Read Online Something I'm Not by Lucy Beresford - Free Book Online Page B

felt suddenly cold all over. And, after that call, I noticed I’d covered my blotter with doodles of three- dimensional boxes.
    â€˜Did you know your skirt’s covered in cat fur, yaar?’
    â€˜Bloody Dylan’s apparently allergic to the cats, so we’re lumbered with them. And no, Nicole, it’s not funny. Hello, I’m Amber.’
    â€˜Please, call me Prue.’ The middle-aged woman now shaking my hand has the alert features of a lioness listening for the local pack of wild dogs.
    â€˜What’s in the tin, Amber?’ someone asks me. I’ve made dairy- free cheesecake. Prue says she’ll fetch a plate from the kitchen. I sit down on an uncomfortable slatted-wood lounger.
    â€˜How are you feeling, Louisa?’
    â€˜Not too bad, thank you,’ replies a high voice strained through tight lips, ‘I haven’t been sick at all today.’ Louisa’s green eyes seem larger, more naive than ever, her face gaunt; a portrait of grief and catastrophe covered with a light foundation of resignation.
    â€˜We were talking babies’ names before you arrived,’ says Jenny, hovering near the butler’s table and stroking a bead-edged jug- cover. The patio is a furnace (the clipped shrubbery provides only a bonsai level of shade), and I swear Jenny is wearing her thickest sweater. If my cleavage was as fabulous as hers, I’d let everyone see it.
    â€˜Oh, great,’ I say, briskly. ‘I love the whole business of choosing names.’ Nicole smiles, and mouths the word ‘spreadsheet’ at me. ‘Do you know yet whether you’re having a boy or a girl?’ I believe it sensible to eliminate half the choices.
    â€˜Not yet. We thought—, that is—, I—, no
we
had decided not to find out,’ Louisa suddenly leans forward, her eyes straining out of their sockets, ‘but I was thinking that maybe, if I did find out, and managed to get hold of Eddie and told him, it might make him more responsive, you see, if he could actually visualise a boy, say, rather than a girl. And then he, you see, he might—’ Her voice tails off as her mother approaches armed with a large china plate in one hand and a cake knife in the other.
    â€˜Well,’ I say brightly, ‘what names are on your shortlist?’
    Wilting in the heat, Louisa hands me a slim paperback, before sinking back into her chair and closing her eyes. Several pages are marked with slips of paper. I steal a glance at Nicole, whose wide- eyed nod confirms that the afternoon has indeed been as stilted as it feels. I open the book at random and see that ‘Merlin’ has been highlighted in pink.
Ye-gods
, as Nicole would say.
No wonder Ed absconded
.
    â€˜Who’s for cheesecake?’ asks Prue.
    â€˜Names are so important,’ says Nicole, accepting a plate and pastry fork. ‘At school, there were four Janes in my class. I thought that was so boring.’
    â€˜I used to be called Jane,’ says Jenny slowly, mopping up digestive biscuit crumbs with her middle finger. Everyone turns to look at her; Nicole slips me a quick grimace. ‘Hmmmm. Yes,’ Jenny continues, putting her finger in her mouth.
    â€˜When was this?’ I say.
    â€˜University,’ Jenny replies, sucking every last crumb. ‘Just before I met you. I wrote “Jenny” on all the application forms. I didn’t tell my parents, and they never knew because all the correspondence came addressed to Miss J. Peel.’
    â€˜I never knew that,’ says Nicole solemnly, helping herself quickly to another slice of cheesecake.
    â€˜No reason why you should. By the time Clive and I got married, I’d changed it legally, so even the invitations— my parents were furious about that—’
    â€˜Achha,’ says Nicole, concentrating on her food.
    â€˜No, Nicole, you’re right. Jane’s a dull name. Plain. It shows a distinct lack of