Bridesmaid Blitz (18 page)

“I made sure he packed your makeup, your hair dryer, your special conditioner, and your frizzy-hair stuff, Mum,” I add. “And some decent clothes.”

Mum suddenly puts her hands over her face and starts sobbing loudly.

Clover pulls a face. “Yikes. Wasn’t quite the reaction we were hoping for, Sylvie.”

But when Mum peels her hands away, she’s beaming through her tears. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you. All of you.” She throws her arms around Dave and gives him a big smacker on the lips.

“Remind me to arrange surprise trips more often,” Dave says to us with a wink.

“You were in on this from the start?” Mum asks him.

He grins. “Pretty much. But it was Clover and Monique’s idea.”

She looks at me. “And you, Amy?”

“They only told me a couple of weeks ago,” I admit. “They were worried I’d let the cat out of the bag.”

“You?” Mum smiles. “Never.”

“Ha, ha,” I say, slightly miffed. “I can keep secrets, you know.”

“’Course you can, Beanie,” Clover says, then glances at her watch. “Eek! Better mush, Sylvie, or we’ll miss the flight.”

After another big smooch with Dave, Mum jumps out of bed. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“No!” we all yell.

“You’ll just have to be smelly,” Clover adds.

We’re soon flying down the M50 on the way to Dublin Airport. Cramming all the bags into Clover’s Mini Cooper was interesting, but Dave managed to get the boot shut somehow, and now Monique and I are squeezed into the backseat, our feet resting on the smaller travel bags.

The last thing Dave did before we drove off was to hand me the passports. I put them in the pink leather travel wallet Dad gave me the first time we flew transatlantic. I’m a bit paranoid about losing it, so I’m clutching it on my knee. I stroke the cool leather and think about Dad, wondering how Gracie is doing and imagining her lying in the hospital, pretty much oblivious to my existence. How can she know how much I love her when I’ve barely seen her? My eyes well up a little.

“OK, Amy?” Monique asks quietly.

I blink back my tears and nod.

“Did you remember your passport this time?” I ask Clover, to deflect attention from me.

Deathly silence.

“Clover, did you hear what I just said?”

“
Póg, póg,
and triple
póg
,” Clover mutters. “I knew there was something.” She looks down at the Mini’s clock, and in the rearview mirror I can see she’s nearly chewing her lip off.

“Ah, Clover, not again!” Mum groans. (With Clover and flying, there’s always something. Last summer, we almost missed our connection from London to Miami ’cos she wanted to check out just about every shop at Heathrow’s duty-free. She had to flirt with a guard so he’d swift track us through security. I think she’s airport jinxed!)

“Don’t panic,” she says. “I’ll ring Gramps and he can meet us halfway.”

Mum tut-tuts. “Poor Dad. That’s all he needs.”

“Got any better ideas?” Clover asks tartly.

Monique jumps in quickly to prevent an argument. “Let’s not fight, girls,” she says. “It’s only a minor blip. We’ll still make it.”

Clover rings Gramps, and luckily, he finds it amusing and agrees to do a mercy passport dash. He must have really pegged it, ’cos less than twenty minutes later, he pulls up behind us where we’re illegally parked on the Ballymount overpass and steps out of his Volvo in his dressing gown and checked slippers. “A father’s work is never done,” he says with a twinkle in his eye as Clover buzzes down her window. “I believe you might be needing this, Miss Wildgust.”

He hands her the passport through the window and slaps the roof of the Mini. “
Bon voyage,
ladies. Behave yourselves.”

“As if,” Clover says with a wicked grin.

In the end, our flight’s delayed and we have plenty of time at the airport. After checking in our bags and going through security without a hitch, Mum and Monique mooch around the duty-free, spritzing themselves with expensive perfume.

“I’m off to find somewhere to crash,” Clover says, after trailing them for a little while. “I’m feeling a leetle bit dizzy.”

“Not surprised. You’ve missed a whole night’s sleep, Clover.” I wander around with her until she finds a block of seats near our departure gate to lie on. Within minutes, she’s snoozing away, making funny snore-click noises at the back of her throat.

I sit down for a bit, but I forgot to pack my book, so I have nothing to read. I’m just wondering what to do when I spot a computer terminal. Aha!

I log in, hoping for something from Seth. (I’m itching to see him — not long now.) There’s nothing from him, but there is a PM from Mills:

I sigh. Confused is right. I love her to bits, but sometimes she drives me completely bonkers. (And I have no idea what Milo will have made of her flirting with him — he probably thinks she’s gone gaga.) I don’t know why I bother trying to untwist her romantic tangles; she always seems to wade obliviously into yet more boy drama, mostly of her own creation, no matter what I say.

Well, missy, you’re on your own this time. I’ve done my bit. It’s time to sort out your own relationship doo-doo.

I only hope she’s not too addled by her angel-faced
garçon
to concentrate on what really matters: surprising Seth. Only a few hours until our dastardly plan will be fully operational. I can’t wait.

“There you are, Amy,” Mum says as I’m logging out of Facebook. She walks toward me, Monique trailing behind her, slugging back a bottle of water. “Bought you some things for the flight,” she adds, handing me a plastic bag.

I look inside: bottle of water, Polo mints, Tayto crisps, a Sarah Dessen book I’ve already read (but will happily read again), and the latest issue of the
Goss
.

“Thanks, Mum.”

We rejoin Clover, who’s still sleeping, and I settle down in the spare seat beside her and dig into my goodies. It’s getting busier now, and Mum and Monique have to hunt around before they are able to find two seats together. They are by the window and next to a businessman in a dark suit. The two of them wave over at me and gesture at the man with their heads, giggling and nudging each other. I look at him — he’s OK looking for an old, I guess, but please! They’re behaving like idiots, so I just ignore them.

Pulling out the mag, I flick to the problem page first. It still gives me a thrill to see “Ask Clover and Amy: any problem solved!” printed at the top of the page.

Then I spot an article on the following page:

“What are you reading, Beanie?” Clover says, sitting up and stretching. She leans over to see, then smiles. “Ah, thought it might interest you. Guess who wrote it.”

“No idea.”

She grins. “Brains, of course! He does work for the
Goss
when he’s not gigging. Good, isn’t it? I reckon the ‘let boys be boys’ bit is directed at me.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “I think he feels I nag him about all the time he spends with the band.”

I cock my head. “Does he know how much you miss him when you don’t see him?”

“He must.”

“But you haven’t told him?”

“Not exactly.”

I point to one of Brains’s points and read it out to her. “Number eight: blah, blah, blah . . . ‘if we’ve done something wrong, tell us. We’re not mind readers.’” I look at her. “See! Tell him how you feel.”

She stares down at her hands and twists the butterfly ring on her finger. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“Why not?”

“Look, I don’t want to lose him, OK? And music means everything to him; it’s his life. If I push him too far, maybe he’ll choose music over me.”

“You really think he’d do that?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Clover, you’re crazy. He’s mad about you. Even I can see that. Just talk to him, please?”

She looks up and blows the air out of her mouth in a whoosh. “You’re right. I need to find out one way or the other. Not knowing is killing me.” She pauses. “Speaking of errant boys, any news from Mills yet?”

“Yep. Your plan worked. Eriq’s super keen again. Only she’s not sure she likes him now.”

“Seriously? After all our cracking advice? What a waste.”

“Yep. She got an e-mail from Bailey — this new guy in school — and now she’s confused. I basically told her we’ve done all we can and she’s on her ownio with this one.”