Irritable bowel syndrome, functional abdominal bloating, constipation, and diarrhea can be distinguished by symptom-based diagnostic criteria. consequently, they....
‘Are you almost done with that paper, Sophia?’ Ted asks, sidling up to my desk.
‘Yep,’ I chirp, glancing up. ‘Just proofreading the last page.’
‘Great! Well, pop it on my desk when you’re done.’
‘Will do.’
I bury my head back in the paper. Right. One last page and then I’m out the door. It’s only just coming up to lunchtime but I booked the afternoon off to prepare for Lyn’s party tonight. I should have finished the paper already, but Tom’s been frantically texting all morning about everything, from whether I remembered to put the jellied eels in the fridge (I mean, what does he take me for?) to whether he ought to wear his black shirt, ‘a classic, but possibly a bit boring’ or the paisley John Rocha one he doesn’t really like but that Lyn got him for his birthday (I told him to go with the black classic). And then on top of all of that, I’ve had Daniel messaging, asking if I’m ready to talk. I texted back and told him I’d call him this evening since I figured that after a few drinks, with a bit of Dutch courage in my system, the whole conversation might not be quite so triggering, as Tom put it.
I race through the last page of the paper, scanning each line, before finally, I’m done. I print it out and head over to Ted’s desk.
‘Here you go, Ted. Read it and weep,’ I joke, getting the Friday feeling.
Ted laughs, rolling his eyes indulgently as he takes the paper. ‘Ah, bowel disorders. My favourite.’
‘Little Friday treat for you, enjoy.’
‘Oh, I will. I will,’ Ted says in a low, creepy voice.
I let out a laugh and simultaneously shudder as I head back to my desk, where I turn off my computer and collect all the bits and pieces I’ve been buying for Lyn’s party during lunch break shopping excursions over the past few weeks. There’s the box of Turkish Delight I picked up from Waitrose the other day, because I know Lyn loves Turkish Delight. And then there’s the cardigan with the embroidered flowers I spotted that I thought would make a good birthday present. And well, basically, there are just a few things I’ve collected. I quickly stash them all in my bag and say goodbye to Ted and Sandra, before heading out the door.
As I’m walking down the corridor, fretting over whether Lyn’s going to like her cardigan, it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve left her birthday card in my desk drawer.
Sighing, I dash back to the office but as I push open the door, a flurry of movement catches my eye. I look over towards Ted’s desk to see Sandra lifting herself off his lap, the two of them clearly pulling apart from an embrace. An embrace!
I stand there in shock. Speechless. They glance awkwardly at one another and me, their cheeks reddening.
Finally, Ted breaks the silence.
‘Err… Sophia, sorry you had to see that. It wasn’t very professional,’ he says.
I’m still too stunned to speak. Very professional? It’s not about it being professional or not, it’s Sandra and Ted. Ted and Sandra! It’s just wrong, on so many levels, professional or otherwise.
I look searchingly at Sandra, whose cheeks have gone beetroot. Her eyes are fixed on the carpet and she seems unable to meet my gaze.
‘Sandra…’ I utter.
She glances up guiltily and straightens her cardigan. Had Ted been feeling her up under the heavy wool? I shudder, repressing the thought.
‘Sorry. We were going to tell you,’ she mutters.
Tell me? Tell me what? This can’t be an actual ‘thing’? Surely this is just some kind of accident? Two people who haven’t got laid for a very long time, sort of falling into each other’s arms.
‘But… What about that guy? The one from eHarmony?’ I remind her, completely confused.
‘It was Ted,’ Sandra says in a small voice, glancing affectionately at him.
‘Ted? Ted?!’
Ted clears his throat.
‘Yes! I filled in the personality test on eHarmony and well, the site matched me with Ted. It turns out we’re a 97% match!’
Sandra looks over at Ted and they exchange a disturbingly smitten look. I’m still stunned. Ted? With his dandruff and his oversized clothes and his chin stroking? Ted?!
‘We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks. I was going to mention it the other day but when it came down to it, I was just too embarrassed,’ Sandra admits.
‘Thanks, Sandra!’ Ted pipes up.
‘I wasn’t embarrassed about you, darling. More about the whole “dating the boss” thing!’
Darling?! Did she just call him darling?
‘Oh, “the boss” thing.’ Ted raises a suggestive eyebrow at Sandra, which is definitely my cue to leave.
‘I err… just forgot something.’ I head over to my desk.
Sandra hurries after me.
‘Are you okay, Sophia?’ she asks as I rummage around in my desk drawer.
‘Yes!’ I say brightly. ‘Of course,’ I add in a squeaky voice, turning my attention to my drawer, where the birthday card is tucked away somewhere among old papers.
I rifle clumsily through them, trying to find it as quickly as possible so I can get away from this office of sin. I still can’t get my head around it. Ted and Sandra? I mean, Ted and Sandra?! There are so many questions I want to ask, and yet simultaneously don’t really want to know the answer to. Has she always had a soft spot for Ted? How can she overlook the dandruff? Isn’t it a turn-off? Or does she just not touch it? Is this some extremely regrettable fling or are they actually serious about each other? Because I mean, it’s Ted, if she’s serious about him, then what does that mean for me? I’ll become gooseberry extraordinaire. A walking talking cock block – a constant reminder to my colleagues that they can’t get jiggy in the office. Do I want to be a cock block? Do I? I reach to the back of the drawer and finally land upon the card.
‘Oh, here it is!’ I declare, grasping at it.
Sandra regards me with a concerned expression. But what am I meant to do or say? I can’t exactly speak my mind with Ted still sitting at his desk, awkwardly pretending to read something on his monitor.
‘Are you sure you’re okay? I really am sorry you had to see that that,’ Sandra says in a hushed voice.
‘Yep, I’m fine. Fine!’ I lie. ‘It’s just, it’s Ted!’ I tell her, under my breath.
‘Now do you see why I didn’t want to bring him to Lyn’s party?’ she comments as I slide the card into my handbag.
‘Oh, of course…’ Suddenly, I remember how shifty and inexplicably awkward she got when I suggested she bring her new man along. It all makes sense now. Of course, she wouldn’t have wanted to bring Ted - our boss and God Almighty, her lover - to Lyn’s party.
‘It’s okay, I get it. Sorry, I just need some time to get used to…’ I gesture between her and Ted, ‘this…’
‘Of course.’ Sandra nods understandingly.
I glance pointedly at my watch. ‘Well, I’d better go. So much party prep to do! Haha!’
Ted looks over, fixing me with a strained, robotic smile. In truth, there’s plenty of time for party prep, I just need to get away from this situation.
‘Oh, okay… Well, see you on Monday,’ Sandra says.
‘Yep, see you!’ I give her a tight hug. As my arms close around her woollen-clad shoulders, an image flashes unbidden through my mind of Ted tearing her cardigan off in a fit of passion.
‘Are you okay?’ Sandra asks, causing me to realise I’ve shuddered.
‘Of course!’ I insist. ‘I’m fine!’ I smile tightly at her, as another grotesque image of her and Ted having sex flits though my mind, like a scene from a horror movie. What’s wrong with me? I need to get out of here.
‘Bye, Sandra. Bye, Ted,’ I call out as I hurry out of the office.
‘Bye Sophia,’ Ted replies as I dash into the corridor and peg it out of the building.
Could life be any weirder right now? I wonder as I walk to the tube station. I’m a sordid Cinderella fetish to a stuck-up posh boy who lives at The Shard and meanwhile Sandra’s main squeeze is Ted. TED?! With his dandruff and his punctuation manuals. With his blueberry muffins for elevenses and his obsession with catheters. It’s so bizarre. Surely Sandra could do better than Ted? Surely there were other guys, who were 98% matches or something? How can it be that she fell for the weirdo punctuation Nazi from the office? Did she just get really desperate or has she always had a secret flame for him? Perhaps this budding romance has been slowly simmering away all this time and I’ve simply never noticed.
I reach the station and swipe my Oyster card against the barrier, still deep in thought. Maybe, since Sandra’s new to dating and hasn’t had any action for a while, if not ever, she’s had a momentary lapse of judgement, I reason as I descend down the escalator. Yes, that makes more sense. The world is starting to slot into more reasonable configurations the further away from Ted and Sandra I get. It’s not that Sandra actually wants to be with Ted, it’s probably just a fling, the kind of thing that in a few months’ time, she’ll have banned me from even referring to. It’ll be known as The Affair Which Must Not Be Named. She’s probably just experienced some sort of weird mind-bending hormonal impulse, most likely brought on by Betsy’s pregnancy. Yes, that’s it. On a sub-conscious level, I bet seeing all those wriggly little hamster babies has awoken a subconscious impulse to mate. Poor Sandra.
I reach the platform and get on a waiting train. I grab the overhead rail and my thoughts return to the scene in the office, but it starts to make me feel nauseous as the train judders through the underground. I need to stop thinking about Ted and Sandra. I need to think about something else. Something important. Like the biscuit selection I got for tonight. I’ll arrange them on a big serving plate in the shape of a rainbow. Lyn will love that.
My phone buzzes as we emerge from the tunnel. A text from Daniel. I sigh. Every time I think of him, I think of what Cleo said about him being nicknamed ‘Prince Charming’. I imagine a gang of his mates, hanging out on the deck of a yacht in the Algarve or something, coming up with that stupid nickname while ribbing him about his chavvy dates. I think of the poncey way he always sweeps his curls out of his face, as if to draw your attention them at the same time as getting them out of the way. I mean, if he really doesn’t want to look like Robert Pattinson circa the Twilight days, there are things he could do. He could dye his hair, cut it, dress differently or something. But it’s almost as if he enjoys the attention. As if he secretly revels in the comparison. It’s so tragic, I realise reluctantly. Perhaps he actively seeks out that second-hand fame?
No… That’s too pathetic. A seat frees up on the tube so I sit down and start reading a paper someone left behind. I need something to distract me from the horrible thoughts racing through my brain today. But as I scan through the pages, death and conflict isn’t really cutting it. I’d almost rather be thinking about Sandra and Ted kissing. Actually, scratch that. I turn my attention back to the newspaper. Maybe death and conflict weren’t so bad after all.
Finally, the train arrives at Lewisham and I get off and head to the community centre, bypassing the hubbub of schoolchildren loitering about on the streets. I reach the centre and walk down the path leading to the front door, which is lined with garden gnomes. Could it be any more twee? I smile to myself as I head inside to find Tom standing on a stepladder in the centre of the hall, surrounded by bags of decorations, as he attaches a mirror ball to the ceiling. He glances over his shoulder as the doors swing shut behind me.
‘Sophia!’
‘Hey Tom!’ I hurry over, taking in his gelled hair and crisp black shirt, which is so new that you can see the overly starched folds where it was pressed in the packaging.
‘One minute.’ He latches the mirror ball onto a fixture.
‘There we go,’ he says, giving it a spin before climbing down the ladder.
‘You’re looking smart!’ I tell him as I pull him into a tight hug, breathing in a waft of his familiar Vivienne Westwood aftershave.
‘Hmm…’ Tom looks me up and down as we pull apart. ‘Wish I could say the same.’
‘What?!’ I glance down at my black shift dress and dowdy lilac cardigan. Okay so it’s not exactly my best outfit, and it’s a far cry from all the sleek new clothes I left at Daniel’s place, but I look presentable-ish.
‘I am planning to change, you know,’ I huff.
‘Thank Christ, you look like a frigid librarian in that,’ Tom teases, eyeing my cardigan with derision.
I scoff. ‘You’re not one to talk, Mr Fleece Sweater.’
Tom chuckles, gesturing at his near-shiny polyester shirt. ‘I don’t see no fleece,’ he says grinning.
‘It’s in your bag though, isn’t it?’ I tease.
‘Maybe.’
I laugh, scanning the hall. Tom’s already arranged some of our pound shop food on half a dozen tables he’s pushed together to create a buffet area. There’s cheese puffs, pork scratchings, crisps, Jaffa Cakes, jam roly poly cake, everything Lyn stands for basically, apart from the jellied eels and all the other nibbles which are still at my flat.
‘It’s looking good, Tom!’ I comment as I unload the Turkish delight and a few other goodies from my bag, adding them to the buffet.
‘Cheers. Still so much to do though!’ Tom frets. ‘You got a cake, didn’t you?’
‘Yep, actually a friend with expertise in cake-baking has made one.’
‘Really?’ Tom looks taken aback. ‘Well, don’t you have friends in the right places,’ he jokes.
‘Indeed, I do!’ I tap my nose and tell him all about Chris and the cake.
‘Sounds brilliant, Soph.’ Tom smiles tightly as he glances at the clock on the community hall wall. ‘But you’d better go and get it. The party’s just over three hours away and there’s still so much to do.’
‘Okay.’ I look over at all the bags, which are overflowing with bunting, balloons and streamers. ‘Are you going to be okay putting up all this stuff?
‘Yeah.’ Tom shrugs. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Alright.’ I give him a quick hug goodbye and head back out of the hall.
‘Don’t forget the tinsel!’ Tom calls after me.
‘I won’t!’ I call back as I hurry out the door.
As I power-walk home, I go over all the food and decorations I’ve bought, making sure there isn’t anything I’ve overlooked. I pass Lyn’s house and glance at her front room. The light is off, which means she’s probably in the kitchen having a cup of tea and reading the paper, or she’s upstairs having a nap. Little does she know that in a few hours she’ll be the centre of attention at her own surprise party. I smile to myself at the thought as I head home.
Once I’m back at the flat, I put the TV on in the background and crack on with sandwich prep, making dozens of neat little finger sandwiches with different fillings: cucumber; cheese and ham; egg and cress; smoked salmon and cream cheese; and tuna mayo. I lay them neatly onto five separate plates, while half-watching a programme about a high-flying City couple relocating to the countryside. I get so wrapped up in the show and the task, which becomes almost meditative, that the intercom startles me when it suddenly sounds. It must be Chris! Which means, it must be 6pm! I check the time display on the oven. 6pm, already! The party’s in just over an hour. I wash egg mayo off my hands and run over to the intercom to buzz Chris up before dashing to my bedroom to check how I look. My hair’s a little wild but I run a brush through it and attempt to tie it into a neat ponytail, when there’s a knock at the door. Slipping the hair tie around my wrist instead, I go to answer it.
‘Hey!’ I pull open the door to find Chris standing before me holding the largest Tupperware tub I’ve ever seen.
‘Hey Sophia.’ Chris smiles and the skin around his eyes crinkles adorably, as always. I give him a friendly hug before peering into the Tupperware at the layers of sponge inside that we planned to decorate together.
‘Wow!’ I remark. ‘They look great! Come in.’
‘Thanks,’ Chris comments as he walks into the flat, surveying the property show playing on the TV, the cushions scattered on the sofa, the arty prints on the walls and the fairy lights trailing around the windows.
‘It’s so cosy!’ he says as he places his Tupperware down on the kitchen table, and I can tell he means it in a good way. Cosy is a compliment coming from Chris, whereas it would be sugar-coated way of saying ‘small’ or ‘cramped’ coming from Daniel.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, feeling genuinely grateful.
‘Quite the sandwich-making factory you’ve got going on here,’ Chris comments, observing my neatly arranged stacks of finger sandwiches.
‘Ha, yes!’ I murmur as his eyes roam over to the kitchen counter which is littered with empty tuna cans, dollops of mayo and bread crusts.
I ask him about his day as I turn off the TV and finish off the final batch of smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches. Chris leans against the back of the sofa and whinges about work, mentioning how glad he is that it’s finally the weekend, while I cut the crusts off a few sandwiches and slice them into neat fingers.
‘How’s Laura doing?’ I ask.
‘She’s great. She’s organised a wine and cheese night this evening. She wants to introduce me to her friends, apparently!’ He pulls a face.
‘Nervous?’
‘A bit,’ Chris admits, with a forced smile.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I tell him, remembering how good he was with Sandra. ‘I’m sure you’ll be great, seriously. Just be yourself.’
Chris laughs. ‘Really? Facts and all?’
I lay the sandwiches onto a plate in pretty stacks.
‘Yeah, just be you.’ I glance over at him, standing there, with his big blue open eyes and his shy tentative smile.
Looking at him, I realise fully for the first time, that there really is nothing about him that needs to change. He’s absolutely fine as he is. He’s more than fine. He’s kind, he’s smart, he’s sweet and giving. Even his penchant for facts is cute, once you get used to it. Sandra was right: I did write him off too soon. I expected some sort of dramatic fireworks moment - an epiphany. I thought I’d take one look at my date and just know whether or not he was my future husband, but it doesn’t work like that. First impressions aren’t always right and sometimes it’s the people who seem the most awkward and boring to begin with that turn out to be the most special.
Chris narrows his eyes at me and a moment passes between us – as if he’s spotted that I’m looking at him differently and has recognised something in me I’ve barely recognised myself until now. An attraction. I quickly look away.
‘So, do you want a sandwich?’ I thrust the plate towards him in the hope that I can distract him with smoked salmon.
‘Cheers!’ Chris takes one and pauses to admire it before taking a bite. ‘Neat corners,’ he observes.
‘Oh, thanks!’ I reply as I place the plate on the kitchen table and start covering it with cling film. My brain whirs. Do I really fancy Chris? What about Daniel? And Laura? I can’t flirt with Chris now that he’s got a girlfriend. Someone whose friends he’s being introduced to this evening. And anyway, even though things have gone wrong with Daniel, I’m still technically with him and even if I wasn’t, I’ve missed my chance. Chris comes over and plucks an empty tin of tuna from the work top.
‘Bit of a war zone in here,’ he comments. ‘Let me clean up. Where are your bin bags?’
‘Oh, you don’t have to.’
Chris opens the cupboard door under the sink. ‘Bingo!’ he says as he grabs the roll and unpeels a bag.
By the time I’ve finished wrapping the plates, Chris has cleared the work surfaces, located the cleaning spray and is now wiping them down. I’d normally feel awkward having someone else come into my flat and clean up after me, but Chris seems completely in his element and it’s clear he doesn’t mind.
‘Right.’ He wrings out the dishcloth and appraises the kitchen. ‘Ready to pimp out a cake?’ he jokes.
‘Am I ever?’ I retort, laughing, as Chris prises open his Tupperware.
He lifts out a silver dish laden with three huge sponge discs, each perfectly round and several inches thick.
‘Nice!’ I gently prod one of the sponges as Chris lowers the dish onto the kitchen counter.
‘Careful!’ he cries out. ‘They’re very delicate!’
I fight back a smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay. So, I thought between each layer we could put jam and butter icing. Then we can cover the cake in a nice layer of frosting.’
He grabs his bag from the sofa and pulls out a few books – more library books – which he places on the kitchen table, before taking out a carrier bag.
‘So, I brought an icing dispenser, some frosted flowers and some tubes of coloured icing for decorating.’
‘Wow, you really are the Mac Daddy of baking, aren’t you?’
Chris’ lips twitch. ‘I guess I am,’ he says with mock pride as he pulls out jam and icing sugar.
‘You probably already have this,’ he retrieves some butter from the bottom of his bag. ‘But I thought I’d bring some just in case.’
‘Oh, thanks. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail, eh?’
‘Exactly!’ Chris concurs.
‘I got some paper daisies but it doesn’t look like you’ll need them,’ I add as I reach for a mixing bowl at the back of the cupboard and give it a quick wash to get rid of dust. We mix up some butter icing, chatting away as we spread layers of jam and frosting onto the sponge. Chris tells me about the books he’s reading, the ones on the kitchen table - a poetry collection and a book about Nazi Germany.
‘I read anything and everything. Every week, I’ll choose something different,’ he says. ‘That’s the cool thing about libraries You’re not paying anything so there are literally no restrictions. If I don’t like something, I’ll just return it! But sometimes you pick up something you wouldn’t normally go for and you end up loving it.’
‘Definitely,’ I reply, even though I buy all my books and haven’t set foot in a library for years. But somehow Chris has somehow managed to make them sound like the coolest places ever.
‘Have you read any Gustav Flaubert by any chance?’ I venture, thinking of my novel, still half-written on my laptop. My modern-day retelling of Flaubert’s classic, Madame Bovary.
‘Of course!’ Chris smooths the knife over the icing. ‘Flaubert’s fantastic. In fact, he’s responsible for one of my favourite quotes.’
‘Which one?’
‘“Everything becomes interesting if you look at it long enough,”’ Chris says, meeting my gaze for a charged, intense moment before looking back down at the cake.
I watch him, taking in his look of concentration as he perfects the frosting; the slight shadows around his eyes that make me think he might have been up late last night baking or reading and the sexy day-old stubble along his jaw. Chris is right – Flaubert’s right – everything does become interesting if you look at it long enough. Chris may not have the drop dead gorgeous immediate appeal of Daniel, but if you look at him long enough, he’s fascinating.
‘I always liked, “One can be a master of what one does, but never of what one feels,”’ I recall, watching Chris to see if he picks up on the sincerity of my words but instead, he just glances at his watch.
‘We’d better hurry up. It’s nearly seven and I’m meant to be meeting Laura soon.’
‘Nearly seven!’ I yelp, my romantic melancholy punctured. ‘Oh my God, the party’s in half an hour! And I have to get everything down to the centre! I have to get changed, and the cake!’
Chris looks panicked. ‘Okay, well you get changed and I’ll do this.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ he insists. ‘It’s probably quicker if I just do it myself anyway. No offence.’
‘None taken.’ I laugh, before heading to my room where I quickly fix my make-up and take off my frigid librarian clothes.
I don the dress I’ve been planning to wear for tonight - a cute little number covered in purple sequins. I found it in one of the bargain shops in Lewisham for £15. It’s horrendously tacky and yet it somehow really suits me (God knows what that says about me). I sort out my hair then zip the dress up, adding a pair of black tights and stilettos.
‘Sophia, can you come here?’ Chris calls from the kitchen.
‘What’s up?’ I come out of my bedroom and check out the cake. Somehow, in the time it’s taken me to get ready, Chris has covered the cake in smooth white frosting and adorned it with a crown of pretty pink wisps around the edges.
‘It’s so pretty!’
‘Thanks,’ Chris replies, standing back to appraise his handiwork. He nods to himself with approval, before looking at me, as if only just properly registering my presence.
‘Nice dress!’ He comments, raising an eyebrow. ‘It suits you.’
‘Thanks.’ I do a little twirl, making the oversized sequins clatter softly together. ‘Can you hear that? I don’t usually have dresses that look and sound good.’
Chris laughs, picking up a tiny tube of red icing. ‘So, what do you want the cake to say?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Umm…’ I rack my brains. What should a cake say? I try to think of something meaningful and deep, or a witty birthday-related pun, but I can’t come up with anything. ‘Maybe just “We love you, Lyn. Happy 75th Birthday”?’ I suggest.
‘Perfect.’ Chris smiles as he unscrews the cap and gets to work while I bag up the party food.
‘Done!’ Chris eventually declares.
I come over and take a look. The cake looks perfect, the lettering a neat elegant script, embellished with frosted flowers.
‘Wow, it looks amazing!’
‘Thanks!’ Chris enthuses, looking genuinely proud. His phone buzzes with a few messages and I assume it’s going to be Laura, but it turns out to be one of his battle games friends, arranging to meet tomorrow.
‘We’d better get going,’ Chris says, glancing at the time on his phone as he hangs up.
‘Yeah, we should.’
I order a taxi, and within five minutes, we’ve managed to get everything ready and the cab has arrived outside the flat.
‘The community centre’s near the tube, right? I’ll come with you,’ Chris says as he carefully lowers the cake back into the Tupperware.
We carry everything down and make our way to the centre. Chris takes a call from Laura as we drive through the Lewisham streets, reassuring her that he’ll make it to the wine bar on time. I check my phone to see seven missed calls from Tom so it’s hardly a surprise that when the taxi pulls up outside the community centre, he comes running down the drive, looking red-faced and breathless.
‘Sophia, where have you bloody been?’ he cries, yanking the taxi door open.
‘Sorry, we had a lot to do.’
Tom looks curiously towards the front seat and clocks Chris.
‘Honestly,’ he continues. ‘Everyone’s going to be here any second and we haven’t even laid out all the food.’
‘It’s okay. We can do it!’ I insist, although Tom’s panicked expression is making me feel a little unsure.
Chris gets out of the car and introduces himself.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Tom says, as his eyes flick briefly, but appreciatively, over Chris’ tall lean frame.
‘Sophia didn’t tell me she was bringing a date,’ Tom comments, gazing into Chris’ eyes.
‘He’s not a date!’ I point out. ‘He’s just a friend.’
‘We made a cake for Lyn!’ Chris says, changing the subject.
We chat as we unload the boot and carry the food into the centre, which is now a glittering vision of tackiness decked out in bunting, streamers, fairy lights and holographic lamps, with the make-shift photo booth in the corner where there’s a pile of crazy wigs, ornate empty picture frames and props.
Once we’ve got everything inside, Chris pulls open the Tupperware and delicately takes out the cake, placing it on the buffet table.
‘Wow,’ Tom murmurs. ‘It’s beautiful.’
He casts his eyes over the cake, taking in the perfect lettering and the delicate frosted flowers, before quickly turning his attention back to Chris.
‘Gorgeous,’ he adds, holding Chris’ gaze. I cringe. I’m not sure if Tom’s quite picked up on the fact that just because Chris isn’t my date, doesn’t necessarily make him available for everyone else.
‘Err, thanks!’ Chris replies, overly brightly. ‘So, err…’ He looks towards the exit. ‘I should probably be heading off.’
‘Oh, really? Can’t you stay?’ Tom launches into a lengthy spiel about why Chris ought to stick around for the party, but Chris just lets out an awkward laugh.
‘Unfortunately, my girlfriend’s having a cheese party tonight,’ he says. ‘I’d better be off.’
‘Okay, then,’ Tom sighs resignedly.
I give him a hug and thank him for helping me with the cake.
‘No worries, have a good party, guys,’ he says before heading off.
‘Well, tell me about your friend then!’ Tom begins, the moment Chris is out of earshot, before subjecting me to a barrage of questions while we arrange the buffet, from how I met him to how old he is and where he works.
‘Tom! Shh!’ I hush him as I turn to see Chris coming back into the community centre.
‘You’re back!’ Tom enthuses, running his hand through his hair.
‘Yeah!’ Chris approaches the table. ‘Oh, the buffet’s looking great! Basically, my girlfriend just called. She’s stuck at work so she’s had to cancel drinks. Her team’s got a deadline and the client’s insisting it can’t wait until Monday. So, I thought I’d head back here since my plans were called off,’ he explains, glancing a little shyly towards me. I smile.
‘Oh, fabulous!’ Tom claps his hands together. ‘That’s great!’
Chris laughs.
‘Not about your girlfriend getting stuck at work, of course, but the fact that you’re here! Fantastic. What do you want to drink?’
‘Oh…’ Chris scans the bottles of booze. ‘I’ll have a vodka lemonade, cheers!’
‘Coming right up,’ Tom says as he reaches for a bottle of lemonade and unscrews the cap, making it hiss.
‘I’m glad you came back,’ I tell Chris quietly.
He smiles. ‘It would be a shame not to meet the legendary Lyn.’
‘Oh, she’s a legend alright,’ Tom says as he pours lemonade into a neon party cup, before adding a slug of vodka.
‘That’s enough!’ Chris cries as Tom attempts to keep pouring.
‘Right, here you go!’ Tom hands him the cup.
Chris thanks him and takes a sip, wincing.
‘Too strong? Shall I make you another. Give that to Sophia,’ Tom suggests.
‘No, it’s fine,’ Chris insists. ‘First drink of the night, that’s all.’ He takes another sip and I can tell he’s concentrating hard on not pulling a face.
‘Okay.’ Tom turns to make drinks for me and him.
‘To an awesome party,’ I toast as we clink glasses.
‘To an awesome party,’ Chris echoes.
‘Indeed! I have a feeling it’s going to be a good one,’ Tom adds, giving me and Chris a cheeky wink before heading over to the door to greet Lyn’s friends Marg and Charlie, who have just arrived.
I take a sip of my drink, trying to act casual, even though my cheeks have grown a little hot and I know I’m blushing. I can feel Chris watching me which just makes it worse.
Thankfully Marg and Charlie come over and diffuse the awkwardness. I take their coats while Tom gets them drinks and then we all put the finishing touches to the buffet, unwrapping the last few plates of food and arranging the cups and plates as more of Lyn’s friends trickle into the hall. Chris lays a small stack of plates next to the cake, looks up and catches my eye. I smile sweetly back at him, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at me; it’s a sort of questioning, intense look as if he’s sensing that something’s shifted.
‘Here’s some napkins,’ I say brightly, placing a stack next to the cake.
‘Great, thanks.’ Chris takes them from me while holding my gaze.
‘No worries!’ I take a sip of my drink, cowering a little behind the cup.
‘I should probably help Tom with the coats,’ I add, noticing the influx of guests coming through the door.
‘Of course, don’t mind me!’ Chris says as I hurry over to the entrance. Within what feels like a couple of minutes, the hall has become packed. I look over to the buffet to see Chris chatting away to one of Lyn’s friends.
‘Who are all these people?’ I whisper to Tom, glancing around the room at the guests, of all ages, who are sipping at neon cups and chatting in a low, anticipatory hum.
‘Mum’s mates,’ Tom says simply, taking a swig from a vodka and coke.
‘I didn’t realise she had so many…’
Tom shrugs. ‘Well, she has lived in London a long time, and us EastEnders, we stick together.’
I can’t help laughing; he sounds just like Lyn.
‘You know when I first started visiting her, I thought she was lonely,’ I tell him.
‘That’s probably what she wanted you to think,’ Tom teases, tapping his nose conspiratorially. ‘I’d better go get her,’ he adds, before leafing through the rail of coats by the door to retrieve his fleece, which as usual, is covered in dog hair and doesn’t exactly scream ‘party’. But of course, that’s all part of the ruse to keep Lyn unsuspecting.
He pulls it on.
‘EVERYONE!’ He shouts. ‘EVERYONE, I NEED YOUR ATTENTION!’
The hubbub dies down and the guest turn their attention to Tom.
Chris looks over and I give him a little wave, before hating myself for being so dorky. Chris doesn’t seem phased though and waves back. Once Tom has everyone’s attention, he announces that he’s off to collect Lyn.
‘When we’re five minutes away, I’ll text Sophia, and everyone must be quiet. I mean it, completely you-can-hear-a-pin-drop quiet. This has to be a surprise! Got it?’ Tom says in his authoritative teacher way.
‘Got it!’ Several of Lyn’s mates call out.
‘I don’t look drunk, do I?’ Tom turns to ask me. ‘I’ve only had a couple.’
I quickly scan his face but apart from a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he looks the same as always.
‘No, you look fine! Now go and get Lyn, the crowds are waiting!’
‘Okay, wish me luck!’ Tom calls as he dashes out the front door.
‘Good luck,’ we all call back.