Dylan’s shoulders were shaking. He reached up a hand and wiped both his eyes. Good grief! I knew people in his line of work were supposed to be sensitive, but had my ridiculous babbling made him cry? I would definitely never be able to set foot in here again. Stupid, clumsy idiot. It was only because he made me flustered that I even?—
He lifted his head and smiled at me, his face bubbling over with mirth. When I tore my gaze away from those blue eyes, I saw he held out a card. ‘Give me a ring. Let me know which datein August and we can set up a meeting with your husband-to-be. I’d like to meet him. And we can discuss your requirements for the service.’
I took the card, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in my hand. ‘Really? Even though I’ve proven myself to be a terrible, rude and judgemental heathen? You’ll marry us?’
Dylan nodded, another smile tugging at his mouth. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Faith. Call me.’
I gathered up my bag and jacket and located Marilyn, nattering away to Rowan, her hands waving wildly as she talked. She caught my gesture and nodded, giving Rowan a brief hug before coming to join me. On our way to the door, we walked past Dylan, two women now clucking around him like chickens. His eyes met mine as I passed. He shook his head slightly in mock disappointment and mouthed,Watery custard?
Blushing, I pushed Marilyn out of the door and nearly sprinted to the car. As always, my friend kept schtum. But I knew what she was thinking. I thought the same.
Watch out there, Faith. You could be heading for big trouble.
4
That Friday, I ironed my white shirt and black skirt, dug out my least snagged pair of tights, and put on my work shoes. Since my enforced resignation from HCC, life had returned to a desperate sprint from the poverty wolf snapping at my heels. I survived, just, on meagre savings, Perry’s generosity and three or four shifts a week doing waitressing work for a temp agency. The work was back-breaking drudgery for pitiful pay. I missed some of my workmates at HCC – the waitresses and bar staff. I missed regular customers, knowing who would tip generously and who would complain. I really missed being recognised as someone good at their job, who worked hard and could think on her feet. I didn’t miss the sixty-hour weeks, the two-mile hike through country roads at all hours and in all weather, or being ordered about like a second-class citizen by a boss with an ego problem.
Temping suited me because it required no commitment beyond the next twenty-four hours, little brainpower and if Sam needed me, I could drop everything and go to him without facing another reprimand, verbal warning, written warning or final, go-before-you’re-fired warning. Perry and his family strongly disapproved, stating their expectation that once married, Iwould turn my attention to more suitable occupations (like playing tennis, shopping and producing babies). I didn’t think they could imagine a world where not working meant not eating. For this reason, I rarely mentioned my job unless absolutely necessary.
This evening’s gig consisted of a private party held in the grounds of a local mansion. As two hundred guests swept their way up the drive in a dazzling array of cars, I worked frantically in the steamy kitchen pouring out glasses of champagne and plating canapés. Thirty minutes into the party (two hours after my shift began), the manager sent me for a quick break prior to serving the first course. I gladly stole outside for a few minutes, escaping the heat. Things were bubbling towards boiling point as the chef heard the guest of honour hadn’t arrived yet and, with much cursing and banging of pans, put dinner on hold.
Always anticipating a call from Sam – even more so since the horrifying news about Kane – I dug my phone out of my jacket, dumped in a side-room off the kitchen. Flicking the screen, I wandered outside into the balmy September air.
My heart clenched as eight missed calls registered on the display, easing off slightly when I saw four were from Perry and the rest from Marilyn. I walked over to a bench seated an unobtrusive distance from the nearest group of partygoers. One of them I had waited on regularly at HCC, but I often saw old customers at temp jobs, and the recognition was never mutual. Leaning against the back of the bench, I dialled my answerphone. Six messages.
Hi darling. I’m taking you out tonight. Put on your fanciest dress and biggest smile. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.
Just checking you got my message. I’ll be there in half an hour. Text me.
Faith? Where are you, darling? I’m outside your house. Call me!
Hi Faith, it’s Marilyn. Perry called. He can’t find you. Are you okay?
Right, Perry didn’t want me to tell you but he’s got this big surprise planned. You really need to call him now, Faith. He’s freaking out.
Faith? For goodness’ sake, where are you?
My heart unclenched and sank like a stone to somewhere at the bottom of my bowels. I checked my watch. Eight-fifteen. Should I pretend not to have seen the calls until my shift finished? With a sigh, I phoned Marilyn. In the huddle of guests a few metres away, a ringtone went off. It was ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’, the Queen song.
What? That was Marilyn’s ringtone. I hung up, sweating. A voluptuous figure in a 1950s-style dress with her back to me rummaged through her clutch bag and pulled out a phone. As she twisted to the side, I caught a glimpse of the baby in her arms. As she leaned over to the man standing next to her, swiping the phone with her free hand, I saw a matching baby in a papoose strapped to his back.
Right. That’s fine. Marilyn knows I waitress at functions. Probably best for me not to stroll up and say hello, but there is no problem here.
A teeny, tiny, horrible thought suggested otherwise. Before I could tell it to shut up and get lost, my phone rang. I hurriedly answered before the connection became obvious and slipped behind the trunk of a nearby tree.
‘Faith! International woman of mystery. Where are you?’
‘I’m at work.’
‘Oh dear. That’s bad. When do you knock off?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, at least midnight.’ I felt a prickle of sweat on my back where it pressed against the tree.
‘Ah. Have you called Perry?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to find out what’s going on first.’ I risked a quick peep around the trunk, scanning for anyone else I might recognise.
‘I think you might need to have a sudden attack of diarrhoea and vomiting.’
