‘What’s this, girls’ night out?’ Jo said, a little peeved. She was in a cashmere top and skinny jeans. ‘You could have warned me.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘So what’s the occasion?’
‘Today is my two hundredth birthday.’
‘Oh, God, Gem, you’re the bloody limit. I haven’t got you a present or anything.’
‘No probs. Buy me a drink instead.’
‘A bottle of fizz?’
‘I won’t say no to that.’
‘Is anyone else coming?’ She was already wondering why Rick wasn’t in the party.
‘Only Brad Pitt and Hugh Grant.’
Be mysterious, then, she thought. ‘Which one is mine? Can I put in a request for Liam Neeson?’
Gemma giggled. ‘The tall, silent type. Yes, we know about you. How was last night, by the way?’
The question she’d been expecting. ‘Okay. And yours?’
‘Better than okay.’ There was no doubt what Gemma’s eyes were saying.
‘I knew he wouldn’t keep you waiting much longer.’ This was going well, the emphasis on what Rick had been like.
‘How do you know it wasn’t me keeping him waiting?’
‘Put it this way,’ Jo said. ‘You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
Gemma gave a hearty laugh. ‘A stud, darling, a rampant stud.’
‘Attagirl.’ The moment to steer the talk away from last night’s intimacies. ‘You did go to Jongleurs? Who was playing?’
‘Some boy band just out of nappies. Very noisy. Rick seemed to think they were hot. His taste isn’t the same as mine. I’ve never thought any band was hot since Duran Duran.’
Jo enjoyed this disclosure. ‘You were one of the new romantics?’
‘A fully paid up member of the tribe. Batwing jumpers, peroxide fringe. I could do it all again, no probs.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it.’
‘How about you? Did you do the dressing up thing?’
‘You bet I did.’
‘Stop,’ Gemma said. ‘Let me guess. You were a goth. Dreadlocks and ripped fishnets.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Tell me, then.’
‘Studded belt, pixie boots, and lycra leggings.’
‘God help us, Jo! Who were you following, dressed like that? ’ ‘Depeche Mode. Still do on the quiet, but I don’t wear the gear.’
They were silent for a while, indulging in nostalgia, and only jerked out of it when the hovercraft hit a larger wave.
‘The sea’s getting up,’ Jo said. ‘If it gets any worse we could be spending all night on the Island.’
‘I know. The forecast isn’t great, but sod it, this is my birthday.’
‘I still can’t believe you kept quiet about that for so long.’
‘At my age you do, ducky.’
‘Did you get any cards at all-apart from the one from the Queen, of course?’
‘Aunt Jessica always sends. She’s nearly eighty and lives in Singleton.’
‘Where I work.’
‘Is that where your garden centre is?’ Gemma said. ‘I never even knew one was there. Shows how much I care about gardening. My aunt’s quite an expert, though. She’s got a dinky little cottage garden like the cards she sends, all hollyhocks and roses. Funny old dear. Wears a hideous pink hat, indoors and outdoors.’
Jo smiled. ‘I think I might know her, then. Would her name be Miss Peabody?’
‘Sweet Jesus! You’ve met Aunt Jessica.’
‘She’s the bane of our lives. Comes in every day and points out the plants that are ailing.’
‘Brilliant. That’s my Aunt Jess. Small world, huh?’
‘Don’t you have any close family?’
Gemma shook her head. ‘My parents died young and so did my kid brother Terry.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m well-adjusted. Or, as they say in the office, a hard bitch.’
‘No cards from your workmates, then?’
‘I wouldn’t want one from that bunch of tossers and they wouldn’t bother anyway. I’m too stuck-up for them. They’ve got their teeth into more meaty stuff, what with Fiona being murdered and the boss going AWOL. We’ve all been questioned.’
‘What’s going to happen to the business?’
‘Don’t know. All I can do is make sure we complete the current orders.’
‘You’re wishing Mr Cartwright was back?’
‘He won’t be.’ She sounded definite.
‘But if you lose your job over it?’
‘I’m pinning my hopes on someone taking us over. There are plenty of print firms in the area.’
At Ryde, they went for a drink in the first pub they reached. Jo asked if she should order the birthday champagne, but Gemma said later would be better. She was still being mysterious about what was to come.
Some men at another table started trying to get attention by spinning beer mats and shouting. They weren’t bad-looking and they weren’t teenagers either, but Gemma showed no interest. When one of the mats landed on the table she tossed it back without a glance at them, provoking hoots of derision.
‘Let’s go,’ she said to Jo.
‘It’s a bit of fun, Gem.’
‘We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’
Outside, Jo remembered another saying: Better a small fish than an empty dish. This didn’t seem the time to mention it.
They went for a pizza.
‘I may as well tell you. We’re meeting Rick,’ Gemma said.
Great, Jo thought. What am I doing here, playing gooseberry?
‘Anyone else?’
‘No. You’re the two lucky campers I want to be with on my birthday.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ she lied. ‘Why didn’t Rick come on the hovercraft with us?’
‘Sally.’
She had to think. Sally was Rick’s Sunday lunch date, that older woman he insisted on seeing. ‘He’s still at it?’
‘Don’t know what you mean by “at it,”’ Gemma said. ‘She cooks for him, that’s all.’
If she really believed that, she’d believe anything.
‘It’s been going on for years. One of those arrangements you can’t suddenly end without hurting feelings.’
‘Have you met her?’
‘Wouldn’t want to. A right little Mary Poppins, by the sound of her.’
‘So what time are we meeting Rick?’
Gemma looked her watch. ‘About an hour. Make your margarita last. We don’t want the embarrassment of getting there first.’
A short taxi ride brought them to the secret venue, a spanking new nightclub on the seafront called Cliffs-and nothing to do with Sir Cliff, Gemma confided. Even so, the people who thronged the entrance didn’t look right. They weren’t straight out of school. They were grown-ups, more like first nighters in the West End than clubbers.
‘First we find my prize stallion,’ Gemma said, ‘and I see him. Over there by the palm tree.’
‘Can that be real?’
‘The palm or Rick? They both look plastic to me.’ Gemma shrieked at her own wit. She meant to enjoy her birthday.
Rick was in a new leather jacket and was carrying a gift bag that was obviously expensive chocs. He knew what the occasion was.
‘Before we go in,’ Gemma announced after they had all kissed, ‘this is my treat, guys. I brought you here and I know what the tab is.’
It was a good thing she warned them, because it cost a ton a head to get in. No wonder the teenagers weren’t there in force.
‘Who’s playing, Madonna?’ Rick said to Jo while Gemma was keying in her PIN number. ‘Did you see the ticket price?’
‘Don’t rock the boat,’ Jo muttered. ‘The birthday girl planned this.’
Inside, the smell of fresh paint competed with the perfumes worn by the clubbers. Complimentary cocktails were being handed out by gorgeous creatures wearing peacock feathers and little else. The heavy beat of retro rock music beckoned from across the carpeted foyer.
Jo noticed some of the new arrivals being taken aside to a sales area where hip clothes and shoes were on offer. It seemed there was a dress code for the men. Suits and chinos were out, designer drainpipes and T-shirts de rigeur. The girls were treated more indulgently. Gemma had been right about smart casual. The skinny jeans did nicely, and it was only right that the birthday girl had the party frock.
They collected drinks and moved inside, where a DJ was emoting about the acts in prospect, including a stand-up comic. Basically, the dance area was dark and huge, even the lighting upmarket compared to clubs Jo had seen before. A guitar band started playing and with a whoop of joy Gemma grabbed Rick and Jo and drew them into the fray. The tempo was just right for this early stage of the evening.