Page 7 of The Woman Who Said Yes

‘—Wearing sweaters that weren’t from the shop. For coming in in cheap imitations…’ Wow, does he have a file on us? I laugh stiffly as if Rita has appeared straight out of 1987, still angry about my flouting of the dress code and Eva flashing her bare bum.

‘It’s just, they were so expensive,’ I explain, ‘even with our staff discount. None of us could afford⁠—’

‘And then there was your little staff party!’

Sam frowns, looking confused. ‘What party was that?’

‘Oh, you mean…’ I turn to Eva for confirmation. ‘The time you got hold of that spare set of keys and we stayed all night in the stockroom?’

‘Yeah, you remember?’ she says. ‘As a dare?’

‘Of course I do.’ We love our stories; they’re what brought us together. But it feels a little odd, having them scattered back at us like this.

Just relax, I tell myself as I make my way to the loo. Not that I even need to pee. I just need a few minutes away from our table, to try to figure out why I still feel uneasy tonight. I want Dom to feel welcomed into our little group; of course I do. He was only trying to be funny with that squirrel joke, and what does it matter really? Eva is smitten and she’s having fun and that’s great. But as is the way with these things, it’ll probably fizzle out after a couple of months.

I emerge from the cubicle noting that my skirt hasn’t miraculously de-puckered as I’d hoped it would. Then, taking a deep breath, I make my way back to our table.

It’s clear, by Sam’s demeanour, that things have settled down. I know him that well: the set of jaw, the angle of his shoulders, the look in his eyes. He smiles warmly as I sit down beside him. There’s talk of going on to a bar; maybe a cocktail to round off the night? But then Dom suggests another bottle of champagne. Before we can argue, he’s caught Tara’s attention again and here it comes: the second bottle of Dom Pérignon that they’ve sold in the twenty-first century.

Tara fills our glasses. ‘So, are you guys celebrating something tonight?’

Eva beams up at her. ‘Actually we are.’

‘Are we?’ I ask in surprise.

She nods, pushing a loose curl of hair away from her face. I look at Sam, who seems as baffled as I am, and Tara smiles expectantly. ‘So what’s the good news?’

Eva folds her long, elegant fingers around Dom’s hand, and they exchange a knowing look. ‘Shall I tell them?’ she asks.

‘Yes, of course!’ He grins at her.

She takes a breath, as if to steady herself. ‘We’re getting married!’ she announces.

‘What?’ I stare at her, waiting for the next part. The part where she bursts out laughing because, surely, this must be a joke?

‘I said, we’re getting married!’ she repeats in a tone that says: aren’t you thrilled?

‘Oh!’ I start. ‘Oh, my God, Eves. That’s, um, that’s⁠—’

‘Congratulations!’ exclaims Tara, who knows the right way to react. She bobs down to hug Eva, and then Dom, before flitting away. My throat is tight and my heart is racing. Please, tell us that this is a joke? I look at Eva, still waiting for her to announce that they’re only kidding. But that part – the punchline – doesn’t come.

‘So, what d’you think?’ Eva prompts us.

‘That’s… that’s amazing!’ Sam blusters.

‘It’s great news,’ I choke out, not knowing what to do with my face. It’s as if it’s some kind of newfangled gadget that moves from the inside, manoeuvred by things called muscles, but mine is refusing to work.

‘You both look a bit shocked,’ Dom says with a throaty laugh.

‘No, no, not at all!’ I glance helplessly at Sam.

‘It’s just…’ he starts as Tara reappears with the champagne. Amidst the cork-popping and excitable chatter, I feel as if I am levitating to view the scene from above. ‘Just, you know,’ Sam continues, ‘a big surprise!’

‘We couldn’t wait to tell you,’ Eva gushes.

I take a breath, trying to wrestle my faculties together. ‘So… d’you know when it’ll be?’

‘We’re still figuring all that out,’ Dom replies smoothly.