bustle into the room. Carla’s voice rings out, loud, brash, confident and – to be honest – a bit annoying.
‘We’re close friends, we’ve come to congratulate. Let us in.’
It’s a command, not a request. The guy we met when we arrived at the hotel, who was standing behind a desk that said concierge, is obviously not heavyweight security. He politely steps aside and allows the Heathcotes and Pearsons access. All eyes are on them. Gillian waits patiently for the newcomers to find a seat. But they don’t sit. I glance about for Ridley and Megan. There’s no sign of them. Since our row on Tuesday I haven’t heard from either of them. Not a word! Unbelievable! I haven’t been into school this week; I can’t face it. There’s literally no point to school if I don’t have Ridley and Megan. Mum has gone nuts with me practically every day because she hasn’t really bought the excuse of my having a bad stomach, but Dad has backed me, so in the end she’s given in. Before the win, there is no way on earth she would let me go shopping on a sick day but that happened. I wish Ridley was here. I look pretty hot in my new mid-calf-length pink dress from Boss (probably supposed to be on the knee but since I’m vertically challenged it is a little longer on me).
I glance at Mum and Dad. They are not smiling. They are both stone-still and bone-white. I know Mum didn’t want the Heathcotes and Pearsons to know about the win yet; she’s going to go ape when she finds out I told. Dad cared less. I guess he accepts we have to face their reaction at some point. Will the parents be jealous, like Ridley and Megan? Or will they be more reasonable? They said they were here to congratulate. I hope so, then perhaps Megan, Rids and I can make up.
Jennifer and Fred are Ridley’s parents. Ridley looks like his dad, but he has the same smile as his mum. She’s not smiling now though; her jaw is set with a grim determination. The Heathcotes are dressed as they dress most of the time: smart. Not fashionable but somehow decidedly suitable. Classic. Jennifer has expensive-looking caramel highlights in her hair, and I think she’s probably just had a trim to sharpen things up. She always looks as though she’s just stepped out of a hair salon. Fred has a beard and it makes him look like some old royal duke or something. I can’t quite describe it, but they’ve nailed the look I’m pretty sure Mum and Dad were hoping to discover when we were trailing around New Bond Street, money burning a hole in their pockets. Mum has told me before that Jennifer and Fred are actually very posh in a way that none of our other friends are. They both went to boarding school and she had a pony when she was a kid. I think maybe Carla and Patrick are actually richer now, they certainly live in the biggest house, but despite this Jennifer and Fred are the ones everyone admires the most, I think. Because they are so proper and different. They are very nice. Polite, you know?
I glance at my parents. They look cool, younger than either the Pearsons or Heathcotes but they also look a bit too shiny. They are undoubtedly people wearing new clothes, which is never a good thing. Except maybe on holiday. My mum is basically pretty but doesn’t do anything about it and as neither Carla nor Jennifer work, they both have a lot of time to go to the gym and beauty salon. Maybe now we are millionaires, Mum can even things up a bit. I remember once joking with her that when me and Ridley get married, she’ll have to work really hard not to let the mother-of-the-groom outshine the mother-of-the-bride. All she said to that though was, ‘You’re too young to be talking about marriage.’ Mum isn’t really very competitive.
Is Ridley still even my boyfriend?! The thought scuttling into my mind sends actual shots of pain through me, like someone is repeatedly flicking at my flesh. This has to be a blip. It has to be!
Patrick, Megan’s dad, is wearing his usual weekday uniform, a suit and tie. I briefly wonder why he is not at work. Usually Patrick is permanently attached to his phone and talks about nothing except work. Not something my dad