“Hiya,” shouted Jazz.
He smiled at her, bought her a beer and then motioned for her to move to the door. He wanted to talk to her. Oh no, she thought. He wasn't going to embarrass himself, was he? She realised he was a bit drunk.
“Listen, I'm sorry I've been a bit of a plonker for the past ...” he paused thoughtfully.
“Year?” said Jazz helpfully, then felt guilty when she saw how taken aback he was. He was obviously more sensitive than she'd thought. She assured him it was a joke.
“I've got a bit of a confession to make,” he said. Oh no - not here, not now. Not when she had to get to Harry.
“I've been hopelessly in love for a whole year,” he said. “It's been doing my head in.”
“Oh,” said Jazz.
“She just didn't know I existed,” he was going on. “Bloody IKEA excited her more than Yours bloody truly. It's been hell, Jazz, hell.” He didn't notice that Jazz was staring at him wide-eyed. He was too busy confessing.
“Anyway, I've decided. I'm going to tell her tonight.”
“Tell who?” asked Jazz.
“Maddie, of course. Maddie,” he said, imbuing the name with heartfelt emotion, as he watched her chat to someone.
Blimey, thought Jazz. She'd managed to miss that one completely. Had she ever got anything right at all?
“Perhaps you should slow down a bit,” she said, looking at the bottle in his hand.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Thanks, Jazz. You're a pal.” And he actually hugged her. As he did so, she caught Maddie's eye. Her boss stared back with a none too friendly expression and suddenly a year's worth of office politics clicked into place in Jazz's head. Maddie and Mark!
Thinking on her feet, Jazz guided Mark to the dance-floor where he started doing a movement not unlike an epileptic hoeing. She beckoned Josie to join them, introduced them to each other and left them to it. She had to tell Maddie her latest information. Fast.
As she made her way through the bodies on the dance-floor, she saw something that made her heart sink. Sara Hayes was dancing with Harry. They made a very handsome couple. Unlike any man she'd ever seen on a dance floor, Harry didn't dance like a gibbon. He didn't move much, but what he did move looked bloody sexy. Sara kept touching him. She looked amazing. She was wearing platform heels that made her almost the same height as Harry and a mini-skirt so short you could almost see her bottom. Her legs must have reached Jazz's shoulders. The chemistry between herself and Harry felt like years away. The Harry who had stood next to her backstage was so different from the one she was watching now. Jazz almost left the party there and then. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have ever thought that she was in the same league? How could she kill Sara without witnesses?
Someone thwacked her on the shoulder. It was Mo.
“Now that is too skinny,” she yelled in Jazz's ear. Damn, had she been that obvious? They started dancing together and Jazz managed to pretend to ignore that Harry was behind her. She loved dancing with Mo, though now her smile was forced and her usual easy movements came hard. Eventually, Mo started miming drinking a beer.
As they pushed their way to the bar, a woman who looked strangely familiar appeared in front of Jazz.
They stared at each other and the woman, who seemed to recognise Jazz, pushed rudely past her. Who the hell was it? Her eyes were a watery pale, mud blue and she'd put heavy mascara on her four eyelashes. It looked like a spider had donated its legs for her vanity. Suddenly Jazz realised who she was. Purple Glasses! Without the glasses! She followed after her, trying to remember her name.
“Fi!” she called out. Purple Glasses looked round and stared a very hostile stare at Jazz. She waited. At first the words just wouldn't come out, but after what felt like an eternity, Jazz managed to blurt out: “I - I wanted to say sorry for how horrid I've been during this play.” A fraction of her black mood lifted. “I've been quite stressed over the past few months, but—”
“Well, haven't we all?” said Watery Eyes.
“Yes, well, I was just about to say that that was no excuse.” Jazz tried to keep her tone measured and calm. “And I'm apologising now, and saying that I think you're marvellous at your job. Which is a brilliant job, by the way. So - sorry. And thank you. But mostly sorry.”
Watery Eyes just stared at her. Then she said slowly and very clearly, “I've worked with some horrid people in my time, but you, Jasmin Field, were the absolute all-time worst.”
Oh, thought Jazz. Glad we've got that sorted out then.
“Does that mean I get a medal?” she eventually asked in a small voice.
Watery Eyes sighed and then said in a painfully patronising tone, “Jasmin Field, you're very lucky I'm in a good mood. That's all I can say,” and walked off.
What, no hug? thought Jazz with a bitter shake of her head. Standing in the middle of the crowded nightclub, she had a quick word with herself, explaining, not for the first time, that life would never be anything like Anne of Green Gables, and she had better get over it once and for all. Then she went to join Mo.
“I have a very important question,” Mo said, as soon as she got there. Was she going to ask her to vacate the flat? She didn't want to hear it. She seriously didn't think she'd be able to cope just now. At that moment she spotted Maddie at the bar.
“Hold on a mo, Mo,” said Jazz, and then sniggered. “I'll be back in a mo.” Hey - how come she'd never thought of that joke before?
She rushed over to Maddie.
“Hiya,” she said.
“Hi,” said Maddie shortly.
“Mark just made a confession to me,” continued Jazz.
“Mmm?”
“Mrnmm. It appears he's been hopelessly in love - that was how he put it - with a certain Features Editor whose spiritual home is IKEA.”
Maddie's face lit up. “You're kidding.”
“Nope. Did you have any idea you've been putting your junior through living hell? What kind of a boss are you anyway?”
Maddie was grinning from ear to ear. “A happy one,” she said.
“Well, go and give your employee a full de-briefing. It's way overdue.” Maddie gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and grappled her way to the dance-floor. Mo came over. “Finished?” she asked. “I'm just sorting out everyone's love-life,” Jazz told her. “Because I'm so good at sorting out my own, ha ha.”
Mo followed her eyes to where Harry was now dancing with Mrs. Bennet. The latter was pretending to do a striptease, starting with her scarf, which she had draped over Harry's smiling face. Sara was standing next to him, taking the scarf off and giving it back to its owner, pretending - badly - to find the lark as funny as he did. Harry didn't seem to mind. “He spent the whole week saving your life,” said Mo. Jazz sighed. “Yes, but only because his reputation rested on it,” she said in a hollow voice.
She was so angry with herself she could cry. She'd always scoffed at George for getting so involved in a part that she regularly fell for her co-stars, and yet she had done exactly the same thing. In the past few months, she had felt so empowered by Lizzy, so strengthened by her that she had managed, for a few foolish hours, to get carried away and convince herself that she too could have Lizzy's happy ending.
She looked miserably over to Harry as he laughed and joked with Mrs. Bennet, and she felt too melancholy to look away when his eyes met hers. Had he said he was in love with her merely to bring
out the best in her performance? He was probably that much of a perfectionist — and he was also a convincing actor. If that was the case, had she been that easily readable?
She was drowning in self-pity and humiliation. This is real life, she thought unhappily. This is not some stupid play.
“Listen, give the guy a break,” said Mo. “Remember how terrifying you are. He's probably scared stiff of you.”