by Lindsey Kelk
I shook my head at the hanger in her hand.
‘It’s orange,’ I said. ‘I can’t.’
‘It’s a good colour for you.’ She held up a frothy concoction of pale peach chiffon underneath my chin. ‘Brings out the blue in your eyes.’
‘But I’m fine as I am,’ I insisted. ‘Really.’
‘Try it on,’ she ordered. Apparently we were no longer playing nice. ‘And I’ll see you back downstairs. We’re doing the cake in ten minutes.’
Well. At least there would be cake.
By the time I’d wrestled my way into Gina’s dress and found a pair of shoes that fit, I was certain that Sam would have left. But no, it was even worse. As I carefully made my way downstairs in my borrowed stilts, I saw him right away. He’d been cornered by the worst possible people: my aunt, my cousin and my Uncle Norman. Not that Uncle Norman was actually related to me in any way, shape or form. To the best of my knowledge, he was just a dirty old man who always seemed to hang around at family functions even though no one wanted to claim responsibility for having invited him in the first place.
‘You changed,’ Sam said, somewhat startled. I nodded, arms neatly folded underneath my chest. The dress did not allow for a bra. I needed a bra. This was not going to go well.
‘Annie, don’t you look a vision,’ Aunt Helen said, clapping loudly as I arrived to draw as much attention to us as humanly possible. ‘Wherever did you get that dress?’
‘It’s Gina’s,’ I said, hoiking up the tiny spaghetti straps. ‘I borrowed it.’
The dress itself was actually beautiful, but I wasn’t entirely doing it justice. A vintage, soft peachy silk disco number with an asymmetric hem and very low back, it moved when I moved, ruffles on the hem fluttering every time I breathed. And thanks to Gina’s very high heels, I was breathing hard.
‘That makes sense,’ my cousin, Sharon, added. ‘It’s not very you, is it?’
I glanced over to see Uncle Norman’s gaze safely resting on my cleavage. It was nice to see some things never changed. Oh wait, no, it wasn’t.
‘I won’t be wearing it to work on Monday, no,’ I replied. ‘But it’s fancy dress, aren’t most people in costume?’
‘This is vintage Halston,’ Sharon gave a twirl that was met with a round of appreciative applause and a wolf whistle that seemed like overkill even for Uncle Norman. ‘It was Mum’s in the seventies.’
‘I do like to take care of my things,’ Helen commented, smoothing down her own liquid gold dress. She’d always been very thin. I would always remember the time my mum and Aunt Helen engaged in a silent Salad Off during a particularly traumatic family holiday to Menorca when I was five. They never did get along and, strangely enough, Sharon and I had carried on that tradition. Mostly because Sharon was a complete shit and always had been.
‘Annie was never very good at looking after things,’ Sharon told Sam. ‘When we were little, she used to break everything. When we were seven, she broke the wings off my—’
‘I broke the wings off her Flower Fairy,’ I said, finishing for her before mouthing an apology at a bemused Sam. ‘Accidentally. Unlike the time you cut the hair off all my Barbies because you said pixie-cuts were in.’
‘Do you remember when you wet yourself on the way home from Alton Towers?’ Sharon asked, colouring up. ‘The car never smelled the same.’
‘Remember when you ate all the profiteroles at my dad’s wedding and threw up on your bridesmaid dress?’ I volleyed back.
‘Do you remember when you wrote that love poem to Marvin Somerton and he read it out in assembly and everyone died laughing?’
‘Do you remember when you drowned a guinea pig?’ I screeched.
I didn’t realize I was raising my voice until everyone turned to look at us.
‘I didn’t know they couldn’t swim,’ Sharon said, white as a sheet.
‘Everyone knows that,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Everyone.’
‘Dr Page was just telling us all about how you work together before you so rudely interrupted him,’ Aunt Helen said archly, squeezing his forearm as though her daughter hadn’t just been accused of rodenticide and squeezing the forearms of strange men was acceptable behaviour.
Sharon took Sam’s other arm. I knew she never cared about that guinea pig. RIP Rupert. ‘Typical Annie,’ she said. ‘She’s always been an attention-seeker.’ She gave a little laugh.
So says the girl who once organized her own birthday parade, complete with fully choreographed dance number, three clowns and a pony. (Yes, the same one from my birthday party. It had to go somewhere once Dad realised it couldn’t live in my back garden.)
‘I don’t think I quite follow.’ Aunt Helen sipped a bright pink cocktail that matched Sharon’s dress perfectly. ‘If you’re a historian, how is it you work with Annie? Aren’t you still working for that chap who does the internet things?’
‘No, I own my own business now,’ I explained, choosing not to dwell on the fact I’d already explained this to her at length at Easter, Christmas and that one time I saw her in Tesco and couldn’t run away and hide fast enough. ‘It’s a digital marketing agency.’
‘She writes tweets for people,’ Sharon explained, lowering her voice as though I wasn’t standing right in front of her.
‘I suppose anything can be a job these days,’ Helen said, raising her eyebrows. ‘So how do you fit in to this, Dr Page?’
‘We work in the same building, we don’t work together,’ I replied, veering wildly between complete mortification and righteous indignation. So, really it was just your average family party. ‘Sam’s researching a book.’
‘Mummy wrote a book!’ Sharon said, brightening immediately. ‘And it’s so good.’
‘Not nearly the same kind of thing,’ I said, cutting her off quickly. There was something exceptionally wrong about hearing a daughter compliment her mother’s self-published erotica novel. ‘Sam’s is non-fiction.’
‘Yes,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘It’s about the first Marquess of Buckingham. He was foreign secretary for four days in 1783.’
No one said anything.
‘I think it’s jolly nice of you to bring Annie to this bloody thing,’ Uncle Norman said, waving his glass in what was either a very odd toast or the first suggestion that he was already drunk enough to fall over. ‘The poor mare always has to come on her tod, don’t you, girl? Must be nice to have a chap with you for once.’
‘It is, Uncle Norman, thanks for asking,’ I said with a kind smile. ‘For a moment I thought I was going to have to bring my lesbian lover but, you know, I didn’t want to make a scene.’
‘Oh gosh, I completely forgot to ask …’ Helen let go of Sam to take my hand in hers and I was genuinely shocked when he didn’t turn and start heading for the front door. ‘How are you doing after the big news?’
‘The big news?’ I asked, eyeing a waiter with a tray of champagne. I had been sober for quite long enough.
‘Matthew getting engaged?’ she replied. ‘To that lovely blonde girl? At the England game?’
Puffing out my cheeks to stop myself from speaking, I grabbed two glasses as she walked past. Sam held out his hand and I begrudgingly handed one over.
‘That must have been such a shock,’ Sharon said, holding her hand to her heart. ‘I’d have died.’
‘Well, we broke up a long time ago so it’s not really a big deal,’ I replied, draining the champagne in two mouthfuls. ‘I’m really happy for them.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ Sharon snickered. ‘Of course you are.’
‘Annie, would you like to dance?’
‘Dance?’
Sam held out his hand expectantly, nodding towards the dance floor.
‘Sorry to be so rude but, well …’ Sam said, searching the depths of his extensive vocabulary for the rest of the sentence. ‘The truth is, I’m not sure if you realize but all these people are extremely unpleasant. Please excuse us.’
‘Sam,’ I said, following him onto th
e light-up dance floor, leaving my aunt and cousin gaping like goldfish behind us. ‘That was bloody brilliant.’
Gina and my dad were spinning around the middle of the floor while Alice was waltzing around on top of Alan’s feet. Becks bounced the baby on her hip, looking on happily. She tipped me the wink as Sam placed his hand on my lower back. I jumped as his thumb grazed the bare skin above my hips.
‘It was unforgivably rude,’ he said, a flush in his cheeks. ‘I don’t know what came over me. They were just so truly awful, Annie. Someone had to tell them.’
‘It was magical,’ I said, allowing him to move me around the room and hoping against hope that my boobs wouldn’t fall out of my top. ‘You just made one of my life-long dreams come true.’
He winced slightly as the music changed. The up-tempo number melted into something altogether more romantic, a song I only knew from the Destiny’s Child cover version. Without even a hint of hesitation, Sam changed tempo, holding my hand close to his chest, turning and twisting me around in small circles.
‘I should apologize,’ he said decidedly.
‘God, no!’ I exclaimed, trying not to trip over my own feet. This would have been difficult enough in trainers. In heels, I’d be lucky to get out of here without a broken neck. ‘You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I’m only gutted you were the one to tell them off instead of me. Besides, you’ll literally never have to see them again, so make the most of it.’
Sam’s face lit up with an actual grin. Not the polite smile I’d seen come and go over the past few days but an honest-to-goodness, face-splitting grin. His blue eyes almost disappeared into the crinkles that appeared above his cheekbones and I spotted his hidden dimple somewhere inside his stubble. Without any kind of warning, he brushed a strand of my hair off the back of my neck. I shivered from head to toe. Suddenly, my flimsy dress felt inappropriate and the dance felt too intimate. We were barely even acquaintances, after all. I took a big step backwards and switched to a side-to-side shuffle, my arms moving awkwardly at my sides.
‘Anyway, as much as I’m sure you’re having the time of your life,’ I told him, ‘you can absolutely leave at any second. Don’t think you have to stay.’
Sam looked back over my shoulder where my aunt was relaying his insults, complete with wild hand gestures, to anyone who would listen.
‘I know they’re your family,’ he said. ‘But you don’t have to stay either.’
It was the craziest idea I’d ever heard.
‘You’ve shown up, you’ve done your part,’ Sam said, cocking his head towards the door. ‘It’s not as if anyone’s going to forget you were here, is it?’
‘I can’t leave,’ I said, thrilled by the very idea. ‘We’ve only just got here.’
But the thought of it … We could be back in London inside an hour. I’d be home before eight. I’d get an entire night to myself. And, more to the point, I wouldn’t have to spend the next six hours explaining why I wasn’t married, why I didn’t have kids, a car or a proper job, and even better, I wouldn’t have to listen to a Becks lecture on the way home, squished between two tired children tethered to car seats and a potentially shitty nappy.
‘Annie!’ Dad and Gina danced up alongside us, cutting off any potential escape route. ‘You look a delight. You should let Gina give you a makeover more often.’
Sam scoffed before smothering it into a cough.
‘And what about you?’ I asked, taking in Dad’s seventies ensemble. My step-mother was clearly enjoying her role as stylist and had changed him out of his neat polo shirt and into something altogether more … creative.
‘Just look at you.’
‘I know,’ he replied, straightening his collar. ‘Nothing like a sharp-dressed man.’
He did not look sharp. He looked like a sixty-year-old man called Malcolm who thought he looked like a twenty-two-year-old man called John Travolta. A little portly belly hung over his white flares and the long pointed collar of his black shirt opened to reveal an ostentatious diamond medallion, nestled in a bed of grey chest hair. I wanted to believe it was diamanté. I wanted to believe it so badly.
‘Remind me again, when do you hear about those awards you’re up for?’ Dad asked.
‘Two more weeks,’ I said, bobbing up and down on the spot. It was against the law of physics to stand completely still on a dance floor, even if you were trying to hold a conversation with your fancy-dressed-Dad.
‘Ah.’ Dad nodded to Gina and gave her a spin. ‘I thought maybe I’d missed them.’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘If they’d happened, I’d have told you, wouldn’t I?’
‘Not if you didn’t win,’ he reasoned. I seized up, missing my footing and accidentally stabbing Sam in the foot with the heel of my borrowed shoe.
‘We’re going to do the cake,’ Gina said, shouting unnecessarily loudly over the music. ‘Before the oldies have to get off. I know Rebecca wanted to make a bit of a speech, but did you want to say anything, Annie?’
I shook my head and smiled. ‘Becks is better at public speaking than me.’
‘She’s always been very good at it,’ Dad agreed. ‘I still remember that speech she gave at her graduation.’
With that, they dance-walked off the dance floor and over to the giant discoball-shaped cake on the other side of the room. I hadn’t realized I’d completely stopped moving until they were laughing and hugging with my sister.
‘I’ll go and start the car, shall I?’ Sam said.
Becks tapped the microphone and cleared her throat.
‘Hi, everyone,’ she started, Alice clinging to her ankles. ‘On behalf of the entire family, I just wanted to thank everyone for being here today to celebrate Dad’s big birthday and start off the speeches. But we should probably start with a song, so join in if you know it! Happy birthday to you …’
As everyone started singing along, the urge to bolt became overwhelming.
‘This must be why you have a PhD,’ I replied, giving Sam the nod. No one would miss me. It was time to leave. ‘Dr Samuel Page, you are a smart one.’
‘It’s a testament to your persistence that it is already too strange to hear you call me anything other than Sam,’ he said as we shuffled slowly towards the door. ‘It usually takes a minimum of twenty-one days for a human being to develop a habit. And I’m sure I told you I’ve got two PhDs.’
‘Right,’ I said as the band quieted down. ‘Because what kind of loser only has one?’
‘Quite,’ Sam replied, reaching for his jumper from behind the ice sculpture as we made a run for it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Annie?’
‘Go,’ I ordered as Sam beeped his car into life. My sister was stood on the front step of Dad’s house, hands on her hips, screeching my name.
‘Annie! Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?’
‘Sorry, Becks,’ I called, waving as I went. ‘We’ve got to get back to town. Save me a piece of cake, love you!’
Before she could try to stop us, I leapt into the passenger seat and Sam gunned the engine. Surprisingly aggressive for a Ford Focus. I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see her shaking her head as we tore down the driveway, leaving the party and, unfortunately, my bra in a literal cloud of dust.
The drive back to London was positively joyous. We blasted Sam’s running songs, singing along as we circled the M25, even after whatever held us up by an hour we were still laughing. Sam, I assumed, high on sugar and me high on the look on Aunt Helen’s face.
‘Favourite pizza topping,’ I said, popping a handful of Haribo, acquired at the service station, into my mouth.
‘Hawaiian,’ Sam answered, holding his hand out for more sweets. ‘I know it’s controversial, but I love pineapple on pizza.’
‘Because you’re a monster,’ I replied happily. ‘Everyone knows pepperoni is the only way to go.’
‘I think it’s because I spent my entire childhood eating cheese and pineapple on sticks,’ he sa
id as he chewed his fizzy cola bottles thoughtfully. ‘It was the height of sophisticated cuisine when I was growing up.’
‘You mean it isn’t now?’ I asked in mock shock. ‘Kids today don’t know they’re born. OK, favourite superhero?’
Sam screwed up his face, whether it was at the sour sweets or tricky question, I wasn’t sure.
‘Favourite or best?’ he replied. ‘Because there’s a big difference.’
‘Hmm.’ I swilled down my sweets with a mouthful of Diet Coke like the classy lady I was. ‘Both, I suppose. Why would they be different?’
‘Tell me yours first,’ Sam said, switching on the windscreen wipers to wash away a sprinkling of rain that appeared from nowhere. I hoped it wasn’t raining on Dad’s party, Gina really had worked hard.
‘Thor,’ I said as I looked up at the suddenly grey skies.
‘Why?’
‘Because of the hammer and the Viking stuff and, you know.’ I wrapped my arms around myself. It wasn’t freezing but the clouds had blocked out the summer sunshine and it was suddenly too chilly to be sat in a car with a man I barely knew wearing a dress that covered next to nothing. ‘Basically, he’s really fit.’
Without taking his eyes off the crawling traffic, Sam reached into the back for a bright red Puffa jacket and laid it across my legs. I slid it around my shoulders, smiling a thank you.
‘At least you’re honest,’ he said. ‘But the best superhero is Superman. He’s got the best powers – he can fly, he’s super strong, he’s got that laser vision – plus he’s a good man. He doesn’t have to use his abilities to save humanity, but he does.’
‘What about Batman?’ I asked, unbuckling Gina’s strappy stilettos and flexing my toes. They were like tiny torture devices. I had no idea how she wore them all day. ‘Batman could be swanning around on a yacht with loads of supermodels but instead he’s out saving the day, answering that bloody bat signal morning, noon and night and getting the shit kicked out of him by the Joker.’