stung. “Of course not.”
“Happens,” says Greg with a shrug. “Happened to a mate of mine on The Jeremy Kyle Show. He got a free DNA test out of it, though. So, you know, not all bad. Funny story,” he adds, reminiscing. “They messed up on his expenses. He ended up ten quid up. Result!”
“I’m sure that’s not what’s up with Tim,” I say hurriedly, seeing Hannah’s frozen expression. “And as I say, it’s a private matter, so could we all—”
“I say divorce him,” says Stacey to Hannah, ignoring me. “And sleep with all his friends. Then, when he’s an emotional wreck, find another friend—maybe his very best friend, the one he thought would never betray him—and sleep with her.”
“Her?” Hannah’s eyes widen.
“Her.” Stacey nods without a flicker. “And you better be good.”
“Stacey, love, I don’t think that’s the way at all,” puts in Morag. “Why not bake Tim a nice cake?” she adds to Hannah. “A Victoria sponge, or a nice carrot cake … He may have a gluten allergy!” Her eyes suddenly light up. “That may explain everything.”
“Morag, I don’t think a gluten allergy makes you decide against fatherhood,” I can’t help saying. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“It may be irritating his insides,” she replies, unmoved. “These allergies can wreak havoc, love.”
“I say hypnotize him,” says Greg, and we all turn to stare at him.
“Hypnotize him?” echoes Hannah.
“I’ve been doing a course.” Greg gives her a knowing look. “Specialist military techniques. Give me twenty-four hours; I can strip him down until he has no personality left and you can start again.”
“Right,” says Hannah after a pause. “Well, maybe.”
“Don’t resist it,” says Greg, his eyes bulging at her. “You’ve got to let me help you.” He gestures meaningfully with his hands. “Let me help you.”
“Is the party starting yet?” says Hannah desperately.
“Exactly!” I say. “We should get out there and greet people. Come on.”
I usher everyone out and survey the shop floor. It looks totally alien. Music is thudding through speakers, and two waitresses are taking round trays of champagne. Some people have arrived, but I don’t recognize any of them. They look like Jake’s estate-agent friends.
Near the entrance is a five-foot-long “red carpet,” with a VIP rope and a backdrop screen covered in printed stars. Nicole is on the red carpet, looking totally at home, posing for a photographer with a blond girl who must be Kitten Smith. They’re both in long dresses, and Nicole is throwing her hair around and doing lots of fake laughing with her arm around the blond girl’s waist.
“Look,” I say to Stacey, feeling a quickening of excitement in spite of myself. “It’s Kitten Smith.”
“Oh yeah,” says Stacey, shooting her an unimpressed look. “How much did Jake pay her to come?”
“Pay her?” I stare at Stacey.
“Well, she wouldn’t have done it for free, would she?” Stacey rolls her eyes.
“Right. Of course not!” I say hastily, trying not to sound as naïve as I feel. It never occurred to me that Jake was shelling out on this YouTuber. I thought he’d got her interested in Farrs somehow.
How much did he pay?
As I’m watching, two girls in glitzy-looking dresses come through the door and Jake kisses them both with loud exclamations. I have no idea who they are. I have no idea who anyone is. I know I need to go and mingle, but they all look terrifying. I decide I’ll finish my drink, get another one, and then go and mingle.
Jake looks in his element, I can’t help noticing. He’s handing out drinks and cracking jokes, all loud and confident. I keep hearing the phrase “Notting Hill” in conversation, which makes me prickle suspiciously, but I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I drain my glass, fill it up again, and am about to approach the glitziest, most-frightening-looking girl, when I see a welcome sight coming in through the door. It’s Vanessa! She’s dressed up smartly in a navy suit, but she’s as smiley and familiar as ever.
Finally! An actual customer! I hurry over and find myself kissing her on both cheeks, which is not what I’d normally do but I’m picking up habits from Jake.
“Vanessa! Welcome!” I grab a glass of champagne from a waitress and give it to her.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” says Vanessa pleasantly, looking around. “Very smart. What’s it in aid of? I couldn’t quite work it out, from the invitation.”
“Oh … a revamp,” I say vaguely. “Relaunch.”
“That’s what I told the others.” Vanessa nods. “They’re on