I don’t know what’s got into you girls today, going around the place and breaking up with perfectly good boyfriends willy-nilly.’
I ignored her and turned to Dad. ‘How long would it take to drive to Heathrow?’
‘Now?’
I nodded.
He looked at his watch and puffed out his cheeks. ‘An hour, depending on the traffic.’
‘OK, will you take me?’
‘What, now?’ he said again.
‘Yes. You’re the only sober one.’
‘Florence darling, have you gone mad?’ said Patricia.
‘We haven’t got time to discuss it,’ I shouted, heading for the hall where my work shoes were under the table. I was still wearing my bridesmaid dress so it wasn’t an ideal look but too bad. ‘I’ll explain in the car.’ I grabbed an old fleece from the coat stand and poked my head back into the TV room to gesture at Dad.
‘Is this Zach?’ said Ruby.
I nodded.
‘Whoooooop!’ She punched the air. ‘In that case I’m coming too.’
‘And me,’ said Mia, getting up from the sofa. ‘I could do with a distraction.’
‘Well I don’t know what’s going on but I’m not being left behind,’ said Patricia, putting down her glass and standing up.
‘Come on!’ I urged, waving my arms towards the front door in an attempt to inject urgency into the situation. This was mad. Totally mad. Madder than Gwendolyn and all her spells put together. But I had to get to the airport in time.
It took several minutes but eventually my family were bundled into the car: Dad in the driving seat, Patricia next to him, Ruby, Mia and me strung along the back like small children.
‘Heathrow, please, driver,’ I said. ‘Top speed.’
‘Can somebody please explain what’s happening?’ demanded Patricia as Dad reversed into the road.
‘I’ll do it,’ Ruby said, before leaning into the gap between the front seats. ‘OK, parents, listen up. Florence was going out with Rory, right?’
‘The one who works for the Foreign Office?’ said Dad.
‘Yes.’
‘I do like him.’
‘No, we don’t like him any more.’
‘Oh. Why not?’
‘Because he was with Hugo on the stag and he also, er, became very good friends with that poor stripper.’
‘Ruby, please,’ said Patricia, puckering her mouth in disgust.
‘Well he did,’ went on Ruby, ‘so Rory’s out of the picture. But do you remember me talking about Zach, who worked with Florence in the bookshop?’
‘Wasn’t he the one you took a fancy to?’ asked Patricia. ‘The communist?’
‘Give me strength,’ muttered Ruby. ‘Yes, I briefly had a teeny-tiny crush on him but it turns out he was actually in love with Florence. And now he’s flying off to Patagonia and she needs to tell him she loves him too.’
‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘I’m not sure that I actually lo—’
‘Flo, quiet!’ said Ruby, holding her palm in the air at me. ‘You’ll only confuse them.’
‘I remember now!’ said Dad, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘He’s not a communist, he’s the photographer. I met him that day when you were doing your petition?’
I nodded at him in the rear-view mirror.
‘But we hardly know anything about this Zach,’ sniffed Patricia. ‘Where did he go to school?’
‘PAT, FOR GOD’S SAKE GET A GRIP!’ shouted Ruby. ‘It doesn’t matter. This whole drama was created by you in the first place. If you hadn’t sent Florence to see that mad love coach—’
‘She wasn’t mad. She was in Posh! magazine.’
‘Whatever. If you hadn’t sent Florence to see her, and if she hadn’t made Florence write that crazy list, then none of this would have happened in the first place.’
‘But without Rory she might not have realized she loves Zach,’ added Mia.
‘True,’ said Ruby, then she turned to me. ‘What time’s his flight?’
‘Seven,’ I said, looking at my phone. ‘He said he was on his way there twenty minutes ago. But what if we miss him and he goes through security?’
She shook her head. ‘Not going to happen, don’t you worry.’ Then she leant forward again. ‘Dad, can you pull some strings? Get him held back or something?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, darling.’
‘Oh, come on, Dad. This is your daughter’s entire happiness we’re talking about. Surely you can do something?’
Dad met my eye again in the mirror. ‘Which airline is he flying with, sweetheart, do you know?’
‘British Airways to Buenos Aires.’
‘Right. Patricia, can you take this,’ said Dad, reaching inside his suit jacket for his phone, ‘and look up Garry Stevens.’
‘Who’s he?’ she snapped.
‘VIP liaison at British Airways,’ said Dad, winking at me before glancing across at Patricia. ‘Found him?’