A man who told me he loved me, then left without looking back.
Love sucks big hairy lady balls.
Do you know what else sucks the afore mentioned dangly bits? Stomach flu. It hit the office three days ago with a frightening speed, wiping out half the team before moving on to infect every wait-staff temp agency within a ten-mile radius, it seems.
And that little fact is how I find myself this evening, not only at the venue—theengagement venue—but also dressed like a waitress. I didn’t stand a chance when it became apparent at the end of the day that we were all expected to head straight from the office to the event.
No choice,the owner had said, calling into the office to give us therallying troopstalk. All hands on deck,my line manager repeated, though I note she isn’t sporting a tray half-full of canapes.
The tray feels slippery in my hands; sweat oozing from my pores due to my fingers’ death grip. I’d thought of everything—the sudden death of a relation, feigning flu myself—but it quickly became obvious if I wanted my job, I was expected to pitch in. And I not only want to keep my job, Ineedit.
Divorce lawyers aren’t cheap.
So far, I’ve managed to avoid seeing Rory, but for how long? As the future groom, he’ll be here somewhere.How will I feel when I see him?Probably a whole lot more ill than I feel right now. Anxiety begins to swell in my chest making it hard to breathe. With any luck, I’ll faint at the sight of him and won’t need to put on a brave face.Poor, second best Fin.
I push a finger into the neck of my shirt, pulling it away from my skin. I’m so hot, I feel like I’m rotating in one of the circles of hell. I know hell has its own place for me; a piece of floor space in the circle dedicated to the torment the souls of those whose lustful appetites overcame reason in life.
That’s where I’ll be copping a squat in the afterlife.
Fuck people who planintimate gatherings for one hundred and fifty-seven close family and friends. And, for good measure, fuck people who live in swanky Highgate, both the venue and apparent home of the betrothed.
Sweat trickles down my spine as I push myself and my now empty tray back into the kitchen.
‘I didn’t sign up for this shit,’ complains Jai, the person the event had eventually been assigned to. ‘I’ve got a master’s degree, for fuck’s sake.’
I try to smile in answer, unable to speak. If I open my mouth to utter anything other thanmackerel ceviche with an avocado sorbet and pink pickled radish, madam? I’m likely to scream or sob, and I don’t know which is worse. I guess my smile betrays at least a fraction of that as Jai steps closer, placing one hand against my shoulder, the other fingering his tiny black braid.
‘You feeling okay? Oh, fuck!’ He jumps back with a squeal. ‘You’ve got the fucking lurgy, ain’t ya’!’
‘No,’ I say, swallowing, the tiny word like splintering glass in my throat. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ rasps Savannah, my bitch of a boss, coming up from behind. ‘That’s all I need.’ She huffs loudly, as though I’d contract cholera just to spite her, but it’s an idea... isn’t it? She doesn’t need to know I’m not ill. I open my mouth to protest, emitting a dry cough instead.
She curses loudly, adding a rather terse, ‘I can’t spare you, Fin. Not tonight. The staff I have out there are barely a skeleton. Just... just stay away from thehors d’oeuvres.Stick to serving champagne. And for God’s sake, don’t cough on anyone.’ As she bestows her final command, she’s already gliding away.
Fuck my life.
‘Yours and mine both, babe. And fuck her. And for good measure, fuck herandthe bloke she rode to the top on.’
‘What?’ I belatedly look up from the pink tray in my hands. Pink flowers. Pink food.Maybe Rory’s baby was a girl? Maybe she’s already born?Of all the torturous thoughts—my throat constricts and my eyes start to sting.
Could’ve. Would’ve. Should’ve. Might’ve been your life.
‘FML?’ says Jai. ‘And fuck Savannah. You know she was only promoted because she’s screwing the owner, right?’
‘I try to stay out of office politics.’Deep breaths; in then out. Try not to cry. Try not to freak out.
‘Only ‘cos I haven’t broken you down. Yet. Have you met him, Pierce, I mean?’ Pedantic Pierce; that’s what Soraya calls him. Apparently, he used to live in Dubai, too. Keeping the tenuous connection to myself, I shake my head. ‘He’s got to be pushing sixty-five. Ancient. He’d defo need Viagra to get it up, unlike him out there.’ He gestures to the door from the commercial style kitchen leading into the main part of the house.
I feel myself physically wince and bite my bottom lip as it begins to tremble.
‘Hard to believe both blokes were born in the same decade,’ Jai says, snagging a morsel from a passing pink tray.
‘That can’t be right.’
‘That’s what I said.’ Jai flicks, what appears to be tapenade, from a tiny piece of pastry, wiping his fingers on his apron. ‘I wouldn’t shag Pierce and I’m not exactly discerning,’ he adds, pointing the canape at me.
‘No, I mean the age thing can’t be right.’
