Chapter One

Things to do:
Try on costume.
Wax my legs.
Book a taxi.
Kill my sister.
Okay, so I added the last one later, after the stupid costume she sent me turned up too late to try on, and once I realised my chances of booking a taxi for tonight were about as good as my becoming a lottery millionairess. Better add that to my list - buy a lottery ticket.
I’m not an uncharitable person; I put money in charity envelopes, I buy flags on flag days and I manned a stall at the church jumble sale. It’s just Fiona, my older sister, is in another league altogether. Fi is the Oscar winner of charity events; I’m more local am-dram on a Saturday night.
‘Emma?’
I slid my list under the bundle of paperwork on top of my desk. Rob knows I make lists all the time, but I’m not in the mood to listen to any of his jokes about my crap organizational skills today.
‘I wondered if you wanted a lift to this charity thing of Fiona’s tonight.’
What do you know, a knight in tarnished armour driving a sports car…
‘That would be great, thanks. I hadn’t realised you were going, or I would have asked you for a lift earlier.’ It would have spared me an hour of working my way through the telephone directory calling Dodgy Cabs Are Us.
‘I’ll pick you up from your flat then.’ He stood up from where he had been perched on the edge of my desk, and I caught him trying to take a sneaky peek at my list, which had poked out from under the invoices.
‘I’ll see you later.’ I grabbed the stack of papers and moved them over so he couldn’t read what I’d written.
‘Half seven, and try to be ready on time.’ He flashed me his trademark lazy grin and sauntered off towards the back office.
Rob’s been my friend since we were at college together. He knows me better than anybody, but even Rob doesn’t know everything. He got me the job here at the travel agency when I returned to England after my year abroad. Rob’s kind, handsome, single - the perfect catch for someone.
He’s also in love with my sister.
It’s unrequited but he never gives up hope and in the meantime, he serial-dates, discarding his unsuspecting girlfriends the minute they start hinting at the “c” word - commitment.
I don’t date at all, not at the moment. Therefore, in my mother and my sister’s eyes, I have no valid excuse for not helping Fiona with her charity work. Tonight, it’s the Crystal Foundation with the usual format - expensive dinner in a fancy place to be attended by the great and good, all of whom would pay generously for the privilege.
Fi’s organized a raffle, tombola and a bachelor auction. The foundation helps women with cancer achieve their wishes - trips to Disneyland, balloon flights, parachute jumps, that kind of thing. So Fiona had the bright idea of making tonight’s theme ‘magic’.
It all sounded okay when she conscripted me. Mind you, I’d been at a disadvantage. We’d been eating lunch at Mother’s house and I’d drunk several large glasses of chardonnay. Which is why I’ll be spending tonight, Valentine’s Night, dressed as a fairy and waiting on tables.
The courier had dropped the costume off as I’d been about to close the front door behind me this morning. A few minutes later and he would have had to leave it with Steven and Toby, the couple who live in the flat above me. I might have had trouble getting it back - Steven likes pink.
Fiona planned to go as the fairy godmother. Tall, slim and blonde, my sister would look good even if she were dressed as the wicked queen. The glimpse of lurid pink tulle escaping from the courier’s zipper bag this morning made me suspect my costume wouldn’t be quite as flattering as hers.
The agency supplying the fairy waitresses had hit problems. Apparently most of the girls had dates or flu, which was why Fiona asked me to help.
‘I need fairies for ambience, darling. It’s only for a few hours and it’s not as if you have anything planned for Valentine’s. Do you?’
I didn’t, and she knew it. Mother joined in at that point.
‘Fiona wouldn’t ask if she wasn’t desperate, Emma. Besides, you never know, you might meet someone.’
The unspoken follow-up to Mother’s sentence went ‘Nice, eligible and rich, like your sister’s fiancé.’
I expected Niall to be there tonight too, bless him. Niall’s a doctor, the only son of well-connected, well-to-do parents. He’s very sweet in many ways but rather dull and Fiona walks all over him. Their wedding - the wedding of the century – is due to take place in June. I’ve made a list of things to do by then. Some of them aren’t very practical but I don’t want to let the side down.
Things to do:
Lose fourteen pounds in weight.
Grow three inches in height.
Achieve minor celebrity status.
I took a nice, comforting bite out of one of the chocolate biscuits I keep for emergencies in the bottom drawer of my desk and right then the phone rang. Why does that happen? People always call when you have your mouth full.
‘Hello, Pack and Go travel agency.’ I tried not to choke on a crumb and hoped whoever was on the other end couldn’t tell I had a lump of half-chewed biscuit wedged in my cheek. We weren’t supposed to have food whilst at our desks.
‘Emma, have you seen the outfit Fiona’s sent me for the Foundation auction tonight?’
Sara’s my oldest friend. Fiona had managed to rope her into helping tonight, too.
‘It arrived as I left for work this morning, so I didn’t get a chance to look at it. The colour seemed a bit fierce, though.’
‘It’s awful, like Barbie on acid,’ Sara pronounced.
‘Is your mum still going to baby-sit Jessie for you?’ Sara’s little girl is nine months old.
Sara groaned. ‘I don’t have much choice. Shay’s supposed to be away with the band till Sunday, so I’ve already had two lectures on the unsuitability of my lifestyle now that I’m a mother.’ She did a perfect imitation of her mother’s clipped and disapproving tones.
Shay, Sara’s partner, has a reggae band and had secured a few dates at a club in the Midlands. Ever hopeful this might prove to be his big break, he had taken off leaving Sara literally holding the baby.
‘Rob’s offered me a lift tonight.’
‘Is Rob going?’ Sara sounded surprised.
‘Mmm.’ I took another bite of biscuit.
‘You’re eating biscuits, what happened to your diet? Fiona will freak if you can’t fit in your bridesmaid dress.’
‘It’s one lousy biscuit. I’ve got ages till the wedding. Oh hell, Greenback’s coming, I’ll see you tonight.’ I managed to wipe the crumbs from round my mouth and put the receiver down before my employer loomed up in front of my monitor.
‘I hope that wasn’t another personal call, Emma.’ I swear he has supersonic hearing. He isn’t really called Greenback, the nickname started as a bit of a joke after Rob pointed out the resemblance between Mr Grebe and the fat toad that plays the villain in the kids cartoon series Dangermouse. Rob, therefore, was Dangermouse and I was his loyal assistant, Penfold.
Mr Grebe looked particularly toad-like now as he peered at my lips. ‘Eating at your workstation is a disciplinary matter, Emma.’
I resisted the urge to lick my lips and tried to look virtuous. ‘Yes, Mr Grebe.’ He still appeared dubious. Half an hour and a lecture on my sales figures and targets later, I needed more than a chocolate biscuit - I could have done with a large gin.
Working in a travel agency isn’t really my thing; the problem is I don’t know quite what my thing is. I never had a career plan. I had been one of those kids at school who, when people asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up, scuffed the ground with their toe and muttered, ‘I dunno.’ I’d fancied a career as an international spy but my careers master hadn’t been keen.
And I still don’t know. I’d like a job that pays oodles of money and allows me to stay home all day eating chocolate and watching T.V, but there aren’t many of those about and I don’t think I’ll find them in the jobs section of the Guardian, not even in the ‘creative’ section.
Fiona works as a P.A. for an advertising agency. She fits the image in their glossy brochure. Of course, when she marries Niall she plans to give work up and concentrate on her charity events. Niall’s mother does heaps of charity work too; she’s featured a lot in the glossies, usually next to some famous close friend, so I imagine she and Fi might team up.
My day didn’t improve. I think I lack the ruthless streak so necessary for clinching sales. Mr Grebe glowered at me for the rest of the afternoon as I muffed chance after chance. Eventually, he moved me onto the floor to hand out brochures and took over my desk himself.
Of course, by the time the last customer had shuffled out clutching a pile of colour brochures extolling the wonders of the Australian outback, it was late. As the most junior member of staff, I was always the one who had to stay to assist Greenback with locking up, so I never got out on time.
The steel roller shutter went down at last and the shop was secured. Greenback seemed to be in one of his talkative moods and in no particular hurry to go home. I’ve met Mrs Grebe a few times, and I could understand why Mr G didn’t want to rush.
‘So, any plans for this evening, Emma?’ It always puzzled me how he could become so different when work had finished. As soon as the shop closed he turned into Mr Congeniality.
‘I’m helping my sister out at a charity event for the Crystal Foundation.’ I resisted the urge to glance at my watch, and sidled a step away.
‘No date tonight?’ To give him his due, he did manage to look genuinely surprised.
‘Too busy, I’m afraid. What about you and Mrs Grebe?’ It felt far safer to change the subject.
Something about the way Mr G shuffled his feet and the uncomfortable look on his face made me suspect I’d dropped a clanger.
‘Well, no. As a matter of fact, Emma, and I’m sure I can rely on your discretion, Mrs Grebe and I are living apart at the moment.’
He cleared his throat and looked at the floor. I must have looked like a stunned Mullet, opening and closing my mouth with no words coming out. Of all the couples I knew, I would have sworn they were rock solid. I mean, they were like Jack Sprat and his wife - he was sort of round and she was one of those women who looked as if a lettuce leaf would add a stone.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Come to think of it, he appeared to have lost a bit of weight recently. One of the other girls had commented on it only the other day.
‘I don’t suppose you could spare the time to go for a quick drink, Emma?’
Uh-oh. One quick glance at his woebegone expression and I knew I was in trouble. Rob says I’m too soft-hearted and he’s right. I had the excuses lined up ready in my brain, you know the ones…
‘I have to get home to feed the cat. I need to visit the little old lady next door and check she’s not dead. I’ve undergone a religious conversion which means I can’t frequent bars with sad middle-aged men whose wives don’t understand them.’
Well, none of them came out. Instead, I heard myself mutter ‘Just a quick one, then,’ and I ended up ambling down the high street to the Slug and Lettuce with Mr Grebe.
The bar seemed quiet with only the usual early evening regulars and a couple of weary shoppers.
Perhaps I do have the word ‘sucker’ tattooed across my forehead. I sat cradling my gin and tonic and tried to look sympathetic as Mr Grebe, or rather ‘call me Ian’, unburdened his soul. Trouble was, time had crept on and I still needed to get home, shower and change into the fairy outfit in time for Rob to pick me up.
‘So, what do you think I should do?’
Mr Grebe - Ian - looked hopefully at me.
‘I’m not sure; it’s a very tricky situation isn’t it?’ I hedged my bets and hoped he would throw me a few more clues about what he’d apparently just told me.
‘I see what you mean,’ he said, his voice heavy with gloom as he stared at the bottom of his empty pint glass.
‘You don’t think I should rush things, then? I should give her more time to work out what she really wants?’
‘I’m sure it’s the best thing to do.’ I drained the remainder of my gin in one swallow and stood up ready to go. Mr G blinked at me.
‘I have to go. Fiona will murder me if I’m late.’ Drat, why did I feel so guilty? Before I knew it those sad, baggy eyes got the better of me again.
‘Tell you what; I’ve got a spare invitation to the auction tonight. Why don’t you come along?’ Me and my big mouth. I pulled the card out of my bag, threw it on to the table, left the pub and sprinted like a mad woman towards the tube.
Hell, it was really late, I’d barely have time to make it in through the front door before Rob arrived and I didn’t know what had possessed me to invite my boss to the auction. Squashed in like a sardine on the train, I hung onto the strap and ran over what bits of conversation with Mr Grebe I could remember, in my head.
From what he’d been saying, it appeared Mrs Grebe, Esme, had become bored of married life and taken herself off to Scotland to stay with her mother and think about the future of her marriage. I could see Mr Grebe might not be the most exciting husband in the world but Esme, on the few occasions I’d met her, hadn’t struck me as Miss Wonderful.
I fell in through my front door and reckoned I’d got about ten minutes before Rob turned up. The light blinked red on the answer phone messages. I hit the button as I whizzed past on my way to the kitchen. A large gin and tonic is not a good idea on a stomach that only contains chocolate biscuits.
While I weighed up the options of a very brown banana or a slightly out-of-date diet yoghurt, the tape clicked on.
‘Emma, you haven’t forgotten about tonight, have you? Don’t be late. See you later, byee.’ Fiona’s voice. Pulling a face, I continued to search for something quick to eat. I pounced on a forgotten tube of Pringles and stuffed a handful in my mouth as the second message started.
‘Emma, are you there?’ My husband’s voice, once so familiar with his low sexy accent, sent the air whooshing from my lungs and I sat down heavily on the sofa with another handful of Pringles halfway to my lips.
‘I’ll call you later.’ The tape clicked off and whirred back to the start. I played it again. Hearing Marco’s voice after all this time shook me up more than I cared to admit.
It was him, all right. No-one else ever had the same effect on me and even now my hand trembled as I deleted his message the way I’d tried to erase him from my life. Why had he decided to phone me now? And on Valentine’s Day? Although common sense told me Marco would have no idea of the significance of the date.
The ring of my doorbell brought me back to reality with a bump. Throwing the Pringles can onto the kitchen counter I brushed the crumbs from my uniform and hurried to answer the door.
Rob leant on the door frame, his thumb hovering over the bell push.
‘You took your time.’
‘I’ve only just got home.’
‘Well, you’d better get a move on; you’re not even changed yet.’
Rob’s monkey suit fitted him well and I had to admit he looked good. Some men are born to wear a tux, aren’t they? And Rob was one of them. He also smelt very delicious; a waft of musky aftershave hit me as I squeezed past him to get my costume from the back of the sofa where I’d dumped it.
‘Look, I’ll only be a few minutes, sit down or get yourself a drink or something.’
I escaped inside the bathroom and shut the door. I wouldn’t have time to shower or do my legs now. I slipped my uniform off and prayed my legs weren’t too hairy. Thank goodness I’d only done them a few days ago; I’d be able to get away with them under tights.
After the quickest wash and touch-up of my make-up in my life, I unzipped the costume bag. Sara hadn’t been kidding about the awfulness of the outfit and, what’s more, it looked a very small size twelve.
All right, so I always told everyone I took a size twelve and in some clothes I did. But those were the ones with Lycra stretch or a generous cut, not a skimpy, low necked, lurid pink all-in-one fairy costume.
I cursed under my breath and sucked in my stomach before starting to struggle into the outfit. I heard Rob crashing about in the kitchen.
‘When did you last go to the shops? I can’t find a single thing in these cupboards.’
‘There’s a can of diet coke in the fridge.’
Well, the bottom half of me was in, although I needed to pause for a breather. Heaven only knows what Fiona had been thinking when she ordered this costume for me. Perhaps she had decided to call my bluff over the amount of weight I claimed to have lost so I would be able to fit into the bridesmaid’s dress she’d got on order.
Rob hammered on the bathroom door.
‘We’re late! Fiona’s threatened me with dire consequences if we don’t get there on time.’
‘I’m trying; I can’t get the zipper to close.’ Hah, there’s an understatement. I couldn’t see what I was doing. Even trying to look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror while I struggled with the fastener almost had me pitching myself face forward into the bath.
‘Well, come out then and I’ll give you a hand.’ Rob sounded exasperated. I felt pretty ticked off myself. I grabbed hold of the top of the costume in a vain attempt at preserving some shred of dignity and banged the bathroom door open.
Rob took one look at my face and decided discretion might be the better part of valor.
‘Turn around and hold your hair up out of the way.’
I presented him with my bared back and gritted my teeth as he attempted to tug the edges of the zipper together.
‘Ouch!’
‘What?’
‘That was my skin.’ I would have glared at him but given I had one hand holding up the front of my dress and the other hand lifting my hair clear of the zip, it proved a bit difficult.
‘It would be a lot easier if you’d stop fidgeting.’
‘I can’t help it. It hurts.’
‘Look, do you want me to help you or not?’
‘Yes.’ I didn’t care if I sounded sulky. Who wouldn’t under the circumstances?
Rob gave one final tug on the zipper and I was in. I couldn’t breathe, but I’d done it. I let go of my hair and the top of the costume, took a chance then cautiously straightened up.
‘Blimey, Emma!’
The one advantage (or disadvantage) of tight corsetry is it does give the wearer a rather impressive cleavage. In my case, if I turned around too fast I would probably take someone’s eye out.
Rob’s eyes were now transfixed on my bosom and he had to be chivvied along the hall while I grabbed a coat and my bag. The only coat which fitted over the top of the wings sticking out of my back was an old Mac which had last been in fashion when I was in high school.
At least I had a lift. If I’d been out on the street dressed like this I would have been arrested. Rob had parked his car right outside the flat. It had turned frosty and the pavement glittered silver with ice. I tested it with one stiletto, a bit slippy. Rob went out into the road and unlocked the car door. I took as deep a breath as my costume allowed and tottered after him, but as soon as my heels hit the ice I slithered forward. With my arms waving like a dervish in an attempt to keep my balance, I slid towards the car crashing inelegantly into the passenger door.
‘Sorry.’
Rob glared at me. ‘I hope you haven’t damaged the paintwork.’
His car is his pride and joy, he spends an inordinate amount of time and money on caring for, what to my eyes, is an old fashioned inconvenient gas-guzzling go-kart.
I opened the car door and tried to figure out how I could get into the low-slung front seats without doing myself a serious injury. To hell with dignity, let’s face facts; even supermodels struggle to enter and exit those kind of seats without flashing tomorrow’s washing.
I resigned myself to the inevitable, closed my eyes and toppled backwards onto the seat, hoping I hadn’t really heard the sound of tearing fabric.
The pained expression on Rob’s face as I wiggled into position meant I must have demonstrated my complete lack of feminine finesse yet again.
‘So, what has Fiona persuaded you to do this evening?’ I wondered if Rob might be helping with the raffle. He had the gift of the gab so he’d be certain to sell loads of tickets. Plus, in his tux he looked the part and there would be lots of attractive single females around this evening. Or maybe Fiona needed more men to balance the tables up.
‘I’m not sure. She mentioned something about being short of men for the auction.’
I stopped trying to fix my hair. ‘You’re going to be one of the bachelors?’
Rob changed lane and slid the car out into the city traffic. ‘What bachelors?’
‘One of Fi’s bachelors. In the auction.’
The gears crunched and a stream of expletives filled the air.
‘You did know it was an auction of dream dates?’ It was pretty obvious from Rob’s reaction he didn’t. ‘I can’t believe she didn’t tell you!’
Rob scowled. ‘I didn’t ask her. I thought this auction would be like the one she did in November, when she sold those celebrity cast-offs.’
We were both silent for a minute. For the pre-Christmas auction, Fiona had persuaded lots of well-known people to donate clothes, and then sold them off to the highest bidders. It had gone extremely well, raising shed-loads of money for the Foundation.
‘It’s not too late to back out.’ I knew Rob wouldn’t. Like me, he’d feel obligated to see the evening through, but I felt I ought to make the offer anyway. After all, it didn’t sound as if Fiona had exactly been honest with him.
Rob growled something under his breath and slid the car into a freshly vacated metered space outside the gallery where the auction was to be held.
Despite the cold weather, plenty of people were heading up the impressive stone steps of the building and in through the automated glass doors.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Rob looked up from sorting out coins for the meter to glower at someone standing at the bottom of the stairs. I struggled to sit up from my semi-reclined position to see who he meant.
‘Oh, um, I invited him.’ Ian Grebe waved at us.
Rob stared at me. ‘Good move, Penfold!’ his voice sounded heavy with sarcasm.
‘He seemed so down, I felt sorry for him.’ Still fighting to release my seatbelt, I could only watch as Rob stalked off to feed the meter and Greenback Grebe trotted across the pavement to meet us.