‘Same as everyone else except us – he must have been invited.’ Poppy pulls a face. ‘Sorry, I’d have said before, but I didn’t want to ruin your evening.’
‘Like I’d let any guy SPOIL MY NIGHT!’ It would be way more convincing if it wasn’t a shriek. I cover up that I’ve just done a scan right around the hall to check and failed to find him by moving on fast. ‘So, what’s Immie doing?’ I may be wrong, but beyond the cake table, she appears to be zig-zagging across the horizon between the bar and the jukebox.
Poppy’s eyebrows close together. ‘I’d say she’s in that happy place where she’s had enough beer to make her forget she can’t skate – and not enough to stop her legs working.’
I couldn’t have asked for a better diversion. ‘It’s wonderful what people can do when they lose their inhibitions. She’s just picked up a full tray of ice-cream sundaes too.’
‘Wonderful – or maybe not?’ Poppy’s face crumples. ‘Hold on tight, she’s heading this way!’
By some miracle, Immie is accelerating towards us heading straight for the car. But at the last minute she spins around, reverses, wedges her bottom neatly past the open car door and into the empty back seat. And as she sinks down her tray of sundaes comes to rest lightly on her knee.
‘Fancy footwork, or what? Roller skates and Rock Dance beer, what a combo!’
Poppy’s groaning under her breath. ‘Give me strength. She’s so out of practice with her drinking she’s totally off her face.’ Then she hangs onto the car wing mirror and edges forwards. ‘Let me take the tray, Immie.’
Immie lurches backwards into the car. ‘Like toad bollocks you will! These are ALL mine!’
Poppy’s wild eyes say it’s way worse than she thought, but her voice is soothing. ‘No one’s trying to steal your ice cream, Immie.’
Immie gives a snort. ‘Too right!’ A second later, who knows how, she’s back on her feet, tray in hand, sundae glasses still upright. ‘You’ll have to catch me first, good luck with your speed skating.’
From where she was standing Immie could have set off at three hundred and fifty different angles, and skated off into the oblivion of the crowd with no more risk than a splat of ice cream on a T-shirt, or at worst a bill for cleaning a couple of dresses from Iron Maidens down in the village. Except she doesn’t do that. Instead she sets off like she’s in an Olympic pursuit race. But worse still, she’s heading straight for the cake table.
It isn’t like there’s a choice. Either way, something’s going to get very broken here. I’d just rather it wasn’t the cake Poppy spent all week making. So I throw myself forwards and launch myself after Immie. I’m on skates, I’m out of control too, and none of this is precision judgement. But somehow, I’m able to draw level with Immie and hurl myself onto my back and into her path just short of the cake table. As her skates ram into my thigh, she throws her tray upwards and the sundae glasses rise and trace arcs in the air as they start to fall again. Immie’s body thumps down across me, then the sundae glasses and ice cream scoops come raining down on my chest and face.
Immie comes to first. ‘Thundering crab arses, Milla! What the hell are you playing at? You nearly demolished the cake there!’
I’ve got Immie’s full weight crushing my hips, her foil pompom is in my ear. And wiping a lump of ice cream out of my eyes is a lot less fun than it sounds. As for what it’s done to my mascara, Panda-face here I come again. But then someone comes and rolls Immie off, and I’m lying here staring up at the criss-cross strings of hanging flower-stem decorations and fairy lights with the gym ceiling far above.
For a moment I close my eyes. And when I open them again, I’m hoping to see Poppy laughing down at me. But instead I’m looking up at the kind of dark eyes and sooty lashes I’d hoped never to see again.
‘Mr Trendell.’
His lips are twisting. ‘That was a spectacular save you made there, Ms Fenton. You showed a natural instinct for averting disaster back there. Perhaps my rejection last week was a little hasty.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘No Nic, anyone could have done it. I’m just less drunk than everyone else because I’m on effing wheels, that’s all.’
He wrinkles his nose. ‘Maybe you could do my job after all?’
‘Absolutely not.’ On principle, quite apart from anything else. As I lick my lips and the taste of strawberries and cream explodes onto my tongue, I’m making a mental note to head straight for the pink sundaes as soon as I’m on my feet. Then I have a thought. ‘So I take it you haven’t found your perfect planner yet?’
He’s blowing out his lips. ‘Turns out they’re a lot rarer than day skippers.’
I wipe a glob of cream out of my nostril. ‘So, have you checked everyone?’
He blows out a breath. ‘Everyone on the approved list Jess gave me, which apparently is anyone who’s any good. I’ve been at it all week.’
I have no idea why Jess would hand him over to the opposition. As I’m scraping seven sundaes worth of cream off my boobs, I have to point it out. ‘This is how I am at the moment, like a magnet for disasters. Truly, you wouldn’t want me anywhere near your wedding.’
He’s frowning down at me. ‘Sure, the gym is knee-deep in ice cream and bodies. But if this were the Trendell reception, at least we’d still have a cake. For me that counts as a result.’ He blows out a breath. ‘You’re the one who said there’s no time to lose. At least step in and get it going for me. How about you start by showing me those venues you mentioned?’
‘If you were the last man on earth … In any case, it’s not as straightforward as it seems. Venues will be the same as planners; anything worth having will already have gone.’
‘I’ll pay double.’ Don’t you just hate these people who think qualifications and money make the world go round?
‘Cash isn’t everything.’ I’m about to add,sorry, but I’m not for salewhen another voice cuts in.
‘Make it triple and I think we can confidently call that a deal, Mr Trendell.’ It’s Jess, and her laugh is husky. ‘Monday morning at nine. Don’t be late, we’ll make a start.’
