Coconuts and Wonderbras (9 page)

    ‘We need to go over the wedding guest list tonight. I had thought of doing it next week when I got back, but it looks like you’re going to be away now,’ she calls from the living room.

Ah, yes the wedding. He pulls his own list from his pocket. He has a few things himself to discuss.

    ‘We can discuss it over dinner,’ he calls back and feels a sense of dread at the thought.

Alex decides to phone Jamie, and see what they can come up with to convince Libby to come.

Chapter Eight

    ‘Don’t you think you overreacted?’ Issy asks.

I beat three eggs like a maniac, splattering yolk on everything in the vicinity.

    ‘Libby, calm down for Christ’s sake, you’re quite lethal when you’re like this,’ she says picking yolk out of her hair.

I beat in the sugar. I feel so angry. What was Jamie thinking of?

    ‘How can I go to Cambodia? It’s a ludicrous thing to ask.’

Issy looks thoughtful as she measures out flour. I’ve made a sponge cake and am now in the middle of a cheesecake and after that fairy cakes, and if I still feel angry I shall make another sponge. Someone will eat them over Christmas. Talking of which, how can I not be in England over the holiday period?

    ‘Well, your parents won’t be here over the holiday, and I’m going to my parents. Frankly, I wouldn’t mope about for that little weasel if that’s what you’re doing.’

    ‘Are you suggesting I go to Cambodia?’

I slap her hand as she goes to stick her finger in the bowl.

    ‘I’m just saying you should think about it. I know I wouldn’t have to think twice about going away with Alex Bryant.’

I point a floured finger at her.

    ‘Don’t mention penises.’

She shrugs.

    ‘I wasn’t going to but you can be sure with a man like him you would never need an Orlando Broom again.’

    ‘Issy, you said you weren’t going to.’

She mimics zipping her lips.

    ‘I can’t believe they discussed me with
The Political Times
. I would never upstage Toby. I don’t believe I could anyway.’

Issy’s finger hovers in mid-air before plunging into the mixing bowl.

    ‘What do you mean they
discussed you
with
The Political Times
? You didn’t mention anything about that.’

    ‘Didn’t I? I probably didn’t. Well, it isn’t that important is it?’

    ‘Bollocks Libby, of course it bloody is. This is the opportunity you have always wanted isn’t it?’

At that moment Toby walks by and my mind freezes as I find myself standing in front of the window with a wooden spoon in my hand instead of a mug. I make a half-hearted attempt to mime ‘
coffee
’ but it looks more like I am offering a lick of the spoon. It all comes across rather obscene actually. Oh, how I hate Alex-
we-have-a-situation
-Bryant. I watch as Toby hovers at the gate and feel my heart jump as he opens it. I drop the spoon and race to the door, patting my hair as I do so. After all, this is my one and only chance to stand on my own front porch looking like a million dollars.

    ‘Oh Christ,’ moans Issy, ‘I thought we’d seen the back of that loser.’

I open the door to a slightly embarrassed Toby and attempt my best seductive smile.

    ‘Hi, Libs,’ he says quietly. ‘I was having a walk.’

In his Pierre Cardin suit, is he serious?

    ‘Hi, I thought I’d offer you a quickie,’ I say, adding hastily, ‘a quick cup of coffee that is.’

I hear Issy giggle.

    ‘Erm, well…’ He hesitates and then seems to do a double take. ‘I say, you look glamorous, are you going out?’

I fiddle with my top.

    ‘Oh no, I just had a shower,’ I lie. ‘I’ve just made some cake, that’s if you’ve got the time to stop.’

He inclines his head towards the kitchen.

    ‘Issy was just leaving, weren’t you Issy?’ I shout.

    ‘What, oh yes. I’ve got to go home and wash some egg out of my hair.’

    ‘Well, I suppose I could…’ says Toby hesitantly.

    ‘I made a sponge cake.’

His face lights up with the mention of cake. It’s just a pity that the mention of my sponge cake did it rather than the sight of me. He nods and I open the door wider. At that moment the top pocket of his jacket begins to vibrate. There is an awkward tension as Toby seems unable to move.

    ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ I ask sweetly.

Why am I getting that strange déjà vu feeling?

    ‘No, I don’t think so.’

Issy comes bounding towards us and from the coat rack I take her long shawl which she deliberately swings wide so it slaps Toby in the face.

    ‘I see you’ve gone for the casual look Toby,’ she says mockingly.

    ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ she echoes pointing to his vibrating pocket.

I push her towards the front door where the heat I can’t afford is drifting down the street and give her a little shove. She shrugs, pecks me on the cheek and pushes past Toby.

    ‘Ciao.’

I close the door and usher Toby and his vibrating phone into the kitchen. I try to ignore the continual vibration but it really is all I can do not to snatch the phone from his pocket and throw it down the loo. It finally stops and I feel the atmosphere relax only for the phone to start vibrating again. I click on the kettle, and as I am about to cut the cake I hear the gate squeak and look out of the window to see Jamie walking up the drive. Why do these things happen to me? Toby tenses further at the sight of him and raises his eyebrows when I reach for another mug.

    ‘You’re surely not letting him into the cottage,’ he says appalled, like I am about to let in Fred West.

    ‘I can’t make him stand on the doorstep. I am sure he won’t be here long.’

    ‘But he’s gay.’

Oh Toby you don’t say. It occurs to me that should Toby and I marry he may well say I cannot work for Jamie any more so maybe it is just as well that I have quit. I open the door before Jamie has time to knock.

    ‘Toby is here,’ I say immediately.

    ‘Oh God, I’m so scared. Homophobic creeps don’t bother me darling. I can’t stay long anyway.’ He looks over my shoulder and raises his voice. ‘I have left Philippe tied to the bedposts. I only popped out for strawberry flavoured condoms.’

    ‘Pervert,’ calls Toby.

    ‘I’m as queer as fuck, darling, live with it.’

I exhale and pull a face. Not the sort of conversation I want my lovely elderly neighbours to hear.

    ‘Look, sweetie, if you want to quit, that’s up to you. But this is not just about Randal and Hobson the publishers, it’s also about you. This opportunity to get some great stories may never happen again and to practically be commissioned to do it and with someone like Alex to show you around. It really is a God-given opportunity darling. Besides you’re a bloody good agent and to get Alex as a client is classic, so at least give it a bit of thought. Alex really wants you to go.’

Like I care what he thinks. I incline my head to remind him Toby is in the kitchen.

    ‘Yes, well you know our feelings on him. Issy has given you the best advice there. But, really darling, if he loves you, surely he will support you.’

I know Jamie is right but it really is not good for a relationship if a woman upstages her man. Anyway, why on earth would I want to go to Cambodia where the water is poisonous, not to mention the food, and where there is an uprising and everyone wants to kill you. Does he think I am mad? To suggest that Alex Bryant is a good person to go with confirms my worst fears that Jamie isn’t thinking clearly. I peck him on the cheek and tell him firmly that I will not change my mind. What I will do I have no clear idea but flying to Cambodia is definitely not it. Toby is busy talking on his mobile and doesn’t hear me return to the kitchen. I am quite grateful for as soon as I hear him say Serena’s name and call her ‘honey’ I burst into tears and dash to the bathroom. What a two-timing shagging prick. I was a fool to put my misplaced loyalty in Toby and sacrifice my career for him, and right now I want to be as far away from Toby as I can, and as the furthest place I can think of is Cambodia I guess I will be going after all.

Chapter Nine

    ‘Mother, what
are
you wearing?’ I gasp.

I had tried to phone my parents all day but with no luck. Issy suggested we drop in on them after we had finished making my travel arrangements. After struggling to find a parking space outside their house we trudged through the first sprinklings of snow and were accosted by an inflatable snowman that lurched at us as we approached the house. Fairy lights twinkled over the door, which was adorned with a note saying
IT’S HAPPENING HERE
.

Oh Lord, my heart sinks. Just what is happening at my parents?

I already have an acidic headache from too much wine the night before, so the music that now blares forth is a very unwelcome sound. Raucous laughter reaches my ears and after falling over numerous wellington boots and an assortment of coats, I come face to face with my mother. She is wearing what looks like a dead pig, or rather, several dead pigs. I never know what to expect from my parents and I am never too surprised with what I find but seeing my mother wearing what appears to be a dead animal is not something I had ever anticipated in my wildest dreams. Oh God, from the smell I am beginning to think that maybe it doesn’t look like a dead pig but actually is one. Issy taps my chin and I close my open mouth. My mother is wearing a dress made from pork and lamb chops. It is at this point that I begin to wonder if I could actually divorce my parents on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour.

    ‘It’s a meat dress. You know, like the one Madam Gaga wore. What do you think? I had it made especially.’

She twirls and I grimace. The overpowering smell of Madam Rochas perfume coupled with the sight of the chops makes me feel nauseous.

    ‘It looks… amazing,’ stammers Issy giving me a sidelong glance.

    ‘Are they real chops?’ I ask hesitantly, feeling an obsessive need to touch them.

    ‘Of course, that Madam Gaga is ingenious.’

    ‘You can’t wear dead animals, and it’s
Lady
Gaga, not Madam,’ I protest.

    ‘Why not, people do it all the time.’

    ‘No, they don’t. When did you last see someone popping to their local in their lamb chop dress?’

There is no point telling my mother that wearing leather shoes is slightly different to draping oneself in raw pork chop.

    ‘Are you having a party?’ I ask stupidly.

Issy, deciding to make the most of things, grabs a plate and heads for the buffet. Although the food smells tempting I decide not to follow. After the debacle with Toby the other night, I must have gained a few pounds. That night alone I consumed five cupcakes, half a sponge, a pizza, a packet of Bourbons, a bottle of wine and two bars of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut. I was depressed. I know that’s no excuse and I am now fatter than ever. Of course, a second bottle of wine last night hasn’t helped. This weather makes thing worse, of course. Everyone knows you eat more in the winter. I console myself that there will be very little food to eat in Cambodia. I doubt you can get pizza there, right? Dieting in Cambodia will be a piece of cake, and I will start my diet as soon as I arrive in the country. The shock of seeing my mother looking like an advert for the local butchers has taken away my appetite for tonight. I dread to think what she has dressed my father as. I am about to ask when, as if on cue, he appears. I want to go home. He is wearing an abundance of bird feathers which drop off him as he comes laughing towards me. My father is a duck. I am speechless and mouth ‘help’ to Issy who duly ignores me and stuffs more cocktail sausages into her mouth. The room is full of people wearing a colourful array of outfits and a shocking amount of make-up.

    ‘What do you think of my Boy George outfit?’ he shouts above the music.

Boy George! I shake my head in disbelief and edge towards the drinks table. Of course, now that I notice the bowler hat and the colourful plaits that hang around his face, I suppose there is something of a resemblance.

    ‘I thought you were a duck,’ I say flatly.

    ‘Quack quack,’ guffaws someone behind me.

It’s a madhouse. I should sue them for emotional distress. I accept a glass of wine from Basil, their neighbour, who I assume is supposed to be a transvestite.

    ‘Who have you come as?’ he asks seriously.

I shrug.

    ‘I’m Libby in a track suit, actually.’

He nods earnestly.

    ‘Ah, yes, very good. Did you spot who I am?’

Oh dear.

    ‘Well, actually…’

Dare I say,
Lily Savage
?

    ‘Flash Gordon,’ he roars.

Yes of course. Beam me up Scottie before I see someone I actually know and have to admit that these people are my parent’s friends and that the most outrageous couple here are, in fact, my parents. I manage to manoeuvre mum to the loo and shove her inside.

    ‘Darling, what on earth is going on?’ she asks, tripping over the loo brush stand and landing on the toilet seat, sending several lamb chops flying off her.

    ‘I need to tell you something. I’m flying to Cambodia tonight,’ I say narrowly avoiding an airborne chop.

She gasps and then claps her hands.

    ‘Ooh how exciting. That is very daring of you darling, but why? Don’t they have drug barons and things like that there?’

Drug barons? I didn’t know about them.

    ‘I made up with Toby, but then broke up with him again,’ I say miserably.

She clucks.

    ‘Really, Libby, most women can keep a boyfriend for twenty-four hours. I do wonder if you should see one of those counsellors. Robin, you know, daddy’s golf friend, he has been marvellous after seeing that doctor in Reading.’

    ‘He’s on lithium.’

    ‘Well perhaps you should get some. It has done marvels for him.’