Cloudy with a Chance of Love (28 page)

‘You here on your own?' she ventured.

‘Pretty much.'

‘Single mum?' she asked, in the blunt way lovely old ladies sometimes do.

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Single mum.'

‘You must be very proud.'

Yes, I am.' I wondered if she meant of Freya, or of me. I decided she meant both.

The room – a bustle of chatter and flapping of coats and crossing of legs and fidgeting and hair smoothing and toothy grinning and the rustle of orders of service – fell to a hush as the Dean approached the lectern. He waffled on a bit about Smith College and its fine tradition and its fine and upstanding students – I was a little distracted by his hair, which looked like a bird had tried to make off with it just before he took to the lectern – then the ceremony started. Boy, it was long. Me and my new friend polished off the whole packet of mints and moved onto Fruit Polos. Our hands were worn out with clapping – well, mine were. Remember at school, when they made you tap your palm with two fingers, so it would be quieter? I wished I could have done that; my hands were getting quite chapped. All the time, Gabby had her body turned towards Jeff.

At last, Hannah was called; Brian and Movie Star clapped enthusiastically. And then, finally, Freya's name was read out. Freya Williams – my baby girl. She was grinning from ear to ear when she received her scroll and shook hands with the Dean. And I was absolutely bursting with pride. I knew my eyes would be shining with tears, but I managed to contain them so they didn't spill down my cheeks, and as Freya looked out across the audience on the way back to her seat, she caught my eye and I gave her an excited thumbs up. She'd done it. She had graduated and at this very moment all other thoughts flew away – Jeff, Gabby …Will, no don't go, there,
please…
and I was completely and utterly happy. My girl.

My elderly friend handed me a tissue.

‘Well done,' she said, as I was leaning forward to take it from her packet. Jeff leant forward too, and with his eyes glistening, gave me small smile.

Another half an hour later – during which the old lady's grandson graduated and she actually stood up and cheered – and it was all done. All two hundred and eighty economics students from Smith had graduated. Now all I had to get through was the celebratory dinner at Caspar's, where I would have to actually
talk
to my enemies. Small talk, that's all I could bear. It would
have
to be the smallest of small talk and I was sure Jeff and Gabby would be happy to oblige; nobody would want to get onto any
big
topics – far too dangerous.

At least there would be wine.

I could do it, I thought, as we rose from our seats and filed out of the cathedral.

I had to, for Freya's sake.

Chapter Twenty-One

‘And you're
there
, Mum.'

‘Right.'

We had walked to Caspar's – it was only two hundred yards up the road – umbrellas up and braced against the wind. I walked arm in arm with Freya, as much as my umbrella would allow, and Jeff and Gabby strode in front.

Gabby's hair swung in front of me – I felt like I knew every strand, and Jeff had had a much more severe haircut in recent weeks – it looked a bit painful at the neck. I realised my feelings for him were
completely
gone now – kaput! I hadn't seen him for a while, so there was always the worry that I would have a baulk of regret when I saw him, a pang, a pull on the heart strings. But no, apart from that sudden jolt at seeing him, which I'd probably always get – the almost perpetual and weird
surprise
of seeing someone you used to love – my heart strings remained un-pulled. I really
didn't
find him attractive now. He was beginning to remind me of a weasel. If anything it was the sight of Gabby that unnerved me; it was Gabby that gave my heart a frightful pang. The sudden shock of seeing her and realising I didn't know her any more was so weird. Gabby was just a stranger to me now… somebody that I used to know – with very familiar hair.

Caspar's was a fantastic-looking restaurant. It was either embracing Christmas early or acknowledging how much the dark, rain-sodden evening needed illuminating, as a dense curtain of ice-cool fairy lights hung from its huge top-to-toe front window, covering every inch of glass. Inside, it was a cool, white box, with dazzling chrome fittings and huge chandeliers. Our table was in the centre of the restaurant, under a large skylight which had also been festooned with fairy lights – the sky was perfectly pitch black; no stars on show tonight. Our short crocodile of people arrived at the table and began to fan round it.

Fabulous. I groaned inwardly. I was next to Gabby. It wasn't even boy girl boy girl (I thought of the cookery night and the shame of Dex came back to haunt me. What a fool I'd been; how horrible
he'd
been). There was a table plan and place cards, unfortunately, so nobody had any choice. And they had spelled my name wrong. Darrell, like a boy, though it was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I had to suffer far greater insults.

We sat down. I shook my napkin into my lap, lined up my cutlery, tried to look busy. Hannah and Freya were all excited and talking nineteen to the dozen in high-pitched voices; Gabby and Jeff were lightly bickering about why the car wouldn't be ready until Tuesday. When my old best friend saw me flick a quick glance over, she fixed a bright smile on her face. She could at least have the decency to look sorry and ashamed, I thought, but we both knew it wouldn't suit her.

So, it was the seven of us. Lovely. Two couples, two beautiful teenage girls with their lives in front of them and me: dumped, disappointed Daryl. I was determined not to feel that way, though. I had to rally and not let this situation get me down. Why should I not be Fabulous Daryl, proud mother of one, daring divorced dater (better luck next time, girl!) and sultry wearer of an absolute killer dress…

There was white and red wine on the table, plus bottles of champagne – two at each table – in silver wine coolers filled to the brim with ice and standing to attention behind the table. As soon as we were seated, Jeff reached round behind him and shook one of the bottles from its silver encasement, and I watched as condensation dripped off its bottom and onto the white tablecloth. It was a bit of a theme this week, wasn't it? Water, water everywhere – when would the sun ever make an appearance? Never, I thought morosely. Rain was hammering on the windows of the restaurant. It was going to rain all winter wasn't it? My forecasts for the foreseeable were going to be extremely depressing and incredibly boring.

Jeff lined up the first glass – Gabby's. A stricken waiter, being usurped, tried to take the bottle from him. ‘Let me, sir.'

‘No, no,' said Jeff, shooing him away. ‘I'll take care of this.' And he made a big show of pouring champagne for everyone at the table. Including Hannah and Freya.

‘To the top please,' murmured Gabby. Oh, she
definitely
liked a glass of champers, did old Whatsherface. There was the time she drank a whole bottle of it, in the bath, before we went out one night, and cut her legs to ribbons shaving her legs. We'd stuck bits of toilet roll all over them and had laughed and laughed. It was a good night – the kind of night where we hung onto each other in hysterics on the dancefloor – and it had ended with Gabby being unwell in my mum and dad's en suite bathroom, while I held her hair back. Once a lightweight, always a lightweight. We'd giggled ourselves silly over it in bed the next morning, with tea and toast and Marmite. At the time, it was one for the memory banks; but that memory bank had been tipped all over the floor, a year ago, and its contents trampled on.

Jeff looked at Gabby indulgently, like she was a princess, and filled her glass with a theatrical flourish. Cow. Bloody, bloody cow. She'd wiped out all that wonderful history between us the first time she'd given my husband the glad eye.

She simpered back at him. I noticed her fiddling with something, near her neck. And then I saw it – the label. I shook my head and smirked to myself. Oh, typical Gabby! She'd bought a dress today, was wearing it tonight and would return it tomorrow. She used to do that all the time. Shame she hadn't returned my husband – not that I wanted her too, now, of course, but at one time I had.

The glasses filled, Jeff proposed a toast to ‘Freya and Hannah and a fabulous evening'. He stared lovingly at Gabby as their glasses touched in a soft kiss, and I admired my restraint. It was not only the first time I'd seen Gabby since she stole my husband, but the first time I'd seen them together… discounting the times they smoked in my old back garden and plotted their evil deeds, that is. They were lucky I was the sort of person not to create a scene.

I picked up my glass and took a sip. The bubbles went straight up my nose, making it tickle. It was delicious. God, I needed this.

There was a lull while everyone sipped their champagne and took a look around them. There must have been at least thirty tables in that room, filled with happy people. Mums and dads and daughters and sons. Celebrating. I looked at Freya. She looked luminous, chatting away to Hannah and waving her hands around; I was so bloody proud of her.

There were tiny saucers with rolls of striped butter. And a basket of bread rolls. I took a brown one, broke off a piece and slathered it in butter.

‘How's the new pad?' asked Jeff. I looked up from my roll, surprised. Was he talking to me? Oh, I got it, the big man wanted to act all benevolently to his poor, cheated-on ex-wife. Well, I could play along, to an extent, for Freya's, sake, who was giving me a hopeful ‘be
nice
' look from across the table.

‘My new house? Oh, it's wonderful. Really great. I'm doing it up at the moment.' I thought of Will methodically painting the walls of my hall, his biceps going up and down… then how he had cleaned
and lined up my brushes for me, in the jam jars, and my heart gave a lurch downwards. There he was again. Right in my brain. It was no good – I just couldn't help thinking about him. Last night, how brilliant it had been, that kiss… oh god that kiss… It gave me butterflies that were instantly chased away by despair. Quick! I thought. Think of all the reasons you shouldn't like him, again… he's your neighbour, he's not ready to move on, he whistles bad songs from the eighties, he's too good at baking and makes you look bad (gorgeous lemon drizzle, though)… he's too good looking… This really wasn't working. I focused on Jeff. He was saying something else to me.

‘Well, that's great. Glad to hear it.'

‘Thanks,' I said coolly. I bet you are, I thought. If I'm happy then I'm off your case. I bet Jeff was as relieved as I was that the months of wailing and teeth-gnashing were well and truly over.

The starters arrived, with lots of ‘excuse me'-ing from the silver service waiting staff. It was tomato and red pepper soup and it was really nice. I dipped pieces of my bread roll in it, not caring if it was bad etiquette. The champagne was warming through my body now – it felt good. It always went to my legs first, and made them tingle – it also stopped them from tapping, under the table. I'd be careful not to drink too much though; I really wanted to stay in control. I noticed Gabby was really knocking them back, while Jeff constantly refilled her glass; some things would never change.

‘Excuse me.' Gabby tapped the arm of a passing waiter. ‘Can we have another bottle of champagne please?'

‘Certainly.'

Jeff gave her a soppy, simpering look. I'd seen that look on his face a thousand times before – it usually meant he was on a promise.

There was a five-minute interlude while people excitedly bought raffle tickets, as they do at these sort of do's, then the main courses arrived: some sort of chicken and gratin potatoes and veg. I was ravenous and it was delicious.

‘How's work?' asked Jeff. I wished he'd stop asking me questions. I guessed he was doing it to look all genial in front of Brian and Movie Star (I still couldn't catch what her name was), or perhaps it was to show Gabby what a nice guy he was. That was a joke.

‘It's fine,' I said, after a bit of a pause – he'd done that annoying thing where someone asks you a question when you've got a piece of chicken in your mouth and you're chewing it and everyone stares at you whilst they wait for you to finish chewing. I'd prefer it if he didn't talk to me. I knew he wasn't really interested – he never had been.

I could see Gabby checking me out. She had never been the most subtle. I knew what she was thinking: my bosom area was enormous in comparison to hers – her boobs were neat and constrained; mine were straining at the leash.
Her
bottom was probably barely covering a quarter of the seat of her chair; mine took up nearly all of it. She had my husband; I had no one. Well, she was right there, but she didn't know everything, or the week I'd had. I'd had three kisses, one date and a booty call. I supposed it was better than nothing, or no one. At least the week had been
eventful
. I suddenly wondered what Will was doing tonight; he'd told me he always had Friday afternoons off. Was he at home with a box set (he was a
Sopranos
guy, I bet, or maybe
Breaking Bad
), a glass of wine? I knew I shouldn't be thinking about him, I knew I shouldn't care what he was doing; I should be as much in the dark about his life as Gabby was about mine. I glanced at her. She was draining another glass. She had that tell-tale look of drunkenness about her. A slightly wobbly head and lightly glazed eyes.

There was the sudden sound of a guitar tuning up and the rumbling of drums – the live band had arrived on stage, at one end of the restaurant. They launched into ‘Summer of ‘69', and were really very good. Then pudding appeared in front of us – oh, it was delicious and one of my favourites – crème
brulee; I enthusiastically broke through the crispy top and got stuck in. Gabby and Movie Star (I couldn't even be bothered to find out her name now; the evening was too far gone) both pecked at theirs with their spoons. This was unlike Gabby, I thought. She loved her puds. She was showing off, clearly. She'd have a doughnut topped with a huge scoop of ice cream when she got home. And Movie Star probably just ate like a bird. She looked the type. She was tiny.