Ollie Quain - How To Lose Weight And Alienate People

Nervously, I peel back my duvet to reveal her Stella McCartney top. ‘It still had the price tag in it.’

‘Again, it’s not an issue,’ she says breezily. ‘Just get it dry-cleaned.’

‘Dels, have you lost the plot? You hate it when I stea … borrow without asking.’ I grab the vest and show her the loose threads. ‘Look, it’s snagged, beyond repair probably, and you haven’t even worn it yet.’ Something else odd occurs to me. ‘Hang on a sec, you haven’t even mentioned Luke’s music equipment littered around the lounge.’

‘Sitting room . Personally, I don’t think he’s left enough. I was hoping to come back and find it rigged up to rival Madison Square Garden.’ She carries on grinning at me as she curls a tendril of hair round her finger.

I step closer to her. ‘And you haven’t told me off for filling the bathroom bin with latex gloves.’ I use them for tanning. Adele always moans that it makes her feel like she is living with a full-timer carer.

‘Sod all of that, Vivian.’ Her eyes are glassy. ‘Something incredible has happened. It’s actually happened …’

‘It has?’

She nods and my chest clenches. Obviously, her membership has been accepted for Shoreditch House. Before mine. For years, she never saw the point in shelling out for any other private clubs as she always came down to Burn’s for free. But just before she met James, Adele panicked that she wasn’t casting her net wide enough to meet Mr Right and filed requests to all the other leading clubs in town.

‘I can’t believe it. But it’s only been six months.’

‘Just over. I know . Crazy, isn’t it?’ She grins, her eyes filling up even more.

‘Congratulations, Dels …’ I reply, stoically, as I try to blank out the image of her plonked on a sunlounger by Shoreditch House’s famous rooftop pool, caipirinha in one hand, Factor-30 suncream in the other. ‘Perfect timing too, now that summer has arrived.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she laughs. ‘I’ll never have enough time to organise it for this summer. We’ll aim for December at the earliest. Hopefully it will snow. How fab would it be to have a white wedding?’

I cock my head at her. ‘Eh? Who’s getting married?’

‘Earth calling Vivian!’ She shakes her head. ‘Have you not heard anything I’ve said? It’s me. I am getting married. Me! Well, me and James.’

‘You’re what ?’

‘Getting married. James asked me to marry him!’

‘Christ! That is such fantastic news! I thought that you had got your … Oh, it doesn’t matter what I thought.’ I rush over to hug her. ‘Dels, that is so amazing. You must be so pleased and …’

‘Shocked, yes. Very. It’s still sinking in.’ She steps back and looks at me. ‘I am engaged, Vivian. Engaged! Can you believe it? After the quagmire of relationship sewage that I’ve waded through – the crap excuses, the cheating turds , the full-of- shit arses on dating websites – I never thought anyone would propose to me.’

‘Oh, ye of little faith. I always knew someone would.’

She bursts out laughing. ‘That is such a whopping lie.’

‘Yeah, I did. Actually, I thought it might happen last year, with oh, you know, that guy who got so pissed during dinner at your parents’ house, your mum came down in the morning and found him asleep in the dog basket. What was he called? He actually sounded as if he could be a dog … ha! Was it Spike?’

‘Rex,’ she says, sounding less amused. ‘Anyway, look at the ring. The ring! My ring!’ She thrusts her left hand about a millimetre away from my face. ‘Look, look, look at it !’

‘I’m looking. I’m looking ! That is some rock, Dels. So how did James propose? Did he get down on one knee?’

‘Eventually. But there was a bit of a build-up.’ She grins. ‘He asked me on the final leg of our trek through the Himalayas. Funny thing was I had been in a strop with him that day, because after breakfast he pelted off at a fast pace and left me with the dawdlers. But as dusk came and the peak came into view I could see everyone in the front pack holding up a massive sign with the lyrics of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” followed by MARRY ME, ADELE!’ Then as I made my final climb to the top, James got in position and everyone serenaded me with the whole song. How romantic is that ? No prizes for guessing what retro classic I’m walking up the aisle to.’

‘“Smack My Bitch Up” by The Prodigy?’

She punches me in the shoulder a little harder than is necessary. ‘I’m obviously having “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell.’

‘I was only mucking about. Come here, you …’ I give her another hug. ‘Congratulations, Dels, you’re getting married!’

‘Yes, I am. I am engaged. I am going to get … maaaaaaaaaarried!’ she screeches, directly into my left ear. ‘Married. Married . Me? Me! Getting MARRIEEEEEEEEEED!’

I jump back. ‘Ouch, volume!’

‘Eek, sorry …’ Her eyes glaze over as she reties her scarf. ‘I guess it’s still sinking in.’

‘Of course, it is. We should go out and celebrate.’

She fans her cheeks with her hands, and watches as her ring glints in the light. ‘Not tonight, James and I are having supper with my parents … to tell them our news. We need to visit James’ foster family too, but they live in Leeds.’ She says this as if it would be more difficult to arrange a couple of days in the North of England than one of her month-long treks across another continent. ‘We’ll have to get something in the diary soon. God, there is so much to organise …’

As Adele chatters away I am distracted by Monday appearing in the doorway. He stares at me in utter bewilderment. Clearly, having heard me get home ten minutes ago he is now wondering why the hell I am not preparing his tea. If he owned a wristwatch he would be tapping it with a single claw. I tell Adele to come and talk to me in the kitchen.

She pads after me. ‘Anyway, if we’re aiming for a Christmas do, I’ll need to step on the gas to arrange everything in time. Twenty-four weeks is nothing.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, Dels. Bob Geldof organised Live Aid in less than that. At least you won’t have the added hassle of trying to perfect the most ambitious international satellite television link-up ever for a global audience of four hundred million.’

‘Very funny. I’m certainly going to need to be focused,’ she says, pouring herself a mug of her stinky brew. ‘On the plane yesterday, I had already come up with the idea of a winter wonderland theme … possibly at Burn’s … Luke could DJ … but we’d also have world music to encapsulate mine and James’ love of travelling … and possibly some sort of tribal entertainment. That was before the cabin crew had finished their safety demonstration. We hadn’t even taken off!’ She giggles, but a little uneasily. ‘Joking aside, Vivian, do you think ethnic drumming whilst canapés are being served is too much?’

I laugh and suck in a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’d be very careful with bongos, Dels. They really are the Nicki Minaj of the percussion world – quite fun for five minutes but they’ll do your head in any longer than that.’ I get a serving of organic goose and venison chunks in gravy out of the cupboard.

‘Ha! Okay, no bongos.’

‘Or children,’ I add. ‘Too distracting, noisy, messy, demanding and unpredictable.’

‘And an added expense.’ Adele nods. ‘Thank you, Vivian. That’s exactly the sort of solid advice I will be needing from my chief – and only – bridesmaid.’