Serve Cool (23 page)

‘I love you, Jennifer Summer,’ he smiled. ‘Let me take you to Paradise.’

‘Wait a sec,’ I replied, kissing him back. ‘I’ll just get my toothbrush.’

Epilogue

31st December, 11:55 p.m.

We watched the wedding video for the umpteenth time. It was unbelievable. The flowers, the dress, the confetti, the cake. The emotion of it all got to me every time.

‘Look at Troy!’ I roared. ‘He looks like he’s going to vomit when Matt says, “I do.” ’

‘Watch,’ Maz choked, holding her side and rolling on the floor. ‘Here’s the bit where Matt faints and headbutts the celebrant.’

We laughed hysterically, slapping each other on the back and stammering, ‘Ooh, oh dear,’ in between guffaws.

‘You’re so cruel,’ Randall smiled as he scuffed sexily into the room. ‘I think they make a lovely couple. Champagne anyone?’

The video of Troy and Matt’s Californian wedding ceremony had arrived that morning. Their romance had blossomed
since the night of the launch party and Troy had used his discount flights as an air hostess, sorry
steward,
to jet them off to a Christmas wedding. Of course, I was pleased for them. It was just the sight of Matt in a white satin frock and veil that made me slightly uneasy.

Kim gave up her promiscuous ways to move in with the stationery boy. Rumour had it that business slumped after she lengthened her skirts but Kim was happy. She never made it to telephone-answering but she did have every colour of highlighter in the world.

Simon reached Level 3 on Playstation’s ‘Resident Evil 2’ and turned up for work, occasionally.

Susie and Sebastian upgraded their dishwasher and bought a Volvo. Apart from that, life in the rut stayed pretty much the same.

The Scrap Inn, a.k.a. The Talk Inn, became the permanent location for the most popular talk show on TV, but maintained a working bar. Regulars were issued with VIP passes to escape the crowds that travelled for miles to sample a bottle of Brown Ale from the most popular pub in Britain. It was soon clear that our pub would remain standing for at least another 95 years.

Derek and Denise took over as head bar staff at the pub and often featured on the show. Their advice to troubled couples was usually along the lines of ‘’Ave an argument, that’ll sort
oot yer problems.’ ‘Howay woman, na it won’t.’ ‘Shut yer bleedin’ trap you, they asked me.’ ‘No they didny ya tramp …’ and so on.

Dave took great pride in his job as head of security at the pub for Paradise TV, with Chip as his right-hand man. Apparently, Torica asked him out as her ‘bit of rough’ at least twice a week. He turned her down. He ‘couldny understand a chuffin’ word she said, like. Too bleedin’ regional.’

My mother left my father, of course, and moved in with her therapist. He turned out to be Scrooge-like in his stinginess – not to mention overpriced – and drove my mum to distraction every time she did a simple act like reach for a biscuit:

‘But do you really need a biscuit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Lie down on the couch while we discuss this issue.’

My dad was initially surprised by the separation. His period of mourning lasted about three weeks until the money for the house came through. He bought a boat, signed Auld Vinny up as First Mate and set sail for worldwide adventure. These two made Captain Pugwash look proficient. The last I heard, they were shark fishing off the west coast of Ireland. They had decided to wait until the Guinness ran out before moving on.

Maz was a roaring success as a talk-show host. Her dazzling
personality, Geordie accent and no-messing attitude made her a big hit almost immediately, but she was still just Maz. She bought the flat next door and we spent many a night drinking
better
bottles of wine, eating
bigger
bars of chocolate and gossiping about her latest run of marriage proposals. Maz’s real moment of glory, though, came when she sieved through her mountain of fan mail one morning and happened to stumble across a letter of praise … from Ricki Lake.

Randall, gorgeous, adorable, dishevelled Randall, finally introduced me to his
real
house and asked me to move in. I said that any house which needed a cross-country train service to take you from the bathroom to the kitchen was too big for me and opted, instead, to move with him into his flat. I redecorated it, of course, and made a bit more mess to feel more at home … and put take-away baltis in the fridge, and sat my Argos ghetto-blaster next to his £2000 stereo, etc. I also convinced him to give me a job at the TV company. He said as the fiancée of the owner’s son, I didn’t really need to work, but I had to have something to erase the memory of working in the stamp-licking department. I took over as a legal adviser – to use the term lightly – on Maz’s show. Luckily, his dad didn’t ask me for a reference and kindly erased my previous misdemeanours from his memory. Oh, and Randall asked me to marry him. I said no at first, low self-esteem apparently, I didn’t trust the fact that I could be so happy, but I changed my mind. I
am
happy and I deserve to be.

‘The Chimes!’ Maz yelled, jumping unsteadily to her feet.

We listened to the countdown, gripping our glasses of champagne with excited anticipation, then Big Ben let rip. We cheered. Maz ran off to kiss everyone in the room. I looked into Randall’s eyes. What a difference a year makes, I thought happily.

‘Happy New Year, pet,’ he beamed. ‘Let’s hope it’s a good one.’

We kissed.

‘Happy New Year,’ I smiled. ‘Here’s to twelve months of Summer time.’

Oh, wait a minute. I almost forgot Jack. Actually, I have forgotten Jack completely. After Paradise TV took their business away from Glisset & Jacksop, Jack’s desk was cleared faster than he could say BMW The lovely Vicky left him for the head of corporate finance and Jack soon discovered the meaning of isolation. The last I heard, he was a plastic-flip-flop seller in Morocco … or was that just wishful thinking?