‘Google her, of course. Knowledge is power and all that,’ she laughs. ‘Hold on.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘You’ll see.’
Five minutes later, Sam returns with her iPad under her arm and sits down next to me.
‘Right. Let’s see what we can dish up on the handbag snatcher,’ Sam sniffs, before flipping open the case and tapping the screen.
zara cooper
‘I’ll start with that. Not sure if it’s her real name, but there’s bound to be something,’ Sam says authoritatively and, a few seconds later, a list of entries appears on the screen. ‘Ahh, here we go.’ She clicks on a link titled Zaramakesasplash and we both start reading.
Stunning TV heiress had the sailors all of a lather when she treated them to a sneak preview of her super sexy new swimwear range …
‘Hmmm.’ Sam stretches the screen to enlarge a picture of Zara in a cherry-red tasselled monokini that nicely accentuates her spectacular handspan waist and silicone missile boobs.
‘She has her own swimwear range.’ The words come out of my mouth but it’s as if somebody else is saying them. My heart sinks. I can’t compete with a swimwear model – the last time I dragged my boring black Speedo out of the cupboard it was covered in mildew.
‘Well, I’ve never heard of it,’ Sam snorts, and she should know: her vast array of bikinis, tankinis, wraps and Havaianas have their own sunshine-yellow-painted beachwear wardrobe installed in her summer season dressing room. Sam has two dressing rooms in her beachfront villa, one for Spring/Summer wear and the other for Autumn/Winter. ‘Let’s carry on. I saw that episode last season and she ends up skidding on a wet patch on the deck before practically cramming her face into the belly of a rotund man who was busy downing a very frothy lager. Hence the “lather” line. He spilt the whole pint over her.’
Sam scrolls through the entries before hesitating. Her finger hovers.
‘What is it?’ I ask on seeing her face.
‘Err, nothing,’ she mutters.
‘Click it then.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Just click it please.’ And she does.
Saliva drains from my mouth. There, on the screen right in front of me, is a picture of Zara standing outside a nightclub, with her arms wrapped around Tom. Her lips are pressed on his. And the caption underneath says …
Childhood sweethearts destined for happy-ever-after …
Tears sting in my eyes. A sickening heat prickles down my legs and arms leaving my hands feeling numb.
‘That’s enough.’ Sam snaps the cover back on her iPad and swivels her face towards mine. ‘Hey, don’t cry,’ she says gently, keeping her voice low and soothing. ‘Why are you so upset? You said yourself that you’d only been on a few dates. It’s not like you were sleeping together or anything, is it? You’ll move on; you’re only young and there are loads of fit men around. Tell you what, we’ll go down to that bar by the marina one evening – there’s bound to be a few good catches in there. Might even bag you a guy with a super-yacht, how thrilling would that be?’ Sam nudges me with her elbow and I know she’s just trying to cheer me up so I don’t worry about being single again. After Brett, it took me nearly two years to get together with Tom. OK, I had the odd evening out with a few guys and then the one-night stand with James during that time too, but it’s not the same as a proper boyfriend. I chew the inside of my cheek. Sam places the iPad on the table. Silence follows. And then she realises.
‘Oh God, you were sleeping together, weren’t you? Oh honey, come here.’ Sam swings her arms around my shoulders and gives me an enormous hug, enveloping me in a heady mixture of Halston Woman perfume and vanilla frosting.
‘I’m sorry.’ I lean in to her for maximum comfort.
‘What for?’ She pulls back to see my face.
‘For not telling you,’ I say, running my index fingers under my eyes in a feeble attempt to keep my mascara intact.
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘But we tell each other everything. It was only one night,’ I sniff, unable to stem the tears any longer. I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek. ‘I’m such a rubbish friend,’ I add, feeling really sorry for myself. Sam places her hands on my arms.
‘Now, listen. You are an amazing friend, and an amazing person, and if Tom doesn’t realise when he’s well off, then he’s … well, he’s a mug, quite frankly.’ Sam shakes her curls defiantly. ‘I would call him an arse, a wanker even, but if you end up sorting it all out and marrying him or something, then you’ll never forgive me. So for now, he’s just a mug.’ She grabs a napkin and hands it to me. ‘A really crappy one. One that you get in Poundland or, worse still, one of those mugs that comes free with an Easter egg and practically melts your fingerprints right off because the china is so thin.’ I attempt a watery smile.
‘God, I’m sorry. I feel like such an idiot. I knew deep down that I was probably punching above my weight with Tom.’ I pull a face.
‘Will you stop it! You’re my best friend and I love you, but I hate hearing you rubbish yourself like this. You’re gorgeous, funny, kind – a bit bonkers sometimes, admittedly,’ she shakes her head, ‘but Tom is crazy about you. And I should know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Italy. Ring any bells? He couldn’t wait to come and surprise you. He’s besotted with you. I could hear it in his voice, every time we spoke on the phone to go over the plans.’
‘Well, he has a funny way of showing it,’ I say, taking a massive slurp of hot chocolate and scalding the roof of my mouth in the process. I grab a slice of Battenberg and take a big bite to sooth the pain.
‘He even said as much to Nathan … how you’re not like any other girl he’s known.’
‘I bet. Especially if they are all stunning like … Zaaara. Even her name is flirty and glamorous-sounding.’ I take another bite of the cake.
‘Now that’s enough,’ Sam says. ‘Will you please have a bit of faith? You’re a grown, confident woman, so put a smile on your face, swallow your pride, find out what time it is in Paris and bloody call him. I’m not going to sit back while you throw a pity party for one.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a feeble voice.
‘And quit saying sorry.’ She creases her forehead. ‘Sorry,’ she quickly adds, and we both crack up.
‘Ha!’ I’m the first to recover. ‘I’m being silly, aren’t I?’ I pull a cartoon sad face to lighten the mood.
‘A bit.’ Sam holds up a thumb and index finger in front of my face as a measure. ‘Look, life is too short. We both know that.’ She squeezes my hand gently as the unspoken thought passes between us. I nod, remembering Mum, gone
