Yours Truly (26 page)

Dionne huffs.
“
Oh yes, I’m sure. I’ve been out there with a bleeding spade. A spade! It didn’t do anything. I manage to clear the snow around the car, so yes; I can drive a few inches back and a few inches forward. But other than that we’re stuck. I’m stuck. Why did you have to faint? Why did you do that to me?
”

Jean-Paul Gaultier gives a little yelp as if confirming her speech.

“
I didn’t do it to you. It just happened. I don’t know,
”
I answer truthfully.
“
Calm down,
”
I try, rubbing my eyes and sipping from a bottle of water that’s been put out on the bedside table.

“
I’ve called Bull. He’s working on it. See if he knows someone. But your mate, the old dude with the red cheeks and the cap
-
”

“
Alan?
”

“
Whatever. He says it won’t clear for at least the next few days.
”

“
Oh. How does he know?
”

“
He says this happened before, two winters ago. That this place is one of the highest points in England. That it’s too cold for the snow to melt and that no one can drive anywhere. I’ve not even got any fresh clothes with me! I probably stink.
”
She sniffs dramatically at her armpits.
“
I do stink! Maaaaan.
”

Oh crap. My stomach begins to churn uncomfortably as I realise the implications of being stuck here. I haven't three days to waste. I need to sort out my wedding. And, you know, make friends with the groom. I need to sort things out with Mum.

“
Shit.
”

“
Bastard.
”

The door bursts open once again. This time it’s Meg. Not looking at all troubled by the situation. In fact, she looks as happy as I’ve ever seen her.

“
Isn’t this exciting!
”
she trills, moseying over to sit on the bed.

“
About as exciting as herpes,
”
Dionne huffs, throwing her a dirty look.

“
You’d know,
”
Meg throws back before turning to me.
“
It’s like a film! There’s a big commotion and everyone’s here in the pub already. Get up! Get up and dressed! It’s so romantic…
”

“
Is drinking really the answer?
”
I say worriedly, a sudden vision of the locals gathered around the bar doing absinthe shots in distress.

“
I’m pret-ty sure it is for me,
”
Dionne pouts, storming out of the room, Jean-Paul Gaultier in tow.

“
They’re not drinking, silly,
”
Meg giggles.
“
They’ve all turned up to discuss a plan.
”

“
A plan?
”

“
Apparently Wonky Faced Joe has a tractor
-
”

“
Who’s Wonky Faced Joe?
”

“
Oh, one of the locals. He’s got a wonky face.
”

“
Right.
”

“
Well, he has a tractor.
”

“
Right?
”

“
But it’s broken.
”

“
Oh.
”

“
And he knows someone who has a gritter.
”

“
Great!
”

“
But he can’t get in touch with him.
”

“
Not so great.
”

“
So until the tractor is fixed or he can reach his mate with the gritter and they can drive to the next village for supplies, they’re planning for survival.
”

“
Ooh, that does sound exciting,
”
I say, in spite of myself.
“
Do they think we’ll die?
”

“
No one knows,
”
Meg says seriously.
“
The snow doesn’t look like it’s stopping anytime soon.
”

“
What about my wedding?
”
I say in a small voice.

Meg ponders.
“
It will definitely be cleared by then. I’m sure of it. And even if it’s n
ot, Wonky Faced Joe’s t
ractor will be fixed, and they’ll be able to drive us home.
”

“
Hmmm,
”
I say, not entirely reassured.
“
But I still have lots of planning to do!
”

“
Not that much. It’s pretty much finished, and your mother is taking care of the rest. Or we can do it online.
God b
less the internet.
”

I sigh.

“
Come on,
”
she chides.
“
I brought a suitcase of clothes with me. Get a shower and I’ll put you out an outfit. Hurry, we need to find out what we should do if we’re going to beat this blizzard and stay alive!
”

I use the en suite shower in Meg’s room, delighted to find some of Mr Harrington’s shampoo made from scratch. This time it’s basil flavour. It’s delicious. My hair smells like Italy.

Drying myself off, I look at the outfit Meg has laid out on her bed for me.

It’s a dress. I haven’t worn a dress since I was ten
and forced to wear one for the junior s
chool
m
aypole dance. My backside does not work in a dress.

I find Meg’s suitcase and dig through it in the hopes of finding some trousers. But there are none. Just lots of dresses and skirts and sexy tops.

I sigh and pick up the dress from the bed again. It’s actually one of my favourites. When Meg wears it, of course. It’s an emerald green Jaquard shift dress. It was all the rage last year at the fashion shows. Not that I know anything much about fashion, but it was hard to get away from this dress. It was the ‘It’ dress and in all of the shops. It's perfect for
Meg
. The cut of it accentuates her milkmaid curves beautifully.

I pull it on and look in the mirror. I look like an emerald green sausage. I take it off immediately and decide to stick to the jeans I was wearing yesterday, but with one of Meg’s v
ery tight, very white t-shirts -
the best of a slutty bunch.

I dig into her make-up bag and dash on some mascara and cheek stain. I fully ignore my lips. They are so gargantuan they need no highlighting at all.

I don’t bother doing anything with my hair besides a quick comb through. There’s no point. It’s determined to look bad whatever I attempt. Stoopid Barbara the hairdresser.

I pull on my woolly blue cardigan and my trainers, and with a quick spritz of Meg’s Ralph Lauren Romance, make my way downstairs to the pub.

Meg was right. This is a commotion if ever I saw one. And it is rather exciting.

The pub is chock-a-block with locals sipping on cups of tea and nattering away. It’s buzzing. Meg is chatting animatedly to Morag and Barney Braithwaite and from behind the bar Alan is holding court, while Riley hands out toast and juice to whoever wants it.

“
Those of us who have wood burning stoves, would be best to invite those with oil burning stoves over to stay,
”
Alan is saying, much to the approval of the rest of the people in the pub.

“
Hear hear!
”

“
My oil will only last another day!
”

“
We have two spare rooms at our house. But men only, please!
”

I smile at the fact that it’s only
the first morning of a snow-
in yet the village are thriving on the notion of pulling together, of being a real community. It’s heartening.

“
I have lots of tins of t
una,
”
someone in the crowd calls out.

“
I can knit extra blankets!
”
adds a gruff voice.

“
I too have tuna to spare!
”

“
I can cook!
”
I call out, completely unaware until I hear the sound of my voice echoing back to me.

It’s very infectious, this pulling together stuff. From her table Meg raises her eyebrows at me, laughing.

Someone prods me on the shoulder.

I turn around to see that it’s Dionne, dressed in a stylish denim jumpsuit and a fur cape. Behind her, looking gorgeous and surprisingly friendly, is Honey.

“
This is Honey,
”
Dionne says.
“
She lent me some clothes. We’re, like, exactly the same size.
”

“
We’ve met.
”
I smile warily at Honey. She smiles back but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“
It’s sooooo good to see you again!
”
she says twirling her wavy read hair around her finger.

“
Oh. It’s good to see you too!
”
I say wondering what has brought about her apparent personality transplant.

“
Yah, Riley said you were back. He said you fainted, you poor, poor thing.
”

Her expression doesn’t equal her words. She looks about as sympathetic as a wooden spoon.

“
Um yes.
”

“
It’s a good job he’s so big and strong. Having
to carry you to bed like that.
”

She laughs. It’s an irritating scratch of a noise.

I don’t quite know how to respond to that. What she’s saying isn’t exactly rude, but it still bristles.

Honey turns to Dionne and blows her a kiss.

“
I have to work now, sugar. But just pop by if you need anything at all. Bye bye Jean-Paul Gaultier.
”
She wiggles her fingers daintily in an impression of a wave and floats off.

Dionne beams, staring with heart eyes as Honey saunters off to the bar.

“
She’s amazing,
”
Dionne sighs in admiration.
“
I was outside, crying in the car and up she comes like a tiny, fashionista angel. Offers me the use of her clothes. Just like that.
”

“
That’s nice.
”

“
And she goes out with that woodcutter lad. Riley. She told me he’s great in bed, an animal, in fact! She said that when they’re together, she
-
”

I feel sick as an unwelcome vision of Riley and Honey flashes into my head. I do not want to know this information. I do not want to know about them doing rude stuff to each other.

“
Look, Dionne,
”
I butt in, my voice weirdly strangulated
,
“
I have to nip to the loo. Why don’t you get us some tea and toast, find us a seat. I’ll meet you back here in a second.
”

And before she can answer I run to the ladies room, leaving her to stare after me.

I stand in front of the mirror and take deep breaths.

What is wrong with me? I’m about to marry the man of my dreams and here I am getting jealous over some guy I barely know. Some guy who has a girlfriend, no less.

And why the hell don’t I know the answers to my own questions? I certainly know the answers to everyone else’s!

I splash some cold water onto my face before going into a cubicle, pulling down the loo seat and sitting down.

Is it nerves? No it can’t be. I can’t wait to marry Olly. The idea of sleeping with only one man for the rest of my life has never bothered me. I like the idea…
the security. The comfort of knowing that one person is yours forever, and you are theirs.

I wonder if the hypnotism made me into a sex maniac?

No. That can’t be it. I don’t fancy anyone else.

There.

I said it.

I fancy Riley.

I fancy the spectacularly muscular arse off Riley.