I try to answer, but my thoughts have jammed, as though a pencil’s fallen into a smoothly whirring machine. What’s this “someone else”? I open my mouth to reply—then close it again. Did I hear wrong? Is she using some figure of speech?
“So …” I proceed warily, feeling as though I’m speaking a foreign language. “You bought the ring for Richard … but you didn’t give it to him?”
I’m only trying to work out what she meant. I’m not expecting her to flip out on me as though I’ve single-handedly ruined her day.
“Fliss, you know I didn’t! God, you could be a bit more sensitive!” Her voice rises shrilly. “I’m trying to start afresh here! I’m trying to embark on a whole new life with Ben! You don’t have to bring up Richard!”
Ben?
I’m completely confused. I think I’m going mad. Who’s Ben and what does he have to do with this?
“Look, Lottie. Don’t get upset, but I really don’t understand.…”
“I told you just now in my text! Can’t you read?”
“You said you were engaged!” A terrible feeling grips me. Is this all some massive misunderstanding? “Are you not engaged?”
“Yes! Of course I’m engaged! To Ben!”
“Who the fuck is Ben?” I yell, more loudly than I meant to. Elise looks in at the door curiously, and I shoot her an apologetic smile, mouthing, “It’s OK.”
There’s silence at the end of the phone.
“Oh,” says Lottie at last. “Sorry. I just looked back at my text. I thought I’d told you. I’m not marrying Richard; I’m marrying Ben. Remember Ben?”
“No, I do not remember Ben!” I say, feeling increasingly frazzled.
“That’s right, you never met him. Well, he was my gap-year boyfriend in Greece, and he’s come back into my life and we’re getting married.”
I feel as though the ceiling has caved in. She was marrying Richard. It all made sense. Now she’s running off with some guy called Ben? I don’t even know where to start.
“Lotts … But, Lotts, I mean … How can you be getting married to him?” A thought suddenly comes to me. “Is this a visa thing?”
“No, it’s not a visa thing!” She sounds indignant. “It’s love!”
“You love this guy Ben enough to marry him?” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.
“Yes.”
“When exactly did he come back into your life?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago,” I repeat calmly, although I want to burst into hysterical laughter. “After how long?”
“Fifteen years.” She sounds defiant. “And before you ask me, yes, I have thought it through.”
“OK! Well, congratulations. I’m sure Ben’s wonderful.”
“He’s amazing. You’ll love him. He’s good-looking, and he’s fun, and we’re totally connected—”
“Great! Look, let’s meet up for lunch, OK? And we can talk about it.”
I’m overreacting, I tell myself. I simply have to adjust to this new situation. Maybe this guy Ben is perfect for Lottie and it will all work out brilliantly. As long as they have a nice long engagement and don’t rush into anything—
“Shall we meet at Selfridges?” Lottie says. “I’m there now, actually. I’m buying honeymoon underwear!”
“Yes, I heard. So, when were you planning to get married?”
“Tomorrow,” she says happily. “We wanted to do it as soon as possible. Can you take the day off?”
Tomorrow? She’s gone mad.
“Lotts, stay there.” I can hardly get the words out. “I’ll come and meet you. I think we should have a talk.”
I should never have relaxed. I should never have gone on holiday. I should have realized Lottie wouldn’t rest till she’d found something to channel all her hurt energy into. And it’s this. A marriage.
By the time I get to Selfridges, my heart is thumping and I have a head full of questions. Lottie, on the other hand, has a basket full of underwear. No, not underwear, sex kit. She’s standing looking at a transparent basque as I hurtle toward her, almost knocking over a rail of Princesse Tam Tam teddies. As she sees me, she holds it up.
“What do you think?”
I eye the stuff in her basket. She’s clearly been at the Agent Provocateur concession. There’s lots of black see-through lace. And is that an eye mask?
“What do you think?” she says impatiently, and jiggles the basque at me. “It’s quite expensive. Shall I try it on?”