that hadn’t even expected her to turn up, and who would’ve blamed her? I could only assume she was going through hell. It had driven me mad to the point that I’d almost considered James’s mother turning up a welcome distraction – until she accused me of being menopausal that was.
When I opened the front door, Megan smiled cheerfully and bounced inside in a brightly coloured top with a ‘unicorn’ emblazoned on it. I wondered if her upbeat demeanour was just a front and eyed her suspiciously, scrutinising her face, looking for cracks in the façade. There was nothing notable.
She caught me looking at her. ‘Is everything okay? Has my mascara smudged?’ She wiped a finger under her lash-line.
‘Everything is fine. You look . . . well. Really well, in fact,’ I said, trying to conceal my surprise.
‘I had a Guinot facial yesterday. It was a present from Mike,’ she gushed. She was happy. She didn’t catch him! He must have changed his plans. ‘Anyway, how are you?’ She furrowed her brow in concern. ‘Did your cramps die down?’
It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about, and I nodded, too busy reeling at how slippery Meandering Mike was. I needed a better plan. ‘I bet Mike was glad to have you home early?’ I pressed, needing to know why my plan had failed.
‘He was out when I got home.’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s get started then.’ While she fiddled with her iPhone trying to get some music to come on, I replayed the conversation Mike had had with the waitress over in my head. He’d definitely said ‘come over.’ I was sure of it.
‘That’s a shame,’ I continued, not willing to let the subject drop yet.
‘Well, I did ring him on the way home to tell him I’d be back early, but he was already leaving to go to the gym. It was nice to have the TV to myself though.’
I knew my part of the plan hadn’t been flawed. She’d warned him. I could picture them, all red-faced, scrabbling around for their clothes before escaping into the evening.
‘Anyway, come on – we only have an hour today.’
She gave me an intense sixty-minute workout, but while I went through the motions, my mind was plotting a better, more foolproof plan.
***
When it came off the printer the next morning, it looked fantastic. One of the charities I organised fundraisers for was a local hospice, who just so happened to be in need of a wheelchair-accessible swing – and they were five hundred pounds short. A few weeks earlier, I’d come up with the idea of a raffle and donated the prize of one night at the Halcyon Hotel with a two-course meal and use of the spa thrown in. Raffle tickets would be five pounds, and one hundred per cent of the proceeds would go to the charity. My intention was to sell them at the brunch I was throwing but I’d had a better idea.
I’d spent the morning putting together a promotional flyer with photos of the spa, and it all looked very enticing. All I had to do was get waitress woman to buy a ticket, and hope she’d share the prize with Mike. But first, I had to make it look like the tickets were selling out. The next hour or so was spent using my address book to fill in the names and addresses of people who had already purchased tickets – just not to their own knowledge. Then I took some money from the safe and stuffed it in the tin before putting on my charity lanyard and heading over to the café.
I walked in and spotted her straight away, pottering behind the counter.
‘Oh, hello, what can I get you?’ she asked. The nice filter coffee lady was nowhere to be seen and I wasn’t chancing the push-button cappuccino.
‘Nothing, actually. I’m here from the Springwell Children’s Hospice and was hoping to sell off one of my last few remaining raffle tickets to raise money for a new disability swing. If I could just show you what the hospice manager is hoping to purchase, you’ll see what a great addition it will be.’ I handed her a booklet from the hospice with a picture of a child enjoying a similar swing elsewhere.
‘Oh, yes it does look wonderful, but—’ she said politely sliding the booklet back towards me.
‘I could tell when I walked in you had a kind heart and for just a five-pound contribution, you could not only help the children at the hospice, but also win an all-expenses stay at the Halcyon Hotel in Manchester next weekend. The package includes a spa day and evening meal with a Prosecco welcome and one hundred per cent of the ticket money raised goes to the charity.’ I held up the hotel poster, which she eyed with interest.
The corner of her mouth twisted. ‘Oh go on then! Yes, I’ll buy a ticket. I’ve always wanted to stay there; it looks gorgeous doesn’t it?’
I struggled to control myself. This is even easier than I’d imagined.
‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, plastering on a smile. ‘Can you just fill in your contact details here for me so I can get in touch if you win?’
She bent down to fill in the heavily populated form and emptied five pounds from her tip jar before handing it over.
‘Thank you, and good luck.’ I grinned at her before leaving. On my way home, I dropped off five hundred pounds to the very grateful manager at the Springwell Hospice and sent a text to Megan.
I want a Pilates reformer for the gym. Would you mind coming with me to choose one on Saturday?
***
Friday morning was the day of my brunch. I wanted to raise money for the local dog rescue centre and with the guests all pulling out to pamper themselves for Lauren’s ball, I was worried nobody would show up. The banquet hall was set up for the fifty original guests but Emmy and her posse had already taken that number down to forty-two. However, they’d donated eight hundred pounds between them, and paid for tickets, which was very kind but I was still in panic mode at the thought of empty seats. I’d almost caved in and invited Frances and her cronies.
I stood nervously, greeting people as they trickled in, smiling politely and pointing out the drinks trays when my breath caught in my throat at a recognisable, ear-piercing shrill: ‘Charlotte.’ Mwah, mwah. Lauren had arrived and air-kissed both of my cheeks before I’d had time to register her appearance. ‘This is very cute.’ She gestured to the room.
Cute? It was lavish with thick white tablecloths and matching chair covers, good quality silverware and champagne being served by fully clothed, handsome men. I doubted even Frances would have found anything negative to say. Okay, that was far-fetched.
‘Thank you for coming, Lauren,’ I said, not wanting to make a scene.
‘Yes, well I can’t stay long what with the final ball preparations to tend to. I just thought I’d show my face and drop in a donation.’ She thrust a white envelope into my hand.
‘That’s very kind of you.’ I accepted it graciously.
‘Aw, sweetie, it looks like you needed me too. How many guests do you have? Fifteen?’ She attempted a sympathetic frown but her frozen brow didn’t crease.
‘There were fifty confirmed, which was the maximum for the room but I’ve had some last-minute cancellations.’
She let out a loud, fake laugh and placed a hand on my arm, which I willed her to remove. ‘These Cheshire women –
