Bad Friends

Craning forward into the gloom I caught my dress on the edge of a desk and jarred my bad ankle. My sob of pain was audible. Joseph leapt up, crashing the receiver down immediately.

‘Who’s there?’ His voice was sharp as he stood behind the desk.

‘Oh God, Joseph. You really scared me.’ My heart was pounding through the thin material of my dress as I pushed the door fully open. ‘I nearly had a heart attack. What are you doing here? Does Charlie know you’re using his phone?’

‘I don’t know.’ His overly-red lips turned down in an unpleasant pout. ‘I just had a call to make.’

‘What kind of call?’

He looked supremely guilty as we regarded one another silently for a second, his pale face striped with luminous colour from the beam of Charlie’s desk light.

‘It was work,’ he muttered eventually. ‘Just work. You know I don’t have my own desk any more. I just needed a phone.’

‘Well, as admirable as working late on a Friday might be, you shouldn’t be using private offices.’ I pushed down my irritation as he glared at me as if I was in the wrong. ‘There are plenty of phones out there. Come on,’ I gestured to him. ‘Zip me up and let’s get out of here.’

As Joseph stood, he shoved something into his bag in a fluid movement.

‘What was that?’ I screwed up my eyes in the gloom.

‘What?’ Joseph followed my gaze to his bag. ‘Oh, nothing. Just my diary.’

I headed towards the door, desperate to get out of there. Frankly I’d been dreading Bel’s party, but now I suddenly saw safety in numbers. As far away from creepy Joseph as possible.

Chapter Eleven (#u1b5226d4-3425-5d33-ae63-8df7ffd09c40)

Old friends bobbed about the party like baubles on a Christmas tree, the women spilling out of silk and satin, the men preening peacock-like in their best clobber. The air was thick with smoke and music and expensive scent, and the Dutch courage I’d downed earlier meant I was almost starting to enjoy myself, once I realised Alex wasn’t there. I was shouting over the din to my chain-smoking friend Naz, admiring her slinky cream salwar kameez and hearing about the job the BBC had just offered her, when I felt a gentle tap on my back. Gentle, but insistent.

‘Nice dress.’ Fay looked up at me intently as I turned round. ‘Champagne?’ In a funky little black and white waitress number that somehow clung in all the right places, her violet eyes ringed with iridescent silver, her ringlets perfectly sausage-like, she looked stunning. I, on the other hand, was simply stunned.

If Fay noticed that my face had fallen, it didn’t put her off. ‘That colour green really suits you. I’d love a dress like that.’

‘Thanks.’ I tried to collect my thoughts. ‘What are – I mean, I wasn’t expecting –’

‘I’m a Beautiful Bartender.’ She smiled proudly.

‘A what?’ I managed to suppress a deep sigh.

‘It’s great, isn’t it? It’s my other job when I’m not on TV. How funny they wanted me to work tonight, don’t you think? Oh look, there’s Charlie.’ Fay waved merrily at where he lounged against the bar. ‘I’ll be straight back,’ she promised me.

‘There’s no rush,’ I muttered as she floated off, ‘really.’

‘Old friend?’ asked Naz cheerfully, offering me a cigarette. ‘You don’t look too pleased to see her, I must say.’

‘Don’t I?’ I took a drag so deep the acrid smoke made me cough.

‘Nope.’

‘I just don’t quite understand why she keeps turning up everywhere.’

In the middle of the dance floor, Bel and Johnno were kissing, oblivious to their pogo-ing neighbours, oblivious to everyone around them. I wasn’t envious. I really wasn’t. Taking a slug of my cocktail, I was surprised to find my glass was empty. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid.’

‘Why? Who is she?’

‘She was on the coach when it crashed, and now – well, she just keeps turning up all over the place.’

‘Like a bad penny.’

‘Something like that, yes.’

‘I know what’ll cheer you up.’ Naz grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the Ladies. ‘Come on.’

‘I’m fine, Naz, honestly.’

She was determined. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t be a spoilsport.’

‘I’m not. I’d rather have a drink, that’s all. You go. I’ll be at the bar.’

Fay sidled up to me as I waited to get served. My foot was throbbing painfully from bashing it outside Charlie’s office door.

‘I’m off now, Maggie. I was only booked for the first two hours. Got a party of my own to go to now.’

I felt inordinately relieved.

‘My new agency – their party.’ Fay said the first words with great pride.

‘Oh right. Well, have a good time.’ I resisted the temptation to slide my finger through the middle of her perfect ringlet.

‘I always do.’ Fay took both my hands in hers and squeezed them rather like a vicar might. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘Champagne, darling?’ Charlie’s hot breath caressed my naked back and I shuddered, watching Fay skip towards the stairs.

There followed an hour of polite-if-rather-dazed listening to Naz’s friends from one of the big channels. They were all wired, admiring themselves in the mirrored walls with the complete assurance that they had never looked better, slimmer or taller than right now. Frantically they jostled for air-time, each absolutely convinced that what they had to say was far more fascinating than the next person’s offering. I stifled a yawn. The only thing more boring than taking coke was listening to people bang on about it.

‘Let me talk,’ one heavy girl with a thick black fringe kept insisting, scowling if anyone interrupted her. I felt like the needle in the middle of a badly tuned radio, voices vying for attention. ‘No, no, listen,’ the girl was saying now. I realised hazily that she was talking to me. ‘Naz told me you’re doing the Renee Owens show. I don’t know how you can work on that rubbish, I really don’t. It’s so bloody rigged.’

‘Rigged?’ I really couldn’t be bothered to defend myself. ‘And what do you do?’

‘I’m series producing this year’s X Factor,’ she announced proudly. ‘It’s a corker – beating Strictly hands down.’

‘What, and X Factor’s all about the talent?’ Naz scoffed. ‘Come on, Nat! Pull the other one.’

‘It is based on talent!’ Natalie was outraged. ‘Absolutely. And, God, Simon’s such a scream to work with.’

‘Whose talent?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘Sharon Osbourne’s? You’re shoving the walking wounded straight into the cannon’s mouth.’

‘We only –’

I zoned out. The couple next to me couldn’t keep their hands off one another; the bloke kept thrusting his hand down the back of her jeans. Mournfully I thought of Alex and looked away.