The Faking Game, page 5
‘Well, hey there, miss,’ he says, in his terrible accent, with a playful smile.
‘Can you knock that off, please,’ I insist.
‘Sorry about the hot water,’ he says, assuming that’s why I’m annoyed. ‘I had a shower earlier. I meant to hit the boost button before you came home but I didn’t think you would be back so soon.’
‘Yeah, you said,’ I reply. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Were you planning on going out tonight?’ he asks.
‘Going out? Where would I be going?’ I reply, almost suspiciously. Does he want me to go out, to get me out of the way?
‘Oh, I don’t know. I just thought maybe you had plans,’ he replies. ‘That you might be having a bath to get ready to go out.’
‘No,’ I reply, a little too quickly perhaps.
I watch as Millsy seems to attempt to analyse me with his eyes. It’s as though he can tell something is up, but can’t quite put his finger on what perhaps.
‘Are you seeing someone?’ he asks, but then he quickly backtracks. ‘Look, Cara, if you’re seeing someone, that’s okay. You don’t have to hide it from me. We’re not together any more and I’m a big boy.’
I pause for a second. I just, wow, I don’t know. He sounds so… okay with it all. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s almost as though he wants me to move on. Wait, does he want me to move on? Is this his way of encouraging me, or letting me know that he has moved on? I glance back across the open-plan room to where Tally is sitting, her comments about Millsy’s tongue echoing in my brain. Is something going on between them?
‘So you’ve taken me having a bath and turned it into that I’m seeing someone?’ I reply, scrunching my face at my own confusing choice of words. I’m not even sure that makes sense, but he knows what I mean. ‘It doesn’t sound like you care much.’
‘I’m just saying, it’s a while since we split, if that’s what you’re doing, I’m not going to say anything,’ he insists, trying to calm things down.
My God, why does it seem so much like he wants me to move on?
‘Millsy, if you want me to move on so badly then fine, I’ll do it,’ I reply. ‘I hope it makes you happy, now go back to your lesson, before your teacher tells you off for slipping back into Sean Bean.’
Sean Bean isn’t even from the same part of Yorkshire as us, but my point is made.
‘Cara, I didn’t mean…’
‘Honestly, just go back to your lesson,’ I insist. ‘I think it’s time I moved on too.’
Millsy sighs and heads back to Tally.
I mean, I don’t really think it’s time I moved on, but perhaps Millsy needs to see me moving on and realise what he’s missing – or, I suppose, if we aren’t going to get back together, then the sooner I get back on the horse the better, because if I remember right you have to kiss a lot of frogs (or pretend you can’t because you have a cold sore coming, you can just feel it) before you meet a prince.
So moving on, or going through the motions of moving on, is what I’ll do.
Sadly, I only know one way to do it…
6
One of my all-time strengths has to be that, even when I’m not running late, I’m constantly thinking of ways to ensure I’ll be running late later. Absolutely fantastic trait to have, I must be a dream to know.
It’s the day of our friends’ wedding – Peri and Connor, one of the couples from our boardgame group – and even though I knew I should be getting ready, I just couldn’t stomach listening to Millsy and Tally over the breakfast table. Look, I can’t say for sure that they’re flirting, and they are working on his accent, but they’re clearly having so much fun with it, and given that I’m not a part of it, and don’t know what half of what they’re saying means, it feels like their own little secret club that I’m not a part of. Prolongation and diphthongisation? What? It reminds me of when my brother and I used to speak in Pig Latin so that our parents didn’t know what we were saying. I feel like I’m getting a taste of what that must have been like for Mum and Dad and, I have to say, it’syay eallyray issingpay emay offyay.
So, with some Christmas presents that I ordered online to collect from town (I know, I know, bah, humbug!), I made my excuses. Even the thought of sharing a taxi with them made me throw up in my mouth a little, so I told them I would have to meet them there. I just can’t believe that all of a sudden we have to cart this random woman around with us – and I really, really can’t believe Peri and Connor were happy to add her to the guestlist last minute.
This wedding has been a pain in my arse since day one. Peri and Connor are our friends, and I love them, but what is it about weddings that makes people take the piss? It’s hard enough when people set dress codes – and even restrictive colour schemes – and then expect you to go out and buy all new specific stuff just for one day, but Peri and Connor have taken things a step too far.
Like us, the happy couple loves puzzles and games and, as such, decided that it should play a big part of their wedding day, so after the ceremony (which is for close family only) we’re all heading to the reception at some old English country house, for a murder mystery-themed party. Each to their own, and I always do my best to accommodate any wedding outfit requirements (apart from that time Auntie Mary suggested I lose weight so that I could fit into a bridesmaid dress), but we were all given really specific characters to dress up as.
While we were assured not to worry, we wouldn’t have to source our own outfits, we should simply send our measurements to the wedding coordinator who would make outfits for us, we did still have to pay for them ourselves. So Millsy was cast as a gangster, with his outfit being some kind of 1920s mob boss suit, and his outfit turned up just fine. I, on the other hand, was cast as a French maid, and my dress turned up with a hole in it. It’s okay, though, because I sent it back, and Peri said it was being couriered here this morning, and that she would have an outfit for Tally to wear too. She said it was a case of the more the merrier, as far as bringing Tally along goes, but you’ve got to wonder how many people RSVP’d yes to this.
With my hair and make-up good to go, I head into the living room to find my dress but there’s no sign of it. I assumed Millsy would have signed for the delivery for me while I was out, because it should definitely be here by now.
I hurry into the bedroom and grab my phone from its charger. I find the wedding coordinator’s number and hover my finger over it. I was told to call her, if there were any problems, but only if it was absolutely necessary. To me, no outfit is absolutely a necessary reason to call, otherwise the biggest mystery at the wedding is going to be the disappearance of my dress, and why I turned up in my normal clothes.
‘This better be good,’ the coordinator answers eventually.
And hello to you too.
‘Hi,’ I say, not as able to cut to the chase as easily as she is. ‘It’s Cara Brooks, my outfit for Peri and Connor’s wedding was supposed to be delivered this morning, it doesn’t seem to have turned up.’
‘Wait,’ she says – is she talking to me?
I give her a few seconds and I’m about to open my mouth when…
‘It says delivered and signed for,’ she replies. ‘It might have gone to the wrong address. Have you checked with your neighbours?’
‘Not yet,’ I say. ‘What if they don’t have it?’
She sighs.
‘I could—’
‘Do you know Dresstination on Headingley?’ she interrupts.
‘I do,’ I reply.
Anyone who has ever done an Otley Run pub crawl knows the fancy-dress shop in Headingley.
‘Right, I’m going to call ahead, and have them put you one aside, they’ll let you change there,’ she says. ‘Luckily a French maid is one of the easiest outfits to find – you’re not unique at all.’
I frown to myself.
‘Right, okay, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I’ll get going.’
The wedding coordinator hangs up without saying goodbye. Then again, she is probably busy.
I throw on a tracksuit and book myself a taxi. So now I need to go to Headingley first, which is on the other side of Leeds to where I am supposed to be going, but I don’t have much choice, do I?
I hurry down to the taxi and give him my instructions. The driver laughs when I say that I’m going to a wedding via a fancy-dress store – until she realises I’m not joking, and then she laughs even harder.
Why do I have a bad feeling about this?
7
As I step out of the taxi, the majestic English country mansion comes into view, its grandeur only accentuated by its wintry surroundings. It’s a beacon of warmth and light on an otherwise dark and gloomy day.
The air is crisp but the weather is otherwise okay – no snow to trap me here, or ice for me to stack it on as I walk towards the door, so that’s good.
I am no sooner greeted at the door when I am invited to check my coat. I really, really don’t want to surrender my coat, but what choice do I have? As I remove it and hand it over, I notice the hostess’s eyes widen, only for a split second before she snaps back into professional mode, but I definitely spotted it. It’s not like I can blame her, though, I would probably react in a similar way, if I saw someone in an outfit like this standing in front of me at a wedding. I suppose I should be thankful, that the wedding coordinator was able to arrange an outfit for me at the last minute, but that is the problem with it. It’s not just that it’s very cheap, low-quality material – but know that it is – it’s more the fact that this particular French maid’s outfit is more like the kind you would find in an adult store – short, tight, and low-cut. It’s very risqué, to put it politely, and something that might be more appropriate for a more intimate setting, but it feels completely wrong (in so, so many ways) for a wedding.
‘The bar is through there,’ she instructs me. ‘Drinks are being served while we wait for the bride and groom to arrive.’
‘Fab,’ I say, trying to muster up a smile.
As I head for the bar, I catch my reflection in a large gold-framed mirror. God, it’s worse than I remember it looking when I tried it on. The black dress clings to my body, mapping out my figure in detail, and the hemline is a touch too short for comfort. I tug at the fabric, a last-ditch attempt to try to make it cover more skin, but it doesn’t work.
I hover at the door. Okay, so I look like a stripper, but I’m probably overthinking it. Everyone here is in costume, everyone probably feels a bit daft. I’m not really going to stand out, am I?
Here goes. It’s showtime.
As I enter the room, it’s as if a spotlight is shining on me, my outfit seemingly drawing everyone’s attention. It’s one of those cliché record scratch moments, where conversations pause and music stops playing but I could be imagining that last part.
I mentally beg the earth to crack open and swallow me whole, but nothing happens. The room quickly returns to its lively chatter – probably when they realise I’m not actually a stripper, so nothing to see here, and so I make my way over to Millsy and Tally. The first thing I notice is that Tally is dressed as a French maid – one that covers all her bits and pieces, so she’s got me beat there.
Millsy raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by my attire.
‘Cara, what… what are you wearing?’ he asks, baffled but mildly amused.
‘Oh, this old thing?’ I joke. ‘This is the emergency French maid’s outfit I had to pick up from a fancy-dress shop, because mine was supposedly delivered and signed for this morning, but I couldn’t find any sign of it at home.’
‘No, well, only one outfit arrived, so we assumed it was the last-minute outfit for Tally, and that maybe you had gone to collect yours, and… oh.’
I feel my cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and a little bit of anger.
Tally chuckles, her eyes twinkling mischievously as we all come to the same realisation.
‘Oh, hon, I think there may have been a mix-up. I’m guessing this outfit was meant for you and mine never showed up. I thought it felt a bit roomy on me.’
I bite my tongue.
‘You’ve always been great at turning heads,’ Millsy offers up with a smile.
‘And you’ve never been good at staying in vocal character,’ Tally ticks him off. ‘Come on, now. If you want to go down an octave it’s going to take work.’
‘I didn’t realise it was going to hurt my oesophagus so much,’ he replies – then he realises he’s still speaking in his own accent, so he tries again. ‘I didn’t realise it was going to haaaa—’
Stunning.
‘Millsy, can I have a word with you?’ I ask. ‘In private.’
‘Sure thing,’ he says, sounding like Borat for absolutely no logical reason. It’s almost as though his vocal cords are panicking.
My annoyance rises to the surface as I enter the next room with Millsy. This is supposed to be our friends’ wedding, a special occasion for us all to celebrate, and here I am, feeling like a bystander in my own life. And to make matters worse, Tally is here, dressed in my outfit, and standing by Millsy’s side as if she belongs there.
I realise we’re in the wedding reception room so I don’t venture much further inside than just through the doorway. Millsy grabs a couple of welcome drinks from a server to bring with him. He hands me one before removing the glacé cherry garnish from my glass and dropping it in his, because he knows I don’t like them.
For a moment I just stare at him, hoping he’ll take the lead, that he’ll say something that makes me feel better about all of this.
‘What’s wrong?’ he eventually says, as though he has no idea what on earth I could possibly be wanting to talk to him about. He’s using his own voice, at least.
‘What’s wrong?’ I repeat back to him. ‘What’s wrong is that I can’t believe Tally is here, wearing my outfit, acting like she owns the place – or like she owns you, at least. This is our friends’ wedding, their big day, we’re not on the set of a movie.’
‘Cara, come on,’ he replies, frustrated. ‘You know we have to get the accent right, you know the situation. It’s not like we planned for all of this to happen this way.’
The fact that he’s even pointing that out makes me suspicious.
‘But over Christmas?’ I reply. ‘When we’ve got so many plans, so much going on, so much we need to talk about…’
‘I know it’s not ideal, but my entire career is riding on this, you understand that, right?’ he says. ‘This is all I’ve got going for me, I need to put all my eggs in this basket – where else am I going to put them?’
I want to say I will happily take his eggs, and give him mine, but that doesn’t make a tonne of sense, and I can’t exactly ask him to bail on his career for me. I haven’t been doing that for him. I went to LA with him, for his first movie, but then when it was back to reality I got back on with work, began working on the app, and when that started taking up a lot of my time, that’s when we realised we were going to have to try the long-distance thing for a while. I didn’t entertain abandoning my career to go with him, and he didn’t ask me to. There’s nothing I can say.
‘I know that,’ I reply. ‘But, come on, she’s using my bath, she’s wearing my clothes, she’s your bonus plus one to the wedding. It’s weird.’
‘The Cara Brooks I know doesn’t worry when another girl uses her bath,’ he points out. ‘Come on. And she’s not wearing your actual clothes. You hate that outfit.’
‘I hate this one more,’ I say, frantically gesturing up and down my body with my hands, as though that somehow helps me prove my point.
Millsy goes to run a hand through his hair, like he always does when he’s stressed, but stops himself when he remembers that he’s got it slicked back for the wedding. He’s always had long-ish hair but he’s growing it longer to play Billy Gill, so he’s having to keep the length twisted up in a low bun. It’s grown quite a lot, since I saw him last. He looks so different.
Ruby, a friend of Millsy’s from before I met him, always tells me about how he used to wear a topknot, back when they were trendy. She tells me they were serial daters, only out to have a good time, in what they call their ‘young and stupid’ phase, but then Ruby got married and Millsy wasn’t far behind her, wanting to settle down. I know it sounds silly but something about his hair longer again, seeing this ghost of Millsy past, I don’t like it. I don’t like what it signifies.
‘I know I sound like a kid but… it’s Christmas,’ I protest.
‘You’re right,’ he replies. ‘You do sound like a kid.’
Ouch. I can’t do this right now, so I try to leave, pushing past him.
‘Cara, wait,’ he insists, obviously feeling bad, reaching out to take my arm but I shake him off.
We collide with some kind of easel with a thick framed photo standing on it, or it was until we knocked it off.
Millsy is down like a shot, picking up the frame as I return the easel to its standing position.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not broken,’ he reassures me as he picks it up.
‘It sounds broken,’ I reply.
We both peer inside, behind the perfectly intact glass, to see where the noise is coming from.
‘Oh, God,’ I blurt as my eyes finally figure out what they’re looking at.
It’s a jigsaw puzzle – well, it used to be. Although I suppose it is still a jigsaw puzzle, it’s just no longer a completed one. Some chunks have held together but others haven’t. I’ve no idea how many pieces I am looking at.
‘Shit, it looks like the seating plan,’ Millsy says.
‘Shit,’ I echo back at him. ‘We’re going to be in so much trouble. When Peri and Connor find out they’re never going to speak to us again.’
‘If they find out,’ he replies.
‘Well, they’re definitely going to notice,’ I point out.
‘Unless you put it back together,’ he adds. ‘Come on, you’re a puzzle master. I’ve seen you make short work of any jigsaw put in front of you.’
‘Yeah, for fun, with a picture for reference, without the worry that the happy couple is going to walk through the door any second…’
