Page 67 of The Day After Christmas
‘I am neither confirming nor denying any such thing.’
‘I think you just did,’ said Felicity with a grin.
‘Anyway, what do you want him there for?’
‘Well, because he’s famous. Sort of.’
‘Famous?’ said Andrea. Felicity began to feel a bit light-headed. ‘Famous for what?’
‘Hasn’t he told you? What he does for a living?’
‘He said he was in insurance,’ said Andrea, frowning like a good ’un.
Awkward.
‘Did he now? He toldmehe was a painter and decorator.’
‘The little whatsit.’
‘He has his reasons, trust me. Go and ask him again.’
‘We haven’t spent much time chatting, if you get my drift,’ said Andrea, with a lascivious wink.
Felicity groaned and ran a hand down her face. ‘Everyone gets your drift. The whole neighbourhood just got your drift. Please. No more drift.’
And you haven’t even read his books yet.
Andrea’s eyes flashed with something distinctly mischievous. ‘Sorry, Felicity. But as your boss I feel I have no choice but to tell you that your father is an astonishingly talented lover.’
There was nothing else for it. Felicity stuck her fingers in her ears like a small child and ran for the exit as fast as she could.
‘Was it something I said?’ yelled Andrea from behind her, grinning from ear to ear.
That very afternoon, Harry texted back to confirm he’d be happy to do the event after all. He’d even found a few author friends to bring along. Felicity definitely didn’t want to know how Andrea had persuaded him. She had to stay focused. There were only a few more weeks to pull this event together and save her beloved Animal Saviours. Exactly how hard could that be?
The following weekend it was time for the Dreaded Hen Do.
Felicity had totally dropped the ball, she knew she had. This was partly because of everything else that was going on, yes, but also because she was finding the whole Adam and Bex thing so difficult. It was as if she was paralysed somehow, everything about this wedding seemed like an extraordinary effort. In the end, after much panicking, Sophie had managed to save the day, pulling a few strings with some of her friends, all of whom seemed to be arty or crafty or sometimes both. They managed to arrange a pottery workshop for the daytime and a special meal in Bex’s favourite restaurant in the evening and Felicity was fairly sure she’d be happy with that. She had to be, right? None of them could afford Ibiza or anything crazy expensive like that, and the fact that Adam and his mates were heading to Amsterdam for the weekend was neither here nor there.
‘Is this what we’re doing?’ said Bex in a disappointed voice on Saturday morning when they arrived at the pottery centre.
‘This is the first thing,’ said Felicity confidently, trying to think of what they could do in the afternoon that she could book with one hour’s notice. ‘So just enjoy this first and then you’ll see what’s next.’
Sophie threw hera look, knowing full well there wasn’t anything coming next, but Felicity chose to pretend she hadn’t seen her.
‘I can hardly wait,’ said Bex, and her icy tone sent a shiver of anxiety down Felicity’s spine.
‘Come on, it’ll be fun,’ said Bex’s friend Libby, sitting down eagerly at one of the wheels. Libby was one of the add-on friends whose details Felicity had managed to wheedle out of Petuniaat the last minute, in a humiliating ritual that had involved her praising Bex’s finer qualities for the best part of an hour and swallowing any last dregs of her self-worth.
Even Felicity wasn’t sure she’d go as far as to say “fun”. She was just wondering whether they’d forgotten about her booking entirely when an extremely handsome man came round the corner dressed in aGreatPottery Throw Down-style apron. He had dark, wavy hair, smears of white plaster across his forehead and on his sizeable forearms and he was carrying a small Bluetooth speaker. Immediately Bex gave a squeal.
‘Are you the stripper?’ she said, settling herself on a stool in the middle of the room and holding out her hand to him as if she was the Queen. The plastic tiara they’d given her was really coming into its own.
The extremely handsome man huffed a laugh and wiped his hands on his apron.
‘No, ma’am, I’m very sorry but I can’t say we offer that service here.’
He had a dreamy American accent. Things were looking up. Maybe this morning wouldn’t be a total bust.
