says, and grabs my hand. ‘I wanted to give you something.’
‘What?’ I ask, a familiar feeling of dread washing over me.
‘It’s a symbol of our relationship, Evie,’ he says, looking worryingly profound.
‘Er, right.’ I am torn between trying to imagine what he’s talking about and really not wanting to know at all.
‘A symbol of everything that went wrong,’ he continues. ‘A symbol that shows how much I’m prepared to change.’
It’s at that very moment that it dawns on me exactly what he’s about to give me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He’s got an engagement ring, I just know it! He has that demented glint in his eye.
‘Oh Gareth, no,’ I gulp, as he reaches into his inside pocket. ‘I mean, I’m just not ready. I’ll never be ready.’
He grips my arm and looks deep into my eyes. ‘I know, Evie,’ he says softly. ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. I know you weren’t ready.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
As he pulls something out of his inside pocket and starts to unwrap it, it soon becomes clear that it isn’t an engagement ring.
In fact, it’s the only thing I’d rather see less than an engagement ring.
It’s the underwear .
The underwear he bought me from Hot and Horny magazine. The black rubber underwear with two holes in thechest. The underwear that should have Perve Magnet written across the front.
The blood drains from my face as he whips it out of his pocket like a matador.
‘I mean this,’ he says. ‘ This is where I went wrong. No matter what you said before, I just know it, and this is proof to you that I’m willing to change.’
Chapter 19
It’s 12.05 a.m. and I’m self-righteously sober. Actually, that’s not strictly accurate. I’m nothing like sober. But compared with a number of the other guests I am a bastion of ladylike virtue and sobriety. Which is a miracle, really, when you consider the earlier shenanigans with Gareth.
As we’d stood there in the middle of the marquee, he brandishing Hot and Horny ’s finest as everybody else bopped around to ‘Sweet Caroline’, I can honestly say that I have never been more acutely aware of my surroundings.
There was really only one thing for it.
I snatched the underwear from Gareth’s hand, turned around and ran out of the marquee as fast as my legs could carry me–until, that is, I crashed straight into Auntie Sylvia and Auntie Anne.
They took one look at what I was holding and appeared to come close to simultaneously passing out. The offending item is now stuffed into a sanitary-towel bin in the ladies cloakroom, which is hopefully where it will stay until someone wearing protective clothing comes to take it away to be incinerated, along with everything else in there. Which I can’t help thinking feels like a fitting end for its existence.
Anyway, I have been laying low for the last couple of hours. Which means that, not only have I managed to give Gareth the slip, but it’s also allowed me to quietly witness a number of alcohol-induced highlights elsewhere in the party.
Valentina has been the star of the show. In fact, courtesy of her newfound friends Moët & Chandon, she has provided more entertainment in the last hour or so than a travelling circus. As I sit at a table at the side of the dance floor, perfectly happy to have some solitude, I watch in amusement as she high-kicks her way around Uncle Bob.
‘Can I join you?’ someone says behind me.
I turn around and my pulse quickens. It’s Jack. With whom, by now, I’d completely given up on ever engaging in conversation.
‘Yes. Sure. Absolutely. Why not?’ I gabble, sounding about as cool as the average school nerd.
As he pulls up a chair, our eyes are drawn back to the dance floor, where Valentina has now moved onto the Can-Can.
‘I think you may have stolen the show before with your dancing,’ I say.
‘Oh, I think we can safely say it was Polly who stole the show,’ he smiles. I’m not so sure.
‘What?’ I ask, a familiar feeling of dread washing over me.
‘It’s a symbol of our relationship, Evie,’ he says, looking worryingly profound.
‘Er, right.’ I am torn between trying to imagine what he’s talking about and really not wanting to know at all.
‘A symbol of everything that went wrong,’ he continues. ‘A symbol that shows how much I’m prepared to change.’
It’s at that very moment that it dawns on me exactly what he’s about to give me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He’s got an engagement ring, I just know it! He has that demented glint in his eye.
‘Oh Gareth, no,’ I gulp, as he reaches into his inside pocket. ‘I mean, I’m just not ready. I’ll never be ready.’
He grips my arm and looks deep into my eyes. ‘I know, Evie,’ he says softly. ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. I know you weren’t ready.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
As he pulls something out of his inside pocket and starts to unwrap it, it soon becomes clear that it isn’t an engagement ring.
In fact, it’s the only thing I’d rather see less than an engagement ring.
It’s the underwear .
The underwear he bought me from Hot and Horny magazine. The black rubber underwear with two holes in thechest. The underwear that should have Perve Magnet written across the front.
The blood drains from my face as he whips it out of his pocket like a matador.
‘I mean this,’ he says. ‘ This is where I went wrong. No matter what you said before, I just know it, and this is proof to you that I’m willing to change.’
Chapter 19
It’s 12.05 a.m. and I’m self-righteously sober. Actually, that’s not strictly accurate. I’m nothing like sober. But compared with a number of the other guests I am a bastion of ladylike virtue and sobriety. Which is a miracle, really, when you consider the earlier shenanigans with Gareth.
As we’d stood there in the middle of the marquee, he brandishing Hot and Horny ’s finest as everybody else bopped around to ‘Sweet Caroline’, I can honestly say that I have never been more acutely aware of my surroundings.
There was really only one thing for it.
I snatched the underwear from Gareth’s hand, turned around and ran out of the marquee as fast as my legs could carry me–until, that is, I crashed straight into Auntie Sylvia and Auntie Anne.
They took one look at what I was holding and appeared to come close to simultaneously passing out. The offending item is now stuffed into a sanitary-towel bin in the ladies cloakroom, which is hopefully where it will stay until someone wearing protective clothing comes to take it away to be incinerated, along with everything else in there. Which I can’t help thinking feels like a fitting end for its existence.
Anyway, I have been laying low for the last couple of hours. Which means that, not only have I managed to give Gareth the slip, but it’s also allowed me to quietly witness a number of alcohol-induced highlights elsewhere in the party.
Valentina has been the star of the show. In fact, courtesy of her newfound friends Moët & Chandon, she has provided more entertainment in the last hour or so than a travelling circus. As I sit at a table at the side of the dance floor, perfectly happy to have some solitude, I watch in amusement as she high-kicks her way around Uncle Bob.
‘Can I join you?’ someone says behind me.
I turn around and my pulse quickens. It’s Jack. With whom, by now, I’d completely given up on ever engaging in conversation.
‘Yes. Sure. Absolutely. Why not?’ I gabble, sounding about as cool as the average school nerd.
As he pulls up a chair, our eyes are drawn back to the dance floor, where Valentina has now moved onto the Can-Can.
‘I think you may have stolen the show before with your dancing,’ I say.
‘Oh, I think we can safely say it was Polly who stole the show,’ he smiles. I’m not so sure.
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