Amanda's Wedding by Jenny Colgan Page B

phone book it had been scrubbed out furiously – although whether by me or Fran I couldn’t say – so I was stuck sitting there, still vainly tidying, till it rang.
    â€˜Hey there.’ Alex spoke softly. The tone of his voice made me soften.
    â€˜You’ve moved your stuff,’ I said.
    â€˜Well, there didn’t seem to be any point in hanging about. That flatmate of yours was giving me the evil eye.’
    â€˜Really, she’s cross-eyed. She was really giving me the evil eye.’
    â€˜Ah.’
    There was a pause.
    â€˜Did you …’
    â€˜I got …’
    We spoke simultaneously.
    â€˜I got the flowers. Thank you. They’re gorgeous.’
    â€˜I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, and I should have phoned you when I stayed at Charlie’s last night. I just don’t want to take anything too fast. But, you know, we’ve got so much time. To get back together. For everything.’
    â€˜I know.’ I sighed. ‘It would have been daft. Far too quick. Etcetera.’
    There was a silence, then he spoke tentatively.
    â€˜Friends again?’
    â€˜Just friends?’
    â€˜Oh no. And will you come and visit me in Fulham?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜Not even if I beg?’
    â€˜No, but you can try a bit of begging if you like.’
    â€˜Please!’ he yelled. ‘My darling Melanie, pearl and pumpkin of my life, take the immortal trip on the District Line and enter my realm of joy.’
    I giggled.
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜Tonight?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜So I’ll see you around six?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜Excellent. See you later then. Bring wine.’
    He put the phone down and I smiled to myself.
    â€˜â€™Oo’s that, your lesbian lover?’ said Cockney Boy.
    â€˜Yeah. Actually, it’s your mum.’
    â€˜Fuck off.’
    There was still Fran to deal with. I caught her at her house, or rather her bedsit. She lived sparsely, not far away from me in Kennington.
    â€˜Franster?’
    â€˜You’ve got your ingratiating tone on. Let me see: you want me to sponsor you on a round-the-world bike ride for badgers? You need me to donate some bone marrow? Or has Alex moved in with that creep Charlie and you haven’t done anything about it?’
    â€˜Ehmm … are those all the options?’
    â€˜Yup.’
    â€˜I’m sorry! I couldn’t, not for that! He wouldn’t understand! Oh, Fran, don’t make me …’
    â€˜God, what is this, Sophie’s Choice ? OK, fine. You want to go out with a wanker that lives with another wanker, then fuck it, that’s how it is, flowers or no flowers.’
    â€˜You know about the flowers?’
    â€˜What? Yeah, I got a big bunch, from Charlie. Odious little creep.’
    â€˜Ohhh. I got flowers from Alex.’
    â€˜How nice. They obviously bought them in a job lot.’
    â€˜Hmm. How big was your bouquet?’
    â€˜ENORMOUS. What about yours?’
    â€˜Average. Average to good.’
    â€˜Ha ha ha. Listen, bloody Amanda phoned me again.’
    â€˜Wow, now she’s falling in love with you.’
    â€˜She just wanted the gossip on Charlie. And she wants to know if we’ll help her pick out a tiara.’
    â€˜I’d rather eat my feet with a spoon.’
    â€˜Me too.’

Seven
    We were sitting in an All Bar One, after spending six hours with Amanda trying to choose a fucking tiara because her mother was in the Priory, a drying-out clinic so exclusive that Amanda managed to make it sound like an absolute honour to end up there, and her bridesmaids were all in Barbados or somewhere. Not only had I been forced to make admiring noises in Amanda’s direction as she tried on four thousand identical filigree things that cost more than I make in three months, I’d had to stop Fran from shoplifting out of delirious boredom. It had been a tiring day.
    â€˜So,