Free Being Shirley by Michelle Vernal Page B

assured herself, because he hadn’t been in the best of moods the night before thanks to a non-paying client. Interrupting his rant to inform him she was going for a wedding dress fitting the following evening and not just any old wedding dress either—oh no, this was a one-off Julianne Tigre no less—well, it hadn’t seemed like the best of timing. Haughty Amanda hadn’t mentioned the cost over the phone; she’d been too busy gushing at the simplistic beauty of the design—which reading between the lines meant the gown was hideously expensive but well, she’d cross that bridge with Tony when she came to it. They could always pilfer a bit from the savings account because the way house prices had gone lately, buying their own home was a bit of a pipe dream anyway.
    She decided not to mull on the fact that they hadn’t actually talked about the wedding since they had gotten slaughtered last New Year’s eve. They’d both been far too seedy in the light of day to think about guest lists, venues, and on it went, so they hadn’t pursued the conversation. Most terrifying of all, though, was the thought that were she to confess what she was really up to, Tony would insist she invite his mother along for the big try on instead of Carl and there was no way that was happening. Cripes, her Julianne Tigre dream dress would remain just that—a dream—and she’d wind up a ginger version of Pammy Anderson in her Tommy Lee days, kitted out in white thigh high boots, leather mini skirt, and boob tube with matching veil!
    She blinked and willed the nightmare vision of Ngaire’s mother of the groom, or whatever her official title would be, ensemble away and carried on typing.
     
    We didn’t talk all day Friday and I had a horrible day at work, thinking about what he had said, even though it is not true. Seeing as I had already apologised for the nasty remark I had made to Carl about him and David breaking up, I figured it was his turn to apologise to me. He caved at ten a.m. on Saturday morning and we agreed that where my fiancé is concerned, we will agree to disagree. We also decided that as we were both at a loose end Saturday night—him because he is single and me because Tony was going over to his brother’s to watch the rugby—that we would go out for dinner to that Thai restaurant again. Like I said, the food was really good but unfortunately it wasn’t just the food that was good; it was also the wine and by the time we left the restaurant, we both had our dancing shoes on. I tell you what, Kas, we cut some mean moves at one club to “Summer Nights”—you know, that song from Grease? I was Olivia, of course, and Carl was John. We even got a standing ovation for our efforts! Cringe—why, oh why, do I do it? I blame Carl—he is a horrific influence on me.
    Anyway, come Sunday morning, I had a sore head the likes of which I am sure Olivia Newton-John is far too wholesome to have ever suffered from and I was in trouble with Tony. I’d arranged as part of my campaign to find a shared interest for us to go kayaking together on Sunday at a nearby lake but as I was suffering from severe shrinkage of the brain, I was hoping to postpone our outing and just head to Burger King instead. There was no way Tony was going to let me off the hook, though, not even for a Whopper burger. Mostly because I’d made such a fuss about going in the first place. Oh Kas, it was awful. I was green—lime green—and Tony kept barking at me to paddle when all I wanted to do was throw up over the side of the stupid excuse for a boat, curl up and have a little snooze. Honestly, when we got back to shore, I had sore arms, a churning tummy, pounding head, wet bum, and one pissed-off other-half. So much for my little theory that doing an activity together would make us feel closer as a couple. Next week, he can bloody well bugger off to Speedway like he normally does with his brothers and leave me in peace.
    Don’t worry, though; we made it up