The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 5

I have nothing to wear. I have been sitting in my towel, hair still wrapped up, for too many minutes.

I am cold. I have left a soggy patch on my bed, but I am still not ready to move.

I call Sara. She picks up, and I launch into my problem without letting her utter a single syllable.

‘I’m going out to a party this evening and I have nothing to wear. All I have are clothes that look sad. Sad clothes. They have been washed too many times. They all look saggy. And sad. Saggy sad.’

There is a lot of background noise coming from her side, but still she replies. ‘Nonsense.’

‘It’s true. The only nice clothes I own fall into the “athleisurewear” category and I can’t wear leggings to a party. Unless, do you think I could?’ I own too many leggings for someone who does very limited exercise.

I can hear screaming in the distance. It’s coming through the phone.

I look at my watch. ‘Oh god, sorry, it’s bath time. I’ll let you go. This is not a problem you need to be dealing with.’

She starts talking, but it is not to me. ‘Ah, Orla, don’t do that. Henry, don’t eat the soap.’ I hear a sigh and the screaming starts in earnest. ‘Sorry, I have to go. My advice – never have children and wear something that you feel good in.’

We say a couple of quick goodbyes and hang up.

Something I feel good in.

Two outfit changes and a hair dry later, and I am finally on my way. The only thing I feel truly confident in is my choice of lingerie. I have opted for my most flattering, sexy set in the hope that someone else will get to see them. The bra is extremely complicated to take off. It’s one of my favourites. A good bra can make you feel so powerful and confident.

In an interesting roll of the dice, I decided to take the bus, which means I have no idea what time I will actually reach my destination. I managed to nab the front seat on the top deck, so I feel a little bit like I am in a virtual reality version of Mario Kart, but hopefully without all the hitting into things and spinning, although we never know.

My phone beeps. I look down. It’s a number that I deleted from my phone many moons ago, but a number that I still recognize despite my best efforts to forget it. I don’t even know my mum’s number, but his I remember. Why?

It’s Chris. I should have known. He has a way of making himself the centre of attention. Of disturbing you at just the wrong moment.

Hey. I just realised I still have your number in my phone. It was nice (and surprising!) to see you the other day. Thanks for not telling Pippa that we already know each other. I’m excited to see the cake designs. X

I tell myself I am not unsettled by this, but I also reread it at least five times. What does the kiss mean? Is it just a sign-off? What does he mean by ‘surprising’? A good surprise? A bad surprise? Why has he taken over the organizing of the cake? Does he want to make sure I won’t say anything to Pippa? And why is he messaging me at this time on a Friday night? Why is he messaging me at all? I should just tell him to look somewhere else for his wedding cake. I don’t need his custom.

Although, begrudgingly, I do. Since the shift in direction, I’ve purposefully been cutting down on my regular cake orders, the impact of which has never been more stark than it was this afternoon when I looked at my bank balance. Consistently seeing less money coming in is not the ideal way to run a business. I’ve taken a risk, and it’s not yet paying off. People who need to know me, don’t. My new cake designs aren’t being seen and only one other couple that came for a tasting session has replied to my follow-up email despite me thinking the sessions had gone really well.

My pulse quickens and my right armpit starts to sweat at the thought of destroying my nan’s legacy. The remainder of my nerves are shot when the bus driver brakes more aggressively than ideal, especially for those standing – even I, from the relative safety of a seat, shift forwards.

I close my eyes and try to grab on to an image. Any image that isn’t my flailing business and racing heartbeat.

The image that pops up is not one I was expecting.

I smile as I remember Chris’s first trip on a bus.

He had only ever used the tube or taxis before, but in this one instance I made us take the bus. It was a mini win for me. Chris was always a master at getting his own way. But this time, a bus was the most convenient way to get to where we were going. From memory we were off to a food market, a very typical weekend activity for couples. He said he didn’t trust buses, but me, I’ve always preferred a bus. Sure, you never know quite how long it will take, but at least you aren’t stuck below ground. Plus, in my opinion, bus people wear more colourful outfits. Chris looked uptight and uncomfortable the whole journey. He just couldn’t relax into it. He kept almost falling over, unused to the movement. Standing upright on the tube is one thing. Standing on a bus is a whole other ball game. He didn’t like it when I laughed.

I read his text one more time. No matter what, I will not reply tonight. One thing you have to learn when working for yourself is how to keep vague business hours. If you reply too quickly, even to ex-boyfriends, it’s a slippery slope towards always having to be available. I don’t want to have to always be available. Especially to ex-boyfriends.

When I finally arrive at the party, I can see why Mika is such a popular wedding planner. I imagine this party is as much of a marketing exercise as it is a celebration of a turn around the sun. The venue is stunning. You can tell that it used to be a factory, and Mika has used all its original features to the max. The high ceilings. The big windows. The support columns.

Fancy lighting that occasionally changes colour is pointing up to the ceiling, making the architecture look even more moody. A band, one of the cool ones that has a saxophonist, is playing in the corner. Balloons are strewn across the ceiling kinda like disco balls, but cooler, and there is an arch near the food table. There is even a glitter bar for those who want to add an extra sparkle to their look.

I look around for Mika. Of course, even with all the people and sparkly things to look at she is hard to miss. She’s holding court up on the mezzanine, and despite my earlier fears, I can see some people I vaguely recognize. Most of them are photographers, but that’s not a huge surprise. Sometimes it feels as though there are more wedding photographers than there are stars in the sky. There are certainly more wedding photographers than there are weddings. And they are all wankers. Unless you have a job for them, and then they suddenly become really charming.

‘Paige?’

I turn at the sound of my name and find myself facing a photographer who proves my argument and epitomizes wanker. Jethro. Until I met him, I didn’t know people were actually called Jethro. It wasn’t until about a year later that I found out his legal name is James. But I have to admit, he suits his new name more than the old. Tonight, for example, he’s brought his professional camera with him even though he isn’t working, and he’s wearing a waistcoat. James would never do either of these things.

‘Jethro,’ I reply as he comes at me with three cheek kisses. He likes to pretend he’s from continental Europe, when in reality he’s from Ipswich.

‘How are you? It’s been such a long time.’

Jethro is one of those people who, no matter what they say, mean something else. Here, he means to take a dig at me for my lack of attention-grabbing work or inspiring collaborations. He doesn’t just mean that he hasn’t seen me, he means he hasn’t seen any of my cakes. We all know that he is not wrong.

I reply in the only way I know how, ignoring the dig. ‘Such a long time.’ I even roll my eyes slightly when I say ‘such’. ‘Are you here with anyone?’

‘Oh no, my wife couldn’t join me.’ I nod and only pretend to care. I didn’t know he was married. ‘She’s packing for India.’ Even the way he says ‘India’ is aggravating and comically stereotypical, but I continue to smile.

‘Oh!’ Only wankers drop things like this into conversation. His floppy hair is looking particularly floppy this evening. ‘I’ve never been.’ I keep the conversation going because although I might not like Jethro, it is nice to be talking to someone, anyone, instead of feeling anti-social at the side of the room. Besides, he must also be feeling a little lost if I am the only person he has found to talk to.

‘You really should go. It’s the most beautiful place. Wonderful food. Fabulous people. So relaxing. It’s the only place where my wife and I can conceive.’ My eyebrows rise upwards. I can’t help it. This was not what I was expecting him to say. But he continues sipping his drink as though this is a very normal topic of conversation. I only have to incline my head slightly and he’s off again. ‘Yes, yes, that’s why we’re going. She wants a friend for our little Rupert. Although, between you and me, I don’t think Rupert wants a friend. He’s such a strange little child. I sincerely hope the next one turns out better. I think this particular brand of hope is the only reason people have more than one kid. Yes,’ he continues, as though I have replied, when I’ve been too speechless to say anything, ‘yes, hope. Or naive optimism. Or possibly stupidity.’

At this point he does look at me, and I think he is expecting a response. I make a noise, but no words form. I just don’t know what to say. To any of it. Luckily, Mika strides across my field of vision, her sequinned dress appearing in front of me like an angel come to save me. Now is my time to see her. And after I see her and say my hello, I can say my goodbye and leave. I turn quickly to Jethro. ‘I’m just going to go say hello to the birthday girl!’ I run without giving him a chance to follow, but I do shout back a polite, ‘Have fun in India!’ just in case we ever end up working together.

Mika can walk impressively fast in heels, and I struggle to gain ground.

‘Mika!’ She stops mid-stride and whirls towards me. Her hair does a commercial-style wave.

As if by magic, she can hear me shout her name above the general din. ‘Paige! You came!’ She also gives me some cheek kisses, but they seem less awkward and creepy coming from her than they did from Jethro.

‘I did! Although I need to leave soon.’ I make a face that is the human embodiment of the awkward emoji. It has no effect on her.

‘No! You can’t! Why do you want to leave?’

I like how she translates my use of ‘need’ to something altogether more truthful.

I want to leave because I hate crowds and people and awkward conversations. But I don’t say this, so instead Mika drags me into the very fray I want to run away from.

‘There are so many people here who I want to introduce you to. Who are you in the mood to talk to? Or better yet’ – she gives me a conspiratorial look – ‘what do you want out of this evening?’

It’s a question I wasn’t expecting. Nobody has ever asked me this before. I contemplate it earnestly.

I survey all the mini gangs in front of me. They all look impenetrable. What do I want out of this evening? I draw a blank until Chris’s annoying face and re-entry into my life comes to mind. I would like to distract myself from it.

I look Mika in the eye. ‘I would like a distraction.’ I hope she knows what I mean. Her responding wink suggests she does. I just hope, unlike Jas the comedian, that whoever she picks out for me is up to the challenge.

‘I got you.’

And with that she drags me across the room in the direction of the bar.

‘I’m going to introduce you to the best distraction I have ever met. He is very good in bed. Sometimes he can try out some interesting moves, but just go with it.’ I don’t quite know what she means by this, am I going to have to be more than averagely flexible? ‘Of course, he distracted me before I met my husband, who I love very much.’ She turns towards me. ‘But a word of warning. Whatever you do, do not get attached because you can be sure that he won’t get attached to you. Trust me. He can be very attentive, he says all the right things, he takes you on fun dates, he seems like he is interested and like he would make the perfect boyfriend, but as soon as he gets bored or a bit busy, he’s gone. He did it to me, he did it to my friend Hetty, hell, he’s probably pulled a similar trick with half of the girls in this room. But’ – we weave to avoid a particularly animated couple – ‘if you are after a distraction, he is the perfect person for you.’ My forward momentum is still going forward, but Mika stops abruptly. She has been caught by someone with a very concerned-looking face.

The concerned-looking face whispers something in her ear. My hearing isn’t good enough to catch what was said, but from the look of Mika’s face, which is now also concerned, it’s not good news.

My hand is still in hers and she gives it a squeeze.

‘I’m so sorry.’

I’m no detective, but I know she has to go sort something out. I shake my head. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ I can see from her face that she is genuinely sorry. But I can also see from her face that she genuinely needs to go.

‘But don’t leave. The guy I was going to introduce you to is right over there …’ She points to a group of people at the bar. They all kinda look the same to me.

‘Er, which one is he?’

‘The one with the black top on. He’s a great talker, sometimes a bit over the top on the pick-up lines, but you won’t have to say much to get him going. Just go introduce yourself.’ She squeezes my hand again. ‘Trust me. If it’s a distraction you are after, he is the perfect man for you. And,’ she whispers in my ear, ‘I promise that you’ll have a great time this evening.’ With a wink and a final squeeze of the hand, she lets me go. ‘You can thank me later.’

And with that she is off to go put out some fires, hopefully not actual fires, and I have been abandoned.