The Wedding Date

‘Yep. Green box? Has plasters and bandages in it?’

‘I know what it is.’ Katey-Louise taps Adam playfully on the arm. ‘But where is it?’

‘You don’t know where the first aid kit is?’ Adam rises to his feet, frowning at Katey-Louise when she shakes her head. ‘You’re the office’s first aider. You’re supposed to know where the first aid kit is. It’s your responsibility!’

Katey-Louise steps back, her bottom lip wobbling. ‘Don’t shout at me. It isn’t my fault.’

Adam opens his mouth, then shuts it again. I don’t blame him. There’s no point trying to reason with Katey-Louise. Nothing is ever her fault. Or her responsibility, come to that. As the boss’s daughter, she thinks she can coast through life looking cute and pouting. Which is proving to be true. With no qualifications, experience or knowledge of what the job entails, Katey-Louise is head of marketing at Brinkley’s. It’s a wonder the company hasn’t gone under.

And the nepotism doesn’t stop with Katey-Louise. The whole office – apart from me and Adam – is made up of Brinkleys, from Managing Director Neville Brinkley and his wife Denise, to offspring, Katey-Louise and Jasper. Jasper is head of IT, which is just as laughable as Katey-Louise’s role. Jasper doesn’t know anything IT-related beyond Facebook and Minesweeper. He’s currently sat at his desk, headphones planted over his ears as he clicks away at the Minesweeper grid, grunting every time he clicks on a mine.

I didn’t even realise people still played Minesweeper until Jasper joined our team.

‘Do you know what?’ Adam had stalked across the office, but he’s returning now with the green plastic box. ‘It is your fault. Your dad sent you on that first aid course. The one you asked him to.’

‘That’s because I wanted to go to Liverpool for a few days. One Direction were playing at The Echo Arena and my friend Tansy-Mae managed to get tickets. They were sold out in Manchester.’ Katey-Louise says this as though it explains everything; her dad paying for the course and accommodation (we couldn’t have Katey-Louise travelling there and back daily on the train, could we?) and her return without any first aid knowledge whatsoever.

‘Just make yourself useful and go and make Delilah a cup of tea.’ Adam plonks the green box on my desk and opens it up while Katey-Louise stands there, open-mouthed. I don’t think she knows where the kettle is either.

‘Maybe you could bring me a biscuit too? Sugar is good for shock.’ Yes, I am milking this scraped knee for everything it’s worth. It isn’t every day I’m treated with kindness in the office.

‘Good idea.’ Adam looks at me, his lips twitching. He’s the only decent one in the office. He doesn’t have any authority, which is a shame, but it’s nice having somebody on my side.

‘I think a Fudge Sundae would be best,’ I say. They’re my favourite of the Brinkley’s brand and as rare as hen’s teeth in the Brinkley’s office. Neville is loath to give out freebies – we’re only given a bag of seconds at Christmas.

‘Dad isn’t going to be happy.’ Katey-Louise is calculating whether to do my bidding; to give in and serve me would be humiliating, but the pleasure of telling her dad that I’ve been wolfing the stock is tempting. She decides landing me in it is the better option and slinks away in search of the kettle and biscuits.

‘Where is Neville?’ The office is oddly empty, with only the four of us present (although Jasper may as well not be here). ‘And Denise?’

‘Neville’s gone to that brand-building conference, though I think it’s just an excuse for a jolly.’ Adam lifts a flap of my tights and I hiss again. ‘Sorry. I think I’m going to have to cut away a bit of your tights. You don’t mind, do you?’ I shake my head. They’re ruined anyway. ‘Denise is over at the development kitchen. They’re almost ready with the new line.’

Which means Denise is stuffing herself with delicious new biscuits.

‘Are you ready?’ Adam has a small pair of scissors hovering over my tights. I nod, thankful I shaved my legs before going to the pub last night.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_42d7171c-71e1-5cc0-90df-8de63b4d11cd)

Francesca Holden (soon-to-be Radcliffe)

Text Message:

Francesca: Hello, darling! It’s been soooooo long since I saw you! Let’s meet up soon!

Delilah: I’m free at the weekend

Francesca: This weekend is no good for me – Jeremy is whisking me away to Venice!

Delilah: The weekend after?

Francesca: Also difficult! I have a client meeting on the Saturday and a christening on the Sunday. Sorry!

Delilah: No problem. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll meet up

Francesca: I’ll have a good look through my diary and let you know!

You’d think falling bum-over-boob onto the pavement would be the low point of my day, but you’d be wrong. There is far worse to come and this Monday will forever be known as The Worst Monday Ever. At least to me.

With my cut knee now clean and covered in a plaster, I’ve spent the morning working my way through my in-tray, which is as boring as it sounds and isn’t helped by my raging hangover. With my thumping head and throbbing knee, my body is now a one-man-band of drumming.

‘The salted caramel shortbread is going to be a hit,’ Denise announces as she deigns to join us shortly before lunch. It must be a hard life for the woman, being paid to stuff herself with biscuits. ‘Has Neville called while I’ve been out of the office?’

‘How would she know?’ Katey-Louise asks as Denise directs the question at me. ‘She’s only just got in herself.’

Denise arches an eyebrow at me. There’s a tiny shortbread crumb stuck to the corner.

‘She’s exaggerating,’ I tell the crumb, unable to tear my eyes away from it. ‘I was only a tiny bit late and I have a valid excuse.’ Denise and the crumb wait for my explanation. ‘I had an accident.’ I swivel in my chair and stick out my leg to showcase my plaster.

‘She was mugged,’ Adam says.

‘Mugged?’ Denise had been observing my injured knee with disdain but she sits up straighter now. The eyebrow crumb plops off onto the carpet. ‘Have you phoned the police?’

Whoa, hold on there, missy. I’ve quite enjoyed the attention my busted knee has garnered but involving the police is going a bit too far. What if they check the local CCTV cameras and discover I’ve been telling porkies?

‘There’s no need. They didn’t take anything.’ I give my blonde hair a nonchalant flick. ‘I fought them off.’

‘Them?’ Katey-Louise’s eyes narrow until they’re totally obliterated by the ridiculously long false eyelashes. ‘I thought there was only one mugger?’

‘Him. I fought him off.’

‘It doesn’t matter how many there were,’ Denise says. ‘You have to report it to the police. What if he strikes again?’

‘He won’t.’ I can be pretty confident in my statement, what with the mugger being a figment of my imagination.

‘He might!’ Denise’s eyes widen. ‘What if he attacks my Katey-Lou?’ Denise picks up the phone off her desk. ‘What’s the number for the local station? Or should I phone nine-nine-nine?’

‘You should do neither.’ Leaping out of my chair – which causes my knee to double its throbbing tempo – I grab the receiver and replace it before Denise’s fingers can reach the buttons. ‘I’ll pop into the station on my way home.’

‘Good idea.’ Thankfully Denise lets it go. My little fib was about to spiral out of control so I’m glad I’ve managed to rein it back. It’s almost like a forewarning of what is to come but I don’t take heed.

Limping back to my desk, I return to my in-tray, which somehow looks just as overflowing as when I arrived at the office earlier this morning. My next task is one of my least favourite; inputting the absences from the previous week into the payroll report and making sure we have a sickness or holiday form on file to cover it. It usually involves chasing up managers and supervisors on the shop floor so I’m glad of the interruption of my mobile phone, even if it does earn me a glare from Denise. I flash her my plaster and her face softens slightly.

My oldest friend’s name flashes up on the screen and it’s as I press to answer the call and place the phone against my ear that I remember my plans with Francesca.

‘Delilah, darling!’ Francesca cries before I can utter a word. ‘I am so sorry. My meeting ran over and I’m only just leaving the office. But I will be there, I promise.’

I’m supposed to be having lunch with Francesca. Right now. I forgot all about it but I can’t cancel as pinning Francesca down is like trying to catch a fly with chopsticks. It may be a breeze for Mr Miyagi but it’s near impossible for the rest of us.

‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not there yet myself. I’m stuck in traffic.’ I pray that the rest of the office will remain silent and not give the game away. ‘I’ll see you soon.’