Bianca’s bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle, decorated with pink and purple flower stickers, pulls up outside my house.
Groaning, I release the thin curtain that’s covering my bedroom window and flop back down onto my bed. This is one of those times when I’m thankful that I never learned how to drive. She can’t be certain that I’m in if I haven’t got a car parked outside.
I hear her knock out a little tune on my front door and I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling the covers tighter over my head as though that will make her go away.
The sound muffles slightly but she is still knocking rather persistently.
I glance down at my mobile phone lying on my wooden bedside table. The time display reads four fifty-two. Bianca must have finished work, where I’m supposed to be. Of course, I rang up this morning and gave some vague excuse about being ill and have been in bed pretty much all day, too embarrassed to move.
Or too embarrassed to face Mark after last night. Why do I do these things to myself? What did I think was going to happen to my inhibitions after six drinks? Yes, I know the alcohol content is pretty low in a Bacardi Breezer but it is still Bacardi, isn’t it? And I am something of a lightweight when it comes to drinking. God knows how Bianca can knock back what she does at parties; she’s got a much smaller frame than what I have.
Just as I burrow back under the duvet, ignoring Bianca’s now thumping bangs against my door, my phone rings. The ringtone is currently set to my guilty pleasure: Spice up Your Life by the ultimate nineties girl band, the Spice Girls. I really ought to change that. Imagine if it went off in public or worse, if I forgot to put it on silent one day at work. I can already see the deep frown fixed on Suzy’s forehead if my phone was to start blasting such blatant pop music while I was working.
Obviously the person calling me is Bianca, wanting to know why I’m not answering the door since she knows I’m in. God knows how.
“I’m ill.” I add a brief, throaty cough to validate my statement but even gullible Bianca doesn’t fall for it.
“Let me in,” she growls. “You’re no more ill than when Granny Jenny tried to convince all my family that she had dementia.”
“But I’m in bed,” I protest.
“With what?” she mocks. “A hangover?”
Sometimes I swear she can read minds.
I sit up in bed and lazily lift the curtain again. Bianca is leaning against her car door, looking up at me.
“You know, I think you should have one of those fake rocks or something to keep a spare key in,” she advises.
I don’t bother pointing out that there aren’t actually any rocks in my tiny front garden so one on its own would look rather conspicuous. Especially with those kids hanging around over the road. They probably know all about where people keep their spare keys.
“I’ll come down and let you in,” I grumble, slipping my bare feet into a pair of pink fluffy bunny slippers (last year’s Christmas gift from Bianca).
Bianca bounds into my living room the moment she hears the key turn in the lock.
I follow her in and wrap my arms around myself in my comfortable loose pyjamas.
“So,” she begins seriously, sitting down on my three-seater black leather coach. I couldn’t afford the matching armchair or loveseat. She pats the space next to her and I reluctantly sit down like a naughty child awaiting punishment. “Why weren’t you at work today? Don’t tell me you’re ill because I spoke to your boss personally and he didn’t sound so convinced by your acting skills either.”
“You spoke to Mark?”
Bianca moves back a little, alarmed by my reaction. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
Flicking a thread of cotton off the shoulder of my PJ top, I say, “No, no. It’s not a problem. What did he say?”
She shrugs nonchalantly. “Just that you weren’t in today.”
“And that’s all?”
She scrutinizes my pyjama-clad appearance. “Why? What did you think he’d said?”
“Oh nothing, it’s just–“
“Is he something to do with why you’re off work?” she cuts me off.
“Of course not.” I giggle nervously.
“Tell me everything,” she demands.
Bianca’s skills are wasted as a nursery nurse. She should be a detective.
“I just had a bit too much to drink last night,” I explain.
She folds her arms across her chest. “And?”
“And…I decided to go and see Mark.”
“Oh my God!” she screams with delight. “Oh my God! What happened? Why are you avoiding him?”
“Well nothing really happened. It was just a kiss,” I say casually.
Casual isn’t really Bianca’s thing. She grabs my left hand and traces a loop around my ring finger.
“No!” I snap my hand back and raise my index finger in warning to her. “He’s still dating Janine and I’m still off men.”
She tilts her head to one side and shoots me a dubious look. “You still haven’t told me why you didn’t go to work today. You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”
“No, I did not sleep with him,” I tell her. “I just don’t want any awkwardness.”
“But you’ll have to see him eventually, Chloe.”
“I know that. It’s just…” I trail off, wondering whether I should tell her about the vomiting incident or not. I can live with a little awkwardness between me and Mark but total humiliation is another thing.
“I knew you liked him.” She smiles widely, proud of herself. “You need to tell him how you feel, Clo! Before Janine gets there first.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t.”
“What’s stopping you?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and fiddle with the buttons on my top.
“Chloe,” Bianca urges, “what are you not telling me?”
“Well I’ve already said I was a bit drunk…and I…Bacardi Breezers don’t really agree with me,” I say slowly, adding, “I’ll stick to vodka in future.”
“In front of Mark?” she asks, after she’s figured out what I’m talking about.
I nod without looking up at her.
“Okay,” she says. “That’s not the worst thing in the world, is it? Jeff’s held my hair back plenty of times before.”
“That’s different. Jeff’s your boyfriend and all Mark is to me is my boss who I’ll never be able to face again.”
“You can’t exactly hand your notice in over this,” Bianca points out.
“Maybe Janine will get the job anyway and I’ll get made redundant.” Suddenly the idea of losing my job is a whole lot more appealing.
“Oh, come on.” Bianca rolls her eyes dramatically. “You won’t find another job like that. You don’t want her to get it, do you? And anyway, you’ll still need to speak to Mark.”
“Can’t I just stay in bed for a couple more days?”
Bianca shakes her head firmly. “This is too important, Clo! Who knows how fast Janine works? He could propose to her tomorrow!”
I lift my brow. “And you think it’s a good idea for me to intervene?”
“Trust me, men are stupid. Mark has no idea that any of this is going on. You need to tell him how you feel.”
I don’t say anything to burst Bianca’s happy love bubble but, the thing is, I’m not too sure how I feel. What if it really was just a kiss?
YOU ARE READING
Pear Shaped
ChickLit~Chicklit short story contest finalist~ For Chloe Mills, her life starts to go pear-shaped when she turns thirty. Her boyfriend has just left her and soon even her job as a personal shopper at a department store is threatened by recession. Can Chloe...
