Becky watched as her friend put the last model next to the cake, gave a small nod of satisfaction and stepped back to scrutinise the studio.
‘What’s the verdict?’ asked Becky. ‘Is it a worthy frame for one of your masterpieces?’
Ronnie glanced at Becky, then shrugged. ‘It’s OK, I suppose.’ She started to pack the empty model containers into the cake box, clicking each lid into place with a vigorous snap and a twitch of her nose. Wondering whose neck she was visualising breaking, Becky opened her mouth to ask, when Ronnie said, ‘You know you’re doing it again, don’t you?’
Ugh! Becky closed her eyes to stop them rolling out of her head. ‘Not this again!’
‘Yes, again! Because this happens every time. You get too involved. You spend too much time with these people. They’re not your friends, Becks. They’re not your family. When you’ve made their lives better they’ll wave you off, all grateful and “oh how can we ever repay you”, but in a few weeks they’ll forget you because they’ll be busy living their marvellously improved lives.’
Becky slid her fingers behind the legs of her glasses to rub her temples. How many times did she have to listen to this speech? ‘You’ve said this before, but it’s always been fine. They move on. I move onto a new project. Everyone’s happy.’
‘Maybe.’ Ronnie crossed her arms. ‘But that was before you had Dylan.’
Becky loved Ronnie. God knows you’d have to if you were going to put up with her prickliness, mood swings and downright rudeness. And Becky always preferred to think of her best friend as sensitive, dynamic and forthright. But Dylan was a line Ronnie knew better than to cross and she was edging perilously close to it.
Becky raised a finger and then curled it down into a fist. ‘Where are you going with this, Ron?’
Ronnie dropped her voice, probably sensing a cautious approach would be best. ‘Where’s Dylan now, Becks? He’s with Charlie. And he’s with Charlie at least twice a week, and if not then he’s with Phoebe. In January, when the exhibition’s opened and you’re surplus to requirements, do you think Rachel’s going to be delighted with Charlie being a regular babysitter for your son? Will Dylan understand why his new babysitters don’t come round any more? And then there’s your Thursday night thing …’
‘I’ve already told you. Nothing’s going on. Phoebe drops him off. We watch a film, eat popcorn and sit at opposite ends of the sofa being thoroughly middle-aged and curmudgeonly. Phoebe picks him up. The craziest it gets is drinking a glass of wine or a beer.’
Ronnie held up her hands. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I’m not saying you’re shagging him. I’m just saying, he’s not your friend and certainly not your boyfriend. And at some point he’ll act more like an employer than a friend and you’ll be disappointed. He’s already fired you once. Just …’ She put a hand on Becky’s arm. ‘Try not to get too sucked in. Please?’
Becky pulled away and turned to the table to give the cake board an unnecessary adjustment. She was too tired to have this fight now. It was easier to nod and let Ronnie rant.
‘How’s it all going, anyway?’ Ronnie asked, her tone softening. ‘I know filling the gallery isn’t going to be a problem, but will the paintings sell well? It’s been a while since all the kerfuffle over that article. Do you think there’s still enough interest in him and his work out there?’
It was uncanny how Ronnie could put her finger on the main items on Becky’s mental list of ‘things keeping me awake at night’ and poke them until sore. She worried about Dylan constantly; she worried this project was too ambitious, that it would be a monumental disaster that would leave Charlie, Phoebe, Dylan and herself worse off than ever.
She took a deep breath and avoided Ronnie’s eye as she said, ‘Everything’s under control’.
‘Has he paid you for organising all this?’ Ronnie flicking an accusatory finger towards the marquee and the bar. ‘He didn’t pay for the cake, I know that much.’
Becky took another deep breath. If Ronnie carried on like this she was sure to start hyperventilating. ‘Lauren and Mel have covered the supplier costs. And the cake is my present to Phoebe. I did offer to pay you, remember?’
‘I don’t want your money.’
‘OK, then!’ Becky placed a hand on the table to steady herself, taking a moment to remove the edge from her voice and try for a change of subject. ‘And thanks again for the cake. It’s great. Those models must have taken ages.’
‘You’re welcome. Who did the photos?’ Ronnie pointed towards an area to the right of the doorway, near the DJ booth. A large canvas had been set up on an easel and decorated with photos of Phoebe taken over the last eighteen years.
Becky smiled. At last, a topic with no negative side. ‘It was my idea. Lauren sent a few photos but Charlie did all the work of getting them printed and put together.’
‘Huh.’ Ronnie narrowed her eyes, scanning the pictures. ‘I don’t see Charlie in any of the pictures past when Phoebe was a little girl.’
Calm and controlled be damned. Becky had listened to Ronnie’s carping long enough, and there was no way she was letting her go after Charlie. ‘Jesus Christ, Ronnie! What is with you? If he’s not there it’s because he was behind the camera. Somebody has to take the picture. Not all of us want to be centre stage.’
She turned away and used a container which had strayed under the table as an excuse to duck out of Ronnie’s view and vent some grumpy mumbling at the floor. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten while trying to figure out what was behind Ronnie’s latest barrage of sunshine and joy. They often disagreed, but Ronnie didn’t often go on the attack. Something else had to be getting to her.
Becky straightened up, bringing the box with her. ‘How is cohabiting going?’ she asked.
Ronnie ran her hand through her hair. ‘Better. The toilet seat is down ninety per cent of the time and we’ve sorted out sharing the bathroom. Mike also bought me a tablet so I can watch TV when he wants to watch the football. We’re getting there.’
‘Good. I’m sure Mike’s doing his best. God knows I couldn’t live with you.’ She gave Ronnie a sly smile. ‘I’d end up clubbing you to death after finding you’d put empty After Eight wrappers back in the box.’
Ronnie returned the smile as Becky nudged her in the ribs. They never could stay annoyed with each other for long. And Becky was keen to bury the hatchet if it meant she could bury some of her worries along with it and instead get to the bottom of whatever was causing her friend to lash out.
Ronnie tossed the last container in the box. ‘Did you know Mike and Charlie now go to the gym together, as well as their weekend rugby dates?’
‘Dates, plural? I knew they’d been to a friendly back in August. And Charlie’s mentioned the odd game now the season’s under way. But the gym too? Doesn’t Charlie go to Tyler’s?’
‘Not any more. Mike convinced him it was a waste of money when the leisure centre has everything he needs.’
‘So he quit Tyler’s? Do they let you do that?’