Zara Stoneley - Bridesmaids

‘But … but, I’ve got a ticket and everything. I’ve told everybody I’m jetting off with you in two days. Two days! ’

‘Oh, I cancelled your ticket after …’ there is a long pause, then, ‘the incident with the dog.’

The line goes silent. My bitch of a boss is letting her words sink in.

‘You cancelled it three days ago and you never told me!’ My hand clenches into a fist. If she was here now, I’d be having trouble resisting the urge to strangle her or shove the bloody lipstick-scarred apple down her throat.

She is a complete cow – she knows how much this trip means to me and this is the most evil payback ever. I (apparently) screwed up with her #MondayMotivation picture. Daniel’s dog-in-a-bag photo had ten times as many ‘likes’. And Daniel is her arch Insta-rival. Which is why I’ve called in the kittens.

This was not my fault though. Everybody knows a puppy will trump the latest trend any day of the week (apart from #FreebieFriday), and how was I to know he’d spring Lucy the long-haired Chihuahua on the world?

‘I told you he was looking at luxury pet stuff!’ I’d spotted Daniel had started following a designer of diamanté dog collars – but Coral had poo-pooed my suspicions. So it’s her fault she’s in the doggy-do not mine.

‘Have you finished?’ She’s sounding bored.

‘But I’ve got kittens!’ I haven’t had time to talk kittens. I was going to surprise her once I’d got the perfect shot. With her flaming lipstick at the side if necessary.

‘I haven’t got time for that now. We’ll talk about kittens when I get home.’

‘They’ll have grown by then.’

‘Well, get new ones. Very cute ones. Very tiny ones, smaller than Daniel’s cock-sized offering.’

‘I don’t think kittens come that sma—’

‘Oh, whatever, I don’t care. I pay you to come up with the ideas, not bother me with-’

‘You pay me to take—’ I am about to say, take the photographs, but I don’t get the chance.

‘Do what you have to,’ she’s hissing, ‘to make this up to me. Then we’ll see.’ I can hear the click of her nails tapping on the phone. It’s a horrible sound and normally I’d just ring off.

‘So, I can come?’ My little begging voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears. I hate myself.

‘No.’

‘It is so not fair to pull the plug on my trip. I work evening and weekends and …’ I spend my whole life trailing round after her. She has killed my social life, and any hope of ever getting laid again, dead.

‘You should just count yourself lucky you’ve still got a job. Now, I must fly, I’ve got packing to do, and I need a manicure.’

‘Fine. I’ll have a holiday.’ I sound like a stubborn child, I know. ‘I’ll go to Ibiza.’

‘You do that. Don’t forget to post those photos, though, will you? Have you done my big apple?’

I feel like telling her where she can stuff her big apple, and let’s just say it’s in a place where the sun doesn’t shine. I reckon there is steam coming out of my ears. I can’t speak, just mouth soundlessly. But it doesn’t matter, she just takes my silence as agreement and goes off to pack .

I throw the bloody apple across the room, where it hits the window with a satisfying squelch, then I sink down onto the floor and put my head in my hands.

How could she do this to me? Devastated is not the word. Not that I wanted to go with her , but New York , I ask you. I could have begged, I should have begged. I think I might have been whimpering, and if she’d have been here, I might have been tempted to lick her feet (no, I wouldn’t, I take that back).

I don’t know why I put up with her.

Well, I do, I need the money.

I need the flat. I need Freddie.

My phone pings. Maybe it’s a last-minute reprieve? Maybe she actually has got a heart?

It’s a text from Rachel: Have fun in New York, I’m well jel! xx

Me, too.

‘Trouble with the apple, babes?’ Freddie, slumps down on the settee behind me and ruffles my hair, which is slightly annoying, but I can’t be bothered to thump him like I normally would. For the ruffling and for the ‘babes’ – which he only does to get a reaction. He leans in to take a closer look at me, and his brow furrows. ‘Wow, you really are upset. What’s up? What’s Coral the cow done now? Demanded the kitties have a mani, pedi and close shave before she even entertains the thought of them appearing on her feed?’

I can’t even raise a glimmer of a smile. I sigh and blink. As well as being an excellent kitten wrangler, he’s also good for chatting to, but I can’t work out how to speak about her without either screaming or crying. So, I change the subject.

‘Was Lora okay?’

‘She wasn’t in. Some long-haired lout in a biker jacket answered the door. I gave him my hard “Hurt these kittens and you are so dead, mate” stare.’

‘I bet he was quaking in his biker boots.’ Deep inside, I feel a slight lift: I’m pleased Lora wasn’t there, it makes me feel very slightly better.

‘Crocs. He had pink Crocs on, not boots. That’s why I dared glare at him.’

‘Ahh … you’re just a big wuss at heart.’

‘Sure am. You did explain to Coral what you meant by close-ups of a ginger pussy, didn’t you?’ He nudges me with his elbow.

‘ Eugh , stop it. That’s disgusting.’ But I can’t help the tiniest of smiles from teasing at my taut face muscles. I actually feel like I’ve got a very thick face mask on and it’s set like concrete.

‘Wow mate, this is serious, isn’t it?’ He’s spotted the debris on the table. He eyes up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I’ve opened, the biggest pizza the guy at Domino’s would make for me (sometimes even a Mighty Meaty needs extra toppings), the tub of Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel Brownie, and the box of man-sized tissues with suspicion. ‘None of this was here when I went out a couple of hours ago.’

I nod.

‘I thought you said you were going carb free until you got to the Big Apple.’

‘If I do that,’ I swallow away the lump in my throat, ‘I will die of malnutrition.’

He waits. He’s good at waiting and listening. Like the old Golden Retriever I had when I was a teenager.

‘Because I’m not going.’ I take another big bite of pizza and try to swallow it down past the lump in my throat. And nearly choke. Freddie bangs me hard on the back, helpfully. ‘No Big Apple for me.’

‘What? But, you’re flying out in two days, you’ve bought stuff, you’ve packed. I thought she was dead set on going, that she had her eye on the U.S. and—’

‘She is, she has, it’s just me that isn’t going.’ I take a deep breath. ‘She cancelled my ticket.’

‘Why the hell would she do that? She needs you!’

‘She doesn’t need me, she’s got Crystal.’

‘Crystal?’ There’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his generous mouth, and I know he’s dying to laugh. ‘Coral and Crystal, you’re kidding me? Are they a new double act?’

‘Crystal is her American friend.’ I smile, despite myself. It’s hard not to.

‘So, she dumped you for some American photographer?’

‘She dumped me because of bloody Daniel.’

‘Daniel? Is that her new shag?’

‘No, he’s that stupid flaming Instagrammer she’s at war with.’ I bury my face in my hands.

‘Ahh.’

‘Sorry,’ I glance up at him through my fingers, ‘I was shouting, wasn’t I? Sorry. He’s the one with the puppy.’

‘So that’s why you’d got kittens?’

‘You got it in one.’ I top up my wine glass and wave the bottle in his direction.