It was too soon to ring anyone to find out what I’d missed, so I went back to sleep—a rare, rare event, I might try these hangovers more often—and when I woke again I felt better. I switched on the computer. Incoming e-mail from Mum.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Many Happy Returns of the Day!
Dear Anna,
I hope you are keeping well and enjoyed your birthday “celebration.” I am remembering this time thirty-three years ago. Another girl, we said. We wish you were here. We had a cake in your honor. A chocolate Victoria Sandwich. There was a sale of work for the upkeep of the Protestant church, and although I don’t like to encourage them, I cannot deny they are “dab hands” at cake making “et al.”
Your loving mother,
Mum
P.S. If you see Rachel will you tell her that my sisters—NONE of them—have heard of sugar-snap peas.
P.P.S. Is it true that Joey fancies Jacqui? A little bird (Luke) tells me there was a bit of a “vrizzon” at your birthday yoke last night. Is it true that Joey stole one of her Scrabble As and put it down his pants and told her that if she wanted it back she knew where to find it? I didn’t know if Luke was just “having me on.”
P.P.P.S. Was it just in his trousers pants or in his underpants pants, because if it was his underpants pants, I hope he washed it afterward. It is a breeding ground for germs down there. You don’t know what you might pick up. Especially from Joey. He gets a lot of “action.”
Oh my God. Aidan, what did we miss?
I sat staring at the screen and after a while I rang Rachel.
“Mum’s sent me an e-mail.”
“Oh yes? If this is to do with sugar-snap peas—”
“No. About Joey and—”
“Christ, he was outrageous! He kept writing words like sex and hot on the board, then looking meaningfully at Jacqui. Since when did he start fancying her?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t a clue! It’s too weird. Mum says he put one of Jacqui’s As down his jocks.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“So why did she think—”
“It was her J. Which is worth eight points.”
“And what happened?”
“He told her that if she wanted it back, she knew what she had to do, so all credit to her, she rolled up her sleeve, fished around, and got it back out again.”
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Scrabble down the pants?
No, Joey did not steal one of Jacqui’s Scrabble As and put it down his pants and tell her that if she wanted it back, she knew where to find it. He stole her Scrabble J and put it down his pants and told her that if she wanted it back, she knew where to find it.
Love,
Anna
P.S. It was his underpants pants, not just his trousers pants.
P.P.S. She did actually retrieve it.
P.P.P.S. I don’t know if she washed it.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Scrabble down the pants?
Your father is upset. He read your last e-mail by mistake, thinking it was for him (although who ever writes to him?). He says he’ll never be able to look Jacqui in the eye again. He is not himself, this weather, what with all this dog business.
Your loving mother,
Mum.
P.S. So she actually delved in and got it back out? She’s tougher than she looks, so she is. I’d be able for it, as in “a former life” I was used to handling turkey “giblets,” but not everyone would have the stomach for it.
P.P.S. I have thought of a “pun.” Jacqui “scrabbled” around in Joey’s jocks.
I reached for the phone. I had to talk to Jacqui. This was unbelievable—her and Joey? But her bloody machine picked up. The frustration!
“Where are you? In bed with Joey? Surely to God not? Ring me!”
I left the same message on her cell phone, and paced around, chewing my nails, trying to kill time. Which was when I made a discovery—I had ten nails to chew. Somehow while I hadn’t been paying attention, the two missing ones had grown back.
At five past five in the afternoon, Jacqui finally surfaced.
“Where are you!” I asked.
“In bed.” She sounded sleepy and sexy.
“Whose bed?”
“Mine.”
“Are you alone?”
She laughed, then said, “Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Have you been alone all night?”
“Yes.”
“And all day?”
“Yes.”
Casually, I said, “Last night was fun?”
“Yeah.”
Then super-super-casually I said, “Have you ever thought Joey looks a bit like Jon Bon Jovi?” To which she roared with laughter.
But interestingly, didn’t reply.
“I’m coming over to you,” she said.
Wearing white cutoffs (Donna Karan) and a tiny white T-shirt (Armani), displaying long, tanned legs and arms, and with an aqua metallic Balenciaga bag which cost approximately a month’s rent (gift from a grateful client) slung over her shoulder, she arrived. Her hair was tangled and bed-heady and she seemed to be still wearing last night’s makeup, but not in a bad way. Her mascara and eye stuff was smudged so that her eyes were dark and come-hither. She looked, if it’s possible, like a really sexy ironing board. (Standing upright.)
I told her as much. Yes, even the bit about the ironing board. Because if I didn’t say it, she would.
She shrugged off my praise. “I look okay in clothes, but when you see me in my bra and knickers for the first time, you might get a bit of a fright.”
“Who’s going to be seeing you in your bra and knickers for the first time?”
“No one.”
“No one at all?”
“No.”
“Okay. Let’s go for a pizza.”
“Great idea.” Little hesitation. “But first I’ve got to drop by Rachel and Luke’s. I left something there last night.”