Cloudy with a Chance of Love (30 page)

‘Gabby.' She looked up from her frantic dabbling. She had my full attention. ‘What you did was unforgiveable,' I said in a cool, clear voice. ‘I hope no one has the misfortune of being your friend ever again.'

Gabby laid down the napkin on the table and for the first time ever –
ever
– she looked ashamed.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, in a quiet voice.

Wow. She'd said sorry. Finally.

‘Not forgiven,' I retorted. ‘You broke my heart. More than Jeff did.
You
did, because you were supposed to be my best friend.'

My words hung in the air between us. Tears filled Gabby's eyes and she looked down. I was done.

I grabbed my bag from under the table and went to fetch my fur-collared cape from the back of my chair. It wasn't there. It was on the floor and currently under the foot of a waiter who was standing at the next table handing out coffees. I tried to yank the cape free but it wouldn't yield; the waiter's shiny shoe was pinning it firmly to the ground. I tugged at it again. And a bit more. Oh, come on, I'd made such a fine speech to Jeff and Gabby I couldn't ruin it now with some farcical cape yanking. Finally, when the waiter casually moved his foot two inches to the right, I released my cape with a light ripping sound; it was minus its faux-fur trim. I grabbed what was left of it and headed for the dancefloor, my head held high.

I found Freya.

‘I've got to go, darling,' I shouted, above the racket of a Billy Idol medley. ‘Will you be all right? Dad can take you home.'

‘Okay, Mum – are
you
all right? Are you getting a taxi?'

‘Yes, I'll get one outside, and yes, I'm fine. Please tell Grandma I think she's bloody fantastic, will you?'

‘Of course I will!'

‘And Auntie Margaret. They were brilliant.'

‘They certainly were!'

‘I'm so proud of you, Freya!' I clutched both of her arms and looked into her beautiful face.

‘Me too, Mum,' she shouted, over the din. ‘You held your own with Dad and Whatsherface. And you didn't bawl once, during the ceremony.'

‘No, I didn't, did I?' And I had
definitely
held my own with Jeff and Gabby. I'd done it.

‘I love you, Mum.'

‘I love you too, Freya. I'll speak to you tomorrow.'

After the warmth of Caspar's, the air outside the restaurant was like a wet smack in the face. Heavy rain was still pelting down and quite a wind had picked up; I should know, I'd forecast it. In a strange way I welcomed the wind and rain on my face, as I propped myself against the huge window that faced the street, and caught my breath. It had taken me longer than I'd hoped to get from the dancefloor to the wooden door of the stone lobby. I'd had to push through crowds of grinning graduates surrounded by red-faced, leaping parents, and men trying to carry six pints of beer on the way back from the bar kept getting in my way. At one point the Dean had loomed in front of me, his hair slipped down to his left shoulder and we did that thing where we bobbed from side to side for ages, trying to get past each other and saying ‘Sorry, sorry'. It had been like a mad slalom course.

I welcomed this harsh autumn weather on my face; it felt almost liberating. And what I'd achieved inside felt that way, too. I'd told Jeff and Gabby how I felt – finally. They knew what they'd put me through – at last. It was done and it had gone: my fear and my despair. The reinvention of the Trampled-on-by-life Me, which had started with the chucking of my wedding ring into that fountain, was now complete.

Okay, no, this weather was not welcoming; it was hideous. I was shivering. With the warm, furry bit gone from my cape, the rest felt laughably insubstantial, not that any of it had been remotely waterproof, anyway. I would be drenched in about three seconds flat. It was all very well congratulating myself on not only surviving the evening, but
surpassing
it, but I now had to get myself home.

I looked up and down the road. There was the odd car driving past – one, full of young lads, tooted at me – but no taxis. None whatsoever. I stood there for a while, watching and waiting. I waited a bit more. Then a bit more. The unrelenting rain was making me feel a little more sober, which in turn lowered my tolerance for the rain. I was beginning to get quite worried; I couldn't stand out here forever. What if I was still here when they all came out? It would diminish my triumph, somewhat. What about a bus? Was there a bus stop near here? Had I got enough change, or did they take cards these days? I hadn't been on a bus for years… Oh, hang on, I could
call
for a taxi. I'd Google a cab firm on my phone and give them a ring…

Oh god! My heart sunk – I'd left something behind again, hadn't I? I'd left my purse, with all my money and all my cards in, in the restaurant. The raffle! I'd got my purse out so Freya could buy some tickets. Where was it? Still on the table somewhere? Fallen onto the floor? Damn! I couldn't get a taxi even if one did come past – and all for the sake of free body oil for a year, and a hamper full of chutneys. I had no cash at home either. I certainly wasn't going to pop next door to Will's to ask him if I could borrow some…

Oh god. Would I have to walk back in there, past all those people again, and return to the table to retrieve my purse? Slink up to Jeff and Gabby slightly sheepishly and say, ‘Oh hi, yeah, sorry,
hello
again. I forgot my purse. Silly me,' and slink back out again? I couldn't. No way, after the speech I'd just made! There was no
way
I was going back into Caspar's.

I could walk, but I didn't even know what direction it was best to head in. All I knew was it was
miles
back to Wimbledon and I'd never make it. I was stranded.

What could I do? Could I call someone? I could call Sam – she'd said she was out on a date with Simon tonight, but she always had her phone on her. Or Peony, although she'd be snuggled in with Max, watching a DVD or an instruction video on YouTube on how to make pew ends or something… I could call them. They'd tell me what to do.

I tapped in Sam's number. It rang twice.

‘Hi. Daryl.' Oh, thank god. Behind her, Rihanna was singing loudly about an umbrella. It was noisy – where was she, a bar?

‘Sam!' I gabbled. ‘I'm stuck, I can't get home. I've left my purse in the restaurant and I've had a bit of a – rather brilliant, actually – show-down with Jeff and Gabby and I can't face going back in and… I'm stranded, pretty much, and it's pouring and I don't know what to do… and…'

‘Whoah, hold on!' Rihanna was silenced. Had Sam gone outside? ‘Slow down. I can barely understand what you're saying. What's going on?
Whereabouts
are you?'

‘I'm outside the restaurant. Caspar's. And I can't get home because I haven't got any money and I can't still be here when Jeff and Gabby come out, soaked to the skin… Me, that is, not them… and…'

‘Right. Stop talking for a minute and listen. Breathe.'

I stopped gabbling and took a deep breath.

‘Sorry. I'm breathing. I'm listening.'

‘Okay. Daryl. Don't worry. Peony and I are in a restaurant round the corner – an Indian – we'll come and get you.'

‘What? You're
where
?'

‘You didn't think we'd let you get through this night without backup, did you? We've been here all along, just in case. We knew you'd call us if anything went wrong.'

‘Oh, Sam, I don't believe it… you're just round the corner, that's amazing. Hey, what about your date with Simon? You didn't cancel it on my account, did you…I..?'

‘Shut up, Daryl! Hold fire. I reckon we'll be there in ten minutes. We've got to pay the bill and I might have to do a bit of manoeuvring with the car – we're really sandwiched in.'

‘No worries, no worries, I'll be here – obviously – and oh my god, thank you, thank you.'

‘No problem,' she said. ‘We're coming to get you.'

And she hung up.

I didn't mind waiting now, as I knew they were coming. Coming to rescue me. My two bestest best friends. So, Gabby was gone from my life, so what? Who needed her? She didn't deserve me anyway. What was the saying, ‘with friends like these..'? Well, I had friends like
these
. True proper friends who looked out for me, didn't sleep with my husband and came got me.

I waited. It was still absolutely chucking it down. The street was still deserted. No, hold on, there was someone walking towards me. A man. He had a black umbrella held out in front of him, like a shield. I felt a little uneasy. I was all alone here, in the rain. It was just me and him. He didn't
look
like a mugger; he was wearing smart trousers and shoes – and some kind of dark overcoat. All the same, I turned and looked the other way. I
couldn't
make eye contact anyway, because of the umbrella, but best not look in his direction, just in case.
Some
muggers could be smart. Some could carry umbrellas. Oh god, I really didn't want to be mugged. Not that I had anything on me. Well, I had my phone. And my bag without a purse in it. And he might mistake my bling fakery for diamonds… I suddenly wished I had some pepper spray, or a status dog… The footsteps were getting closer… closer and closer.

‘Daryl.'

Oh god, the mugger was saying my name. Why
was
that? Had I attracted a secret umbrella-carrying, smart stalker somewhere along the line? A radio weather fanatic maybe? Why did this man know my name? I whipped my head to face him, clutching my bag in case I needed to clout him with it (not that a fringed leather bag with one of those tassel-y keychains hanging off it would do much good). The man's umbrella, still open, with rain ricocheting off it, was down by his side. A huge bunch of flowers – yellow roses, white gerberas and gypsophila, if I wasn't mistaken – covered most of him and came right up to his chin. His face, running with rainwater, and topped by soaking wet hair, flat to his forehead was slap bang in front of me and as clear as day…

Oh god.

The chin, the face and the rest of him, belonged to Will.

‘Will! What are
you
doing here?'

‘You told me you'd be here for the graduation tonight, remember?' he said. ‘The cathedral, and then dinner.'

‘Oh, yes, yes I did.' I was flabbergasted. I mean, I knew he worked just up the road, at the hospital, but why was he here? Just walking past with this huge bunch of flowers?

‘So I thought I'd come and find you. Give you these. For Freya's graduation. I figured it might be Caspar's you were eating at.'

‘Oh right, thanks.' I was totally confused.

‘They've got a bit wet,' he said, holding them out to me. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Oh right, okay, don't worry. Thank you so much.' I took them off him, almost automatically. I could barely hold them they were so big. I didn't get it. Why was he giving me these? Why had he come looking for me?

A car – Sam's Fiat, to be precise – screeched round the corner and came to a Dukes of Hazzard halt at the kerb. Sam was in the driver's seat; Peony was next to her, grinning. Sam wound down her window.

‘Daryl!'

‘Sam! Hi. Can you just give me a minute?'

‘Sure!' I saw her shrug at Peony, who shrugged back. I turned back to Will. He had the umbrella up now and was trying to hold it over both of us, and the flowers.

‘Thank you for the flowers, Will, but I don't get it. I know you said they're because of Freya's graduation, but I don't really understand…'

‘Okay, right, well, they're not just for the graduation, actually.' He paused and seemed to take a deep breath. ‘I made a mistake and I wanted to apologise to you.'

Oh, right. My heart went as flat as a sat-upon pancake. I got it. This was about that bloody kiss. Not only did he regret it, but he regretted it so much he felt the need to give me
flowers
over it.
Flowers
to express his huge, mammoth regret! I felt mildly insulted. Well, not mildly, actually – greatly. What was I supposed to do, accept them gratefully, agree that not only was that kiss a mistake, but it was such a
huge
mistake it totally warranted a massive bunch of over-priced (hand-tied, by the looks of it), flowers? Given to me on the street? In the pouring rain?

I looked at him. He looked all plaintive and concerned. Say it with flowers, the old adage went. Well, these flowers said sorry, in the worst possible way. These flowers said he's all guilty he's hurt my
feelings
. Worried we can't be good
neighbours
now. Worried I'll think badly of him… now that we (oh! horror of horrors!)
kissed
. I wasn't impressed. He made a mistake and now he was making a
gesture
, and an empty one at that. He was hoping to erase the guilt of a misjudged kiss with some bloody flowers.

‘Will, thank you for your apology
and
your mistake, but actually, I don't think I want your flowers.' I thrust them back at him. God, they were massive; it was hard to hold them in one hand.

‘What? Sorry? You don't want them?' He looked all confused; he was stammering slightly. He passed a wet hand across his wet forehead, getting his hair out of his eyes. We must both have looked like a couple of drowned rats. He a very handsome one, but hey ho, that didn't matter any more. His handsomeness was no longer my concern.

‘No, I don't want them. Thank you.' I smiled; I was nothing but polite. I'd meant what I'd felt on that dancefloor in there. I'd meant what I'd decided. It was my time now – I was in charge of me and things were going to be my call. ‘Give them to the hospital, to one of the wards.'

I glanced over to Sam. She tapped her finger on an imaginary watch, on her left wrist.

‘Hospitals don't take flowers any more,' stammered Will. ‘And I got them for you. I need to talk to you. I've made a mistake. I…'