doing. You had to meddle, didn’t you? You had to interfere.’
‘But I—’
‘You’ve wrecked my life, Dulcie. I’ll never forgive you for this. I wish you’d never married Patrick.’
Oh no, this is too much, thought Dulcie. Glancing across atPatrick – surely now he would come to her rescue? – she saw that she was on her own. Patrick had no intention of backing her up. He was staring.grimly back at her, not on her side at all.
Fine.
‘I wish I’d never married him too.’ Dulcie’s fingernails gouged into the perspiring palms of her hands. Well, it was the truth. She may as well say it now. She’d started so she’d finish. ‘Still, we can soon sort that out. A trip to the solicitor, a quickie divorce ... and bingo, no more interfering daughter-in-law.’ To make sure Patrick understood, she turned her gaze on him and concluded bitterly, ‘No more bored-to-the-backteeth wife.’
Apart from their immediate circle the rest of the party was still going great guns. Eddie Hammond, who had been busy organising tomorrow’s squash tournament, spotted Dulcie and Patrick through a gap in the crowd and came up, munching a Marks & Spencer spring roll.
‘Everyone enjoying themselves? Having a jolly time?’ He gave Dulcie’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. ‘Darling, the food’s great. You must have worked your gorgeous fingers to the bone. I hope this husband of yours appreciates all the trouble you went to.’
Bibi turned and stalked out without uttering another word. Dulcie, not trusting herself to speak, took a gulp of her drink.
Linking her arm through Eddie’s, Liza drew him diplomatically away, murmuring, ‘How about a little dance?’
Dulcie went in search of a much-needed refill. Then she perched on the edge of the table upon which Patrick’s laser printer was displayed and fidgeted fretfully with a strand of the blue and silver ribbon she had used to decorate it.
The trouble with spur-of-the-moment emotional outbursts, she realised, was nobody believed you meant what you said. It hadn’t occurred to Patrick that she actually wanted a divorce. He thought she was just in a strop.
Well, thought Dulcie, he’ll find out soon enough.
She watched him make his way towards her, still wearing his I’m-the-headmaster-and-you’re-in-detention look.
‘Terry and Jean are leaving. They have to get back for the baby-sitter.’
‘Better go and wave them off then.’
‘Are you coming?’
She felt her bottom lip jut out practically of its own accord. She was fourteen again.
‘They’re your friends, not mine.’
‘Come on, Dulcie, don’t sulk. That doesn’t solve anything.’
She longed to hurl her gin and tonic in his face, but Pru had been there, done that already tonight.
It was no longer original.
Besides, her glass was empty.
She watched Patrick heave a sigh. She was clearly being extra troublesome. Detention might not be punishment enough. Maybe she was going to be expelled.
‘Look, you brought this on yourself,’ he told her wearily. Dulcie snapped. She jumped down from the table, gripping the sides with her fingers. Lifting it was easy.
The super-duper laser printer slid backwards and landed with a crash on the floor.
Turning, she regarded the shattered printer with immense satisfaction.
‘So did you.’
Liza woke up the next morning cold and with a crowded flat. Dulcie, lying next to her, had hogged the duvet. Pru, who had taken the sofa, stood in the doorway holding mugs of tea.
‘Makes a change,’ Liza remarked cheerfully, ‘waking up next to someone who doesn’t have hairy legs.’ She prodded Dulcie, who was snoring, and looked at Pr-u. ‘How are you feeling, or is that a stupid question?’
‘Headache,’ grumbled Dulcie. ‘Ouch.’
‘Not you.’
‘Okay.’ When they were both upright, Pru handed them theirtea. ‘Better, at least, now I’ve had time to think.’
Dulcie underwent a lightning replay of last night. Hell, it really had happened. The fan had been well and truly hit.
‘This is it then.’ She sipped and burnt her tongue. ‘Here we are, all girls together. Welcome to the singles club.’
Pru plonked herself down on the end of the bed. She had been drinking tea for the last five hours.
‘I’m not single.’ She looked defensive.
‘Oh come on,’ exclaimed Dulcie. ‘You can’t stay with Phil! Not after what he did to you last night.’
‘He didn’t mean it. He was drunk, that’s all.’ Pru knew from experience what Phil was like after one of his infrequent benders. He would wake up feeling hopelessly sorry for himself, unable to recall much, if anything, of the night before. He would beg for Heinz tomato soup and spend the day being penitent and little-boyish. He would also be enormously affectionate towards her.
