Most people I don’t know, some look vaguely familiar, but generally it’s the same bunch of people who rarely give me the time of day – although at Dad’s sixtieth birthday one of his friends did tell me to top up his glass before asking if I offered extras (which simultaneously boosted and destroyed my self-esteem).
Oh, but he’s new though. I haven’t seen him before. A man in his late thirties maybe. He’s tall and slender, with hair to his jawline that he wears tucked behind his ears. I can tell that he’s one of this lot from his posture and – and this is going to sound stupid – the angle of his chin. He’s good-looking, and I don’t usually find anyone who associates with this lot good-looking, so he really is something special. He’s eating a canapé, treating it almost as though he were kissing it, sucking the leftovers from his thumb when he’s finished.
‘Drooling over the earl, you horny bitch,’ a familiar voice whispers into my ear.
I’d know that foul mouth anywhere.
‘Tiggy,’ I say, turning around to give her a squeeze. ‘Oh my God, it’s been forever.’
‘Totes,’ she replies, giving me a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ve been – oh, you know, I don’t know. Who cares? We’re here now.’
Tiggy looks amazing, as always. She’s leggy and slim, and she often mentions how much she spends on hair extensions but you would never know. She used to (I assume) joke that it was cocaine that kept her svelte, although her cheeks have sucked in, in that way you typically see if there has been… pharmaceutical intervention, shall we say. Who cares though? She looks fantastic. She’s unbelievably forty next year – but no one is allowed to talk about that. Here’s me, whining that my milestone birthday is going by unacknowledged, and there she is, threatening to stab anyone who mentions hers.
‘How have you been?’ I ask.
‘Fucking amazing, as per, but don’t change the subject,’ she says, playfully slapping my arm. ‘Are you perving over the earl?’
‘Is he actually an earl?’ I ask curiously.
‘The Earl of Fuck Me He’s Hot,’ she jokes. ‘Yes, that’s Lord Beaumont Cunningham, the Earl of Wrancaster.’
‘He is a hot earl,’ I admit.
‘Is it the good looks or the title that is doing it for you?’ she grills me.
‘It was the looks at first but, now you’ve said the title, it’s kind of sexy – who knew titles were sexy?’
‘Me,’ she sings, raising her hand. ‘Do you want introducing to him?’
‘Oh, no,’ I say quickly. ‘No, no, no.’
‘Let me introduce you and you won’t be saying no, no, no. You’ll be saying yes, yes, yes.’
Tiggy takes me by the hand, dragging me to the deck below.
‘I know, I’m just awful,’ she says, not sounding all that cut up about it. ‘But trust me.’
I trust Tiggy in many ways – like with secrets, for example – but when it comes to her actions I would say I actively fear her. I like a drink and a good time but I don’t have the spectacular confidence (or the even more spectacular bank balance) to be dangerous with it. She does.
‘Beau, you miserable ass, how is it you haven’t tracked me down to say hi yet?’ she practically shrieks at him.
‘Tig, come here,’ he commands.
Oh my God, the way he greets her, the way he places his hand on her lower back as he kisses her on the cheek – it makes me want to bite my lip.
‘You’ve met cousin Lana, right?’ she asks him, knowing full well he hasn’t.
‘Oh, another Pemberton girl?’ he replies, smiling at me.
I just smile back. Why am I not saying anything?
‘Guilty,’ Tiggy says on my behalf. ‘The only single Pemberton girl left, if you’re still looking to take a wife – add another surname to the collection.’
‘Hilarious, Tigs,’ he says in a voice that makes Hugh Grant sound kind of like an extra inEastEnders. ‘Well, Lana, we haven’t met, but we’re family.’
As he says this he leans in to give me a couple of these charismatic kisses. He holds the small of my back with his hand as he pulls me close.
‘Likefamily,’ Tiggy corrects him. ‘No blood relation – not that that bothers our lot, hey?’
