Sitting Pretty Read online

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The music was thumping. From the moment we stepped out of the taxi, I could feel it vibrating up from my feet, through my entire body. At least it was music I recognised. I’d half expected an eclectic mix of techno, rap, garage, funk, and house, none of which I was into, and quite possibly none of which was even played any more. Looking at all the notice boards adorning the entrance, however, I realised that Wednesdays were 80s nights. I was so glad Katya had insisted on going out on the night of her actual birthday and not waiting a couple of days until the weekend. Although, if I knew Katya, there’d probably be some hard partying going on from Friday night through to Monday morning.

  ‘Woo-hoo!’ Katya and Natalia chorused. ‘Time to party!’ They tottered towards the entrance in their six inch heels while I struggled to keep up in my three-inchers, my one pair of shoes that weren’t flat and dog walk friendly.

  ‘Good evening, ladies,’ the doorman cast the two Eastern European beauties an approving once-over. He ignored me – less tall, less leggy with a lot less flesh on show – completely.

  ‘Katya Radanovich,’ Katya shrieked over the music. ‘Party of twenty-two … ’

  ‘Birthday party,’ added Natalia, pouting for good measure. I could see I was in for a night of watching the handbags if these two and their friends were going to spend the whole evening on the pull.

  A smiling waiter came over and we were shown to a corner of the outside seating area overlooking the Port of Southampton. There were Reserved signs on the low tables, balloons with Happy Birthday on them tied to the cushions of the curved divans and a few strategically placed outdoor heaters. Some of Katya’s friends from outside work were already there, a three quarters empty Russian Standard vodka bottle and some half-eaten dishes of nuts and olives on the table in front of them.

  ‘Katya! Preevyet!’ one of them cried out and they all stood up to greet the birthday girl, all long legs, short skirts, teeny tiny waists, and huge hair. ‘Dobriy vyecher!’ was the only greeting I recognised – good evening.

  A second bottle of Russian Standard appeared on the table with a couple of ice buckets and a few mixers. I could have murdered a glass of wine, but it seemed everyone was drinking vodka and I didn’t want to be the odd one out. As it was, I was the only Brit in our party so far. I hoped the girls from work weren’t going to be much longer. No one was speaking a word of English now.

  A bag of presents appeared from the side of the divan and Katya fell on them excitedly. A pair of huge, gaudy earrings were the first gift she opened. I thought they looked like something Pat Butcher would have worn on EastEnders, but Katya seemed to like them.

  ‘Spaseeba! Bal’shoye spaseeba!’ she yelled over the music. I knew spaseeba meant thank you. I guessed bal’shoye didn’t mean they’re horrible and you obviously hate me to have given me these but …

  ‘Hey!’ A voice I recognised shouted over my shoulder. ‘How did I know this would be the most glam table in the whole place?’ Daisy, the new girl who’d almost lost Bubbles the poodle, appeared with a man I didn’t know. ‘Happy Birthday, Katya!’ She kissed Katya on both cheeks. She’d given Katya a pretty pashmina before we left the office, in the same colour as the bag I’d given her.

  ‘Hi, Daisy,’ I hoped I didn’t sound too relieved at finally having someone else to talk to. It wasn’t that the Russian girls were unfriendly, they were just excited to celebrate their friend’s birthday and to them, I was the foreigner who didn’t speak their language.

  ‘Hey, Beth! How’s it going?’ she gushed. ‘This is Nick. Nick, this is Beth from work. She’s the one who stopped me getting the sack when that poodle ran off on my first day.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Beth,’ Nick smiled. ‘Is it just vodka, or is there any beer?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I looked around our party. ‘I’d prefer a glass of wine myself. I’m not really a spirit drinker.’

  ‘I’ll go to the bar and get us some drinks,’ Nick offered. ‘Daisy?’

  ‘I fancy a cold glass of white,’ Daisy looked at me. ‘Beth?’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Sauvignon Blanc if they have it. Thanks.’ Nick made his way towards the bar. ‘You’ve got him well trained,’ I told Daisy, thinking Alex would have clicked his fingers and expected to be waited on. I shook the thought out of my head. This was Katya’s birthday and the first time I’d been on a proper night out without Alex, probably since I’d started going out with him. He wasn’t a fan of girls’ nights out. In fact, back in London, whenever we’d gone somewhere and there’d been a hen party present, we’d turn round and leave. If he’d been here rather than in Dubai now, I probably wouldn’t have come here tonight – he wouldn’t have stopped me, but it would have been easier not to.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Daisy asked me, touching my arm.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I smiled back at her.

  ‘Missing Alex?’

  ‘Oh … you know …’ I mumbled. I’d have to come up with something better than that to say whenever anyone asked me about my errant husband.

  Daisy was looking very 80s Madonna tonight. Or was it Cyndi Lauper? Her normally swingy ponytail was fluffed to within an inch of its life and had lots of little plaited bits and ribbons in it. Her makeup was much bolder than usual and she was wearing a cute pair of lace gloves. I wished I’d known about the 80s thing, not that I really had anything suitable for it.

  The rest of the girls from work arrived along with more of Katya’s friends and our corner suddenly felt very crowded.

  ‘I got you a bottle,’ Nick yelled over the music, clutching a tray and edging his way out of the heaving crowd. ‘Made more sense than going back and forth with glasses.’ He put the tray on the table. ‘It’s Chilean, hope it’s all right.’

  ‘Mmm, lovely,’ Daisy picked up the bottle and looked at the back label. ‘Attractive, fragrant nose,’ she read. ‘A tropical fruit salad, with underlying typical Sauvignon Blanc aromas of fresh cut grass.’ She grinned at me. ‘I think they should have stopped while they were ahead, after tropical fruit salad.’ She poured the wine. ‘Cheers!’

  Nick clinked his Stella bottle with our glasses.

  ‘It’s starting to get lively,’ I commented.

  Katya’s friends were all gyrating to David Bowie’s Let’s Dance. Their arms all seemed as long as their legs.

  ‘I wonder if they do requests?’ Daisy looked at Nick, who winked back at her.

  ‘The first time I saw Daisy,’ he explained to me, ‘was at an 80s night. She and her mates were dancing to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.’

  ‘Ah,’ Daisy ruffled his hair. ‘It was love at first sight, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. That and the back of your ra-ra skirt being tucked in your knickers!’

  ‘No!’ I chuckled as Daisy blushed.

  ‘But they were very nice knickers.’

  ‘Stop it, Nick!’ Daisy cuffed him, playfully, round the head. ‘Or I’ll ask for Prince Charming and make you do your Adam Ant impression.’

  At that moment Kool and the Gang’s Celebrate came on and the three of us were swept up in the dancing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Katya, Natalia, and the other girls were shrieking with laughter as I pushed, pulled, and persuaded them into the back of our taxi, thankful there’d been a people carrier available. Come to think of it, though, the birthday girl and her compatriots never seemed to have any trouble finding taxis. Climbing into the front and apologising in advance to the driver, I gave him Katya’s address. I didn’t blame Daisy and Nick for not coming back with us. I wouldn’t have been coming back with us if there had anywhere else for me to come back to.

  Behind me, the girls were laughing their heads off and singing something that was probably the Russian equivalent of Four and Twenty Virgins went down to Inverness. I just concentrated on looking out of the window and pretending I didn’t know them.

  When we reached Katya’s address, ge
tting them out of the taxi with what was left of their dignity intact was nigh on impossible. Both the taxi driver and a loved-up couple walking along feeding steaming hot chips to each other out of a paper cone were treated to the sight of highly toned upper inner thigh. And there were enough flashes of Natalia’s red lacy knickers to get us all arrested. Though I suppose I should be thankful that she was wearing any at all.

  ‘Nazdorovie!’ Katya waved an imaginary glass at the driver. As if he and the whole street didn’t already know she was drunk.

  ‘Nazdorovie!’ joined in the other two, clearly not wanting to be left out.

  The driver sped off and I started herding them into the front door of her building. It was like herding cats and I couldn’t wait to get inside and get my shoes off.

  ‘Nazdorovie!’ Katya grinned and gave me a mock salute.

  ‘Yep, Nazdorovie to you too. Come on,’ I cajoled, steering them towards the lift. ‘There’s nothing to drink down here.’

  That worked. They staggered into the lift and I pressed the button for Katya’s floor before anything else could stop us. I was shattered. It was gone half past three and my first appointment tomorrow, on Natalia’s behalf, was supposed to be at eight o’clock. All I wanted to do was get them behind Katya’s front door before they upset any of her neighbours, though if they were male they’d probably be more than forgiving.

  Katya dropped her key as she tried to get it in the lock. I picked it up, let us all in, and locked the door. While Katya made straight for the kitchen, no doubt to get vodka and glasses, I headed down the hallway to the spare room. The bed was such a welcome sight, I could have just pulled the cover over me and fallen asleep, but I knew how rough I’d feel in the morning if I didn’t take my makeup off and have a large glass of water before going to bed. I grabbed my sponge bag and went to the bathroom.

  When I came out, the one girl who’s name I didn’t know was weaving her way towards Katya’s bedroom. I went and got a glass of water from the kitchen and found Katya spark out on the sofa, mouth open, half full tumbler in her hand. I peeled her fingers from around it and put it on the coffee table. Natalia was nowhere to be seen.

  I drank my water, filled the glass again, and took it back to the spare room. The light was off. Did I do that? I turned it back on and was greeted with the sight of Natalia, shoes still on, sprawled face-down, diagonally across the bed.

  ‘Natalia,’ I tapped her shoulder. Nothing. ‘Natalia!’ I wasn’t as gentle the second time. It didn’t make any difference. She was out cold. I couldn’t believe it – both of them, loud as you like one minute and comatose the next.

  Then I remembered the other girl. I went to Katya’s room and there she was, spread-eagled across Katya’s bed. I tried to wake her. She might as well have been dead. And the way she was lying, there wasn’t even a corner for me to curl up in.

  I went back to the room I was supposed to be sleeping in. The lovely bed looked so comfortable, but it was only a single. There was no way I could squeeze onto it with Natalia there. Cursing my goody-two-shoes need to take my makeup off, I switched off the light and left her to it. Those precious seconds in the bathroom and kitchen had cost me a place to sleep.

  All I’d wanted for the last few hours was to come back and get into that lovely bed. Now I just wanted to cry.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Twenty-five past seven found me folded like a badly arranged concertina on an armchair that had clearly been designed with style in mind rather than comfort. In fact, going by the rest of the furnishings in the room, it might actually have been made for looking at rather than sitting on – Katya’s parents had certainly thrown plenty of money at their daughter’s home, but I doubted they’d spent any time in it.

  Tired as I’d been, it had taken me ages to grab any kind of sleep. I’d spent what felt like hours doing that bum shuffle you do on a budget flight, when your seat back won’t recline and you just can’t get comfortable. I had briefly considered lining the bath tub with Katya’s fluffy cranberry-coloured towels and sleeping in there, but the thought of any of the girls coming in to use the loo during what was left of the night had put me off. And now my phone was bleeping at me to wake up and make me go and walk dogs who’d spent the night in fleece-lined dog beds. I wondered if any of them would mind if I nudged them over and got in with them. That had to be a new low, when a hairy dog bed started to look attractive.

  I tiptoed as quietly as I could into the spare room to retrieve my sponge bag and clean clothes without waking Natalia. Why I was bothering I don’t know, as she was snoring like a fog horn in the very bed she’d pinched from me. Half of me wanted to get a couple of saucepans from the kitchen and bash them together next to her head – the nicer half made me pick up my things and tiptoe back out. Then I cannoned into the locked bathroom door. The low groaning noise coming from inside told me that a shower wasn’t going to be possible. This staying over at Katya’s really hadn’t gone to plan. A comfy, and more importantly, legitimate bed for the night followed by a decent hot shower had turned into a cricked neck and back, which was now going to be followed by a quick brush of the teeth at the kitchen sink. I supposed this was karma for my misdeeds.

  My eight o’ clock appointment was with the Doberman pinscher Natalia was currently walking five mornings and five afternoons a week. Apparently Mr DP worked away during the week and Mrs DP had broken both her wrist and her ankle and so couldn’t walk him herself. I’d offered to see to him this morning as I’d known Nat would be in no fit state to control a large animal. I instantly regretted my kindness as it leapt up at me, paws on shoulders – mine, not his – and started barking in my face while pushing me backwards in an awkward kind of tango. I felt like a contestant on Strictly Come Dancing who’d forgotten the routine and had ended up with a very bad-tempered partner with halitosis, shouting the steps out loud as the dance stumbled across the floor.

  ‘Oh, do get down, Wendell,’ a harassed-looking middle-aged woman, hanging on to the door handle with the arm which didn’t have a plaster cast on it, admonished him. Fair enough, he did actually get down, although not until I’d inhaled enough of his breath to decide that Natalia owed me almost as much for this as she did for nicking my bed last night.

  ‘Hello,’ I breathed out. ‘I’m Beth …’

  ‘Sorry about Wendell.’ She opened the door wide enough for me to get in. ‘He gets very excited at meeting new people. He jumped up at Natalia to begin with but he’s good as gold with her now.’ She handed me Wendell’s lead, turned her head to him, and told him to be a good boy for me. He gave her a look that said ‘Yes, of course I will. I’m lovely. I’m the most obedient dog in the whole wide world’, and me one that said ‘Don’t you believe it, sweet cheeks – that tango was just me warming up. You wait ’til we’re round the corner – you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, lady.’

  I’d thought Bubbles was a wilful so and so, but at least he only weighed about half to a third of what this beast must weigh. He nearly wrenched both my arms out of their sockets as we got to the entrance to Wintertown Park and near to what turned out to be his favourite tree. It seemed the next port of call on his agenda was the lake.

  ‘Stop, Wendell!’ I yelled as he careered towards it. I could see us both ending up doggy paddling among the ducks but he stopped just short of it, at a litter bin by one of the dozen or so benches dotted around it. The tops of my thighs slammed into the bench and I nearly went flying over the top like a cyclist who’d braked too hard on the front wheel. Natalia was going to be in for some good old-fashioned Anglo Saxon English when I caught up with her. I bet I could teach her a few words she hadn’t come across before.

  ‘You all right there?’ A ruddy-faced man on the next bench along, smoking a pungent brown cigarette, was watching me over the top of his Lymington Times. He looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

  ‘Fine thanks,’ I gasped, unwinding myself from my own bench while Wendell, tail beating from side to
side like a short, sturdy whip, buried his face in the treasure trove of the bin. ‘Come out of there, Wendell,’ I commanded. The only reply I got was the tail whipping even harder.

  ‘Bet he’s found the remains of someone’s burger,’ the ruddy-faced man nodded at the bin. That was all I needed, for this damn dog to eat something that would make him throw up while I was in charge of him.

  ‘Wendell!’ I did my best Barbara Woodhouse impression. The tail just went into an even bigger frenzy.

  ‘You want to watch he doesn’t eat something that disagrees with him,’ Mr Ruddy Face continued his running commentary. I must have looked like I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. Especially as that was the moment Wendell chose to drag his haul out of the bin. Out he came, with a mangled, yellow polystyrene takeaway fish and chip carton attached to his face. As he dropped it on the ground I could see the end of a congealed saveloy and a handful of hard chips. He grinned at me with his eyes over the top of the carton, as if daring me to even try taking his prize away from him and promising me the paso doble to end all paso dobles if I was daft enough to try.