The best part is that I didn’t even pay for it! I found this great website that lets you rent designer dresses for one night, for fifty quid! So I can glide around the hotel like an effortless socialite who wears designer dresses that cost hundreds of pounds like it’s no big deal whatsoever.
I can’t wait for Vanessa or Sasha to see me. They’ll go, oh, your dress is nice. And I’ll go, oh, this old thing? It’s just a casual Gucci number. And then I’ll do a big swoop off onto the dance floor, where Fiona will flamboyantly open a bottle of champagne with a novelty sword and crown me CEO of Hayes.
Or, you know, just give me my promotion at long bloody last.
‘Hi, Katy.’
I look up to see Diane, who has slouched over to me.
I feel a bolt of fear as she slumps her weight against the pillar.
The only problem with everything going so well is the fear that something is about to go catastrophically wrong.
‘Hello, Diane,’ I say, clicking my pen. ‘Everything okay?’
Not that anything bad is going to happen, because I have organised this event to a T under Fiona’s beady eye. Nothing has been ordered without her prior approval. Each flower has been picked, each item for auction has been screened; there is nothing I am not prepared for.
Apart from Diane, that is, and her compulsive love of disaster.
‘Not really,’ she sighs. ‘I quite wanted a canapé, but they don’t have any gluten-free options.’
I feel a jab of irritation.
‘There are gluten-free options,’ I say briskly, feeling my face flush. ‘We have vegan, nut-free, gluten-free, dairy-free and vegetarian.’
I can’t help but shoot her a look out of the corner of my eye.
Don’t mess with me, Diane. I have thought of everything.
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘well maybe you should tell the chef.’
My smile tightens. ‘I have.’
I need to get rid of her. If she keeps standing next to me and whispering rubbish in my ear, then I might kill her. And that’s a sure way to ruin any high-class ambience, Gucci dress or no Gucci dress.
‘You’re going on holiday tomorrow, aren’t you?’ she says, folding her arms. ‘I wish I was going on holiday.’
I try not to scoff. A week in my tiny childhood village in Pembrokeshire is hardly a holiday.
‘I’m going to stay with my sister,’ I say. ‘Well,’ I add, ‘she won’t be there. I’m house-sitting for her.’
Diane shrugs and mumbles her catchphrase: ‘That’s a shame.’
‘Not really,’ I say brightly. ‘We’re not that close. Anyway,’ I fix my smile back in place, ‘why don’t you go in? Remember, it’s an auction, so people need to be taking an interest in what’s on offer so they’re ready to bid later. Make sure the drinks and canapés are circulating nicely. People are more generous if they’re a bit drunk. I’ll come through in ten.’
She blinks at me as if I’ve asked her to scrape the gum off the bottom of everybody’s shoes.
Instinctively I reach forward and grab one of the champagne flutes sailing past me.
‘Have a drink,’ I instruct, handing it to her. ‘It’s important that we have a good time tonight, Diane. This is a fun evening. It’s for charity.’
I stare into her watery eyes, trying to mask the stench of my desperation.
Please, Diane. Just chill out and have a good time. Please.
She takes the glass nervously and I feel myself relax slightly.
‘Great.’ I smile. ‘You like champagne, right? Everybody likes champagne.’
She nods, and I feel as if I could punch the air.
Oh thank God for that.
I squeeze her shoulder and gently push her towards the door of the ballroom, taking in her outfit as she goes. She’s wearing a floor-length black dress with long lacy sleeves. Her dark hair is pinned off her face and she is even wearing low heels.
If she didn’t look so miserable all the time, she’d be a catch.
As she vanishes into the ballroom, my phone vibrates in my hand. Immediately a million panicked thoughts zip into my mind.
Email from Fiona? From Vanessa? Something has fallen through? The compère has called in sick? The charity items have been revoked?
Hi Katy,
Sorry to email you this evening, but are you around for a chat? Would quite like to speak on the phone before you come up tomorrow. Need to talk to you about some bits.
Love you,
Rachel x
I reread the email, trying to control the annoyance spiking through me.
Am I around for a chat? She knows it’s the charity ball tonight, the event I’ve been working on for the past six months. How can she think I could be around for a chat?
I stuff the phone back into my clutch bag and try to shake off my scowl.
Why does she want a chat now, when we never speak on the phone? She stopped answering my calls months ago, so I stopped bothering to call. On the rare occasion she’s called me, I’ve been with the children and she always follows up the missed call with an email anyway. A part of me thinks she only calls to prove that she’s done it; she’d probably hang up the second I answered.
Guilt squirms in my stomach and I squash it down.
She’ll only want to talk about dog food or something.
I mean, I did grow up in that house too. I know how everything works. What could be so important that she feels the need to speak to me now, when I’m in the middle of the most important night of my entire year?
*
A smattering of light applause skims around the room as the guests chuckle lightly at the compère’s latest joke and the weekend retreat to a five-star spa is sold to an elegant woman in an emerald dress. I lean against the bar, positioned at the back of the room, and glug the dregs of my champagne, immediately swiping another one from the passing waiter. My third glass.
Or is it my fourth?
Anyway, it’s enough to stop me from panicking about what a roaring success the event is and what could be about to go wrong. It’s also enough to make me laugh quite loudly at every joke the compère tells, so I’m trying to zone him out. I don’t want him to think he’s being heckled.
‘Going well, isn’t it?’
I jump slightly as Fiona appears next to me at the bar. She’s wearing a figure-hugging pillar-box-red dress, with slick black heels that flash a red sole when she walks. She takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and leans next to me. I can’t stop the grin creeping onto my face. I don’t bother trying to look cool in front of Fiona. She’s seen me with emergency tissues stuffed up my sleeves.
‘Yeah!’ I say, keeping my voice low as the compère launches into his next joke. ‘I think it’s going brilliantly. Everybody seems to be having a great time.’
I want to add what a brilliant team we make and lightly joke about how we should plan all the events at Hayes together, but I don’t. Perhaps I’ll mention it after the next school run; at that point in the morning she’s usually ready to agree with anything I say.
She massages her forehead with her free hand and shuts her eyes. For a second, the high-powered-businesswoman facade slips and I see the real Fiona, sinking against the bar and being swamped by the thousands of errands buzzing around her like small flies.
Tristan was supposed to be looking after the children this evening, but he called last minute to say that he couldn’t get back from Manchester. Apparently he was there on a business weekend, or so Fiona said. I don’t tend to ask her too many questions.
‘Are you okay?’ I say, edging closer.
She pulls her head out of her hand and smiles, giving a large fake sigh.
‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Just thinking about how cross my mother will be for dumping the children at hers with practically zero notice, though I’m sure it’s nothing a spa gift card can’t fix.’
She holds her champagne glass to her lips and I smile weakly.
‘It really is a wonderful evening, i
sn’t it?’ she adds, as she surveys the swarm of glamorous people, all laughing and chinking their glasses with one another. ‘You’ve done very well.’
I take another champagne flute from the bar and fight the urge to neck it in one.
This is brilliant! The fantasy I’ve had playing in my mind for the past six months is coming true! Fiona must be thinking about how well I’d fit in at the office. Finally, after all this time and late nights and—
‘It’s a shame about the auction, though.’
I gulp my champagne.
What?
‘A shame?’ I repeat. ‘What do you mean?’
My eyes fly frantically over the sea of guests. Every item has gone so far! What is she talking about?
She swirls her drink and shrugs. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘they’re just not bidding very much, are they?’
I stare at her.
Aren’t they? That horrible old painting that looked like it was commissioned by a serial killer went for almost two thousand pounds!
She leans on a stool and pulls out her phone.
‘I mean,’ she says, ‘it is for charity after all. Maybe they’re just not feeling it.’
I feel a cold rush in the pit of my stomach. I tip the champagne into my mouth and place the empty glass on the bar.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I mutter, before sweeping through the room.
I will not have my promotion sabotaged by some tight-fisted aristocrats! I’m sure they all have buckets of money. They’d probably clean their toilet with my Gucci dress. They just need a little help, that’s all.
I stop behind a pillar and check the time.
Right. It’s almost eleven. There’s one more item to bid for. I can do this. I just—
‘Katy?’
Diane pops up next to me, her wide eyes blinking up at me desperately. I feel an instant surge of irritation.
Oh for God’s sake, what? What now?
‘Yup?’ I say, glancing over her shoulder as the compère congratulates the winners of a mini break to Prague for two. As he starts to introduce the final item, I grab a wooden paddle from the nearest table, tucking it behind my back.
‘I think there’s an issue,’ Diane says, stepping closer.
‘Right?’
Is there really an issue? Or is Diane just upset because someone accidentally trod on her foot?
‘So!’ the compère calls, leaning into the microphone. ‘We’re finishing off the auction with a fun prize, great for a night out with friends.’
I glance back at Diane and feel myself double-take as I notice that she’s swaying, and one of her eyes is half shut.
A bolt of fear shoots through me.
Oh God, Diane doesn’t drink. She once told me that she got drunk at university and was barred from the student union and hasn’t drunk since. I thought she was joking! Oh God, what have I done?
I shut my eyes and say a silent prayer.
Please let her have been joking. Or perhaps the reason she got barred was because she was mistaken for another girl, or requested her favourite song of all time, ‘My Way’, and totally spoilt the mood like she did at last year’s Christmas party.
‘Right then,’ the compère calls, ‘we’re going to start the bidding with a very reasonable one hundred pounds. Do I have one hundred?’
A jolt of electricity shoots through me as I ram my paddle into the air and then duck back behind the pillar.
‘Ah!’ he cries. ‘I saw one hundred; do we have one fifty?’
Come on, somebody else bid. Come on.
‘We have one fifty!’
Yes!
I’ll just bid a couple of times to get the ball rolling. Just once or twice.
I turn back to Diane, and notice that she has begun to slide down the pillar. I grab her shoulders and haul her back up.
Oh God.
‘Diane,’ I say quickly, ‘how much have you had to drink?’
What have I done to her? Please let her be a happy drunk, at least. Or a quiet one who just wants a little sleep. I could find her a nice broom cupboard to have a nap in until everybody goes home. Nobody would ever have to know.
She pulls her wandering eyes up and to my alarm starts to glare at me.
‘I don’t know,’ she slurs. ‘Whatever. Loads. I want another one. Waiter!’ She swings her body around the pillar and throws her arm in the air. Her voice echoes around the room, and to my horror, the compère pauses mid sentence.
I yank Diane round to face me and grip her shoulders.
‘Listen, Diane,’ I mutter, ‘just give me five minutes for the auction to finish, okay? Then I’ll find you a nice taxi.’
‘I don’t want a taxi!’ she barks. I flinch as the thick stench of alcohol hits me in the face.
Wow. She’s been drinking more than champagne.
‘I want to get off with one of these businessmen.’ She shoves me as she tries to get past.
‘Right,’ I say quickly, pushing her back against the pillar, ‘whatever you want, okay? Just wait one minute.’
I can deal with Diane after I’ve finished the auction. She is not costing me my promotion.
‘Let’s get this going!’ the compère calls. ‘Do we have two hundred?’
I launch my paddle in front of the pillar and then jump back behind it. I almost want to laugh. It’s working!
‘Okay, we have two hundred!’ he calls. ‘Oh, and there’s two fifty! Can we get this up to three hundred?’
I look back at Diane, who is glugging down a glass of champagne like it’s water. My arm jerks my paddle back into the air.
Well, one more glass won’t hurt.
‘Bleurgh!’ She spits loudly. ‘Champagne is disgusting!’
I shoot her a look. That champagne cost two hundred pounds a bottle; it is not disgusting.
‘Can we get it to three fifty?’ The compère laughs. ‘Three hundred and fifty pounds, anyone?’
I grip Diane’s arm as she attempts to follow a waiter skimming through the room.
‘Anyone for three fifty?’
Come on, someone else bid so this auction can bloody end and I can shove Diane in a taxi. With or without a businessman, I don’t care.
‘Sold for three hundred and fifty pounds!’ The compère bangs his hammer down. ‘And that is the end of the auction, folks.’
I feel a wave of relief as I turn back to Diane. I need to get her out of here before she has a chance to pounce on one of these unassuming, married businessmen.
‘Right,’ I say, locking eyes with her. ‘We’re just going to walk together into reception. You can hold onto my arm and—’
‘Katy!’
I turn on the spot, smile in place, as Vanessa and Sasha glide over to me, looking like fresh-out-of-the-packet Barbie dolls. They’re both holding champagne flutes, and their perfect noses are turned up suspiciously, desperate to sniff out a flaw they can comment on.
Luckily for them, Diane has started singing the National Anthem.
Urgh. Why do they have to see me like this? I wanted us to chat at the bar whilst clinking our champagne glasses so they could marvel at my lovely dress and discuss going shopping together.
‘Hi, girls,’ I say, trying to keep my voice aloof while Diane latches onto my arm like a baby koala.
‘I want to go to the bar,’ she whines in my ear. ‘I want a drink. I’m thirsty.’
I shake her off. ‘In a second,’ I hiss.
‘Or a cig,’ she persists. ‘Do you have a cig?’
Since when does Diane smoke?
‘Great event,’ Sasha says as they reach us. ‘Everybody seems to be having a good time.’
I meet her eyes as she smiles at me, feeling a slight relief as Diane finally lets go of my arm.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Yes, it seems to be going well.’
‘And you won something!’ Vanessa giggles, nudging me with her champagne flute. ‘Fancy bidding at your own auction.’
Shit, I did win, didn’t I? Where am I goin
g to find three hundred and fifty pounds?
She flicks her eyes over to Sasha and they both laugh. I feel my face flush.
‘Yes, well, I just thought the prize sounded fun,’ I say, trying to squash their giggles, ‘and it’s all for charity, isn’t it? So just doing my part.’
I look around and suddenly realise that Diane has vanished.
For God’s sake, where has she gone?
‘Well, we should all go!’ Vanessa says. ‘A work night out on you for charity sounds great.’
She raises her champagne glass to me and I shoot her a limp smile, desperately trying to spot Diane.
‘Yeah,’ I mutter, ‘sure.’
Where is she? Where is she?
My eyes scan the room, latching on to any businessman to check Diane isn’t trying to lick their ears.
‘Also, Katy,’ Sasha says, leaning in as if she’s about to tell me a juicy secret, ‘I love your dress. It’s Gucci, right?’
For a moment I forget almost entirely about my mad hunt for Diane, and shoot Sasha a smug smile.
‘Yes!’ I cry, unable to hide my giant grin. ‘Isn’t it great?’
Vanessa looks at Sasha and then back at me, her eyebrows raised.
‘Really?’ she says, not bothering to suppress her shock. ‘Gucci?’
I go back to searching the room. ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘just thought I’d—’
Oh my God, she’s there. I feel my stomach turn over as I spot Diane, leaning against the bar smoking.
What is she doing?
‘Anyway,’ I say, my voice strained, ‘I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit.’
I’m going to kill her.
I need to get to her now.
I storm across the bar, trying to keep my smile fixed as I slip past the smattering of socialites. As I reach Diane, she takes an almighty suck on the cigarette and glares at me defiantly, like a toddler about to lose their dummy. I lurch forward to grab the cigarette from her hand, but she sticks it in her mouth again and turns her back on me.
Oh my God, am I going to have to wrestle her?
House Swap Page 5