The Big Five O. Jane Wenham-Jones

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ they turned to for mental arithmetic, ‘is around the 20^th July, so that would work. She looked at Sherie. ‘Are you OK with it being so long before yours?’

      ‘Absolutely! I can be smug. I’ll still be forty-nine.’

      Sherie was smiling but Roz thought she looked anxious too. She was playing with a strand of her hair the way she used to at school when they had an exam looming that neither of them had revised for. Roz knew that for all the lightness of tone, that Sherie was the one struggling the most with her impending big birthday.

      ‘Yes, well you’re married and have children,’ Sherie had said sharply, when Charlotte had said that personally, she didn’t give a fig about age, wrinkles or being menopausal.

      ‘And I’ll be young for one more week!’ put in Fay. ‘I think that timing will be perfect for me – I’ll have just about got over the hangover when you all come round for cake.’

      ‘Cake!’ Charlotte’s eyes lit up. ‘Now what do we think? Are cupcake towers a bit passé – how about a profiterole mountain?’ She settled herself deeper into the cushions. ‘One of my clients had a sort of waterfall wedding cake with all these fish leaping down it – hundreds of them in different coloured sugar. They gave each guest one to take home. It was amazing – she’s got pictures up on Instagram if you want to see.’ Charlotte grinned. ‘It cost two grand.’

      ‘Lunacy,’ said Fay dismissively, as Roz shuddered.

      Roz knew that if she said anything about being worried, Charlotte would pay. Charlotte had settled the bill in the wine bar last time, picking up on Roz’s unease as the evening wore on and the bottles kept coming, automatically being as kind and generous as she always was. ‘I’ve just had a fat commission,’ she’d said casually. ‘Let me.’

      Charlotte always seemed to have just landed a lump of money – her one-woman estate-agency-come-house-styling enterprise was booming. Word was getting around that Charlotte could secure top prices for homes in Thanet – often from well-off city-dwellers looking to relocate, referred to locally as the DFLs (Down from London) – and her bold, de-cluttering approach to getting the property ready for sale was going down a storm.

      ‘Are you manic as well?’ Charlotte asked Fay now, as the empty cups were cleared.

      Fay rolled her eyes. ‘Crazy. April’s always busy but we’re working flat out.’

      Charlotte nodded. ‘Did a woman from Waldron Road contact you? Place stuffed with antiques – I told her you were the best in the business.’

      ‘Yes, thanks – I’m quoting tomorrow. Going to Sevenoaks. Thrilled with you. Thought you were bloody marvellous.’

      Charlotte laughed. ‘Even though she ignored most of my advice. You’ll have your hands full moving her.’

      ‘Can’t be worse than Sir Wotsit with his grand piano …’

      Roz felt her usual pangs of inadequacy. There was Fay with her removal business and a dozen men working for her, Sherie with her jet-setting life as an art consultant, Charlotte with not only her own success but Roger bringing in a ton as a corporate lawyer. And then there was her. Single mother, lowly gallery assistant, struggling to find her council tax let alone the French school trip Amy had set her heart on …

      ‘You OK?’ Sherie was looking at her.

      Roz nodded as Sherie turned to the young man who’d arrived with a tray. ‘Have you brought soya milk?’

      Roz saw Fay roll her eyes.

      Charlotte was still talking. ‘I’m thinking of taking someone on to help with the practical stuff – especially as I’ve got a couple of empties. I haven’t got time to keep lighting flaming candles and changing the flowers–’

      ‘I’ll do it!’ Roz heard the squeak in her voice. ‘I’d enjoy that,’ she added, trying to sound casual. ‘If it would help you out …’

      Charlotte beamed. ‘Really? God that would be fantastic – I’ve been worrying about how to find someone I could absolutely trust. Even with half the stuff in Fay’s storage, the contents in the North Foreland house are still worth a bloody mint. It’s just a case of opening the windows, changing the perfume oils, maybe a little light dusting–’

      ‘I can do that.’ Roz breathed deeply, not wanting to sound desperate. This could be the answer to everything. She met Charlotte’s eyes. ‘I was thinking of looking for another small job …’

      Charlotte nodded. ‘I would be very grateful.’

      Roz exhaled slowly. Charlotte was lovely like that – making it sound as if it were she, Roz, who was bestowing the favour. Charlotte knew things were tight for her but she didn’t know how bad it had got.

      Fay was rummaging in her handbag. ‘Fag?’

      Charlotte rose majestically to her feet, and stretched out her neck, pushing back her curls again. ‘I think so!’ As they both headed for the door, Fay’s tall angular frame dwarfing Charlotte’s much shorter, rounder one, Roz looked at Sherie.

      ‘How’s things?’ she said lightly.

      ‘I’m off to the States next week. Some hot young artist in Brooklyn is the next big thing and I’ve got three clients after him, and then I’ve got Mum coming at the weekend–’ She shook her head. ‘You know what she’s like – I’m not sure I can cope. And I’ve had a stream of builders round giving estimates, because I really am going to get the fireplace knocked out–’

      Roz put a hand on her arm.

      ‘Sticks?’

      Sherie shook her head.

      ‘Nothing.’

      It was their joke. Sherie was gorgeous. All blonde hair and cheekbones and glossy lips – she spent more on facials than Roz put by for the gas and electricity bills combined – with a fantastic figure. ‘You should be beating them off with sticks,’ Roz had once said. Yet Sherie’s relationships never lasted more than a few months. She’d been internet dating on and off for years but never seemed to meet anyone with that special spark.

      ‘Too damn picky,’ Roz had heard Fay say. Roz knew it was more than that, but certainly Sherie had an exacting set of criteria. Mr Right had to be a good-looking, highly intelligent, kind but appropriately macho, tall, liberal cat-lover who shared Sherie’s taste in music and films, with a penchant for salad. The last hapless applicant for the role had been despatched in short order when it was revealed that he did not fully appreciate the beauty and brilliance of Cillian Murphy in Peaky Blinders and also took three sugars.

      ‘A sort of possible on Meet-your-match,’ Sherie said now. ‘But listed one of his interests as junk food. I really can’t be doing with–’

      ‘It may have been irony,’ interrupted Roz. ‘Or he might be writing a dissertation on the subject. You can’t dismiss someone before you’ve even met him, just because he might like the odd Big Mac.’

      ‘Hmmm.’ Sherie pursed her lips. ‘Charlotte’s putting it on again, isn’t she?’

      ‘She looks the same to me.’

      ‘She СКАЧАТЬ