If he proposed two weeks ago, that means he’d been gone for a day, max. He must have landed at San Francisco and turned right around. Good work, Richard!
“And what did he say? Did he get down on one knee?”
“Yes! He said he’d always loved me and he wanted to be with me and then he asked me to marry him about ten times, and at last … I said yes!” Her elation bubbles over again. “Can you believe it?”
I sigh happily and take another sip of coffee. It’s so romantic. It’s so dreamy. I wonder if I could skive my British Airways press conference and take Lottie out for a celebratory lunch.
“So … what else?” I probe for more details. “Did you give him the ring?”
“Well, no.” Lottie sounds drawn up short. “Of course not.”
Thank God for that. I was never into the ring idea.
“You just decided not to in the end?”
“It didn’t even occur to me!” To my surprise, she sounds pained. “I mean, the ring was for Richard.”
“What do you mean?” I blink at the phone, not following.
“Well, I bought the ring for Richard.” She sounds quite put out. “It would be weird, giving it to someone else. Don’t you think?”
I try to answer, but my thoughts have jammed, as though a pencil’s fallen into a smoothly whirring machine. What’s this “someone else”? I open my mouth to reply—then close it again. Did I hear wrong? Is she using some figure of speech?
“So …” I proceed warily, feeling as though I’m speaking a foreign language. “You bought the ring for Richard … but you didn’t give it to him?”
I’m only trying to work out what she meant. I’m not expecting her to flip out on me as though I’ve single-handedly ruined her day.
“Fliss, you know I didn’t! God, you could be a bit more sensitive!” Her voice rises shrilly. “I’m trying to start afresh here! I’m trying to embark on a whole new life with Ben! You don’t have to bring up Richard!”
Ben?
I’m completely confused. I think I’m going mad. Who’s Ben and what does he have to do with this?
“Look, Lottie. Don’t get upset, but I really don’t understand.…”
“I told you just now in my text! Can’t you read?”
“You said you were engaged!” A terrible feeling grips me. Is this all some massive misunderstanding? “Are you not engaged?”
“Yes! Of course I’m engaged! To Ben!”
“Who the fuck is Ben?” I yell, more loudly than I meant to. Elise looks in at the door curiously, and I shoot her an apologetic smile, mouthing, “It’s OK.”
There’s silence at the end of the phone.
“Oh,” says Lottie at last. “Sorry. I just looked back at my text. I thought I’d told you. I’m not marrying Richard; I’m marrying Ben. Remember Ben?”
“No, I do not remember Ben!” I say, feeling increasingly frazzled.
“That’s right, you never met him. Well, he was my gap-year boyfriend in Greece, and he’s come back into my life and we’re getting married.”
I feel as though the ceiling has caved in. She was marrying Richard. It all made sense. Now she’s running off with some guy called Ben? I don’t even know where to start.
“Lotts … But, Lotts, I mean … How can you be getting married to him?” A thought suddenly comes to me. “Is this a visa thing?”
“No, it’s not a visa thing!” She sounds indignant. “It’s love!”
“You love this guy Ben enough to marry him?” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.
“Yes.”
“When exactly did he come back into your life?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago,” I repeat calmly, although I want to burst into hysterical laughter. “After how long?”
“Fifteen years.” She sounds defiant. “And before you ask me, yes, I have thought it through.”
“OK! Well, congratulations. I’m sure Ben’s wonderful.”
“He’s amazing. You’ll love him. He’s good-looking, and he’s fun, and we’re totally connected—”
“Great! Look, let’s meet up for lunch, OK? And we can talk about it.”
I’m overreacting, I tell myself. I simply have to adjust to this new situation. Maybe this guy Ben is perfect for Lottie and it will all work out brilliantly. As long as they have a nice long engagement and don’t rush into anything—
“Shall we meet at Selfridges?” Lottie says. “I’m there now, actually. I’m buying honeymoon underwear!”
“Yes, I heard. So, when were you planning to get married?”
“Tomorrow,” she says happily. “We wanted to do it as soon as possible. Can you take the day off?”
Tomorrow? She’s gone mad.
“Lotts, stay there.” I can hardly get the words out. “I’ll come and meet you. I think we should have a talk.”
I should never have relaxed. I should never have gone on holiday. I should have realized Lottie wouldn’t rest till she’d found something to channel all her hurt energy into. And it’s this. A marriage.
By the time I get to Selfridges, my heart is thumping and I have a head full of questions. Lottie, on the other hand, has a basket full of underwear. No, not underwear, sex kit. She’s standing looking at a transparent basque as I hurtle toward her, almost knocking over a rail of Princesse Tam Tam teddies. As she sees me, she holds it up.
“What do you think?”
I eye the stuff in her basket. She’s clearly been at the Agent Provocateur concession. There’s lots of black see-through lace. And is that an eye mask?
“What do you think?” she says impatiently, and jiggles the basque at me. “It’s quite expensive. Shall I try it on?”
Isn’t there a slightly bigger question we should be discussing? I want to yell. Like: who is this Ben and why are you marrying him? But if I know one thing about Lottie, it’s that I need to play things carefully. I need to talk her down.
“So!” I say as brightly as I can. “You’re getting married. To someone I’ve never met.”
“You’ll meet him at the wedding. You’ll love him, Fliss.” Her eyes are shiny as she tosses the transparent basque into her basket and adds a teeny thong. “I can’t believe everything’s worked out so perfectly. I’m so happy.”
“Right. Wonderful! Me too!” I leave a tiny pause before adding, “Although—just a thought—do you need to get married so soon? Couldn’t you have a long engagement and plan everything properly?”
“There’s nothing to plan! It’s all going to be so easy. Chelsea Register Office. Lunch at some lovely place. Simple and romantic. You’re going to be bridesmaid, I hope.” She squeezes my arm, then reaches for another basque.
There’s something extra-weird about her. I survey her, trying to work out what’s different. She’s got that post-breakup manic air about her—but even more than usual. Her eyes are overbright. She’s hyper. Is Ben a dealer? Is she on something?
“So, Ben just contacted you out of the blue?”
“He got in touch and we had dinner. And it was as though we’d never been apart. We were so in tune with each other.” She sighs blissfully. “He’d been in love with me for fifteen years. Fifteen years. And I’d been in love with him too. That’s why we want to get married quickly. We’ve wasted enough time already, Fliss.” Her voice throbs dramatically, as though she’s in a TV true-life movie. “We want to get on with the rest of our life.”
What?
OK, this is bollocks. Lottie has not been in love with someone called Ben for the last fifteen years. I think I might know if she had.