Page 26 of Something Borrowed

“You speak the truth.” I eye him. “I’ll make you my trusty lieutenant, and you shall run my commune.”

“That isn’t half as enticing as you think it is. It’d resemble theLord of the Fliesafter a few hours.” He looks at Ingrid. “So, what’s the gossip about the Foston-Halls?”

“They’re getting divorced.”

“Why?”

“Oh no,” I say in dismay. Ingrid and Joe turn to stare at me. I shrug. “I didn’t like them. They were more imperious than Julius Caesar on an off day. But I hate that they’re divorcing. Why, Grid?”

“He was sleeping with her mum.”

“What?”

Joe gapes at her. “He was shagging the Medea of the mother-in-law world? Well, he’s a brave man. I’ll give him that.”

Ingrid shudders. “I still remember her meltdown over the chocolate content in the taster bags. It was like a volcano going off. But more dangerous.”

“She was shagging her son-in-law. That’sterrible,” I say. When Joe shakes his head, I ask, “What? You know I hate cheating. It’s appalling.”

He claps me on the back. “You’re sweeter than Dorothy inThe Wizard of Oz.”

“I have infinitely better fashion sense.”

He tugs my hair. “And longer pigtails.”

“I heard that open shirts werede rigueuron the wedding circuit nowadays,” Ingrid says earnestly, which is spoilt by the piss-taking gleam in her eyes. “Any comment, Rafferty?”

“You’re a couple of twats,” I inform them over laughter.

Jed’s assistant Artie appears at the door. “We’re in the conference room,” he says with a sweet smile, his silky dark hair flopping over his forehead. “Seeing as everyone is here for a change.”

“Joy,” I say, my tone surly. “That means we’ll have a full house for my dressing down.”

“Surely there can’t be more said about that?” Joe says in a serious voice. “You dress down more than a scarecrow.”

I take a detour to add the wedding invitation samples to my desk. After grabbing my diary, I saunter into the conference room. It’s a large space at the back of the house, with windows that look over the narrow, walled garden. The office is actually on the ground floor of Jed’s house. He occupies the two floors above.

I pop a pod into the coffee machine resting on the sideboard, grab my cup and a croissant, and settle down at my usual seat at the long oak table. The seat cradles my body as if meant for me, and as I look around the room affectionately, I think it might be true.

I’ve been working here since I was nineteen and have no plans to go anywhere else, despite being offered big money to defect to other wedding-planning agencies.

The others begin to filter in.

“Alright, Margot?” I say, smiling at one of the other planners. She’s a statuesque redhead with a wicked sense of humour. “You’ve got a lovely tan.”

She winks. “It happens when you have back-to-back weddings in St Barts.”

I roll my eyes. “Alas, back-to-back weddings in Chorley didn’t contribute to my tan.”

“Do you even get tanned with your ginger hair?”

“It is strawberry blond,” I say with dignity. “And as such, my skin becomes a lovely biscuit colour.”

“One that’s been left in the oven for too long,” Joe says cheerfully, coming into the room and slumping into his usual seat next to me.

“How long is this meeting scheduled for?” I ask. “I just need to know how long we’ll be focusing on my shortcomings.”

“An hour.”

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