Lola shook her head, funnily enough not even remotely tempted. Being at a bit of a loose end was one thing, but was any end really that loose? ‘No thanks.’
‘Oh, go on. It’s at the Savoy! On Saturday night!’ Sally’s eyes were bright, her tone cajoling.
‘And there isn’t a quiz this time, so you don’t have to worry about showing yourself up.’
Up until a few weeks ago, Lola knew, she would have leapt at the chance to spend an evening in the same room as Dougie. Just breathing the same air and being able to gaze adoringly at him across the dinner table would have been enough.
But that had been then, when she’d still had hope, and this was now. Besides, Dougie would be there with Isabel doing the adoring bit at his side, leaving her, Lola, stuck at the far end of the table with the unfriendly know- alls who didn’t see why they should waste their time being polite to the brainless bigmouth who’d messed up the question about George Eliot and single-handedly lost them the New Year’s Eve quiz.
Phew, when you put it like that .. .
‘Well?’ Sally was still doing her bright-eyed persuasive thing. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun?’
‘I don’t think it would be much fun at all. In fact I’d rather boil my own head.’
At Stansted airport on Friday evening Sally walked straight past W. H. Smith.
‘Are you ill?’ said Gabe.
‘Why?’
‘You didn’t go in.’ He waved an arm at the lit-up, colourful displays.
‘There’s nothing I need.’ She held up her bottle of water, patted her lilac leather handbag.
‘But ... you haven’t got any magazines.’
‘You noticed.’ Sally looked pleased. ‘I decided I was reading too many. It’s time to stop.’
Proudly she said, ‘I’m going cold turkey.’
Gabe kissed her. ‘What will you do on the plane?’
Sally grinned and kissed him back. ‘Thought we might join the mile-high club.’
But when they boarded the flight there were loads of nuns on the plane, which acted as a bit of a contraceptive. Instead, as they flew over the Irish Sea, Gabe found his attention caught by the magazine being read by a middle-aged woman sitting further up the plane. For a split second as she’d opened the magazine he thought he’d glimpsed a photograph that ... except no, it couldn’t be.
Frustratingly the woman was now engrossed in an article about celebs with cellulite and wasn’t allowing him to get another look at the photo on the cover.
‘Who are you ogling?’ Sally’s nudge almost sent Gabe tumbling into the aisle.
He pointed. ‘No one. Just trying to see what that woman’s reading.’
‘Hey, I’m the addict around here. Thanks for being so helpful.’ Leaning past him, Sally peered along the aisle. ‘It’s about cellulite. One of those things where they show you photos of people’s legs and bottoms then point out the dodgy bits with whopping great arrows in case we’re too stupid to know what we’re meant to be looking at.’
‘OK’
Proudly — and loudly — Sally whispered,’I don’t have cellulite.’ God, he loved her so much.
Gabe gave her knee a squeeze. ‘I know.’
Thirty minutes later, as they were queuing to get off the plane, Gabe reached down to pick up the abandoned magazine.
‘Ga-abe, you’re worse than me,’ Sally protested behind him. ‘Put it down and step away from the magazine. I can’t believe you’re doing this. You never used to be interested.’
‘I just want to know who took one of the photos.’ He turned over the magazine and saw with a jolt that he hadn’t been mistaken. There on the cover, staring up at him, was Savannah.
More to the point, it was one of the photographs he had taken of her. Bald and proud, smiling bravely. No Hair, No Shame! announced the headline, above the quote: ‘This is me, take me or leave me.’
‘Oh my God: Sally let out a shriek of disbelief. ‘That’s Savannah Hudson! What happened to her hair?’ She seized the magazine and flicked through it until she found the article inside. ‘She’s had alopecia for ages and was too ashamed to admit it!’ Skimming the page at the speed of light she said breathlessly, ‘She’s been wearing a wig for almost two years and no one ever guessed.
She felt ugly and thought people would laugh at her ... oh bless! ... then she met someone who gave her the confidence to ... oops, sorry.’
The queue was moving. Sally was being jostled along the aisle by an impatient nun. Gabe, his heart quickening, said, ‘Does it say who?’
‘Hmm? Um ... no, no name, she’s being discreet. Probably one of the actors from her last film.’
There was a rustle of pages behind him, then Sally said suddenly, ‘Bloody hell!’
He braced himself. ‘What?’
‘I don’t believe it!’
They’d reached the front of the plane; it was time to smile and thank the air hostess before disembarking via the metal staircase. The lively Irish wind was busy riffling the pages of the magazine and plastering Sally’s hair to her freshly applied lipstick, but Gabe knew she was still bursting to share her startling discovery. Savannah must have given the game away. Aloud he said, ‘You don’t believe what?’
Sally clattered down the steps, leaning on her stick and shaking her head incredulously.
