Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

‘Mwah mwah.’ Imelda clutched her now, air-kissing both cheeks and looking overjoyed to see her. ‘Quick, take your coat off and I’ll buy you a drink. You’re missing out on all the fun ... I’ve just met the most gorgeous chap ...’

It was still weird, though. Definitely weird.

But having been promised by Eddie that this year’s Christmas Eve party at Brunton Manor would be the best ever, Dulcie had felt obliged to turn up. Her half-hearted attempt at an excuse had been briskly squashed by Pru.

‘Don’t be silly, of course you’re coming,’ she had scolded. ‘And don’t give me any rubbish about wanting to avoid Liam because he won’t even be there. He’s skiing in Zermatt.’

In the end Dulcie had decided to make the best of it. Sometimes you just had to put on your party face and best frock, drum up a bit of enthusiasm and go for it. Maybe – who knows? – if she tried hard enough, she might end up having a good time after all.

It was already ten o’clock; she was one of the late arrivals. Pausing at the entrance to the packed ballroom, Dulcie surveyed the throng. Imelda, having barged on ahead, was over at the bar buying drinks and flirting outrageously with a huge fair-haired rugby type. All the bar staff were wearing furry antlers. The ballroom had been decked out in silver and white and the DJ was wearing a Father-Christmas-meetsJean-Paul-Gaultier fur-trimmed red PVC cape and matching jockstrap.

The dance floor bulged with guests leaping around like lunatics to Slade’s ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’. Bellowing out the few words they knew, they were clearly well away.

Dulcie felt horribly sober. She hoped Imelda was getting her a large one.

Pru, spotting her from the dance floor, came over and gave her a hug. The difference with real friends, thought Dulcie, was their kisses actually touched your cheeks.

‘Thank goodness, I thought you weren’t coming,’ Pru yelled above the noise.

Dulcie smiled. ‘Oh no, I’m here. With my new best friend.’

Pru glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of Dulcie’s brief nod. Imelda was making her way towards them with two glasses held triumphantly aloft.

‘Hmm. Just so long as you don’t forget your old best friends.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Dulcie’s tone was dry; Imelda had phoned her up three times in the last week.

‘She’s single, I’m single. She’s only doing it because she’s desperate for someone to go around with.’

‘Here we are!’ Imelda plonked a brimming glass into Dulcie’s hand. ‘Cheers! Look, I’ll be back in a sec, okay? That dishy guy over at the bar’s just asked me to dance.’

Dulcie wondered if a grown man sporting a bow tie that lit up and spun around like a Catherine wheel could ever truly be described as a dish.

‘Is that the gorgeous one you were talking to earlier?’

‘No, I’ve lost him.’ Imelda shrugged and grinned. ‘Never mind, this one will do nicely until ‘I find him again.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘He’s a doctor, too. Dreamy or what?’

‘I bet he’s a porter,’ said Dulcie. ‘Porters always tell girls they’re doctors.’ Unable to resist the dig, she added, ‘What did the other one tell you he was? Airline pilot, polo player or something in the SAS?’

Imelda wrinkled her nose.

‘Bit of a disappointment, actually. He said he was unemployed.’

‘I spoke to Liza this afternoon,’ said Dulcie when Imelda had sashayed off. ‘Couldn’t persuade her to come along. She’s driving down to Devon tonight, spending Christmas and New Year with her parents.’

‘And Eddie and ‘I will be up in Manchester with his family over the New Year,’ said Pm. ‘I mean, I’m looking forward to it, but it won’t be the same. We’ll miss our usual get-together.’

She looked worried. ‘I feel awful, as if we’re abandoning you. What will you do this year, made any plans yet?’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,’ Dulcie said firmly. ‘If she isn’t off playing doctors and nurses, I’ll go out with Imelda. Or if ‘I really want to have fun,’ she added with forced cheerfulness, ‘I can work a double shift in the pub.’

Eddie came up to them, grinning and waving a fax. He kissed Dulcie and give the fax to Pru to read.

‘How are you, darling? Oh dear, I know I shouldn’t laugh, but this just came through from Zermatt.’

‘What is it?’ asked Dulcie curiously as Pru began to giggle. ‘It really isn’t funny.’ Eddie tried hard to sound severe. ‘Poor Liam—’

‘What is it?’ demanded Dulcie, making a grab for the sheet of paper.

‘He sent it from his hospital bed. He’s in traction,’ said Pru. ‘Apparently he fell off a ski lift and broke both his legs.’

‘I told him skiing was dangerous,’ said Eddie, ‘but he assured me he was an expert. He said only people who were unfit had accidents.’ He shook his head, brushing away tears of laughter. ‘I told him only idiots slide down mountains on skis. Lazing around on a hot beach – now that’s my idea of a holiday.’

Until that moment, Dulcie had cheered up. Now she experienced a pang of misery.

‘That’s what Patrick’s doing right now. He’s in Bali,’ she struggled to sound normal, ‘with Claire.’

Pru frowned.

‘I don’t think he is.’

‘Well, somewhere like that. Bali ... Barbados ... somewhere hot and exotic. Not Skegness,’

Dulcie added bitterly, ‘that’s for sure.’

‘No, I mean ‘I don’t think he’s away. He phoned me this morning. Asked me if you were going to Roger and Abby Alford’s party tonight.’

‘Roger and Abby Alford?’ Bewildered, Dulcie said, ‘I haven’t seen them for years!’

‘Well,’ Pru shrugged, ‘I said no, anyway. ‘I told him you were coming here.’

Imelda was still on the dance floor, all but undressing her dishy doctor. Dulcie bought herself another drink and found a wall to lean against; she picked abstractedly at the polish on one of her thumb nails and tried without much success to ignore the horrid lurching sensation in her stomach.

It had come as a shock, discovering that Patrick had actually reached the stage where he wanted to avoid her. Pretty obviously, he was only prepared to go to the Alfords’ party if he knew for sure that she wouldn’t be there.

I’ve really lost him now, thought Dulcie miserably. He doesn’t even want to be friends any more.

‘Cheer up, it might never happen.’

‘Oh fuck off.’ Dulcie didn’t even bother to look up. She was studying her thumb nail, with its unattractive picked-off burgundy polish. Really, tonight was turning into one disaster after another.

‘Dulcie!’ exclaimed the voice, half-amused, half-shocked, and this time she recognised it.

She gave Rufus a hug. He was looking somewhat out ofplace in his blue woolly sweater and a pair of worn-at-theknee fawn corduroy trousers, but his eyes were bright and he was evidently delighted to see her.

‘I’m sorry, I thought ‘I was about to be chatted up by a prat.’ Dulcie smiled and touched his bristly cheek. ‘You’re growing your beard back! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I know, hardly my scene. Some friends dragged me along.’ He sounded abashed. ‘And now I look an idiot. I must say, I didn’t realise it was going to be quite so smart.’ He indicated Dulcie’s jade-green satin dress and added admiringly, ‘Not like you, of course. You look fantastic. I’d ask you to dance, but I’d only show you up.’

He was right. Over his woolly shoulder, Dulcie saw a group of Brunton Manor regulars — a particularly snotty group — nudging each other and smirking. She took Rufus’s hand and led him past them, saying loudly as they went ‘... darling, that’s the whole point of being a multi-millionaire, you can get away with wearing anything you like.’