Read Going La La for Free Online Page B

Adam to the neon-lit refreshments booth.
     
    It was time to leave. Frankie collared Hugh, who was standing with his hands in his pockets by the Coke dispenser. ‘I want to go home,’ she muttered, miserably sitting on one of the fold-down plastic chairs and rubbing the bruise on her shin that was working its way through all the colours of the rainbow.
    ‘Why?’ He looked surprised.
    It was the final straw. ‘Why do you think?’ she snapped. ‘It’s my birthday and I’m in a bowling alley. I’m bruised, bored, my fingers hurt, my feet hurt, and on top of all that you’ve hardly spoken to me all night.’
    Silence. Hugh ran his fingers through his gelled quiff and looked at the floor.
    Frankie softened. She always did when he played with his hair. ‘Look, if you’ve got something on your mind, just say it.’ He hadn’t given her a present yet, so no doubt he was waiting for the right time to bring out the ring. Obviously he wanted to do one of those wacky kinds of proposal – the hot-air-ballooning, scuba-diving, in a bowling-alley type that people have to show they’re not boring traditionalists. But, to be honest, although she appreciated his ingenuity, she’d rather have had the boring old-fashioned candlelit-dinner proposal any day.
    There was an awkward pause. ‘Well, actually there is something I’ve been meaning to say for a while, but this probably isn’t the right time or the right place . . .’ Hugh sat down. Not in the chair next to her.
    It was like somebody playing a piano chord in a minor key. It jarred ominously. But Frankie didn’t hear it. All she could hear was the sound of wedding bells. Mistakenly thinking he was nervous, she tried to help him along.
    ‘Look, if this makes it any easier for you, I know what it is you want to say.’
    ‘You do?’ He wrinkled his forehead, his thick blond eyebrows blocking the light from his eyes.
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Oh.’ He looked taken aback. ‘And you’re not upset?’
    Frankie gasped and, slipping off her seat, crouched down by his knees on the dusty floor. She rested her hand reassuringly on his. ‘Hugh, what are you talking about? Why would I be upset? I love you. Of course I want to marry you.’
    Silence.
    ‘What did you just say?’
    Frankie rushed over the words. ‘I’m sorry, I know I’m jumping the gun a bit. You see, I didn’t mean to snoop, but I found the receipt for the engagement ring in your pocket.’ Her words came out in a jumbled gabble.
    Hugh went ashen. Moving his hand away from hers, he stood up and paced around in a circle. Frankie watched him, feeling bewildered. She wasn’t exactly a seasoned pro when it came to marriage proposals, but even she knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
    ‘I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.’ His voice was clipped and flat. As if he was talking to a client, not his girlfriend, not someone he was supposed to love. He looked at her. His face was drained of blood and emotion. Hard and colourless. It was a look she would never forget.
    ‘What?’ Her voice was almost a whisper.
     
    There was a commotion behind them. With disastrous timing, Adam and Jessica burst upon them.
    ‘Hey, guess what, guys!’ trilled Jessica breathlessly. ‘Look what Adam just hid in my hotdog!’ Waving her hand under Frankie’s nose, she flashed a beautiful Tiffany’s engagement ring. ‘Isn’t it wicked? We’re going to get married!’ She jumped up and down like Zebedee, the diamond sparkling under the harsh glare of the illuminous strip-lighting.
    Frankie didn’t say anything. Neither did Hugh, apart from a half-hearted ‘Congratulations’ to Adam, who was standing to one side, grinning modestly.
    Turning to Hugh, Adam fell serious for a moment. ‘Before I forget, I think I’ve left the receipt in the pocket of that overcoat of yours – the one I borrowed one lunchtime last week when it was raining. Better have that, just in case . . . Insurance and all that. Good job