style="font-size:15px;"> D’Wayne’s voice was small and resigned when it came out. ‘Fine. Well done.’
‘You kept that quiet, Charlie,’ Sophie said. ‘Did you know about this, Rom?’
I shook my head, my heart sinking at the fact. Usually, I would be the first to know. After what happened on Saturday, was this how things were going to be between us from now on?
‘They’re not really talking at the moment,’ Wren interjected.
Horrified, I stared at her. ‘Wren!’
‘I’m just saying.’
All eyes swung to me, then Charlie, who was looking as uncomfortable as I felt.
‘Why? What’s up?’ Tom demanded.
Charlie’s gaze dropped to the carpet. ‘Nothing. We’re fine.’
Jack pulled a face. ‘Awkward!’
I considered throwing out a lame excuse to leave the room, but it would only further fuel my friends’ interest. So I remained rooted to the floor, hoping against hope that nobody would pursue it. Luckily for me, Tom had a bigger bombshell to drop.
‘Forget Pinstripes’ domestics, I can trump your gig, Chas.’
Relief washed over me as all attention switched to our guitarist.
Clearly happy to be let off the hook, Charlie laughed. ‘Oh really? Pray tell.’
‘I was chatting to my boss Julian last week about the kind of events we do. It was just a bit of small talk on the last day of work and I didn’t expect anything to come of it. But yesterday he called me and asked if we would be interested in playing for his daughter’s wedding in June. Point is, the guy’s loaded – we’re talking multi-millionaire – and he’s booked an amazing stately home in London not far from Kew Gardens. We had the most mental conversation. He was casually reeling off names of some of the guests who have already accepted, and we’re talking major celebs.’
It took us all several minutes to process this. It was D’Wayne who finally broke the silence.
‘How much?’
Tom’s smile was confidence personified. ‘Five grand for the full band, and he’ll throw in accommodation in Central London.’
‘Wow,’ Wren breathed. ‘That would make a major dent in my credit card debt. And staying in London, too? I’m thinking shopping …’
‘So much for settling the credit cards, Wren,’ I laughed.
‘How many sets?’ Charlie asked.
‘Two one-hours with a break for the evening buffet in the middle.’
‘Ah, music to my ears,’ grinned Jack.
Sophie leant forward. ‘When you say “celebs”, what calibre are we talking?’
‘Put it this way: the happy couple have sold their wedding pictures to Hello! magazine for several million pounds. Reckon we could tempt you out of retirement to play some wicked sax for us, Soph?’
Sophie whooped and threw her arms around Tom. ‘Yes! Please!’
‘How definite a booking is it?’ I asked.
‘As definite as us saying yes. He listened to the demo tracks on our website and decided we were perfect. Which of course, we are. So I said yes. Was that OK?’
All of us agreed together, even D’Wayne, who was looking decidedly deflated by the news.
Later, I stood in the kitchen with Jack making hot chocolate as the hum of excited conversation drifted through from the other room. Even though he’s two months younger than me, Jack’s always assumed the role of an older brother, watching out for me at every opportunity. My mother heartily approves of him, I think because he runs his own business (a successful local recording studio) and for several years through my early twenties she wrongly assumed that we were destined for each other – even when I explained that he was already settled with Sophie. As for me, I’ve always loved the easy friendship we’ve built, completely free of any kind of romantic undertones. Unlike Charlie and I …
‘This could be huge for us,’ Jack said, as the milk started to steam in the pan. ‘If we get recommended to society people it could mean serious money.’
‘I know.’ I hardly dared to believe it. ‘I could certainly use the money.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He shook several handfuls of Belgian chocolate flakes into the milk while I stirred. ‘So what’s going on with you and Charlie?’
‘Nothing. Just a misunderstanding. But we’ve sorted it now.’
‘Are you sure? Only neither of you seemed yourselves tonight.’
‘We’re fine, Jack, don’t worry. Give it a bit of time and things will be back to normal, you’ll see.’
‘Right. I don’t believe you, but if you say it’s fine then so be it.’
In truth, I was no more convinced by my assertion than he was, but I hoped with all my heart that it was true.
Christmas Day at the Parker house was as strained an affair as usual. Mum and Dad had been biting at each other’s heels all morning and by the time Christmas dinner was served (after Her Majesty had summed up the year, of course), the atmosphere between them had descended into recriminatory Punch-and-Judy-style bickering.
Cursing my older brothers Niall and Spence for coming up with plausible excuses for missing the annual Parker family agony, and wishing with all my heart that my parents had relented on their traditional festive snub of Uncle Dudley and Auntie Mags this year, I grimly focused on my Waitrose-provided Christmas dinner in the beige dining room. Mum was describing how close the meal had come to disaster this year due to Dad ‘fiddling with the new oven timer’ on Christmas Eve.
‘Of all the times to experiment with it, your father – of course – chose the very night I was preparing the glazed bacon joint. We had the windows open in the kitchen all night to get rid of the smell of burning meat. This after our butchers had closed for the holidays, so no chance of replacing the joint before Christmas. I told him, Romily, I said he’s only himself to blame if there’s no ham left for supper.’
Dad shrugged. ‘I never said I liked the cold meat thing anyway. And besides, we’ll have enough cold turkey to last us till March with that organic bird we practically had to remortgage the house to buy.’
‘Oh, and as if we don’t already have precious little time to enjoy the fruits of our labours, you have to complain about one extravagance I asked for! Never mind that I work seven days a week to keep the family business going. Never mind that the closest thing I get to a night out
