lovely that you’re taking care of him like this!’
She beamed at them all and perched herself on the twoseater couch, patting the cushion beside her for Tom. He sat down obediently. Holly gazed at the newcomer. Caroline didn’t look as if she thought there was any real possibility of anyone thinking she’d barged in. Caroline looked as though she felt she belonged anywhere she liked.
‘Holly, this is wonderful,’ Tom was saying.
Holly gave him the automatic smile perfected at years of Miller family Christmas parties.
‘You’re so good to have cooked,’ he added.
‘It’s your birthday,’ she said quickly, ‘we couldn’t let you celebrate on your own.’
Kenny opened wine and the sparkling apple juice Holly currently adored, Joan cranked the stereo up a few notches, and the party continued happily, while Holly went back to the kitchenette and did some utterly unnecessary stirring. ‘It’ll be a few minutes more,’ she lied. Everything was ready. It was she who needed a few moments to recover. From her position behind the breakfast bar, she watched Tom and Caroline. They looked so happy together; Tom, the big, comforting protector and Caroline, the petite, jewel-like apple of his eye.
Caroline was telling the company about her drive up to Dublin and how she’d got a flat tyre outside Fermoy, ‘but this absolutely sweet guy in a Porsche stopped and helped me fix it!’ She squeezed Tom’s arm. ‘You know how hopeless I am at things like that,’
she said. ‘Give me a business in trouble, and I can turn it around in a flash. Ask me to change a light bulb and forget it!’
Everyone laughed, Tom most of all.
Watching them, Holly felt a stab of pain so intense that for a moment, she wondered had the underwire of her cheap black bra escaped to dig into her chest. But even as she discreetly checked, she knew that wasn’t the answer. The pain went deeper than that.
She’d been stupid to even think that Tom could like her. He had a girlfriend, for God’s sake. A tiny little princess of a thing, so what would he want with her? She didn’t have a car with tyres to change but if she did, nobody would ever screech to a halt beside her to help change it. They’d drive by, Holly thought miserably, expecting such a fine heifer of a girl to be able to lift the car up without the aid of a jack.
‘Right, dinner’s ready,’ she said heartily. ‘Everyone sit down and I’ll dish up.’
Caroline squeezed in between Tom and Joan, exclaiming with delight at Holly’s pretty mismatched china and stealing a bit of tomato and fennel bread from Tom’s plate after refusing any herself.
‘I don’t eat much wheat normally,’ she revealed, as Holly put flatware and plates in front of her.
No wheat from now on, vowed Holly. That was the secret, clearly.
‘How about you, Joan?’ inquired Caroline. ‘You’re very slim. Do you eat wheat?’
Joan, halfway through spreading a divot of butter on a lump of bread, grinned.
‘There’s nothing she doesn’t eat,’ said Kenny. ‘I have to nail the furniture down in case she takes a bite out of the coffee table.’
Caroline’s delighted peal of laughter rang out. ‘That’s soo funny,’ she said, grabbing Tom’s arm and squeezing.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about diets for, you hardly have to diet,’ Joan pointed out, with her mouth full.
Caroline raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘I’m so small,’ she sighed. ‘If I go a pound above seven and a half stone, it really shows.’
Holly’s mouth opened. Seven and a half stone. Her left leg probably weighed that.
‘I have one cabbage soup day a week when I think thin thoughts,’ Caroline proclaimed.
Thin thoughts. Holly wondered how you did that. The cabbage soup bit sounded awful but she might be able to manage thin thoughts.
She brought the serving dish to the table and she began to spoon out the ginger and lemon grass chicken she’d slaved over.
‘This looks and smells fabulous, Holly,’ said Kenny, inhaling deeply.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Tom, leaning across the table to touch Holly’s hand.
‘To Tom,’ said Caroline suddenly, picking up her wine glass. ‘Happy Birthday, darling.’
They all raised their glasses. Caroline stood up and kissed Tom fully on the mouth.
Holly, who’d planned to stick to apple juice all night because she didn’t want to get all silly in front of Tom, took a huge slug of wine and then reached for the bread. Giving up wheat would have to wait, while her thin thoughts were being blocked out by jealous ones.
Kenny handed her the butter and caught her eye. His expression was sympathetic as he blew her a kiss.
Holly smiled gratefully. She might have lost Tom but she still had her little family.
Caroline was the life and soul of the party. She laughed at every word Joan or Kenny said, clutched Tom’s arm so often that Holly was sure he’d be bruised, and she nibbled at her dinner in the manner of a rabbit shyly nibbling a lettuce leaf.
Although she’d been ravenous earlier, Holly found that she had no appetite after all and pushed her food around her plate.
Having exhausted the subject of diets, Caroline was now talking about how much she loved management consultancy and the challenges of taking on a fresh company every few months.
‘People can underestimate a woman like myself,’ she said gravely. ‘They think that because I’m small and blonde, I’m some sort of pushover.’ A deliciously impish grin lifted the corners of her pretty mouth. ‘That’s a mistake they don’t make twice.’
Joan was fascinated by the idea of this. ‘What do you wear?’ she asked. ‘Pinstripe men’s suits, kipper ties and spats, to make the point that you’re a tough chick but on the edge of fashion?’
‘No way!’ said Caroline. ‘I’d never wear trousers to work. And I always wear heels. Just because I’m a woman working in a man’s world, doesn’t mean I have to compromise my femininity.’
Joan looked blank. ‘I’m not into skirts myself. I don’t actually have one,’ she said. ‘I’m not a skirty person.’
Caroline shrugged. ‘We’re all different. You have your look—cool and hip. I adore that T-shirt.’
Joan looked proudly down at her latest creation, an incursion into smocking brought bang up to date with Joan’s peculiar graffiti skills and with a line of pearls sewn on in homage to Chanel. It was acid green on the front and a dark purple on the back.
‘It’s very me,’ Joan said. ‘I’m doing ten of them for this designer boutique in Castle Market and if they sell, the boutique will buy more.’
‘You see,’ said Caroline, ‘you have a unique style. So do I.’
She glanced at Holly, who waited to hear what her unique style was. Caroline nibbled another bit of her dinner. ‘This is fabulous, Holly,’ she said. ‘You obviously love cooking.’
Holly had another big gulp of wine.
By eleven, they were on their way to the Mosquito, to squeals of delight from Caroline who said she’d heard all about it. She’d even run up to Tom’s flat to change, appearing five minutes later in a teeny little blue floral slip dress with her denim jacket over the top. The fact that she looked even better in a dress didn’t upset Holly half as much as the knowledge that of course Caroline would be staying with Tom, sleeping beside him, giggling with him over breakfast. Holly fastened a big smile to her face and led the way to the club. She had done no make-up repair work: what was the point in having your lips painted cherry-blossom pink when your heart was breaking.
Miss Mindy was on the door. She was having a pillar box-red night and was wearing the biggest, reddest Lurex minidress Holly had ever seen. Her feet were jammed into red wedge sandals the size of tugboats.
‘Hey, girlfriend,’ she said to Holly. The rest of the crew trooped into the club. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Fine,’ said Holly.
‘You look tired. Working too hard, huh?’
‘No,’ said Holly. ‘Just miserable.’
‘Man trouble,’ guessed Miss Mindy shrewdly.
Holly didn’t bother lying. Miss Mindy was the sort of person who saw through lies. ‘Yes. I was looking for a guy and the one I liked was under my nose all along.’
‘The big fella with the hands like hams?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘He’d be a great bouncer,’ sighed Miss Mindy, who was suffering from staffing problems.
‘He’s very gentle,’ protested Holly.
Miss Mindy’s panstick cracked as she smiled. ‘All the best ones are,’ she said. ‘That’s the sort of fella I like too: giant on the outside, pussy cat on the inside. Is the little blonde in the denim with him?’
Holly nodded miserably.
‘Why do these lads always go for little cutesy bimbo types?’ Miss Mindy cast a derogatory eye towards where Caroline could be seen perched on a bar stool with her legs crossed demurely, for all the world like a poster of a ’40s cigarette girl. All she needed were the bows on her shoes.
‘When I was your age, I wanted to be one of those little girl types,’ Miss Mindy added. ‘But I was six foot one and I had a stronger right hook than most of the men I knew. Men don’t like being towered over. They prefer to have their protective instinct activated. Us big girls don’t stand a chance. Well, I don’t. You do, girlfriend. You’re a beaut.’ She patted Holly’s cheek affectionately. ‘Hopefully that big lummox will see what he’s missing and dump the little blonde.’
&n
bsp; Holly gave Miss Mindy a hug and went into the club, cheered up. OK, so it wasn’t all that hopeful that Miss Mindy clearly bracketed herself and Holly in the big-girls-lonelyhearts club, but at least she’d been kind and she seemed to understand the whole unrequited love thing. People were a constant surprise, Holly decided. Under her make-up shell, Miss Mindy was a bit of a pussy cat herself.
The party rolled on, with assorted pals turning up and wandering off. Holly, who’d decided that drinking wasn’t the answer, nursed glass after glass of mineral water and kept as far away from Tom and Caroline as possible without looking rude. It wasn’t hard. The group were sitting in a corner around a big, low table, with Tom and Caroline on one side, and Holly on the other.
Caroline took to the party atmosphere with relish. For a teeny little thing, she could certainly put the vodka away, shovelling in Cosmopolitans like there was no tomorrow.
She was soon clinging to Tom like a cute drunken rag doll.
On her last stagger to the loos, she’d tied her hair up in a topknot, which Joan was now looking at with contempt.
‘What is she like?’ Joan demanded. Joan had drunk a lot of Cosmopolitans too but to no great effect. ‘Pebbles, that’s it. She’s like Pebbles from The Flintstones.’
Holly hid her giggles behind her hand. ‘Shush, Tom will hear.’
She felt guilty to be laughing at Tom’s girlfriend, but it made her feel a bit better.
‘I mean,’ Joan sounded grim, ‘she asked me why I didn’t have my own flat and why you, me and Kenny hang around together. She said did we think we were recreating Friends? She’s lucky I didn’t kick box her top knot into oblivion.’
Across from them, Caroline appeared to have fallen asleep.
‘I think I’ll take her home,’ Tom said loudly, so they’d hear him over the music.
Holly, saved from having to hug him goodbye by virtue of the fact that she was hemmed into her seat by several of Kenny’s friends, waved in a friendly manner. ‘Bye,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Hope you had a nice birthday.’
‘I did.’ Tom stood up and seemed to be thinking how he could get past the gaggle of people to reach Holly.