A Girl's Best Friend

  ‘Chicken noodle soup?’ I whispered, hoarse with pretence. ‘And a tea?’

  ‘Hot or iced?’ she asked, scribbling on her pad.

  Iced tea? In this weather?

  Demon.

  ‘Hot, please,’ I replied, desperate for her to get out of my way before I missed any more of their conversation. ‘With milk. And sugar. Thank you.’

  She nodded politely and hopped away to the kitchen while I tried to tune back in to Nick’s friend telling delightful tales about his children, who sounded horribly spoiled and like they needed a good talking-to.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said as I watched Debbie sail by with a bottle of Bud in one hand and a small glass of whisky in the other. ‘I can’t see what she has to complain about. They’re at school all day and then all she’s gotta do is pick them up and take them to their activities. It’s not like I’ve got her chained to the sink, dude.’

  I would have liked to chain him to something, but it definitely wouldn’t have been a sink. Possibly the stocks? Did villages still have stocks? Perhaps I could bring them back.

  ‘Maybe she means some time without the kids,’ Nick suggested. ‘I can’t imagine it’s very easy to get anything done when you’ve got to go back out to pick two toddlers up from coding class as soon as you’ve got started.’

  My heart swelled as he defended his friend’s poor wife – that, or I was having a stroke from all my layers.

  ‘Are they really taking coding?’ he added. ‘When I was four, I couldn’t even organize my Meccano.’

  ‘August is really into his iPhone,’ the friend replied. ‘So we figured we might as well start him early. Allanah wanted to go too but she’s got to finish out her yoga series before she can switch.’

  Coding class and yoga series? What happened to Brownies or gymnastics? I felt a sudden flash of pity for my sisters and wondered if I should have got my nieces and nephews iPads for Christmas instead of Lego. I was a terrible, out-of-touch aunt.

  ‘I don’t think wanting a bit of time to herself is asking too much,’ Nick argued. ‘It must have been hard for her, giving up work when you had Allanah, that’s all I’m thinking. She’s probably missing the real world.’

  ‘I wish I could quit my job and knock out babies,’ the friend moaned in response. ‘I can’t see nothing fun about dragging my ass on the subway every day when I could be at home watching Doc McStuffins and spending time with my kids.’

  As Debbie placed my tea down in front of me, I fought the urge to knock the Doc McStuffins out of him.

  ‘It does sound like fun,’ Nick said with a half-laugh I recognized. I could tell he didn’t agree with his friend but he didn’t want to get into an argument. I knew that tone well – I’d been humoured by Nick Miller more than once in this terrible year he had been forced to endure. ‘But I imagine it’s not as entertaining as all that.’

  ‘Relationships, man.’ His friend echoed Nick’s laugh and I heard two glasses clink together. ‘You’re so smart. Stay out of the deep end altogether. How is life in the shallow end of the pool?’

  ‘Shallow,’ Nick replied instantly. ‘Easier to wade around and considerably simpler when you want to get out.’

  ‘Right, right,’ the friend agreed, laughing again. ‘Sometimes I wish I’d never bothered to dive in. Why didn’t you say anything at my wedding, dude?’

  I heard Nick huff out a deep breath and concentrated on pouring the little metal jug of milk into my lukewarm tea.

  ‘You’d spent a lot of money,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t want to be rude.’

  ‘Fair,’ the other said. ‘But you’re still strictly one and done? What happened to that chick you met over the summer?’

  I must have poured fifteen spoonfuls of sugar into my tea before I realized what I was doing. Summer chick? Was I the summer chick? I had better be the bloody summer chick or I was going to jam this spoon into his jugular.

  ‘Here’s the soup.’ Debbie reappeared with an enormous bowl of soup and three packets of cream crackers. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head manically, trying to hear what Nick was saying over the radio and the other customers and Debbie’s fantastic customer service. ‘Thank you.’

  What was with the cream crackers?

  ‘No chance of working it out?’ his friend asked.

  What had I missed? What had I missed?

  ‘Can I get you more hot water for your tea?’

  More hot water? I looked at Debbie as though she had just asked if she could consume the soul of my firstborn. Partly because she was making me miss a very important part of a very important conversation and partly because adding hot water to an already made cup of tea was clearly a crime against nature.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Nick replied as I tried not to vomit on the table. ‘There was this whole big thing and I left and now she’s not talking to me. I don’t even know where she is now.’

  If this had been a movie, that would have been the moment that Debbie the waitress dropped my chicken noodle soup in my lap and I would have torn off my coat, jumped to my feet and Nick would have realized I was there, pulled me into his arms and kissed me while his friend burst into song and some bluebirds flew in through the front door to serenade us with the dead pig in the window. Instead, I knocked my phone off the table and watched it skitter across the tiled floor and come to a stop right in front of Nick’s feet. I sucked in my breath and fumbled for my woolly hat, pulling it down over my telltale hair and poking myself in the eye as I went.

  ‘Like you said, relationships are confusing,’ he told his friend, absently bending down to pick up the phone and hand it to Debbie the Waitress. ‘I thought this was it, you know? It was the first time in so long I’d felt anything at all.’

  ‘Here you go, darl.’ Debbie placed my phone back on the table, eyeing me with concern as unwelcome tears streamed down my cheeks from all the accidental eye poking. ‘You doing OK?’

  I nodded, wiping my cheeks and biting my lips, and willed her away.

  ‘Poked my eye,’ I explained as she backed away. ‘I’m an idiot.’

  She didn’t argue.

  This was it. This was my moment. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. To say what, I wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘But she turned out to be just like the rest of them,’ Nick concluded. ‘Not worth it. I’m better off on my own.’

  What?

  I mean, what?

  My mouth hung open for so long, I began to choke on the air conditioning and had to soothe my coughing fit with my manky cup of tea, all too aware that Nick and his friend were looking my way. I shrank back against the booth, forcing more of my hair inside my hat. How could he think that? I’d explained everything! I’d told him that I loved him! He was the one who left the bloody note!

  ‘Chicks, man,’ the friend said, clearly Manhattan’s greatest philosopher. ‘Thank the sweet Lord for Tinder. If that shit had existed five years ago, I would never have gotten married.’

  ‘Ha,’ Nick said, no laughter in his voice. ‘I can’t say I blame you. I’m going for a slash before the food comes.’

  He stood up and I dropped my head towards my bowl, pulling the scarf further over my face as he stalked by to the back, shaking his head and flexing his knuckles. The restrooms were right on the back wall of the restaurant and I saw a dimly lit, white-tiled bathroom as he pushed the door open and turned the corner.

  ‘Oh shit,’ I muttered. If I was still sitting here when he came out, he would see me and I couldn’t talk to him now, not after that. I needed time to work out what I wanted to say. Pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet, I threw it down on the table, grabbed my bag and shuffled out of the booth to my feet. I had to get out of there. As I stood up, I paused at Nick’s table to get a look at his friend, the inaugural winner of my Worst Husband of the Year award.

  ‘You,’ I said, pulling up my hood, ‘are a terrible, terrible human being.’

  He looked up at me for
a moment before shaking his head and turning his attention back to his phone. ‘This city is full of crazy bitches,’ he muttered as I walk-ran towards the door.

  Better a crazy bitch than a total wanker, I thought to myself, bursting out onto the street and walking fast, no idea of what direction I was headed in. Fingers crossed Allanah and August took after their mother and not their selfish shithead father, otherwise the world truly was doomed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘And then I had a meeting with the movement choreographer,’ Amy said, stuffing a meatball in her mouth as she spoke. ‘Because that’s a thing. Can you believe that’s a thing? We’re paying someone to tell the models how to move and they aren’t even moving. They’re coming in, standing on platforms and that’s it. We’re paying someone to choreograph standing still.’

  I nodded, pushing a sliver of garlic around my empty plate.

  ‘Then me and Al went over the guest list and then we had a conference call with the factory and then I went to the venue to make sure everything was ready for the run-through tomorrow.’

  ‘Is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said with an easy shrug, her pink cropped jumper riding up to show her bare belly. Amy never felt the cold the way I did. ‘More or less. It will be.’

  ‘I can’t believe how relaxed you are about everything.’ I took a long drink of my cocktail and shivered at the vodka in the bottom. ‘I’d be freaking out by now.’

  She eyed my empty glass with suspicion. ‘I can’t believe how quickly you put that away. Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied. I was not a good drinker and Amy knew that all too well. ‘Long day, jetlag, I’m just tired.’

  ‘Yeah, work has got me literally knackered all the time, I don’t know how you coped doing this for all those years,’ she said, grabbing a chip from the bowl between us and inhaling it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here though. I can’t wait for you to see the presentation; it’s going to be incredible. Al says it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.’

  Amy’s dad took off about the same time my parents got divorced, only her mother never remarried. Or had a nice word to say to anyone, ever again. If anyone else was deserving of some positive reinforcement from my surrogate granddad, it was Amy.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ I said, snaffling a chip before she ate them all. ‘I’ve never seen you work so hard on something.’

  ‘I worked very hard that time I was handing out yoghurts at Wimbledon,’ she reminded me. ‘They were delicious.’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ I corrected her. ‘You turned up late, spilled a pint all down your tennis whites at lunch and then you nicked off early with two hundred yoghurts. I was eating those things for a month.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Didn’t they give you the shits?’

  ‘I should have checked the sell-by date,’ I said stiffly. ‘That was my fault. But still, I’m impressed.’

  ‘And you didn’t think I could do it,’ she said, shimmying her shoulders. ‘Oh ye of little faith.’

  ‘I never said that,’ I replied, only slightly awkward. ‘I’ve always believed in you.’

  Amy stared hard at me across the table.

  ‘I have!’ I protested with slightly less conviction. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  Possibly, I was a little bit surprised. And maybe a tiny bit jealous. And perhaps I was expecting things to go a tiny bit wrong while really hoping that they wouldn’t. But she didn’t need to know that, it really wasn’t constructive feedback.

  ‘I’m glad you’re going to be here,’ she said, raising her own half-full glass. ‘I really, really want you to see it. Now tell me everything about your shoot tomorrow. Are you nervous? Is that what’s wrong?’

  ‘Yes?’ I pulled out my phone to reread Cici’s email. ‘A little bit. The brief looks good, it’s a New Year’s resolutions thing. Sounds simple enough but you never know. I’m more excited, I think. It’ll be good to be the one taking the photos again instead of doing everything but. Kekipi is going to play assistant – Domenico has given him a day off wedmin to help me out.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ Amy said, clinking her glass to mine. ‘I was going to take some time off so we could hang out but it’s cool. I know how important work is to you.’

  ‘You have a massive event in two days,’ I reminded her. ‘That’s important too. We can hang out after.’

  ‘Not as important as my best mate flying all the way out to New York to see me,’ she countered. ‘I had kind of cleared the morning but it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Well, you could come with me,’ I offered, trying to change the disappointed expression on her face. ‘You could be my assistant again? If you really want to hang out?’

  ‘That’s not really hanging out,’ she said. ‘And you’re right, I should be working.’

  I nodded, chewing on a piece of delicious bread while Amy gave a small sigh that I couldn’t quite translate.

  ‘Who are you shooting?’ she asked, changing the subject and spearing one of my uneaten meatballs, popping it into her mouth without asking. One of the benefits of being best friends since before you could speak was unspoken permission to steal each other’s food without retribution.

  ‘Call time, location, phone number, phone number, phone number,’ I muttered, scrolling down the email on my phone. ‘Oh, James Jacobs and Sadie Nixon.’

  Amy’s fork clattered loudly against her plate.

  ‘James Jacobs?’ she asked through a mouthful of meatball. ‘The James Jacobs? You don’t know who he is, do you?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Excuse me …’ Amy prodded a checked-shirt-wearing man at the next table. ‘Do you know who James Jacobs is?’

  ‘The actor?’ he asked, pushing his black glasses frames up his nose. ‘The British guy?’

  ‘See?’ Amy turned back to me without replying to our table neighbour. ‘He’s so famous hipsters can’t even pretend not to know who he is. And this man is wearing plaid. I bet those glasses aren’t even prescription, are they?’

  The man shook his head at her through his nonprescription glasses.

  ‘See’ she said, triumphant.

  ‘Whatever,’ I said while the man at the next table continued to stare at Amy as though she was insane. It wasn’t a rare occurrence at dinner with her. ‘It’s fine. That probably makes this easier anyway, doesn’t it? He’ll have had his photo taken loads of times.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘By everyone. Like, loads of proper, famous photographers.’

  ‘Thanks, Amy.’ I picked up my glass, rattled the ice cubes around and emptied what dregs were left in the bottom before looking for the waitress to order another. ‘You’re really helping build my confidence.’

  ‘I mean, he should be thanking his stars that he gets Tess Brookes to take his photo right at the beginning of her career,’ she squeaked, quickly correcting herself. ‘How bloody lucky is he? And if he gives you any shit, I’ll ban him from Al’s party – pretty sure he’s on the guest list. Seriously, he even looks at you the wrong way and I’ll rip off his balls and give them to you for Christmas.’

  ‘Just what I wanted,’ I said. ‘I still need to fill your stocking. Anyone’s balls you’re after?’

  ‘Other than that twatknacker, Wilder?’ she answered with a grimace. ‘Seriously, I can’t believe you’re being all buddy-buddy with him again. I can’t stand it, Tess. He’s a cock. He’s a cocking cock who should be sent to The Island of Lost Men, abandoned until he goes completely batshit mental and then blown up by a drone.’

  ‘Do you even know what a drone is?’ I asked, giving her a look she understood.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘The point is, he’s a cock.’

  ‘And it was very well made,’ I said. ‘But we’ve been friends for a long time and I missed him. Can’t you just pretend none of it ever happened?’

  ‘Uh, have you met me?’ she asked.

  ‘Fair point,’ I replied.
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  ‘And you’ve not been friends with him as long as with me,’ she pointed out. ‘So I should get some say in this.’

  ‘He wants to add you on Facebook,’ I said. ‘He said he’s missed you.’

  Her face lit up for half a second.

  ‘He did?’

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s so sad. Oh wait, no it isn’t. Let him miss me, he’s a cock.’

  ‘I feel better knowing things are OK with me and him,’ I said, attempting to draw a line under the cock banter. ‘So can we just leave it at that?’

  ‘Only if you promise not to bone him ever again,’ Amy agreed. ‘Seriously, I’ll rip—’

  ‘Off his balls and wrap them up for Christmas, I know,’ I finished for her, ignoring the looks from our plaid-wearing table neighbour. ‘I’m not planning on boning him, I promise. He did offer me a job though.’

  She stopped what she was doing, her fork halfway to her lips.

  ‘You’re not going to take it though,’ she replied with a statement, not a question. ‘You’re not going back into advertising?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I pushed my food around my plate, concentrating on my hands. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘But you don’t want to?’ she asked. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, not right now,’ I said again, putting down my cutlery and pulling my sleeves over my hands. ‘But what if something goes wrong at the shoot?’

  ‘Nothing is going to go wrong at the shoot,’ Amy assured me. ‘The worst that could happen is Kekipi and James Jacobs fall in love and we have to cancel next week’s wedding and Domenico comes after us all with a machete. Which, now I think about it …’

  ‘James is gay?’ I asked and she nodded, gulping wine. ‘Well, at least now I understand why Kekipi was so keen to volunteer.’

  ‘Also because he loves you,’ she said. ‘But yeah, I think the allure of James Jacobs was probably a little stronger than the thought of spending the day holding up lights.’

  ‘Amy, I need to talk to you about something,’ I said abruptly, incapable of holding it in any longer. ‘I saw Nick today.’