Free My Fake Wedding (Red Dress Ink (Numbered Paperback)) by Mina Ford Page B

delicate.’
    ‘Why? Does he melt if he goes outside?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Where’d you meet him?’
    ‘At a funeral.’
    I immediately feel guilty. ‘Oh God, Janice, I’m sorry. I had no idea someone had died.’
    ‘They haven’t.’ She looks surprised. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Well, yes, they have. His wife actually. But I didn’t know her from Adam so I’m hardly grief-stricken.’
    ‘So what…?’
    ‘Was I doing at the funeral? Well, I was getting nowhere fast with that bloody marriage agency, as you well know. And the Evergreen Club was a big no no. I mean I want old and rich but I’m not ready for incontinence just yet thanks. I want someone with a bit of get up and go. In case I have to take him anywhere public.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘So I had a quick flick through the funeral notices in the Tory-graph . See if anyone interesting had carked it. Thought there might be a few eligible widowers knocking about. And this one looked promising. So I slipped into a little black suit, shrugged on some designer bins, got myself down to Waterloo and hopped on a train.’
    ‘Isee.’
    ‘I stood at the back of the cathedral, of course. No point drawing attention to myself. It was easy-peasy. Afterwards, I shook his hand at the graveside. Said I was a friend of the wife. Told him we’d done charity work together.’
    ‘Oh, right.’
    About the nearest Janice has ever got to doing charity work was sucking off a sex-starved American sailor we met in the Mucky Duck pub in Portsmouth.
    ‘I was glad I hadn’t bothered to bone up beforehand,’ she goes on, ignoring my shocked look. ‘Because the vicar burbled on so much about what a wonderful woman she was, I felt as if I’d known her for years. I half expected him to start going on about what a great lay she was.’
    ‘But…’
    ‘Anyway, I went back to the house. Reassuringly large. And the champagne was good quality. None of your M&S cheap shite. And we got on like a house on fire. Afterwards, he kissed my hand and said he hoped I’d stay in touch. So I thought your birthday was the perfect excuse to cheer him up a bit.’
    ‘And fuck your way to a fortune,’ I say.
    ‘Quite.’
    ‘Was the death expected?’ I ask.
    ‘God, no. Totally out of the blue. Silly bitch skied into a tree. Completely ruined the holiday, as you can imagine. Poor bastard had to cut it short and come home. So selfish.’
    ‘Janice!’
    ‘What? What have you got to complain about? You’re getting a birthday party out of this. And I’ll invite lots of G ’n’ T. For you, I mean. I’ll probably have to go without.’
    G ’n’ T stand for Gorgeous ’n’ Thick. It’s a phrase reserved for decorative men with shit for brains.
    ‘You’ll have to,’ I say. ‘I certainly don’t know any.’
    ‘So that’s a yes then?’
    ‘Lookslike it.’
    ‘Oh, great,’ she enthuses, pouring herself a last glass of wine. ‘Now, which bag do you think I should use for the occasion? The pink Tocca or the black Gucci?’
    ‘How old is he?’
    ‘Sixty-nine.’
    ‘Try the blue and white Tesco then.’ I giggle. ‘No, seriously, the only bag he’ll be familiar with will be attached to his stomach with a plastic tube so he probably won’t give a toss.’
    She makes a wry face, downing the last of her wine and standing up to go.
    ‘He’s not THAT old,’ she protests.
    ‘He’s Granddad age,’ I point out. That’s old enough for me.
    She pulls on a cardigan. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday then?’
    ‘Will you?’
    ‘Yes. For your party, duh.’
    ‘Can’t I have it on Friday? It’s my actual birthday on Friday.’
    ‘No, you can’t.’ She picks up her fags. ‘He can’t make it on Friday. He’s got a meeting.’
    ‘Golden oldies again?’
    ‘Work,’ she huffs. ‘Anyway, you’ll have to make it Saturday. Otherwise he can’t come. And that’s the whole point.’
    ‘I thought it was my birthday party.’
    ‘And that, obviously.’
    ‘What about the