‘And I’ve invited everyone already so they all had plenty of notice,’ Anna went on. ‘I sent out the emails weeks ago.’
‘You did?’
‘Yep.’ Anna raised her glass, as if congratulating herself. ‘It’s not a huge crowd – us four, plus a few of the uni lot who are local, plus a few of your work friends.’
Rachel felt the stem of her wine glass slip between her fingertips. She managed to set it down on the table before it fell.
‘My work friends?’
‘Mmm-hmm. Greg and his husband. Kemi, Ella and Theo. Isaac couldn’t come.’
‘Theo’scoming? I’m not sure he even likes me. I don’t know nearly enough Business Bullshit to have a whole conversation with him.’
Anna shrugged. ‘Kemi said you were pals.’
Rachel rolled her eyes, then noticed Anna was chewing the inside of her cheek.
‘Is there more?’
‘Well,’ Anna said, taking another sip of wine. ‘It seems Kemi also let the party plan slip to Jack. She assumed I’d be inviting him because – according to her – you two are thick as thieves at the office. She says he’s definitely going to make it. I can try and uninvite him if you like, but I guess it might be awkward …’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Rachel said, her voice reedy and thin.
This was a disaster. A car crash. Acatastrophe. What the hell was she going to do?
Jack and Greg were about to be thrown together with Tom – who they both thought was her boyfriend – in a boozy karaoke bar. It was the sort of judgement day that, as a lapsed Catholic, she should really have seen coming.Of courseif she told lies about one person to another, their paths would eventually cross.
But how could she confess to Greg – let alone Jack – that she and Tom had never been anything more than good friends? The thought of admitting her dishonesty made her feel nauseous and sad.
Meanwhile, Anna would be crushed if Rachel asked her to cancel the party …
Before Rachel could come up with a strategy that might get her out of the mess she was suddenly in, Will and Tom turned up.
‘I’ve told her about the birthday party, Tom,’ Anna said. ‘I think she needs another drink.’
Tom looked from Anna to Rachel, then said drily, ‘As I predicted, she looks thrilled. I’ll go to the bar.’
Anna laughed and Rachel attempted a less horrified facial expression.
Will threw his work bag underneath the table, kissed Anna’s forehead and then sank into the chair next to hers.
‘Party?’ he said, bewildered. ‘No one’s said anything to me about a party.’
Rachel spent the rest of the evening trying not to panic – and determined not tolooklike she was panicking. By any sane standard, Anna and Tom had done a nice thing for her; she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
She was quieter than usual, but Anna more than made up for Rachel’s reticence. She exclaimed about Zahra’s beauty and the awesomeness of her shop, refused to answer any questions about her wedding dress and then regaled them with tales of the past week’s classroom disasters.
Tom glanced at Rachel once or twice with thinly veiled concern, but she shook her head at him when he threw her a questioning look while Anna and Will were distracted.
As the night wore on – and as she sank several more glasses of wine – Rachel relaxed a little. Yes, she was up shit creek without a paddle, but no amount of worrying would solve her problems tonight.Instead, said a sensible voice from somewhere in her mind,you’re going to have to try and sort it out tomorrow. Probably while nursing a hangover.Rachel told it to shut up.
Anna was ranting aboutRomeo and Juliet– or, more specifically, about ‘Baz flippin’ Luhrmann’sRomeo + Juliet’.
‘Despite repeated warnings about it being only anadaptationof the play,’ she was saying, her eyes narrowed and her voice full of righteous anger, ‘I’ve LITERALLY LOST COUNT of the number of times Romeo’s Hawaiian shirt has been brought up in essays – ninety per cent of which also mention guns. Jamie De Luca handed in a piece of work this morning that referred to Mercutio “getting capped” by Tybalt. Would it have killed him to write … well. “Killed”?’
Rachel’s eyes were streaming, and Will and Tom were shaking with laughter.
‘Having fun, are we? Well. Ha-fucking-ha.’
