Read Online Never Google Heartbreak by Emma Garcia - Free Book Online Page B

room sparkles in silver and white, with two swan ice sculptures glistening at either end of it. The ceiling is strung with pearly balloons dangling silver ribbons. The white linen tablecloths are scattered with tiny silver sequins, miniature bottles of bubbles and party poppers. On every table stands a crystal vase of blousy white roses. The place settings are amazing, with elaborately folded napkins and gifts for the guests wrapped in glittery paper. On the back of the chairs, rosebud name cards are daintily attached with tinsel. As I walk to my seat I notice the table across from me, which bears the names Rob and Sam. They’ll be sitting directly in my eye-line, then. I feel the euphoric booze bubble evaporate, leaving something sour in its place. I sink into my seat as my stomach tightens and twists. Max is introducing himself to everyone. A goat-eyed woman named Dawn is delighted with him, tinkling with laughter at his every word while her pinched-faced husband fiddles with his napkin. I pull Max’s trouser leg and he sits down, finishing his amusing anecdote: ‘So I said, it’s Tipperary or bust!’ The whole table, except pinched-faced husband, laughs hysterically.
    Max turns to me, eyes shining. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘Can you just stop, please?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Trying so hard to be the life and soul. Why do you have to become more Irish when you’re telling a joke, anyway?’
    ‘I don’t know . . . it makes it funnier.’
    ‘It doesn’t, actually; it makes you look like you’ve got special needs.’
    ‘I have special needs!’ he declares to the table. ‘I specially need a drink!’
    Dawn acknowledges him with a wanton smile. He points a party popper in my direction and the silver streamers catch in my hair, falling over my face. I look over to Rob’s table, noticing with a pang of envy that everyone on it is young and mostly good-looking. He leans close to Sam and places his hand tenderly over hers, speaking in her perfect little ear. She looks down, smiling coyly, then answers something like, ‘Me too.’
    Max clicks his fingers in front of my nose. ‘And come back. Don’t look over there – your eyes go like an evil fairy godmother. Here, have more champagne.’ He pours it into my red wine glass. There’s a pause while I watch the bubbles rise and pop; then he tenderly pulls a few streamers from my hair.
    ‘God, you’re a gorgeous creature. Haven’t we met before?’ He grins.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘I think I would have remembered.’ I yawn.
    ‘Yes, I’ve got it. Didn’t you graduate from Liverpool University in ’01?’
    ‘Might have.’
    ‘Me too! Didn’t we . . . ?’ He makes a rocking movement with his hips.
    ‘No!’ I snap.
    ‘D’you wanna?’
    ‘What, dry hump?’
    ‘No, you know . . .’ He repeats the hip thing. I stare at him for a moment.
    ‘You know, I’d love to, especially since you put it like that, but I’m a bit busy.’
    The salmon mousse starters are arriving thick and fast. Our waitress, a plump adolescent with incongruous black bunches, dumps them down. A plate rocks in front of me, the cucumber decoration tumbling over. I feel hungry and sick at the same time. I glance at Rob and our eyes meet! My heart flips as he smiles briefly; then he leans to answer a question from a Swedish-looking girl to his left. Sam sits demurely beside him, her hands on her lap. She radiates good manners and taste. Rob often complained about me at parties – I’m too raucous and talkative, apparently. Sam smiles politely as her plate is thrown down and waits for the bride and groom to start eating before she takes a bite. That’s good breeding, that is, and I can’t compete. I spent my formative years being passed between adults like a relay baton; how was I to learn etiquette? I swallow down the huge glass of champagne and fail to suppress a burp. Max squeezes my knee as he explains the beauty of the Cliffs of Moher to old goat-eyes. She’s practically