The Wedding Countdown by Ruth Saberton

her. ‘I can’t hang around though. A year isn’t very long.’
    ‘Maybe there’ll be some really lush guys at GupShup ,’ suggests Eve. ‘Some nice scenery to make the day go quicker? Not like at my office. I swear Dad gave me an ugly boss to wreck any chances I might have of enjoying work.’
    Eve works for her dad’s PR company, B-D International, and for the last two hours has barely stopped moaning about her boss, Damien Oxley.
    ‘Damien isn’t ugly,’ says Nish, chomping on a prawn ball. ‘I think he’s really attractive in an older man kind of way. Very George Clooney.’
    Eve hurls dishes into the machine. ‘You need your eyes tested; he’s ancient.’
    ‘He’s forty-seven,’ says Nish. ‘Isn’t George Clooney forty-seven or thereabouts?’
    ‘George Clooney?’ Eve brandishes a fork in her direction. ‘Are you crazy? Damien has the social graces of George’s dead pet pig but that’s as far as any similarities go. The man’s Hell in Armani.’
    ‘He’s certainly got under your skin,’ I say.
    ‘He’s a bloody slave driver, that’s why.’
    Eve tosses her blonde curls, pours herself an enormous glass of wine and lights a cigarette. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes before blowing two plumes of smoke out of her nose. I’ve seen Eve do this hundreds of times; in restaurants, at the students’ union and even while she writes essays. She’s the most elegant smoker I’ve ever seen, gesticulating wildly with her cigarette and blowing smoke rings like wispy hula-hoops.
    I’ve never smoked. I don’t drink. I’ve never kissed anyone. Sometimes when I compare myself to my flamboyant friend I feel really dull. When Eve isn’t being slave driven by Damien she’s zooming round London in her BMW Z5, hood down and hair flying in the wind. My Nissan Micra just can’t compete, which is why I’ve passed it on to Roma and opted to take the tube instead.
    I love Eve, but we come from such different worlds. I want so much to prove myself and I can’t wait to start work, whereas Eve puts more energy into getting out of her job than she does actually doing it.
    After clearing up, Nish pops out and Eve settles down in front of Made in Chelsea , on the pretext of trying to decide which localreality star B-D will next represent. This leaves me to go and sort out my belongings. Fetching my suitcase I flip open the lid and rummage around for the perfect outfit for work. What shall I choose? Shalwar kameez ? Or what about my latest eBay bargain, the beautifully cut suit from Karen Millen? What impression do I want to create? Asian Babe or Career Woman? I lay out several outfits and put the decision off until the morning, hoping that after a good’s night sleep I’ll be inspired.
    I’m just on the brink of dropping off when my mobile shrills into the quiet.
    ‘Mills!’ wails Roma when I answer. ‘Something awful’s happened!’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It’s Qas.’
    ‘Roma, you’re scaring me. What’s happened to Qas? Is he hurt?’
    Roma inhales shakily. ‘He’s fine, but Mum and Dad aren’t. Auntie Bee turned up this afternoon and wouldn’t push off. I had to spend hours makin g chai and fetching her food. You know what she’s like.’
    ‘I certainly do.’
    ‘When Mum and Dad got home, exhausted from the drive, she was ready for them.’
    ‘And what poison did Auntie Bee pour into their ears this time?’
    Roma starts to sob. ‘Auntie Bee’s friend Naseem knows a woman who saw Qas in town. He was with a girl. A white girl.’ The sobs increase. ‘He was kissing her! And bloody Bee’s told everyone!’
    How could Qas be so careless? Has he gone pagal?
    ‘Mum’s in tears, Dad’s locked himself in the office and Auntie Bee is busy being Bradford’s answer to the News of the World . It’s really awful.’
    ‘Oh crap!’
    ‘You know they’ve got a cousin lined up for Qas,’ Roma weeps. ‘Dad’s all but given his word. He went spare when Qas refused to back down and Mum’s in