by Shari Low
Zoe felt a flush of pride. She was about to say the feeling was mutual, when Roger went on.
‘And, Tom, you know, if you need a best man, I’m free,’ he joked.
There was a hesitation, another flicker of the eyes, a pause so pregnant it required stirrups. Jesus, what now?
‘Actually, that was something else I was going to talk about some other time,’ Tom said, staring right at her.
Words were tumbling in Zoe’s head. Spit it out. Let’s get out of here.
‘Go on then, spill. Are you going to ask Dex?’ she said, mentioning their office manager. Tom and Dex, the head of their art department had been friends for years.
‘Eh, no. Actually, Zoe… would it be too weird if I asked you to be my best man?’
23
Verity – on Zoe’s Birthday
Verity checked her appearance in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, then fumbled to pull the hem of her dress down an inch or so. The dress was tight, short and red, a violent contrast to her fiery auburn hair. Yvie had been with her when they’d chosen it and she had no idea how she’d let herself be talked into it.
‘For God’s sake,’ Yvie had gasped, exasperated, when Verity had resisted. ‘All that running has given you the best legs I’ve ever seen. If I looked like that, I’d spend every day in hot pants, twerking up and down the street.’
Verity was fairly sure she wasn’t kidding.
Yvie was on a roll. ‘However, I don’t. So I’m going to wear something that covers my cellulite and you’re going to wear that dress because it makes you look like a goddess. And then I’ll have to stand between you and Zoe to get our pics taken and you’ll look like bookends because she’ll have on a dress exactly like that one too.’
That had almost sold her. Yvie was right. This was exactly what Zoe would wear.
Verity had stared at her reflection in House of Fraser’s changing rooms for another moment. She never wore anything like this. Always played it safe. Conservative. She hadn’t owned anything that stopped above the knee since she was a teenager and even then, it was only the skirt she was forced to wear for netball. She wasn’t sure why. Lack of confidence? A desire to stay in the background? Give other people nothing to talk about?
A twinge in her gut told her she’d landed on the answer. She could still remember the whispers after her dad left. Eyes that went the other way when she or her sisters entered the room. Marina lifted her chin even higher, Zoe threw back her shoulders in a challenge and Yvie would smile as if she was offering an apology for something that wasn’t their fault. But Verity would just shut down and seethe, stay out of the way, silently hate the gossips and anyone who judged them. She was self-aware enough to realise that not much had changed.
Still playing it safe, blending into the background.
Well, maybe it was time that she shook things up a little.
And she had to concede that Your Next Date had something to do with this more adventurous attitude. Verity had no idea how ‘Veronica from Glasgow’ actually dressed, but she sure got a load of interest.
The thing would ping at all hours of the day and night. Some were just notifications of matches, others were potential dates, trying to strike up a conversation and the others… well, let’s just say at least half of them were looking for more than hand holding and a night at the cinema watching the latest Avengers movie.
She should have been disgusted. Turned off. But somehow she had found it fascinating. It was exposure to a world that she didn’t even know existed, with real people (or almost real in her case) who were putting themselves out there, flirting, hooking up, chatting and even, in a couple of instances, sending pictures of their privates. She always blocked those ones.
Bizarrely, though, it had become like a new hobby and given her food for thought. Maybe she was too guarded. Too closed off. Ned clearly adored Zoe, who was the most forthright, ballsy, sociable party animal out there. Maybe Verity should take a leaf out of her book. She’d bought the dress. She was wearing the dress. This was her Zoe outfit.
And at least this new boost of adventure meant she was getting something out of the dating app, because the plan to hook Ned hadn’t worked. She wasn’t entirely sure if she felt relief or disappointment that he hadn’t responded to her swipe. So much for that idea.
The beeping horn of the taxi broke through her thoughts. Too late to change now. Instead, she grabbed her bag and walked to the door as gracefully as she could in shoes that made her five inches taller.
As always, she was one of the first to arrive, but at least Zoe was here on time too, greeting her guests at the door of Gino’s restaurant. Thankfully, Ned wasn’t at her side, gushing over her sister and piling on even more attention to an already ridiculous event. Yet another difference between her and Zoe. Her sister loved to celebrate her birthday. She’d thrown a party every year for as long as she could remember. Verity, on the other hand, preferred a dinner with just her sisters and Mum, and even then, only if they forced her.
‘Happy birthday,’ she said, thrusting a gift bag towards her sister. It was one of those Diptyque candles that Zoe liked. Way overpriced, in Verity’s opinion, but at least it solved the problem of what to buy her every year.
‘Thank you and…’ She looked Verity up and down and shrieked with delight as she gestured to Verity’s outfit. ‘Oh, my God, we’re like twins!’ She wasn’t wrong. Zoe was in a short, pink dress that clung to all her curves and was almost exactly the same style as Verity’s. Zoe’s gaze had gone downwards now. ‘Well, hello Verity’s legs, pleased to meet you after all these years,’ she chuckled, giving her a tight hug. ‘Yvie told me you’d bought this, but we had a ten pound bet that you’d change your mind and take it back.’
‘I hope you lost your money.’
‘I did, but it was worth it. You look fricking sensational!’
Another hug, but this time Verity took the opportunity to scan the room, searching for… There he was. He caught her eye and started walking towards them, eyebrows raised in surprise.
‘Well, the kids in your class wouldn’t recognise Miss Danton tonight,’ Ned told her, before giving her a hug and then a kiss on each cheek.
Verity felt her face flushing and fought to control it. Mission accomplished. He’d looked at her differently. Maybe she should channel her Your Next Date alter ego more often. A pang of something close to remorse. Maybe, she chided herself, she should get a grip and stop caring what her sister’s boyfriend thought of her. It wasn’t as if she was trying to take him from Zoe. More that… hell, she just hoped their relationship would die a natural death and he’d realise it was Verity he was meant to be with all along.
‘Hello!’ Zoe cried, greeting the next arrivals, her attention on them now.
‘Come on, I’ll get you a drink,’ Ned told Verity, holding his hand out. She took it and followed him, praying desperately that she wouldn’t go crashing down off those heels and break an ankle.
‘What would you like?’ he asked her at the bar.
‘Vodka tonic,’ she replied, with absolutely no idea where that came from. She was usually a wine drinker – Zoe was the only one of them who drank vodka.
Ned bought the drinks, then handed hers over. ‘You really do look amazing,’ he told her and she could see he meant it. If she’d realised that all she had to do to get his attention was wear a short dress, high heels and go for the glam look, she’d have done it at the start, seduced him before he met Zoe and saved herself months of heartache.
‘Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.’ It wasn’t an empty compliment. She’d always thought that he bore a distinct resemblance to a younger Ben Affleck, but that had never been truer than tonight. It was a rough guess, but she’d place him somewhere between Armageddon and Jersey Girl. She clearly had to stop watching movies and get out more.
‘We had an interesting day today,’ Ned began, and Verity’s heart clenched when she realised that he was about to tell her someth
ing about Zoe. So much for small talk and perhaps even a conversation that didn’t involve her sister. Did he even see that she existed or was she just an extension of Zoe, someone to bounce problems off and talk things through? Veronica from Glasgow wouldn’t stand for this kind of crap.
Right now, though, Verity didn’t see that she had a choice. If there was a positive here, at least he felt close enough to her to make her his confidante.
Play along. Listen. Learn what’s going on.
‘Really? What happened? Weren’t you having lunch at the Kemp?’
‘Yeah. With Roger and Felice, and Tom and Chrissie.’
‘I can see why it was interesting,’ Verity admitted, but she couldn’t resist twisting the discomfort level up just a notch or two. ‘Tom’s lovely. I really admire how those two have managed to adjust their relationship and revert back to being just friends. I don’t think I could do it. If I was that in love with someone, I couldn’t just snap my fingers and make that disappear.’
The frown that made his eyebrows narrow told her that she’d scored a direct hit. Bingo. He paused for a moment, obviously thinking through what he was going to say next.
‘Look, can I ask you something and swear you’ll give me an honest answer?’
This was absolutely not a promise that she would keep. ‘Of course you can.’
‘Do you think there’s still something between them? I just get this… feeling. Nothing I can put my finger on. She works late with him almost every night. They work weekends together when they have a job on. And she talks to him more than she talks to anyone else – me included.’
Verity took a sip of her drink while she contemplated her answer. Middle of the road. Non-committal. ‘That’s only natural though, isn’t it? They’re business partners, they’ve worked together for years and they were friends from the start. They’re a huge part of each other’s lives and I think they always will be.’
It was definitely wrong that it felt good when that one caused another frown of consternation.
Ned sighed, running his fingers through his Ben Affleck hair. ‘I don’t get it. He asked her to be his “best man” today. I mean, what kind of stunt is that? So stupid.’
‘Absolutely,’ Verity replied, feigning horror. ‘Why would he do that? And why would she agree?’
‘Fucked if I know. Anyway, please don’t share this with her – I just wanted to get your thoughts. There’s a shorthand between them, a connection that I don’t think we have yet.’
‘Maybe that just takes time though.’ Sympathetic. Caring. Not believing that for a second. She clenched the straw between her teeth, going for unconsciously sexy. She had no idea if she was pulling it off, given that she’d never aimed for ‘unconsciously sexy’ in her life. Not that he was noticing. He was still banging on about bloody Zoe.
‘You could be right. But sometimes I wonder if there’s a part of her that’s still in love with him. And if there is, then maybe this isn’t going to work out.’
He was raising the possibility of it not working out and what she said next could influence that. Rock. Hard place. If she assured him that Zoe was over Tom, then they would dally off into the sunset together. If she said she thought there was still something there, it could break them up, but the risk of that strategy backfiring was huge. Hadn’t her last comments to Ned, when she implied Zoe was shallow, come back to bite her? He’d never asked her why she’d fudged the truth about Zoe’s ex-boyfriends. Zoe must have explained it in a way that he’d decided to accept it and move on, no hard feelings.
Indecision made her suck on her straw even harder. He didn’t even notice. This was the kind of inner conflict that made her want to turn around, walk out, go home, pull on her trainers and run. She needed to feel her heart beating on the inside, needed to sweat out all the indecision and tension.
She wanted him. With every breath of a body that was wrapped in a bright red minidress, she absolutely wanted him. But if it was going to happen, she saw now that it couldn’t be because she lied.
However, that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.
‘You know what, Ned, I can’t give you an answer. The only person who really knows whether or not she’s still in love with Tom is Zoe. So I think you’re going to have to ask her yourself.’
24
Yvie – on Zoe’s Birthday
‘Shouldn’t you be gone by now?’ Kay bustled past her with an armful of charts and then thumped them down on the nursing station desk. ‘Tonight’s backlog,’ she added, popping a pen into the top pocket of her scrubs. ‘I’d beg you to take them off my plate and set fire to them, but if we both lose our jobs, we’ll never shop in Krispy Kreme again.’
Yvie feigned a shudder. ‘And that’s a life that I don’t want to think about.’
‘What kind of a life is that?’ asked a voice behind her.
Bloody hell! Why was he always sneaking up on her? Did Seth McGonigle just prowl the corridors, waiting for moments when she was talking about something completely stupid and then choose that second to inject himself into the conversation?
‘A life without doughnuts,’ she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He had no answer, just blinked, shrugged and waited for the moment to pass before he could get back to the subject of work. ‘Can someone check on Mr Price in an hour – I’ve topped up his pain meds, but I just want to make sure that they ease his discomfort. And I’m going to operate on Mrs Spector’s ankle first thing, so can we make sure she’s nil by mouth after midnight?’
‘Aye aye, captain, we will indeed,’ Kay assured him. ‘Or rather, I can. Cinderella here is off to a ball.’
Yvie felt an inexplicable urge to explain herself. ‘Not a ball exactly. Just a restaurant in the Merchant city… it’s my sister’s birthday party.’
He lingered and for a horrible moment Yvie wondered if he was waiting for her to invite him. Surely not. He was a consultant. She wasn’t just going to blatantly ask him out, even if she wanted to – which she definitely didn’t.
‘I think he was waiting for you to invite him,’ Kay whispered after he eventually headed off.
‘Shut up!’ Yvie shot back as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, despite having exactly the same thought. She then leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘But it did seem like that, right?’
The corners of Kay’s mouth were rising. ‘It sure did. Would you? He’s been away from his missus now for a few months. He must be prime dating material. I would totally ask him out.’
‘Well, why don’t you then?’
‘Because someone like that isn’t going to be interested in a skint single mum who works all the hours God sends.’
‘Well, he doesn’t know what he’s missing. He’d be lucky to have you and I reckon you might even put a smile on that moody face.’
‘That’s not all I’d do,’ Kay added, laughing. ‘It’s been so long since I had sex, I might just skip the date and go straight to the tickly bit.’
Yvie pursed her lips, feigning outrage. ‘Sister Gorman, I feel your salacious comments about a male member of our team are highly unprofessional and I’m considering reporting you to HR first thing in the morning.’
Kay feigned repentance. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Nurse Danton, and you’re absolutely right. Can I buy your silence with the offer of a bottle of Prosecco and a chicken curry on Saturday night?’
‘Throw in prawn crackers and it’s forgotten,’ Yvie told her, giggling, before blowing her a kiss and taking off.
Yvie counted the steps until the inevitable happened. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Her stomach began to clench. Thirty. Sweat pores opened and she could feel her temperature rising. Forty. Almost at the door now and… Yep… there was the tremble of her hand as she pushed it open.
It was difficult to say when it had become a regular occurrence. Maybe just after the Ibiza trip? Around early summer? She’d hoped the panic attacks were isolated horrors, but tha
t’s when the everyday general anxiety had flared too. So many times she’d thought about telling Kay, then changed her mind. Her friend relied on her both in and out of work and she was already stretched to capacity dealing with a busy ward and bringing up Chester on her own – the last thing Yvie wanted to do was to give her another problem to deal with, another thing to worry about. It was so much easier to pretend, to smile, to make jokes and then to walk away and let the darkness consume her.
In the staff changing room, she put her head against the cold metal of the lockers, and took deep breaths. There was no escaping the irony. Every day, she helped people overcome their fears, their anxieties, and in some cases, cope with fairly significant mental health issues and yet here she was, taking her own advice on how best to deal with the physical symptoms but ignoring the most important healing step of all: talk to someone.
Breathe. Just breathe. She said it over and over again, and just when she was beginning to think she wasn’t going to be able to stop it escalating to a full-scale panic attack, she felt her heart begin to slow, the tremors start to subside. Breathe. Just breathe.
Only when she was sure it was over did she get changed into the outfit she’d brought for the party. Black trousers. A black vest top. A long red glittery chiffon cover-up that reached her ankles. It wasn’t exactly sexy, but lump coverage was what mattered here. The anxiety had contributed to a few more pounds and she was at her heaviest weight ever. She heard a voice in her head saying that the diet was starting the next day and then another, more realistic part of her brain telling the first voice to shut the hell up.
She had this. She could do it. Deep breath. Smile. Let’s go.
Opening the door of the changing area, she took a strong step forward… right into the finely toned chest of Seth McGonigle. ‘Shit! Sorry! I didn’t see you!’