body pressed against hers.
‘Come on then.’ Patrick gave her waist a pinch. ‘Your turn. Only fair.’
It was a long-standing joke between them. When she said it, Patrick didn’t. When he said it, she didn’t.
But this was the last birthday they would celebrate together. On impulse, Dulcie gave it one final try.
love you too.’
Patrick looked startled.
She went on, ‘But I’d love you more if you worked less.’
‘Dulcie—’
He had that look on his face, the look she had come to know oh so well during the course of the last couple of years. The one, Dulcie thought bitterly, that was about to end their marriage.
‘Not a lot less,’ she urged, ‘just a bit.’
‘Sweetheart, don’t you think I would if I could?’ Sherecognised the note of exasperation in his voice as well. They had had this argument too often in the past. The novelty had worn off. ‘I’m building up a business. It’s tough.’
Damn right it’s tough, thought Dulcie.
‘But I’m doing it for us,’ Patrick went on. This was how he always justified himself; she could have recited the words by heart. Dulcie hated this bit. She hated the way he always managed to make her feel like a spoilt child. She wasn’t selfish. Well, not very. She just wanted a husband she could see occasionally, and talk to. She wanted a normal married life.
‘Okay, I know the rest,’ said Dulcie before he could launch into the next phase of his defence.
‘Let’s not argue. This is your party. And we can’t stay here smooching, either.’
Patrick, as keen to change the subject as she was, looked affronted.
‘Why not? It’s my birthday.’
‘You’re supposed to spread yourself around. Smooch with other women.’ Dulcie detached herself from his grasp and peered around. ‘Go on, there’s Pru. That bastard husband of hers still hasn’t turned up.’
Pru was glad she was dancing with Patrick when Phil eventually appeared. Well, she’d rather not have been there at all, but dancing with Patrick was at least better than standing on her own propping up a wall.
Not a lot better, considering it was the most horrendous moment of her life, but a bit.
Pru felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Phil was drunk. Seriously drunk.
And ... oh God ... Blanche was at his side.
‘Shit, shit,’ breathed Liza, startling the banker she had been introduced to only moments before.
She watched in horror as Phil shambled on to the dance floor.
Blanche was wearing the infamous rubber skirt and spike heels higher than Dulcie’s. Her emerald-green halter-neck top was studded with rhinestones. Despite the stilettos, she was doing a good job of keeping Phil upright.
‘Pru, sorry he’s late. I bumped into him in the Forester’s Arms. He kept saying he was supposed to be here so I put him in my car. You won’t be cross with him, will you? He’s had a few, but no real harm done.’
Pm, who had never been cross with Phil in her life, stared at him. Across the room, dimly, she heard Dulcie say, ‘Oh Christ.’
Blanche’s ex-husband had drunk for England. She had had plenty of practice with piss-heads; compared with her ex, Phil was only tiddly. Planting him expertly upright, she turned to leave.
‘Okay, Pru? I’ll be off then.’
Phil took one look at the frozen expression on Pru’s face and swung round like a cartoon drunk, grabbing her back again. ‘No you won’t. Don’t go. Stay and dance.’
‘Really, I can’t.’ Blanche shook him off.
‘Come back!’ roared Phil. He gestured recklessly in Pru’s direction. ‘Look at her, Miss Prim-and-bloody-proper .. . Blanche, I want you to stay. I don’t love her, I love you. I don’t want her any more ... I WANT YOU ..
Patrick couldn’t do anything – he was holding on to Pru. Instead Dulcie launched herself like a rocket across the dance floor and punched Phil Kasteliz so hard he toppled over.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ muttered Blanche, not looking at Dulcie. Evidently as strong as an ox, she hauled Phil to his feet and all but carried him out of the room. By the door, she encountered Liza.
‘I shouldn’t have brought him. This wasn’t meant to happen. I was only trying to help.’
Liza’s voice dripped with derision.
‘Oh well, that’s all right then. Give yourself a pat on the back, you’ve done your good deed for the night.’
Pru wasn’t crying. She sat on a chair in the loo, eerily composed.
Except she wasn’t composed, Liza realised as she handed her a massive brandy. How could she be? She must be in a state of shock.
‘You’re in a state of shock,’ she told Pru.
‘Am I?’ Pru stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the hand dryer. All in white like a jilted bride, she shrugged. ‘Probably.’
Liza felt uncomfortable. Weeping and wailing wasn’t Pru’s style but it would be far easier to deal with.
