You Don't Have to Say You Love Me by Sarra Manning
‘We’re not fashionably late,’ she said to Max, as she screwed the top back on her mascara. ‘We’re just plain late.’
Max shrugged. ‘It was worth it. Next time I’m going to persuade you to take off your slip at some point.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Neve said tartly, because yes, she’d come a long way but letting that last barrier fall away … she didn’t think she’d ever be that brave. She took a step back to peer at herself in the mirror, tilting back and forth so the skirt of her black lace and oyster satin dress fluttered around her.
Her new black suede, three-inch Mary-Janes were already making her toes want to curl up and die, but paired with black opaque tights, they made her legs look longer and leaner, and the dress gave Neve a decent cleavage and a smaller waist. But it was more than just the agreeable reflection that Neve saw in the mirror, it was Max sitting on the bed, watching her watch herself, with nothing but appreciation, his eyes lingerering on her breasts.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said quietly, as they descended in the lift to the bar.
Neve stole one last look at her hastily assembled up-do in the mirrored walls of the elevator and nervously patted a stray tendril of hair. ‘I need to find something else to do with my hair that isn’t a messy ponytail or a messy bun,’ she murmured. ‘But thank you,’ she added, when she saw a flicker of irritation on Max’s face, because the one thing he didn’t have any patience with was her self-deprecation. ‘And you look pretty spiffy yourself, but I still think you should have worn the suit trousers as well as the suit jacket. And maybe some shoes that weren’t made by Converse.’
Max looked down at his Levis and sneakers. ‘But these are my good jeans and my least scuffed Converses,’ he protested. He protested even more when Neve pulled her comb out of her bag and tugged it through his hair.
‘For someone who won’t hold my hand, you’re clutching my arm really tightly,’ he whispered once they’d given their names to yet another security person and were walking towards the bar.
Neve could hardly hear him over the pounding of her heart and the hum of conversation and laughter that got louder and louder as they approached the open doors at the end of the corridor. Neve had a vague impression of a very upmarket bordello; red lights descended from the ceiling and illuminated tiny tables and leather armchairs decorated with huge metal studs that swept in a gentle arc around the huge room.
‘Clutching your arm very tightly isn’t a bit like holding your hand,’ Neve whispered back, her voice high-pitched and squeaky, and they were getting closer now and she wanted to dig her heels into the thick carpet, or even better, turn and run back to the safety of their junior suite. Instead she leaned against Max, trying to leech some of his calm, and put one foot in front of the other, until they were in the bar and fighting their way through the crowd.
The faces were all a blur and all Neve could focus on was the black wool sleeve of his jacket, as she kept a death grip on Max. She tried to shrink in on herself to navigate the narrow path between the press of people, head down, and it was only when she found herself staring at a pair of tasselled loafers and pink polished toenails peeking out of a pair of open-toed gold sandals that she realised they’d come to a halt.
‘Neve, I’d like you to meet Bill and Jean, Mandy’s parents. This is Neve, my … girlfriend,’ she heard Max say and his hand was covering hers, which was still on his arm and she forced herself to look up.
‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ she said automatically, as her parents had drummed into her from an early age, and smiled weakly at them.
Bill had thinning, snowy-white hair brushed back from a weather-beaten face and was tugging at the collar of his pink dress shirt with one hand while the thick fingers of his other hand were clutched round a delicate flute of champagne. He looked as if he’d be more comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt with a can of lager to hold.
‘Now, Max has told us all about you, but he never mentioned how gorgeous you are. Look at that skin,’ Jean said, and she actually raised a hand and pinched Neve’s cheek, just like Granny Annie had used to do, though Granny Annie could never have got away with wearing a white trouser suit and a black sequined camisole, unlike Jean McIntyre with her big blonde hair and glossy pink lips, which were stretched in a warm, welcoming smile. ‘Smooth as a baby’s bum. She’s got a degree from Oxford as well, Bill.’
‘Surely a clever girl like you could do better than this little sod,’ Bill said, with a nod in Max’s direction, his barrel-like chest shaking with laughter. Then he wrapped an arm around Max so he could ruffle his hair, while Max squirmed and rolled his eyes. ‘This boy is the son I never had and never wanted. Hope you’re not going to break his heart.’
‘Well, I’ll try not to,’ Neve said helplessly, and they were both still smiling at her so she smiled back and racked her brains for something else to say.
‘So, Bill, Neve’s dad is in the building trade too,’ Max said once he’d been released, and as Bill immediately started firing questions at her, Neve shot Max a grateful look.
After they’d discussed the impact the credit crunch had had on new builds, Neve mentioned that her father owned a builder’s yard in Sheffield and it turned out that Jean’s sister lived in Brincliffe, just down the road from Neve’s cousin, Linda, and ten minutes had gone past.
Neve was still nervous. Her fingers tapped against Max’s arm, but she wasn’t paralysed by fear any more and when Jean suddenly gasped and said, ‘We’d better go and find our Mandy. She’s dying to meet you. You stay here, Max, and tell Bill about when you met that Paris Hilton,’ Neve was able to let go of Max’s arm and let Jean lead her through the crowd.
It was a very slow process because every time they took a step, Jean would introduce her to someone that Neve dimly recognised from Coronation Street or the old issues of Now and OK! that she’d borrowed from Rose so she could swot up on her WAGs.
‘This is so kind of you,’ she said to Jean, as they reached the back of the room and the crowd began to thin out. ‘I mean, taking the time to introduce me to everyone when you must have so many people that you need to talk to.’
Jean patted her hand. ‘Don’t you worry about it, pet. Could tell you were terrified as soon as I clapped eyes on you. Between you and me, I’d give my right arm to be back at home with a nice mug of tea and a box of fondant fancies. Now, where has that girl got to?’
They didn’t find Mandy McIntyre because she found them. One moment Neve was gawping at a man across the room who looked a lot like Thierry Henri (and even she knew who he was), the next there was an ear-splitting squawk and someone was throwing their arms round her.
‘Neve? You’re Max’s Neve, right?’
Neve could neither confirm nor deny this as her mouth was pressed against Mandy’s neck and she was almost asphyxiated from inhaling great whiffs of Gucci’s Envy.
‘Mandy! Let the poor girl go. You’re smothering her.’
Neve was thrust away by two strong hands as Mandy said, ‘Let’s have a proper look at you, then.’
All Neve could see was tanned, tanned skin, blonde, blonde hair and the shortest, tightest, stretchiest white dress in the world, until her eyes reached Mandy’s face. Once you stripped away the tan and the highlights and the bandage dress, even the bright blue contact lenses, Mandy McIntyre was what her mother would call homely looking. Her mascara-encrusted eyes were small and she had a snub nose and a short top lip, but there was something so unthreatening and achievable about the way she looked, that Neve totally understood why she earned millions of pounds from endorsing supermarket chains, starring in workout videos, lending her name to a range of home tanning products and pretending to write books about an ordinary girl living in an extraordinary world.
‘I knew Max would go for a boho girl. You’re so arty and cool,’ Mandy declared so sincerely that even Neve was convinced for a few blissful seconds. ‘I’d love to work the opaque tights but I think, well, what was the point in getting fake baked?
And that was the other thing that had made Mandy McIntyre a multi-millionairess: within five minutes of being introduced, eight out of ten people thought she was the nicest person they’d ever met.
Neve was no exception. For the second time that evening she held hands with someone who wasn’t Max and let Mandy lead her around the bar like a little lapdog to be patted and petted. In fact, she did meet Mandy’s Shih Tzu, Gucci, who was being held by Mandy’s fiancé. Darren Stretton was gangling, tongue-tied and didn’t have that much to say for someone whose right foot was insured for £2 million. Neve did manage to establish that he was ‘over the moon about getting married to our Mandy’. He and Mandy shared a long, affectionate look, which was interrupted by the arrival of Darren’s team-mates, who all shook Neve’s hand politely and didn’t seem that bothered that she could barely stammer her way through the introductions. As it was, she wished, like she’d never wished for anything, that Douglas, Celia and especially Charlotte were here to see her surrounded on all sides by eleven men wearing shades, designer suits and buckets of expensive cologne. ‘You see?’ she’d say. ‘There is some cool in me, after all.’
Except, Neve wasn’t being cool. She was gawking and blushing like a twelve-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers’ concert and it was a relief when Mandy took her hand and dragged her over to meet her gran and her great-aunt and Wendy, who used to live next door before the McIntyres moved to Alderley Edge.
Neve was trying to politely defend herself against allegations that everything in London was horribly expensive, which served Londoners right for being so up themselves, when Mandy took her hand again. ‘I want Neve to meet the girls,’ she explained, yanking a grateful Neve away. ‘Sorry about that. My nan will only go as far south as the Trafford Centre, and then she moans and groans about the state of the loos. Now, let’s go and find the girls and you haven’t even had a drink. There should be some champagne knocking about but I need to ask someone how many calories there are in a glass.’
‘Seventy-five,’ Neve said, without even having to think about it.
‘God, you’re so smart,’ Mandy trilled, leading Neve to a raised seating area at the back of the bar. ‘Here are the girls. Neve, this is my sister, Kelly, and my best friend, Tasha, and my other best friend, Chelsy, and Emma, who’s also my best friend and Lauren, who’s my best friend and my PA. This is Neve – Max’s Neve.’
Mandy’s five best friends were arranged on a black leather sofa and two armchairs. They looked Neve up and down, with faces that weren’t completely unfriendly, but weren’t exactly welcoming either. Neve knew that all her worst fears had been confirmed: Kelly, Tasha, Chelsy, Emma and Lauren were cut from exactly the same cloth as Charlotte.
They were all tanned with long, flicky, super-shiny hair, and the only thing smaller than their skirts were the teeny tiny clutch bags adorned in gilt hardware and logos that even Neve could recognise: Gucci, Louis Vuitton and yes, Fendi, except that didn’t seem quite so funny now when she was standing in front of them wearing a big foofy dress that was more Mother of the Bride than arty, cool Girlfriend of the Bride’s ghost-writer.
‘I’m going to get some champagne. Come on, guys, budge up,’ Mandy demanded and Kelly, Tasha and Chelsy (or was it Emma?) grudgingly shifted so there was a tiny gap on the sofa that wasn’t going to accommodate Neve’s forty-three-inch hips.
‘It’s OK,’ she mumbled, perching uncomfortably on the arm of the sofa and hoping that she wasn’t sticking her bottom in someone’s face. ‘I can sit here.’
‘So, you and Max, then?’ Kelly queried, tossing her long, streaked hair away from her face. Neve counted at least five different tones in her highlights and marvelled at the sheer level of grooming on display. It must take them hours to get ready. ‘How long have you been hooking up?’
Was hooking up the same as dating? Neve wasn’t sure. ‘Well, we’ve been seeing each other for just over two months.’
‘What? Speak up. I can hardly hear you.’
Neve repeated herself at a volume that had to qualify as a bellow and the five of them nodded and conferred amongst themselves. ‘When did Max hook up with Shelly then? Wasn’t that long ago, was it?’
‘Well, it was after Ricky but before Bryan. And she was with Ricky for Christmas but Bryan took her away to the Seychelles for Valentine’s Day, so it must have been January.’ They all looked at Neve who had no option but to sit there with a frozen face while they thought it appropriate to discuss exactly when Max had been having sex with some other girl who wasn’t her.
‘You can say what you like about Shelly but she’s really gorgeous and she always pulls the fittest blokes,’ Kelly piped up in defence of her morally-lacking friend who’d been kicked out of the wedding party for shagging the wrong kind of footballer, then selling her story to the tabloids. ‘I always thought she and Max would be perfect together.’ She gave Neve another searching look, which verged on incredulous. ‘How did you and Max meet anyway?’
‘Through my sister,’ Neve bit out, accepting a glass of champagne from Mandy, who’d hopefully come to her defence.
‘Neve is the smartest girl I’ve ever met,’ Mandy informed her friends, who looked singularly unimpressed. ‘She’s got a degree from Oxford and Max says she’s got more books than anyone he’s ever known and she knew how many calories there are in a glass of champagne without having to look it up on her iPhone first.’
That last point was greeted with murmurs of approval as Mandy pressed on. ‘You have to be extra nice to Neve ’cause she doesn’t know anyone except Max,’ she announced, plonking herself down in the gap between her sister and Tasha. ‘So, Neve, what are you doing tomorrow morning?’
Mentally girding myself for the prospect of having to spend an afternoon at a spa with your friends, Neve wanted to say, but she just flailed her hands and spilled champagne down the front of her dress. ‘Um, I don’t know. Max said something about …’
‘He’s got to have a meeting with my agent about our next book,’ Mandy told her sweetly. ‘So you’re coming to our last bridal boot-camp session. We’re doing it in the grounds of the Country Club where the spa is and it’s where we’re having the reception. It’s dead gorgeous. I really wanted to get married in a castle but we couldn’t find a nice one that was near Manchester and I was gutted but then my dad said—’
‘Mandy! We’ve been doing bridal boot camp for months. She probably won’t be able to keep up with us,’ Chelsy interrupted. ‘Do you really want to have to go at half speed for the last boot camp when you still need to lose another two pounds before Saturday?’
Mandy bit her lip and Neve could see her hesitation. Her innate goodwill was being sorely tested by the demands of fitting into a designer wedding dress.
‘It’s all right,’ Neve said quickly. ‘I can just do my usual workout in the hotel gym.’
‘You work out?’ Kelly’s sculpted eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. ‘Really?’
‘Well, yes, a few times a week but not in a group, with a trainer, and I don’t—’
‘That’s perfect then,’ Mandy sighed in relief. ‘Neve can do the bridal boot camp and hang out with us all day.’ She stood up. ‘I have to go and rescue Darren. I think Gucci’s being traumatised by all the noise.’
Neve watched her walk away with dismay. She craned her neck to see if she could spot Max in the crowd and was wondering if now would be a good time to make her excuses when Lauren tapped her on the knee.
‘I need to talk to you about your spa treatments,’ she said brusquely, as she held up her iPhone. ‘I’ve got you down for a pampering facial, a leg wax, but the waxer’s got an extra half-hour free so she said she’d do your bikini line too.’
‘Oh, that’s very nice, but—’
‘But I need to check whether you want a luxury pedicure or a medi-pedi?’ Lauren looked expectantly at Neve.
‘Um, what’s a medi-pedi?’
‘You do
The five of them looked appalled. Outraged, even, as if there was no point in owning a lot of books if you didn’t even know what a medi-pedi was.
‘A luxury pedicure will be fine,’ Neve said woodenly, and it was silly and she was over-reacting because she’d had much worse treatment from much meaner girls than this, but she could feel her bottom lip trembling and she had to stop herself from blinking, because the next time she blinked, she knew the first tears would start to trickle down her face.
‘Then we’re heading back to town to get our hair and faces done but they haven’t got time to do anything more than give us a wash and blow dry and—’
‘That’s fine. I have to go now and find Max.’ Neve was already getting up and almost falling off her heels in the process. ‘It was very nice to meet you all.’ She didn’t wait to hear what they had to say about that, but tripped down the three steps and frantically scanned the room for Max.
He was right where she’d left him, standing at the bar, and just seeing his lovely, easy smile as he talked to someone was like coming home to a warm flat after walking through a snowstorm.
Neve began to fight her way through the crowd, all set to launch into a tirade about how vile Mandy’s friends were and she was not, repeat not, boot-camping with them or Spa-ing with them either, come to that. If Max had to find a doctor who’d write her a sick-note, then so be it. But as she got nearer to Max, even using elbows when she really had to, Neve saw that he was still talking to Bill and Jean. Jean had her arm tucked through Max’s, her head tilted to catch his every last word. Then when he got to the end of his speech, Bill clapped him on the back, maybe a little too hard, because Max rocked back on his heels, but it broke Neve’s heart a little.
She was probably being too fanciful, that’s what her mum would say, but looking from the outside in, it occurred to her that Bill and Jean really were Max’s honorary parents, or as close as he had. This wasn’t just a work event for him. He’d been invited by people who cared about him and she didn’t want them to say, ‘Lovely to see Max, but that sulky girlfriend of his was a real piece of work,’ when they left on Monday morning.