He and Tom are both sprawled on the L-shaped sofa, munching on a huge bowl of popcorn with football blaring away on the TV. This is what always happens when they’re left home alone together.
“Please don’t ask him,” Tom says, looking up at me with pleading eyes. “You’ll regret it till your dying day.”
“No, she won’t,” Dad replies quick as a flash. “Pen shares my refined sense of humor—good job one of my offspring does.” He pats the sofa next to him and I go and sit down. He’s right; we definitely share the same sense of humor. Whether it’s refined is another story.
“I don’t know—why did the chicken cross the road, roll in mud, and cross the road again?” I say, grabbing a handful of popcorn.
“Nooooo!” Tom wails, burying his head under a cushion.
“Because he was a dirty double-crosser!” Dad and I look at each other and start buckling over with laughter. From beneath his cushion, Tom howls.
“How was it down at the shop?” Dad asks, as soon as we’ve pulled ourselves together.
“Pretty quiet,” I reply, and I see a flicker of worry cross Dad’s face. With most people choosing to get married in the summer, winter is always our quietest time, but this year it’s even deader than usual. “Oh, but I did get an American couple asking if we could do their wedding in New York. They seemed pretty serious too.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes, they want a Downton Abbey theme. But they need it mega quickly. They’re meant to be getting married just before Christmas but their original wedding planner ran off with the bride from his last wedding.”
Now it’s Tom’s turn to start laughing.
“What’s the joke?” Mum says, coming in the door and taking off her coat.
“Why did the chicken cross the road, roll in—” Dad begins.
“No!” Tom yells. “That wasn’t the joke. The joke was why did the American couple have to call off their wedding?”
Mum looks at us all like we’re crazy. She looks at us like this a lot.
“Because their planner ran off with the bride from his last wedding.” Tom starts cracking up again.
Mum sits down next to me, looking even more puzzled. “What’s he talking about?”
I tell her about Cindy and Jim. “They’re getting married in a hotel called the Waldorf Astoria,” I add at the end.
Mum and Dad’s eyebrows do a synchronized lift.
“The Waldorf Astoria?” Dad says dreamily.
‘In New York,” Mum says, looking equally dreamy.
“Yes. I’ve got all their details here.” I hand Mum Cindy’s and Jim’s business cards. “They asked if you could call them as soon as possible. I know we don’t normally do international weddings but I thought it was best to let you talk to them. I hope I did the right thing.”
Mum and Dad look at each other and then they both grin at me.
“Oh, you did the right thing, darling,” Mum says, hugging me to her.
As Mum and Dad start chatting about the Waldorf Astoria, the text alert goes off on my phone. It’s Elliot.
OMG—my dad just asked me if I’ve got a girlfriend yet!!! Thinking I might have to hire a team of cheerleaders to spell it out for him. Enjoy your sleepover with Mega-Bitch :P
I quickly type a reply.
Either that or you could get Choccywoccydoodah to ice it on a cake for him. And thank you—I think ;) Pxxx
Almost immediately my phone goes off again. But this time it’s from a new number.
Hi, Pen, do you want to meet tomorrow at Lucky Beach? About 12? We could have lunch . . . Ollie x
I stare at my phone in shock. Even though I am the Clumsiest Person in the Universe, and even though he thinks I might have fleas and a chronic wind problem, Ollie wants to meet me! For lunch! At a proper restaurant! Oh my God . . . I think I’ve just been asked on a date!
Chapter Five
If there’s anything guaranteed to wipe the probably-just-been-asked-out-on-a-date smile off your face, it’s the sight of one of your best friends sitting on your bed, staring sullenly into space like she’s about to keel over and die from boredom. Since Megan got here, twenty minutes ago—or it could be twenty days, it feels that long—everything I’ve suggested we do has been greeted with a bored shrug or a tight-lipped “no thanks.” What was the point in her coming over if she’s just going to sit and sulk all night? And then I get it. This must be my punishment for what happened at JB’s last night. She obviously still hasn’t forgiven me for breaking her fingernail. I internally groan. What was I thinking, asking her over? How could I have possibly imagined it would be like our sleepovers used to be?