The Bluebird Café by Rebecca Smith Page A

strike up, and to find herself whirling in silhouette, cheek to cheek. Was that special someone Paul? Well, yes, probably, most of the time. If she could disregard the dirty socks on the floor, the smell of mice on his clothes. Aha! So that was it, the first slip on the slippery slope.

Chapter 24
    The thick creamy envelope was decorated with a spray of lilac roses; a colour which Lucy had always hated and which Paul pointed out was quite unnatural for roses.
    â€˜But then roses today …’ His voice trailed off.
    â€˜Spitting on the streets, elbowing past old folks to get to the front of bus queues. Too much money and freedom. Don’t know the value of anything, especially good manners,’ Lucy added.
    The envelope was lined with tissue paper in a contrasting blue. ‘Ouch,’ said Lucy, as it gave her a vicious cut. ‘Damn.’ She sucked her finger and tasted blood, Body Shop cocoa butter lotion and onions.
    Mr and Mrs Michael Pennington
Request the pleasure of your company
At the marriage of their daughter
Victoria Jane
to
Mr Angus Lennox Keen
At St Mary’s Church, Reigate
On Saturday 19 June at 3.30 p.m.
And afterwards at
The Tythe Barn, Oxlease Lane
RSVP
    â€˜Oh God. Vicks is getting married to Angus Keen. How could she?’
    Paul looked blank. ‘What, that rugby player? Have we got to go?’
    â€˜Of course we’ve got to bloody go. She’s one of my best friends.’
    â€˜You haven’t seen her for ages.’
    â€˜So? We’re very close. Well, we were once. And every one will be there.’
    â€˜Who?’
    Lucy ignored him. ‘But most importantly, what can I wear? … I wonder who the bridesmaids are.’ She was relieved that she wasn’t one, but wondered if she should feel hurt.
    â€˜Some small cousins, I expect,’ said Paul. Vicks had been one of Lucy’s best friends during their first year at university, but they’d drifted apart.
    â€˜Where’s that
Next Directory?
I’ll need a hat too.’
    â€˜Do I have to wear a special hat too?’ Paul asked, aghast.
    â€˜You can wear your twitcher’s hat.’
    Paul laughed. It was a tweed cap that had been his grandfather’s. It was so filthy that it provided excellent camouflage in bushes or muddy places.
    â€˜I wonder if she’s pregnant or something. It’s only six weeks away.’
    â€˜Ring her up,’ said Paul.
    â€˜OK. Well, maybe I’ll wait till after six. Everybody will be ringing now. I might go into town if you’ll look after the café for me this afternoon. Tuesdays are never very busy. Just to look. I can always wear that blue dress.’
    â€˜You always look nice in that,’ said Paul. Lucy had worn thatblue dress to their graduation and to every smart occasion they’d been to since.
    â€˜Or maybe I could get something in Portswood Scope Shop,’ she said.
    Even Paul could see that a new dress was required. ‘Here,’ he said, taking £100, three days’ profit, out of the till. ‘Go and buy yourself something pretty.’
    â€˜I’ve always wanted someone to say that to me.’
    â€˜And I’ve always wanted to say it.’
    â€˜My God!’ What was this? How could people be so blatantly acquisitive? It was Vicks and Angus Keen’s wedding list from Peter Jones, Sloane Square.
    â€˜I think it must be what they call a Pay Party,’ said Lucy. The wedding list had arrived by return of post when they RSVPed. ‘Lime-and-turquoise madras check cushion covers. Gross. A Dualit toaster. Three sets of napkins. A £120 picnic hamper. I didn’t know they went on picnics.’
    â€˜Have we got to buy something off this then?’ Paul asked.
    â€˜Yes. You have to ring up and then post a cheque or something … plates, plates, plates. Platters, bowls, cereal bowls, pasta bowls, avocado bowls. Seven, eight, nine, ten- and twelve-inch cake tins. She