LITMIR.BIZ

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‘I don’t suppose I could have your autograph, could I?’ he said, thrusting his clipboard out towards her. ‘Only my girlfriend is never going to believe me when I tell her that I’ve met you. She really likes you as well.’

      Lizzie’s smile warmed a few degrees more. ‘Of course you can, Danny.’ She took the pen from between his fingers. ‘What would you like me to put?’

      ‘Oh I dunno. I can’t think . . .’ he said.

      Now there’s an understatement, thought Suzie grimly.

      Lizzie pressed the pen to her lips, apparently deep in thought. ‘How about “To Danny, thank you for making my party so very special, lots of love, Lizzie Bingham, kiss, kiss, kiss”?’ She purred, barely breaking eye contact as she scribbled across what looked like it might be their delivery note. ‘Would you like me to put, “You’re the star, that’s what you are?”’

      It was the Starmaker reality show’s catchphrase, but on Lizzie’s lips it sounded positively erotic.

      Danny giggled and blushed the colour of cherryade. ‘Oh my God, right, well yeah, that’d be lovely, thanks,’ he blustered, waiting to take back the clipboard. Making an effort to compose himself, he said, ‘So are there going to be a lot of famous people here tonight then?’

      All smiles, Lizzie tipped her head to one side, implying her lips were sealed, while managing to suggest that anything was possible. ‘We’re just glad that you’re here,’ she said after a second or two.

      Suzie shook her head in disbelief; the woman was a complete master class in innuendo and manipulation. Poor little Danny was putty in Liz’s perfectly manicured hands.

      ‘Righty-oh,’ said the boy, coming over all macho and protective. ‘Well in that case best I’d get a move on then, hadn’t I? Get these balloons sorted.’

      ‘Thank you, that would be great. Hope to catch you later,’ Lizzie said, all teeth and legs and long, long eyelashes.

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake, put him down,’ said Suzie under her breath as Danny strode away like John Wayne, dragging his gas bottle behind him. ‘Do you have to do that?’

      ‘Oh, come on,’ said Lizzie, switching off the glamour like a light bulb. ‘You’re just jealous and I was listening, remember – you weren’t getting anywhere with him. Besides, he loved it. Did you see his face? It’s made his day, probably his decade. You know you always have to remember the little people, darling,’ she said in a mock-starry voice, with a big grin. ‘They’re the ones who can make you or break you; although I have to say it really pisses me off that after ten years of a career in serious journalism, it’s two series of that bloody reality TV show that’s finally put me on Joe Public’s GPS.’

      ‘Come off it, Lizzie, if you’re looking for sympathy you’ve come to the wrong place. You told me you hated roughing it – living out of a knapsack with no toilets, constant helmet hair, and how being embedded with the troops played hell with your skin.’

      ‘Well it does – just look at Kate Adie and that Irish woman – have they never heard of moisturiser?’ Lizzie peered myopically at her watch. ‘What time did you say Mum and Dad are due back?’

      ‘Still not wearing your glasses?’

      ‘Oh please. It’s fine if you’re Kate Silverton, all feline and serious, the thinking man’s love bunny, but trust me it really hasn’t worked in light entertainment since Eric Morecambe.’

      ‘What about contacts—’

      ‘Darling, I’ve got more contacts than you could wave a wet stick at,’ Liz said slyly with a wolfish grin.

      ‘You know what I mean, and don’t come over all starry with me, kiddo. Remember I was there with you when you were in your jarmies interviewing Billy the guinea pig and Flopsy rabbit with a hairbrush.’

      Liz laughed. ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’

      ‘Well, don’t worry, I haven’t. Anyway, Aunt Fleur says she’ll try and keep Mum and Dad out till six if she can.’ Suzie checked her own watch. ‘She’s going to give us a ring when they’re on their way back. So that’s just on two hours, I reckon, if we’re lucky. So can you come and give us a hand? We’ve got to put out the tables, get the chairs sorted out, then there’s the flowers, the banners to be hung, the red carpet, the balloons. After that we need to get the cake sorted, check on the glasses and then there’s the fireworks . . . God, actually there’s loads more to do, so which do you fancy doing?’

      Lizzie pulled a face. ‘You know, sweetie, I’m useless at all that sort of thing. I’ve got some calls to make and I need to get ready. It sounds like you’ve got it all covered. You won’t really be needing me, will you?’

      At which point Sam, Suzie’s husband, appeared from around the corner of the garage wheeling a great pile of chairs. ‘Oh there you are. For God’s sake you two, we haven’t got time for a girlie chat,’ he said, talking and walking and heading for the back garden. ‘It’s total chaos round the back there. Can you catch up later and get round there and give us a hand?’

      Suzie glared at his retreating back: as if she hadn’t been working like a dog since the instant her mum and dad pulled out of the drive. Not to mention all the planning and hiring and booking and worrying about whether the party would all come together.

      ‘So what’s up with Mr Happy?’ asked Lizzie.

      ‘Don’t take any notice, he’s just a bit stressed, that’s all,’ Suzie said, wondering why on earth she felt the need to defend him. ‘Work and things, and the girls are a bit of handful at the moment – well, Hannah is. Teenagers, you know how it is.’

      Lizzie wrinkled her nose. ‘Fortunately I don’t and to be honest the man’s got no idea what real pressure is.’

      No, thought Suzie, but I certainly do. The last few months had been a mass of subterfuge, stealth and planning, culminating in today’s big event for Jack and Rose’s fortieth wedding anniversary – forty years. Given Sam’s current frustrated and grumpy mood, Suzie was beginning to think that another forty minutes together was starting to look close to impossible.

      The wedding anniversary party had grown out of a chance conversation they’d had when Liz came to stay with them for a few days over Christmas, after a trip to the Caribbean with the guy she had been dating had fallen through at the last minute.

      One dark winter afternoon, they had all been sitting around in front of the fire, looking through the family photo albums in the sentimental way you do when everyone gets together, and along the way Suzie had realised their parents’ fortieth anniversary was approaching. Somewhere between the wine and breaking out the Baileys they had come up with the idea of throwing a party, which had somehow transformed into a surprise party and then snowballed from a small family get-together to a blow-by-blow recreation of their mum and dad’s wedding reception.

      ‘It’ll be absolutely brilliant,’ Liz had said, topping up her glass. ‘I can see it now. Masses of flowers, wedding cake, photographer – I know this brilliant guy. And maybe we could sort out a second honeymoon for them? What do you think? Where did they go first time around?’

      ‘Devon, I think,’ said Suzie.

      ‘Perfect. I know this lovely little hotel. Do you think there’s any way we can get hold of the original guest list?’

      At which point Suzie had turned over a group photo that her mum had given one of her daughters for a family history project and said, ‘Actually I think quite a lot of the names are on the back here.’

      Liz had grinned. ‘Fantastic, that’s a start and I’m sure between us we can come up with the rest of them. Maybe you could email Aunt Fleur? Wasn’t she Mum’s chief bridesmaid? The woman’s got a memory like an elephant; she’s bound to remember. Hang on, I’ll grab my diary.’ Liz leant over the arm of the sofa and, grabbing it from her bag,

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