Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy, Katey Lovell [booksvooks .txt] 📗

“I know she told you.” A flash of annoyance appeared on Tawna’s face despite the thick make-up she was wearing. Primer, foundation, concealer, blusher. Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara. Eyebrows pencilled into bow-shaped arches. Lips carefully lined and coloured in with a neutrally shaded lipstick. It was all part of the daily routine for Tawna.

“I didn’t mean to,” Eve fumbled, genuinely apologetic. “But she guessed and I couldn’t lie.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tawna said, with a sigh that suggested disappointment. “The most important thing is that everyone has a good night, especially you, Soph. After all, it’s not every day you turn thirty!”

I groaned, resisting the urge to remind her I had another two full days of my twenties left to revel in. Birthdays are a good excuse to get drunk, and of course, I like the presents (who doesn’t like presents?), but I didn’t relish the thought of edging ever-closer to middle age. Not purely through vanity, although that did amplify my concerns. A solitary grey hair had recently made an appearance, and I had promptly plucked it out, wrapped it in a tissue and flushed it down the loo so I wouldn’t have to see it again. The first small creases were becoming visible at the corners of my eyes too – not prominent enough to class as wrinkles, but very definitely there. But it wasn’t only my changing looks making me twitchy. When I was young, I’d assumed that by the time I hit the big three-oh my life would be sorted. A successful career, a nice husband, a couple of kids…

It hadn’t happened like that though. Substitute the career for a dead-end admin job at a law firm in town, the husband for an ex-boyfriend who I missed more than I let on and the kids for next door’s cat (who kept sneaking in through the kitchen window to piss on the floor) and you’d be closer to my reality.

“I’m going to need more alcohol,” I said, having finished my first glass in record speed.

As I placed the empty glass on the table I noticed the cake – a full-on multi-tiered centrepiece like you’d see in the celebrity wedding spreads in OK! magazine. How I’d managed to miss it before, I don’t know. It was enormous.

“What’s that?” I gestured towards the showstopping cake. “It’s a birthday party, not a bloody wedding reception.” I realised how ungrateful my comment sounded after it had left my mouth.

As Tawna tightened her grip on the stem of her glass and bit down on her lip I felt bad for being such a grump, but I hadn’t wanted any of this fuss. When the girls asked how I wanted to celebrate my birthday I’d been perfectly clear – a night out on the lash, just the three of us. We’d bump into people we knew when we got into town, because that’s what Newcastle’s like. Even if you don’t plan to meet up with people, you end up in the same bars as friends, colleagues, acquaintances, exes… that’s what happens. There’s a good reason the city has a reputation as a party town and draws stag and hen dos from all over the country every weekend, and the lively welcoming atmosphere is part of that. It’s just irritating at times, because everyone knows everyone else’s business.

“We had it made especially at that cute place that does the cupcakes you like.” My friend looked stung.

“I bet it tastes delicious,” I said kindly, desperately trying to make up for my snappiness.

Despite its ridiculous size, the cake did look amazing. The frosting was thick and swirling, and piped pink buttercream roses decorated with edible metallic silver balls that looked as though they’d chip your teeth when you bit into them lined the cake base. Pale pink petals were scattered across the silver board. It couldn’t have been cheap. Even the cupcakes at that shop were pricey, so a gigantic cake must have been extortionate. Not that money was a worry for Tawna. Nothing was.

“I asked for the pink especially,” she said, admiring my freshly painted nails (baby pink except for the index fingers which were a glittery hot pink. My toes matched too, I couldn’t resist). “I know it’s your favourite colour.”

Her words softened me. The extravagant gesture was typical of Tawna – she could be so thoughtful. It was just one reason why although we frequently had our differences I could never stay mad at her for long.

“It’s incredible.”

I wrapped her in a hug, inhaling her familiar scent. Tawna had worn the same perfume forever – DKNY, the green one that came in a bottle shaped like an apple. It was my go-to present for her at birthdays or Christmas, whereas her gifts for me were always original, even if not necessarily what I’d choose for myself. The cake took the biscuit, pardon the pun.

“You should mingle,” Eve suggested, swaying her hips in time to the thumping chart music blasting out from the speakers. “Everyone’s here for you.”

The thought of being sociable after a long week at work exhausted me. That’s why I’d suggested a night out for just us three. I turn into a cowbag when I’m cream-crackered, only wanting to surround myself with people I like. Not that I didn’t like the people at the party. I should’ve been flattered they’d given up their precious Friday night to celebrate with me – but with the party being in my honour the pressure to be the hostess with the mostest landed on me.

The work posse – Jane and Kath and Marcie – were drinking like fish. Kath was the same age as my mum (fifty-six) but had become something of a party animal since her divorce. Maybe more of a party cougar, actually, spending her weekends on the prowl in town, eyeing up men half her age because she swore the males from her own generation couldn’t keep up with her.