“Well, don’t! You’re constantly trying to undermine me. Isn’t she, Alicia?”
Suze’s eyes are glittering, and she looks so hostile, it’s as if something inside me snaps.
“You know what, Suze?” I cry out. “Why did you even ask me to come on this trip? In L.A. you said you needed me, so I dropped everything. I was glad to! But you don’t seem to want my companionship or my opinions or anything I have to offer. All you care about is Alicia. And, by the way, guess what, she’s been lying to you!”
I didn’t mean to blurt that out. But now that I have, I feel an almighty satisfaction.
“Lying?” Suze’s eyes darken in shock. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, lying! You told me you both stayed in all evening last night?”
“We did.” Suze glances uncertainly at Alicia.
“Alicia didn’t! Who were you meeting in the lobby of the Four Seasons at midnight, Alicia? And before you deny it, Danny saw you.” I throw this out with relish and sink back, folding my arms. At last. Alicia is totally exposed as a liar.
Except she doesn’t look exposed. She doesn’t blush, or seem embarrassed, or drop her glass with a clatter, or do any of the things I would do.
“I was meeting a private detective,” she says coldly.
A what?
“Naturally, I’ve been using my own resources.” She shoots me a withering look. “However, I didn’t want to let Suze know I’d drawn a blank, in case it discouraged her. So thanks, Becky, for ruining all my efforts.”
There’s a long and prickling silence around the table. My head’s all hot and fuzzy. I can’t believe Alicia’s come out on top again. What is she, a witch?
“Do you have anything to say, Becky?” Suze asks, and she sounds exactly like my headmistress did when I started the whole “bring your teacher a clothes item” craze (which I still think was a good idea).
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring down, exactly as I did back in Mrs. Brightling’s study.
“Right. Well.” Suze finishes her coffee. “I think we’d better move on.”
From: dsmeath@locostinternet.com
To: Brandon, Rebecca
Subject: Re: It’s all going wrong
Dear Mrs. Brandon,
Thank you for your email. I am most sorry to hear of all your difficulties.
We have indeed known each other a long time, and you are very welcome to “pour your heart out” to me. I am flattered that you think of me as “a wise old counselor, like Father Christmas” and will do my best to advise you.
Mrs. Brandon, for what it is worth: I suggest perhaps you try to bond a little more with Ms. Bitch Long-legs. Lady Cleath-Stuart has clearly allied herself with this woman. If you set up in the opposite “camp,” you risk losing your friend. Find points of common interest and take it from there. I’m sure that with your ingenuity, you can do so with considerable effect.
I do hope your trip progresses with success and that you find happiness with your friend again.
Yours sincerely,
Derek Smeath
NINE
Derek Smeath is so wise. He’s always given me good advice over the years, which I really should have followed a bit more. (Or, you know. At all. Especially that time he told me not to take out any more store cards for the free presents. I never did use that set of heated rollers.)
So as we’re heading out of Vegas, I decide this time I will follow his advice. If I have to bond with Alicia Bitch Long-legs to keep Suze’s friendship, then I will. Somehow. I’ll just have to channel Pollyanna and focus on all of Alicia’s plus points. I’ve even googled ways to bond with co-workers you don’t like and have got some useful tips like find a common hobby and give them an affectionate nickname. (Although how will I ever find a nickname to top “Alicia Bitch Long-legs”?)
By now we’re speeding along the freeway. I edge toward the table and benches where Alicia and Suze are sitting. Mum, Janice, and Danny are perched on the little sofa along with Minnie, and they’re playing bridge. (They work it so Minnie is “dummy” every time, which is quite clever. The only thing is, Minnie has her own set of cards and keeps plonking them down and saying, “My trick,” and trying to scoop up all the other cards.) Meanwhile, Elinor has stayed in Las Vegas to “rest” for a few days, and I really don’t blame her. Your first-ever hangover is always a shocker. I should think hers will last about a week.
Either side of us are wide desert plains, with mountains in the distance, and I feel a thrill every time I glance out of the window. I mean, this is a view. This is scenery. Why can’t England have anything like this? When I was a little girl, Mum and Dad used to say, “Look at the lovely scenery, Becky!” and they were talking about three trees and a cow. No wonder I couldn’t get excited and preferred reading Debbie and Her Magic Sparkle Dress.
As I approach the table, Suze looks up—and for an awful moment I think she’s not going to shift up and make room for me. But after an awkward beat, she does, and I sit down, trying to appear normal. Like we three always hang out together. Like we’re old mates.
“I really like your top, Alicia,” I say awkwardly. I’ve decided the quickest way to ingratiate myself is to compliment her. It’s a totally boring top, but that’s not the point.
“Oh.” Alicia gives me a wary look. “Thanks.”
“And your hair,” I add randomly. “I love your hair. It’s so shiny.”
“Thanks,” she repeats shortly.
“And…er…your perfume.”
“Thanks,” she says yet again. “It’s the Golden Peace blend.”
“Well, it’s really gorgeous on you, um…Ali,” I try self-consciously.
As soon as I’ve said it I realize Alicia is definitely not an Ali. She turns, startled, and I can see Suze gawping at me too.
“Ali?”
“I mean…Lissy,” I amend hastily. “Does anyone ever call you Lissy? It suits you. Lissy. Liss.” I give her a friendly little squeeze of the arm, which really doesn’t work.
“Ow!” She glares at me. “No, they don’t. And please leave my arm alone.”
“Sorry,” I say, and quickly cast around for more compliments. “You’ve got a really pretty nose! It’s so, um…” I swallow, playing for time. What can you say about a nose? “I love the way your…nostrils go,” I hear myself saying feebly.
Argh. I love the way her nostrils go?
Suze is giving me a very strange look, which I pretend I can’t see, while Alicia has turned to survey me with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, I get it,” she says. “I get what you’re doing. You want the number of my plastic surgeon, don’t you? Well, you’re not getting it.”
What? I stare at her in bewilderment. Plastic surgeon? What?
Oh God, this is hopeless. Let’s forget the compliments. And the nicknames.
“So, tai chi!” I say brightly. “Is that good? Should I try it?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it would suit you,” says Alicia. “You need to be able to control your mind and body.” She gives me a patronizing smile and flicks a glance at Suze.
“Oh.” I’m trying not to feel too snubbed. “OK. Well—”
“So, how many bedrooms, did you say?” Alicia cuts across me, resuming the obviously much more fascinating conversation she and Suze were having before.
So much for bonding. Total fail. And what’s so interesting about bedrooms, anyway? Why is it some people will always bring the conversation back to houses and house prices and how they can’t decide whether “feature” wallpaper is over, what do I think? (OK, that last one is just Mum. I keep telling her, I don’t know anything about feature wallpaper.)