All the Single Ladies

by Jane Costello

  She pauses and looks at her hands. ‘I was kidding myself. Of course, I was. I was taking the easy option. Plus, I was ashamed of what I’d done. I felt, very early on, that I should have stood up to my mother and said, “I don’t care what you think. This is my daughter and I’m proud of her.” Because –’ she looks at Julia – ‘I am, you know. I’m so very proud of you.’

  Julia kneels down on the floor and rests her head in Mum’s lap. Mum strokes Julia’s skin, wiping away her tears.

  ‘I know you are, Mum,’ Julia says. ‘I know.’

  Chapter 79

  I am experiencing what I can only describe as emotion overload. And information overload. And . . . just overload.

  There are only so many revelations I can cope with in twenty-four hours, and the facts that my Jamie cheated on me, and that Ben is ‘in a relationship’, are now the least of them. The idea that Mum and Dad have experienced more melodrama than in an EastEnders special . . . I don’t know how to begin taking that in.

  It must be even harder for Julia. She’s at the heart of this matter; she’s the one who’s lived with this bizarre lie, albeit obliviously. Mum says she’s got a right to be angry, and I think there’s a small part of Julia, and indeed of me too, that is.

  But, most of all, it feels like a missing piece of the jigsaw has been found – and effortlessly slotted in. Part of me thinks: Wow . . . Julia’s my sister! Another part thinks: And? . . . She always has been, shared gene pool or not.

  When I wake the next morning, it’s to the beep of a text message from Jen.

  I’ve done it – dumped Dan. Am distraught xx

  I hit call, but she must be on an early shift because it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message: ‘Hey, Jen – got your text. Hope everything’s okay. There’s been a bit of drama round here too, actually. Come round tonight and we’ll have a good chat. Keep your chin up, sweetheart.’

  It’s advice I feel totally incapable of following myself. My feelings about my family are one thing; those about Jamie – and Ben, for that matter – are entirely another. I consider throwing a sickie for the first time in my life, but decide against it: I’ve got a hell of a lot to think about, but I don’t really want to think any more. I’ve done nothing but think since Jamie left.

  ‘Right, my luvs. Give it to me straight,’ Lorelei demands. ‘Have we got Coleen or not?’

  There are five days until the Teen SOS centenary event and I’m counting the minutes until it’s all over.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Coleen unfortunately isn’t able to come, but we have a number of celebrities.’

  This is not just stretching the truth; it’s coating the truth in Lycra and pulling it until it’s barely visible to the naked eye. The best I’ve managed to do are four members of the Hollyoaks cast, a handful of minor WAGs and Fern Britton’s make-up artist.

  As I break this to Lorelei, I’m convinced I can hear steam whistling out of her ears.

  ‘There are plenty of others who will add value.’ I decide against telling her about Rusty Lee. ‘Such as local DJ Sullivan Price – oh, and Dr Darren Bosco.’

  ‘Doctor . . . who?’

  ‘Dr Darren Bosco,’ I repeat, wishing I hadn’t mentioned him. He’s the medical expert on a local radio station and is about as A-list as my dad.

  ‘Ooh,’ she says, sounding surprisingly upbeat. ‘Ooooh.’

  ‘Ooh?’ I repeat.

  ‘Ooooh, yesss. I like him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Always been a fan. Can you get me an introduction?’

  ‘Of course!’ I reply, wishing I’d known it would be this straightforward.

  The rest of the day is a blur. Deana and Natalie are as helpful as ever and, frankly, nothing at all would get done if Anna, the work-experience girl (who’s more productive than the two of them together), wasn’t back. Still, emails are pinging into my inbox so rapidly my computer sounds like a Chemical Brothers remix and I can’t focus on work at all. I am instead compelled to log on to Facebook and flick between Jamie’s page and Ben’s, looking for clues about what they’re both up to.

  ‘Hey, there xx’

  When the chat box appears, my heart thuds against my chest . . . until I realize it’s Luke.

  ‘Hey, how are you? Not at work? x’

  I open my inbox and note that six emails have arrived in the last one and a half minutes. I flick back to Luke’s response.

  ‘Day off. I heard about what happened with Jamie.’

  ‘Yep. Not good.’

  I hit enter and wait for a response, wondering how much Jamie’s told him. And whether or not he knew about Dorrie.

  ‘So sorry, Sam. If it means anything, you’re not alone. Gemma’s dumped me.’

  ‘Oh no! What happened?’

  ‘Long story. You feeling okay?’

  I start composing a reply, saying I’m fine. But something makes me stop and stare at it. I delete the word ‘fine’ and replace it with ‘shit’. Then I delete that and reinstate ‘fine’. Then I delete everything and simply gaze at the screen, not having a clue how to respond.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no. What time are you back from work? I’m coming over.’

  I feel numb at the prospect. I’d prefer to be able to splurge to Jen instead, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned women can do in a crisis, it’s talk. At the exact moment I think that, she sends me a text.

  Hey, can’t come over tonight . . . it’s Mum’s bday. What’s your drama? Hope everything’s okay. x

  I postpone replying and return to my screen. Luke does have one benefit, and that’s his ability to fill me in on what Jamie’s been saying.

  He arrives at seven in a checked shirt and black jeans, looking every inch the Adonis that turns women’s brains to mush. He kisses me briefly on the cheek, then throws his arms around me and gives me a bear hug. ‘How you doing, kiddo?’

  I shrug as we head into the living room. ‘I’m okay. So what happened with Gemma?’

  ‘Her best friend, Sadie, told her she saw you and me coming out of that coffee shop with, and I quote, “their arms around each other”,’ he says, sitting down. ‘Gemma’s been on holiday and only got back this week – the first thing Sadie did was tell her this. She got completely the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say, catching my breath and unable to believe I’ve been dragged into this. ‘All we did was hug!’

  ‘Given what Gemma knows about my . . . colourful past, she won’t believe that we’re just friends.’

  In the six years I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Luke so upset. I spend the next half-hour offering to phone her, speak to her, do anything I can to reassure her that there’s nothing to it; but he’s unsure about whether that’ll help or make things worse. Eventually, the conversation is steered to the subject of Jamie and me.

  ‘Did you know about him and Dorrie?’

  ‘No,’ he insists. ‘I swear I didn’t, Sam.’

  ‘And you’d have told me if you had?’

  ‘Interesting question,’ he shrugs. ‘Jamie is my best friend. I’m one hundred per cent certain I’d have told him he’s an idiot, though.’

  ‘So what has he said?’

  ‘Oh he’s all over the place, Sam,’ he replies. ‘He clearly loves you. And he knows how badly he’s messed things up by getting involved with Dorrie. But he also knows that, once you’ve cheated on a woman, well . . . there’s no going back, is there? Has he told you about South America?’

  The words send a jolt of electricity through my chest and I look up. ‘We haven’t been in touch. What about it?’

  Luke frowns. ‘He’s decided to look into going on his trip again. There’s nothing left for him here any more.’

  I stare at him numbly. ‘I see. So the job he was offered is still there for him?’

  ‘He thinks so,’ says Luke.

  I’d suspected that reinstating his grand trip abroad would be on the cards, but hearing it confirmed makes
me feel ill. Part of me wonders if he ever cancelled the flight.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ Luke adds.

  I take a huge gulp of wine and let it slip down my throat. It’s miraculously medicinal tonight. Partly, I’m sure, because I haven’t touched any alcohol since my argument with Ellie, despite recent events. After a couple of glasses, the world seems an easier place than before, of that there’s no doubt. It’s an illustration of how even someone like me – who can normally take or leave a drink – can see the lure of it all too clearly.

  However, by glasses four and five, I’m not seeing a great deal clearly. By the time Luke and I have put the world to rights, and he’s moved over to my sofa and cuddled up, I can’t help thinking that tucking my head into his chest would be a nice thing to do.

  When I’m not concentrating on this, the other two men in my life keep springing into my head. Jamie, who rejected me for another woman and has now left me for a second time. And Ben, who is ‘in a relationship’.

  ‘Do you fancy me, Luke?’ I slur, gazing up at him.

  He looks down at me and grins. ‘Course I do, Sam. You’re a top bird.’

  I roll my eyes drunkenly. ‘What a pity that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s likely to say to me these days.’

  ‘Oh listen,’ he says, squeezing me to him. ‘You’re going to be okay, you know. It’s all just raw at the moment. Maybe you need another man.’

  ‘I had another man who should have been perfectly up to the job of taking my mind off it, but I managed to bugger things up with him too. He’s got a girlfriend now. And I . . . I feel shit about that. Which I’ve got absolutely no right to, after what I’ve done to him.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Lovely and good-looking and intelligent and nice and . . . oh just gorgeous. Perfect, actually.’

  ‘What? There’s someone else out there just like me?’

  I ignore him. ‘Then we’ve got the situation with Jamie, a situation I can’t work out.’

  ‘In what way? It’s all straightforward, isn’t it? You found out he cheated. Surely it’s a no-brainer.’

  ‘It should be,’ I croak. ‘I should hate him.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘I can’t switch off my feelings for him, no matter how badly he’s behaved.’

  He pulls back and looks at me, frowning. ‘Look, he’s my mate and even I thought you were made for each other. But I assumed that you wouldn’t even consider taking him back now.’

  ‘I assumed that too.’

  ‘But . . .?’

  ‘But . . .’ It’s at this point that a realization hits me. One I hate, one I know is pathetic, but one that’s unequivocally, unarguably true. ‘I feel jealous,’ I confess.

  ‘Of Dorrie?’

  I nod. ‘And I think I still love him. Even though I hate him.’ I pause. ‘Except . . . how can I when I’m also torn apart by the fact that Ben has now got another girlfriend?’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘You know that book Women Who Think Too Much?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m buying it for you for Christmas.’

  I laugh and suddenly feel a rush of a nausea so powerful I suspect there’s more neat Pinot Grigio than haemoglobin being pumped round my body right now.

  I steady my head and bury it into Luke’s neck, casting my thoughts back to that night with Ben. On this sofa. I remain still for a few seconds, then clear my mind of anything, concentrating only on the feel of a man’s skin against mine.

  I look up at his lips and – although horribly drunk – I am flooded with the same sensation I experienced with Ben sitting next to me. Slowly, I inch up and kiss him. I don’t know what I’m thinking about, except the flock of butterflies in my stomach. Which sure as hell beats everything else in my life at the moment. He closes his eyes and his shoulders relax as I kiss him again, just as gently.

  Then he opens his eyes and shakes his head.

  ‘What is it?’ I slur.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he says, kissing me on the head and moving away. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  I nod, blinking away tears as he puts on his coat to leave. Then he pauses and bends down, so his face is a foot away from mine.

  ‘Sam. You’re gorgeous. You’re fantastic. Basically, you rock. But you’d regret this instantly, I promise you. Goodbye, sweetheart.’ He straightens up and walks to the door, leaving me alone. Yet again.

  And with the thought that I’ve now been turned down by a man who would have an erotic encounter with anything if it kept still long enough. Marvellous.

  Chapter 80

  I don’t know why the day of the Teen SOS event, at the very end of November, counts among the most stressful of the year. I’ve organized hundreds of functions like this – bigger, in fact – and always retained my cool. But someone on high is throwing every possible challenge at me, whether it’s a shortage of champagne glasses or the food poisoning contracted by Kevin S. Chasen’s chauffeur or the fact that the flowers Lorelei chose have made me sneeze every ten seconds since they arrived.

  As a result, I am now as swollen with mucus as a hamster with swine flu and, with ten minutes left before the guests are due to arrive at the sumptuous hotel, I am still struggling with transporting the corporate gift bags between my car and the entrance. The box is three times my weight-lifting capabilities, a fact not helped by my choice of three-inch heels, shoes that are already responsible for blisters the size of ping-pong balls.

  ‘Would you like a hand?’

  I’m sweating, flushed and seconds from the climax of another sneeze, when this voice makes my knees buckle. Ben rescues the box and marches into the lobby, the tendons in his arms undulating against the weight.

  ‘We’re in the function room,’ I say, following him breathlessly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He puts down the box and looks at me, prompting a wave of insecurity about my appearance. Knowing I’d be surrounded by WAGs and soap stars – albeit catastrophically minor-league ones – I opted for an outfit that’s a tad more chichi than usual. I can’t say it’s entirely me. The short spangly dress is okay, the heels are passable (if painful) . . . but my hair is closer to the definition of absurd than a French existentialist painting.

  The seven-inch hairpiece I’m currently sporting had been lying in my dressing-table drawer like a cryogenically frozen rodent for the last year, but, as the result of a snap decision this afternoon, it is now attached to my bonce with a mass of hairpins.

  ‘Um . . . I had a meeting over the road,’ he replies, frowning at my head, clearly wondering what they put in the water round here for my hair to have experienced such a tremendous growth spurt. ‘I was heading to catch the train when I saw your car. How are you? Busy, by the look of it.’

  I blow my fringe off my face. ‘You could say that.’

  This is the first time I’ve seen Ben since Jamie and I split up again – and since Facebook announced that he was in a relationship. Both issues are at the forefront of my mind, but it feels neither the time nor the place to raise them.

  ‘Do you need a hand with anything?’ he asks.

  I’m about to say no, but change my mind. ‘You could help me finish packing the goody bags.’

  He mock-salutes and smiles. ‘No problem at all, Ms Brooks.’

  ‘How I wish all my staff members were so deferential.’

  Despite the chaotic afternoon, by the time the two hundred and fifty VIP guests are in situ, the motto by which I’ve lived today – it’ll be all right on the night – has come good. I’ve even managed to pick up a couple of half-decent celebrities at the last minute, courtesy of one agent cocking up their appearance on the guest list at the arena.

  ‘This is absolutely brilliant!’ gushes Natalie in a rare fit of enthusiasm – and she’s right.

  It isn’t only that the atmosphere is electric. Or that the caterers have pulled out all the stops on the canapés, cocktails and service. Or even that we’ve managed all th
is despite Lorelei getting a discount that would have done Robin Hood proud.

  The event has that indefinable quality that means everyone is simply enjoying themselves. More importantly, given that this is doubling up as a fundraiser, people seem to be putting mega-bucks in the raffle envelopes, and several wealthy local entrepreneurs have already committed to providing substantial ongoing financial support.

  As have I. Despite vowing to myself that I was going to ration my charitable giving and stop getting sucked into donating to . . . well, everything, this one’s been added to the list. I don’t begrudge a penny of it, though. The more I’ve found out about this charity since I started working with it, the more in awe I am. Thousands of vulnerable teenagers have had their lives transformed in the last year as a direct result of the money this organization has raised. And although Lorelei isn’t always the easiest to deal with, behind her are swathes of dedicated and passionate people making a real difference to those who need it most.

  Of course, as far as Lorelei’s concerned, the only criterion against which tonight’s event will be judged is what Kevin S. Chasen thinks of it. I haven’t even seen him yet, although he is here, as a hyperventilating Lorelei tells me every ten seconds.

  ‘Ooh, I love these cocktails,’ grins Deana, grabbing two martinis from a passing tray. I can’t help noticing that Deana and Natalie are enjoying themselves a little too much.

  ‘Deana,’ I hiss.

  ‘Wha—?’

  ‘Oh you are a spoilsport, Sal,’ says Piers, appearing from nowhere and winking at Deana. She giggles and bats her eyelids so enthusiastically it makes her cleavage wobble.

  ‘Um . . . Piers? I think Lorelei wanted a chat with you at some point,’ I tell him.

  ‘Who? Oh her,’ he says, failing to remove his eyes from Deana’s jiggling décolletage. ‘I’ve already spoken to the main man – her boss. Nice chap. He was thoroughly impressed with the event management tonight. I told him he should be; we’ve worked bloody hard on it.’