The Gin O'Clock Club

by Rosie Blake

  I had also spent way too many hours trawling Etsy believing I might be able to somehow pass off any old antique brooch as the antique brooch, taking it along with me and then practising my best surprised face, ‘What do you mean, this isn’t the one? This is what the woman gave me. I am disgusted, appalled, nay, horrified’ (pause for dramatic hand to chest). I knew that lie would be busted the moment ever-efficient Amy tracked down the poor woman back from visiting her family to bawl her out. And she could always tell when I was lying anyway. Like the time I told her I hadn’t snogged Garry Peel outside the men’s loos of a nightclub, or when I told her I’d never eaten foie gras. She just knew.

  I stood outside the glossy John Lewis store, breathing slowly in and out. Stay calm, Lottie. Stay calm. You are here to help Amy choose her wedding presents. This is exciting. Just keep talking to her about presents, constantly distract her with sandwich-makers and crystal jugs in different shapes. Ask her a lot of questions about the thread count she wants in a summer duvet. Maybe she won’t ask. Maybe she won’t remember. Maybe by the end of today she’ll still like you.

  I felt too hot in my jeans and cotton shirt as I pushed my way inside, weaving round prams, people clutching bags of shopping, others pausing to browse the make-up counters. I headed to the lift, feeling my palms dampen with every step. My bag was hideously, horribly empty. I regretted not buying something from Etsy. Anything seemed better than producing nothing.

  Amy was, of course, already in situ, looking relaxed and lovely in an orange shift dress which made her dark skin look even smoother and more gorgeous. Her hair was glossy under the lights and she gave me an enormous grin as the lift doors opened, holding up a small white plastic item. ‘It’s for bleeping stuff. I can’t believe Will didn’t want to do this with me,’ she said, stepping across to give me an enormous hug and then stepping back to bleep me.

  I swallowed, all ready to break down in confession. I was a terrible person, I would do anything I could to fix it, I really was desperately sorry, I was still leaving messages for the woman in the shop in an attempt to salvage things . . .

  Before I could say anything, however, a glowing, impossibly skinny woman with a strawberry-blonde ponytail descended on me, her straight white teeth flashing as she welcomed me to the store. ‘You must be Amy’s partner— Oh, I’m sorry’ – she held up a manicured hand – ‘my colleague is calling me back, hold on.’

  The shop assistant moved away so I had time to turn to Amy, a perplexed look on my face, other thoughts fading.

  Amy shifted her weight from one foot to another. ‘Oh, I was a bit embarrassed that Will didn’t want to come, so I panicked and said you were my partner . . . just go along with it, all right?’

  The lady was returning and I hastily nodded before tucking my arm into Amy’s and resting my head on her shoulder. ‘I am.’

  ‘You are . . . ?’ The lady tipped her head to one side in question.

  ‘Amy’s partner,’ I announced in a loud voice, following it up with a strange giggle I had got from somewhere. ‘She’s wonderful. I’m so lucky,’ I gushed. ‘I never thought I would find someone who would just get me, you know . . . ’

  I could just hear Amy whispering, ‘Too much,’ as I stroked her forearm with one finger.

  I trailed off.

  ‘I’m . . . glad,’ the lady said slowly, straightening her skirt. ‘As I’ve told Amy, the process is pretty simple. We can edit anything you like at the end so don’t worry too much, just enjoy our selections. And I will be nearby if you need any assistance.’

  ‘Thanks again,’ Amy said, smiling and clearly wanting to get on and start shopping. ‘We’re going to head to Homeware.’

  ‘Something for the bedroom,’ I chirruped, the weird giggle back.

  ‘Er . . . fabulous,’ she nodded, moving to a safe distance.

  ‘Do you do that stroky-arm thing with Luke?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Why, you like it?’ I asked, resting my head on her shoulder again for show.

  ‘It tickles. Right, come on, life partner, let’s furnish our marital home . . . ’

  Half an hour later and we were just having too much fun for me to go and ruin things. In fact, as the minutes passed it really did seem possible that Amy just wouldn’t ask. Any time we had a lull in conversation I would direct her attention to another candlestick, coaster set or teapot.

  We had already zapped a stunning set of dinner plates, a cake stand, a set of magenta napkins, pepper and salt pots, place mats, table runners and more. Now Amy was hesitating over a ceramic pestle and mortar.

  ‘What do you even do with it? Which bit is the pestle and which is the mortar?’

  Amy’s forehead wrinkled at my question. ‘Well, you grind stuff in it.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Small stuff that needs to be made smaller . . . ’ Amy sounded unsure.

  I picked it up and turned it over in my hands.

  ‘My grandma had one,’ Amy said, ‘Although I think she might have just kept small change in it.’

  Grandmother.

  That prompted her. I felt my grip on the ceramic tighten, my knuckles whitening.

  ‘Oh, that reminds me . . . ’ she began.

  I felt my stomach drop, my throat dry up. I licked my lips, turning away. ‘Maybe a pestle and mortar would be worth getti—’

  ‘Did you bring her brooch?’

  I thought I might drop the pestle and mortar.

  ‘Maybe you should get a KitchenAid. I’ve always wanted a KitchenAid,’ I said, my voice suddenly an octave higher, faster too.

  ‘Lottie?’

  I placed the pestle and mortar back on the shelf in front of me with shaking hands. ‘Mary Berry uses one, doesn’t she, I think, I mean, if she doesn’t I imagine she would want one . . . ’

  ‘Have you got the brooch?’

  I really couldn’t avoid it. I closed my eyes, ready to turn around.

  The shop assistant reappeared. ‘Are you both all right? Finding everything you need?’

  Amy ignored her. ‘Lottie . . . ’ Her voice was low, a warning. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. Oh God.

  ‘More time needed?’ she asked, oblivious to what she had walked in on.

  I turned to face Amy, palms up, appealing already. ‘I’m so, so, sorry, I . . . ’

  The shop assistant was still standing next to us, her stuckon smile faltering as she started to sense the tension.

  ‘Did you just leave it at home?’ Amy asked.

  Maybe I should have leapt on that chance to escape the inevitable but my face couldn’t hide it. I felt it crumpling, slowly shaking my head side to side. ‘I . . . I’m so sorry. I went back, I called, I . . . ’

  The shop assistant attempted to make her exit. ‘Well, I see you have things in hand so I’ll just . . . ’ She cupped a hand to her neck as Amy took a step towards me.

  ‘You didn’t even get it,’ Amy whispered, her whole face draining of colour, her free hand curling into a tight fist.

  ‘I . . . I meant to, I . . . ’ What could I say? I knew there was nothing that could give me a good reason. This wasn’t court, I couldn’t argue my way out of it.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ She raked two hands through her hair, her voice loud in the high-ceilinged room, seeming to bounce off every shiny surface. ‘You knew, Lottie, you knew it had to be that day.’

  She was pacing up and down. The shop assistant stifled a cough into a hand. ‘I could have rung someone else. If I’d known I could have . . . God, why did I even . . . ’

  The lady brought her hands together, her voice bright and hopeful. ‘I’ll be over here then, I’ll just . . . ’ She seemed to hover in between us, really not sure of the etiquette, or maybe concerned Amy might start throwing pestles and mortars at me.

  ‘ . . . trust you? What was I thinking? Recently you’ve been so caught up in yourself you don’t have time to think about anyone else. I’m amazed you found the time to squeeze me in today.’

  Th
e words hurt, fired at me in a sarcastic rush as Amy revved up, in her stride now. I felt the tears on my face freeze, heard the accusations levelled at me, felt unable to do anything but stand there, hating the shop assistant for not leaving, noticing two of her colleagues staring from over at the till.

  ‘Do you even care? I told you that brooch was special. My mother and my grandmother wore it on their wedding days . . . ’

  Amy’s words started to break up, choked by tears. I hadn’t seen Amy cry in years, she was always impossibly stoic. I felt nausea swirl in my stomach, feeling any fight I might have had leak out of me. She was right. I had completely messed up. I hadn’t thought about her.

  ‘If you want any further assistance . . . ’ The assistant looked on the verge of tears herself, stepping backwards, palms up as if we were two quite dangerous animals and she shouldn’t show her back to us. She melted away, heading to the till and the other two women staring at us. They all started whispering.

  Amy had grown quiet, the plastic white bleeper held limply by her side.

  I took a breath. ‘I’m going to try everything I can to get it back before the wedding,’ I said in a quiet voice, tinged with my desperation. God, why had I messed up? I was causing Amy this pain so close to her wedding. Amy, who had always been such a loyal, steadfast friend to me: sending me flowers when I broke my wrist, paying my rent one month when I’d spent all my money on the deposit for a new flat, inviting Luke and me away to her parents’ Majorca holiday home, treating me like a sister.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Amy said slowly, all the anger seeped out of her. She couldn’t meet my eye. ‘Don’t bother to do anything else. I don’t want you to.’

  ‘But the woman . . . maybe she’ll be back soon, maybe I could—’

  ‘Lottie, I don’t want you to do anything.’

  ‘But I think—’

  ‘I don’t want you to be my bridesmaid.’

  I heard the words seconds too late, feeling all the breath leave my body as she said them. She met my eye now, a steely determination I had seen in her before, knowing she had made up her mind. She had looked the same when she told me she was going to be a teacher, when she said she was going to run the London Marathon. When Amy committed to something she did it, she was amazing. She was my amazing best friend. I felt a terrible ache deep inside me.

  ‘I . . . ’ Now my eyes were full of tears. I couldn’t help it, aware still of the hush in the shop, the shop assistant and her colleagues half-heartedly pretending to stack shelves, wipe down surfaces, neaten stock, all the time snatching glances across at us, wondering what had befallen our happy party of two.

  ‘Just go,’ Amy said, folding her arms, no more emotion in her voice, her face set, her voice brisk. She looked every inch the no-nonsense deputy headmistress.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth and speak, stumbling away from her in the direction of the lift, almost sending a row of egg cups reeling as I blinked tears out of my eyes. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ I whispered, feeling a terrible blackness inside me, a hole. I had done this, I deserved this.

  I jabbed at the lift, hating the wait, aware of Amy watching behind me, other shoppers staring, wondering what had happened. A flushed-face couple in the middle of a joke appeared as the doors opened, the woman’s face changing as she took in the tears spilling down my cheeks, my hunched shoulders.

  ‘Are you—’

  I stepped in past her, not wanting to talk, just stabbing the buttons to get away from the place. The couple moved away and the last thing I saw as the doors closed on me was Amy’s face, cheeks glistening, mouth set in a line, watching me leave.

  Darling Cora,

  I think that fishing trip might have done the trick. Luke accosted me a couple of days after it with a plan and I have just returned from helping him with it.

  I had been pruning the garden, fairly sure you would be chastising me for letting weeds grow. I’ve never been completely convinced which ones are weeds, sometimes they seem rather pretty. Luke approached me looking uncharacteristically nervous, his normal relaxed demeanour ruffled, a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the plants.

  ‘It is looking very good,’ he finally said.

  I sat up. God, my body ached. I see now why you were so keen on purchasing that heated roller massager for your back. My knees sounded like something was popping in there as I stood. I knew he wasn’t here to talk about our garden. For an enchanting moment I wondered if he might be here to ask for our permission. For Lottie. I know you always wanted him and her to stay together. A ‘keeper’ you had called him. It had been when he brought you those dark chocolate ginger nut biscuits a week or so after you’d made a comment about loving them. You were putty for him after that. That and his ‘lovely hands’, which I still can’t quite seem to see are different to anyone else’s hands, and I swear sometimes he catches me looking. He certainly has very neatly clipped nails.

  I never asked what you thought of my hands. I hope you liked them.

  He dithered about the subject for an age, following me inside in silence, pacing the kitchen before finally sitting down. In fact, our tea had almost gone cold. He had been twitching in his chair in the kitchen, tapping on the placemat, and I was about to make my excuses and get back out to the garden.

  ‘Do you think you could help me with something?’ He blurted it out, spilling the last of his tea on the Formica table and then leaping up to wipe at the puddle.

  ‘Calm down!’ I laughed and threw a cloth at him. ‘Of course. What do you want?’

  ‘I was thinking, after our fishing, about what I could do. And well . . . I’ve been seeing a bit of Arjun lately, helping him with something, secret, just work really, so I thought I could ask him for a favour too and he was keen but, of course, with his hip like it is . . . ’

  What secret project was Luke working on with Arjun? Why would his hip stop him? I was desperately trying to keep up, Cora, unused to seeing Luke so flustered.

  ‘Well, the long and short of it is Arjun told me that you and Cora could dance. That is, you were, are’ – he corrected himself quickly – ‘quite a good dancer. Arjun wants to help too but he’s out of action so he told me to ask you.’

  I frowned, trying to unravel what he was asking. I wasn’t sure there was a question as yet.

  ‘You see, I was telling him I’d like to do something a little special. I know we’ve both been doing the odd thing, dating the old-fashioned way, but I wanted to really show I could make an effort. So I thought, what could I do? I could learn a dance. Women love a man who can dance, I know, I see it at weddings all the time. I’m the man over by the bar making my way through the circle of Brie and the wedding cake and hoping Lottie is too distracted to want to dance, but really I know she would. And I’ve never felt equipped, left-footed, like a giraffe on roller-skates.’

  He finally paused for breath and honestly, Cora, I almost roared with laughter. The poor man looked like he might melt into a puddle of red-faced embarrassment in our kitchen right then and there. You would have made him feel a lot better, you would have gushed and enthused over his idea. As it was I bumbled through it, his own embarrassment making me more awkward.

  ‘I could help,’ I offered.

  His shoulders sagged with relief but the crimson didn’t leave his cheeks. ‘That’s great. I wanted to learn something straightforward, something I could lead Lottie through. Arjun mentioned a waltz or a cha-cha. I wasn’t sure. They all sound like different brands of whiskey.’

  He was about to rattle away again so I interrupted him. ‘A paso doble might be a good option,’ I said tentatively.

  He leapt on it. ‘A paso doble, right, yes, that sounds ideal. Well, when could we make a start, so to speak? Arjun mentioned that the smaller of the two function rooms in the main building of the club is often empty and it has a very polished floor.’

  I could feel my face pulling into a frown. Arjun had clearly enjoyed setting this up, knowing I would be out of m
y depth – although it was nice to hear Arjun had something else to focus on too. ‘Yes, a polished floor is, um, very important. Vital in fact,’ I said solemnly.

  ‘Great. Well, I could maybe make it over on one of the days I work from home, or I can do a lot of evenings after work.’

  ‘Won’t Lottie notice you’re missing?’

  Luke paused then, something different shifting in his expression, ‘She works late a lot,’ he said, not wanting to offer more.

  I nodded, hoping again that Lottie was all right. I hated the thought that her job took every ounce of her time and energy. This was a great idea of Luke’s, and I knew Lottie, a romantic at heart, like you, my darling, would love the gesture. Do you remember you both went completely cuckoo after that cinema trip to La La Land? And then you both made me sit through that Ryan chap on the DVD. So much swooning and sighing from you both I’d had to put in earplugs.

  I picked up my phone to Arjun when Luke had left.

  TEXT: Luke just asked me to teach him to dance.

  ARJUN: *Crying laughing emojis*

  Well, this evening was our first lesson. Luke arrived on time, looking even more nervous. I almost expected him to make his excuses and leave. Arjun appeared clutching a CD and a portable ghetto blaster, you know the type, although Luke then did something on his phone and the same song came through on his speakers. Phones really can do everything now. It’s terrifying.

  I stood in the middle of the polished floor (!) and attempted to show Luke the steps. I had to lead him, my dry hands in his (they were surprisingly soft, I am sort of coming round to what you see in them), absolutely not making eye contact.

  Arjun was shouting instructions from his chair, leg stuck out in front of him, getting more and more frustrated with us both and clearly wanting to leap up and intervene. You always said Arjun felt music in his bones. I hadn’t seen him so energised in days and I was grateful to Luke for that too. No one knows what is happening with Arjun and he has sworn me to secrecy. Now his thinning face was animated, his voice strong as he issued more commands.