The Importance of Being Married (8 page)

“You’re sure you didn’t want a boyfriend, too? Just a little bit?”

“No,” I said stiffly. “Of course I didn’t want a boyfriend.”

“Just a husband?” Helen smirked.

“No! Hel, I do not want a boyfriend or a husband. You know I don’t.”

“How can you know you don’t want something if you’ve never had it?”

“I have had a boyfriend,” I said, hotly. “I’ve had two, actually.”

“One at university and one three years ago. Yes, you’re quite the man-eater.” Helen was shaking her head at me, and I rolled my eyes irritably.

“Just because your life revolves around men, it doesn’t mean that everyone’s does,” I said quickly. “I am just not interested in making small talk on dates, waiting for the phone to ring, feeding the ego of some man so that he’ll like me and then watching him swan off with someone else a few months or a few years later. Romance is a myth, Hel. Love is just a hormonal reaction. Two out of three marriages end in divorce and the rest of them are probably miserable. Everyone ends up alone; why spend half your life chasing a chimera?”

“A chimera? You mean something that doesn’t exist?”

I nodded.

“You mean like an imaginary husband?” Helen’s eyes were twinkling, and I reddened.

“So you’re not interested in Anthony Milton one little bit,” she continued, smiling at me mischievously. “Isn’t he the one who’s, like, incredibly good looking? He was in that article you showed me.”

“Yes, he is,” I admitted. “But I’m still not interested.”

“Really?” Helen looked dubious. I shook my head.

“No,” I said firmly. “Trust me, if I was looking for a husband, which I’m not, it certainly wouldn’t be Anthony. He’s too…” I wrinkled my nose, trying to think of the right word.

“Successful? Gorgeous?” Helen suggested.

“Flighty,” I said, then shook my head. “No, not flighty. Too…” I sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s just not my type. Not serious enough. Goes out with models. Girls who look like models, anyway.”

“You mean he’s not your type because you don’t think he’ll fancy you?”

“I mean,” I said sternly, “that he isn’t my type because I don’t fancy
him.
” I paused and reddened slightly when I saw Helen looking at me, one eyebrow at least half an inch higher than the other. “Or anyone else, for that matter. And he certainly doesn’t fancy me.”

“At the moment,” Helen said.

“At the moment?”

“I’m just looking at this laterally,” she said thoughtfully. “Grace thought you were married to Anthony Milton, right?”

I nodded.

“And Anthony Milton is good looking and successful? I mean, objectively speaking, he’s quite the catch.”

“I guess.”

Helen grinned. “So, then, the way out of this mess is staring us right in the face. You need to marry him for real.”

I laughed. “Of course!” I said drily. “God, why didn’t I think of that. Great idea. I’ll just ask him tomorrow.”

“I’m serious,” Helen said. “I mean it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Pull it off and you’ve not only married Mr. Perfect but become a millionaire four times over, and you’ve saved Grace’s house.”

“He is not Mr. Perfect. And you’ve forgotten something. I don’t want to get married.”

“Ah, but that’s not important. You don’t want to get married because you don’t see the point in it, and you think that romance is a waste of time. But this is different.”

“It is?” I asked, dubious.

“Of course it is. You’re not getting married to live happily ever after. You’re getting married to earn four million pounds. It’s like an anti-marriage. Actually, it’s really just a business deal. You have to pitch to your client and get him to give you the deal.”

“Anthony’s my client now?”

“Yes!”

I frowned. “But…”

“But what? Do you have any other ideas?”

I looked down at the floor.

“And do you want the money? Do you want to look after Grace’s house like she wanted you to?” Helen continued.

I nodded. “Yes, but…”

“Stop with the buts,” Helen said, standing up. “Does Anthony Milton have a girlfriend?”

“Not that I know of.”

“So it’s settled then. Project Marriage is under way.”

My shoulders slumped forward. “Helen, please try to understand. What you’re suggesting is…is madness. It’s like you saying you’re going to marry Tom Cruise. And let’s not forget the fifty-day timetable.”

“Tom Cruise is already married. Anthony Milton isn’t. And a lot can happen in fifty days.”

“I can’t do it,” I said helplessly. “I just can’t.”

“No such thing as
can’t,
only
won’t.
Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

“Scared?” I said, a little too defensively. “Of course I’m not scared. I’m just not a model, I’m no good with men, and I think the whole idea is completely insane.”

“You aren’t much good with men, that’s true,” Helen agreed. “But we can work on that. And your clothes.”

“My clothes? What’s wrong with my clothes?” Now it was my eyebrow shooting up.

“Everything,” Helen said with a shrug. “And your hair.”

“I like my hair.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about Anthony Milton, and I bet he doesn’t like your hair.”

“I doubt he’s ever noticed my hair,” I said crossly.

“Exactly.”

“I’m not changing my hair for a man.” I could feel myself stiffen. “Or my clothes. I’m not…”

Helen sighed. “Give it up, Jess. Look, I know your grandmother was a bitch and that you’re obsessed with being all self-sufficient, or whatever it is you bang on about all the time. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit of fun sometimes. Putting on lipstick doesn’t reduce your IQ. Going on a date doesn’t turn you into a pathetic creature who can’t live without a man.”

“This has nothing to do with my grandmother,” I said hotly.

“Whatever. All I’m saying is that you need new clothes and new hair. This Anthony Milton may not notice you now, but it’s because you do everything in your power
not
to be noticed. And you don’t fancy him because you won’t let yourself,” Helen said, firmly. “Because you’re convinced he’ll never fancy you, so it’s easier to rule him out yourself. You know, if you were as ambitious with men as you were with your bloody job, you’d have men queuing down the street by now.”

I laughed despite myself. “Hardly.”

“Look, Jess. The way I see it is you either give this a go, or you don’t. And if you don’t, then you’re saying good-bye to an awful lot.”

“But…”

“No buts. Jess, just think of what you’d miss out on if you don’t at least give it a try.”

“It is a nice house,” I said tentatively.

“It’s a fabulous house,” Helen agreed.

“And I’d be able to pay off all my debts.”

“You’d be rich, Jess. Rich beyond your wildest dreams. Which means self-sufficient.”

“And married.”

“Fine. But not in a romantic high-hopes way. You’d be rich, independent of your husband, and you’d also be protecting Grace’s legacy.”

I felt a twinge at the mention of Grace’s name. “I know. But I still don’t see how I’d do it.”

“Get Anthony to fall madly in love with you, you mean?” Helen asked. “Well, you need to do a…what do you call it when you change a product? Like when they launched the KitKat Chunky?”

“Rebranding,” I said.

Helen’s eyes lit up. “Yes! We’re going to rebrand you.”

“As a KitKat Chunky?”

“As perfect marriage material.”

I snorted. “And then we’ll turn back the tide, shall we?”

Helen shot me a look. “I’m going to ignore that,” she said archly. “Look, Jess, you’ve got to promise to take this seriously. This is Deal or No Deal. Everything or nothing. So which is it going to be? Deal or No Deal, Jess? Which one?”

“This isn’t a gamble, Helen, it’s pure madness. It’s impossible. It’s…it’s ridiculous.”

“Deal or No Deal?” Helen repeated, fixing me with her eyes.

I looked at her for a moment. “You know this is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard?”

“Deal or No Deal? Yes or no?”

I let out a long, painful sigh.

“I can’t…I…”

“You can if you want. Come on, Jess. Take a risk. Give it a go. Do it for Grace.”

I looked down at the floor, remembering how excited Grace had been when I’d first told her Anthony had asked me out. Remembered the excitement in her eyes when she told me he was going to propose on holiday. And then I frowned.

“What?” Helen said. “What is it now?”

I bit my lip. “Nothing. It’s just…something Grace said. Ages ago.”

“What?”

My forehead creased in concentration. “I thought she meant…I mean…But maybe she didn’t. Maybe she actually meant that…”

“What?” Helen said impatiently. “What did she say?”

“She made me promise…she made me promise that if someone offered me everything they had, I’d take it,” I said quietly. “I thought she meant Anthony. I thought it was one of her silly romantic dreams.”

“And now you think she meant her inheritance?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“And you promised that you would?”

I nodded.

“So does that mean…Are you going to do it? Are you?”

I looked at Helen for a few moments, then nodded. “Deal,” I said, so softly I barely heard it myself.

“What was that?”

“Deal.” My eyes were wide with trepidation. I couldn’t believe what I was agreeing to.

Immediately Helen fell upon me and embraced me, tightly. “You won’t regret this, Jess. God, it’s going to be brilliant.”

“It’s a campaign, right?” I said nervously. “I’m just running an advertising campaign?”

“Project Marriage,” Helen agreed. “Project Four Million Big Ones.”

“And if it doesn’t work, we’ll just forget all about it and I’ll change my name to Mrs.”

I met Helen’s eyes and a second later we both exploded into laughter, although mine was rather more hysterical than hers.

Then, a few minutes later, Helen picked up the phone and dialed a number, winking at me as she did it. “Hi, it’s Helen Fair-brother. I need to book an appointment with Pedro. Only I need it for this afternoon. You can? Fantastic. And can I book a few beauty treatments for afterward? Yes, pedicure, leg wax, tan, and a facial. With eyebrow shape. Two
PM
? Fantastic, we’ll see you then. It’s for my friend Jessica. Jessica Wild.”

Then she turned to me. “Right, I think we need a project plan, don’t you? Go and get a pen and paper. We’re launching Project Marriage.”

Chapter 5

PEDRO, IT TURNED OUT
, was a small Spanish hairdresser who worked in a tiny salon above a shop close to Islington High Street, barely visible from the road—which was, according to Helen, the whole point: this was very much a word-of-mouth place, she told me confidently, and they did the best threading in London.

I had no idea what threading was, and I didn’t want to have my hair cut, but—I was swiftly learning—resistance was futile.

“Helen! Hiiiiiiiya! Ohmygod I love your boots!” The man who turned out to be Pedro came racing toward Helen as soon as we arrived at the top of the narrow staircase leading up to the salon. “I didn’t know you coming today! What we doing?”

“Actually, we’re doing my friend Jessica,” Helen said, moving to the side so that Pedro could look at me properly. “We’re doing a makeover.”

Pedro’s mouth fell open and I felt myself getting hot as everyone’s attention turned to me—
everyone
being three immaculate women who, until my arrival, had been staring at themselves in the mirrors.

“A makeover? I love a makeover! What kind?”

“The total-transformation kind.”

“Just a haircut,” I interjected worriedly. “Nothing too dramatic,” but I could see Helen shaking her head behind me.