The Time of Our Lives

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘I didn’t actually know I was a bridesmaid when we met last night. It was definitely a last-minute change,’ I tell him, before turning back to Tom briefly. ‘I’d better go.’

  I notice Tom look Pete up and down, his eyes narrowing as he tries to suss him out. He doesn’t look impressed, but why would he? Pete is basically Tom’s opposite.

  ‘OK then,’ he says. ‘Well, can catch up later then, I guess.’

  ‘Yep,’ I reply, although I am absolutely going to avoid doing this if possible.

  As I walk off with Pete, I take his arm and lean in closer so that I can whisper into his ear.

  ‘Thanks for saving me,’ I say.

  ‘Not a problem,’ he replies. ‘That looked a little intense. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Please,’ I reply. ‘Just an orange juice.’

  ‘Are you sure that all you want?’ he asks.

  I smile and nod.

  ‘Coming right up then,’ he replies. ‘Find us somewhere nice to sit.’

  I make my way over to a wicker sofa, hiding in the shade of a beautiful willow tree. From here, I have a great view of the gardens, the massive lake, and even my hotel room window. I like knowing that, if it all gets too much here, I can escape to my little hotel room and hide, while still technically feeling like I’m at the wedding. I sit and admire the view until Pete sits down next to me.

  ‘So, what’s the story?’ he asks.

  ‘The story?’

  ‘The story with the guy,’ he says. ‘There’s always a story with a guy when there’s a girl with a look on her face like you have.’

  ‘Ah, you don’t want to hear all about that,’ I tell him with a bat of my hand. ‘It’s nothing. Ancient history.’ I’m trying to play it down as best I can because I really don’t want Pete to think I am a dramatic woman with a dramatic life.

  ‘Of course I want to hear all about it,’ he replies. ‘It sounds like it might be an interesting tale.’

  ‘We went to uni together,’ I tell him, getting the ball rolling. Perhaps I’ll only tell him as much as I need to, even if it would be nice to tell an outsider all about it.

  ‘Something happen between you?’

  ‘Yes … well, no … sort of.’

  ‘That sounds complicated.’

  I smile at him. I can’t tell if he’s humouring me, just to be kind. I doubt he actually wants to know about something that happened to me ten years ago, does he?

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’

  ‘Every word of it,’ he insists.

  I’m really not used to getting attention from men, I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

  ‘OK,’ I say, taking a deep breath. ‘Tom and Matt were best friends when we were at uni. So when I moved in with Matt I started seeing more and more of Tom, and we grew quite close. We finally made plans for a date … but then he met someone better, so …’

  ‘Cleo?’ he asks, with an understanding nod.

  ‘Erm, yes,’ I reply. It didn’t occur to me that Pete might already know her.

  ‘Not that I’m saying she’s better than you or anything like that,’ he quickly says. ‘But I know her through Kat. I knew about her and Tom being together, but I’d never actually met the guy until now.’

  ‘How does Cleo know Kat?’ I ask him curiously.

  ‘They’re sisters,’ he says. ‘Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I admit.

  ‘Yeah. Kat met Matt through Cleo and Tom. I suppose if you and he had got together, Tom wouldn’t have ended up with Cleo, Kat wouldn’t have met Matt, this wedding wouldn’t be happening and you wouldn’t have met me.’

  I think about the chain of events for a few seconds.

  ‘I suppose I wouldn’t have,’ I say, smiling at him.

  ‘I thought maybe they might’ve sat us at the same table but I checked and no such luck,’ Pete says, changing the subject.

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  Not just because I would have loved to sit with him and talk more, but because it means I’ll be sitting with Fi and the boys. I don’t mind sitting with Fi, I could easily talk to her all day, but I remember all too well what the boys are like, especially at mealtimes.

  There’s this unidentifiable energy between Pete and me. A tension, since the kiss we shared last night. I might be momentarily rattled by Tom being here, but I can’t let my past distract me from what is happening right now. Instead, I should let my present distract me from everything that happened back then. Perhaps Pete can distract me with another kiss, if I’m lucky (read: don’t ruin things – or allow my old friends to ruin things for me).

  ‘Well, I think we’re about to sit down to eat, but after that,’ Pete says, ‘we can sit together, have a drink, maybe have a bit of a dance …’

  ‘I’d really like that,’ I reply sincerely. ‘Well, if we’re eating soon I’d better get a move on and get around everyone with this book.’

  ‘Yes, don’t let me distract you from your newfound bridesmaid duties,’ he laughs. ‘That’s a great dress, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks. If only it were a different colour, I wouldn’t be saddled with bridesmaid duties. It was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  Which is pretty much the story of my life …

  Chapter 6

  Then – 20th September 2008

  Things that are important when you move into a new house …

  Furniture, that’s pretty important, right? There are lots of things you need, even in a student house. Beds, tables, chairs, cutlery, lights, drawers – a whole bunch of stuff. You need a room of your own, somewhere you can sleep, somewhere you can get some privacy. Cleaning rotas are important, probably, and bathroom schedules. But the most important thing of all – the one thing that is more important than all the other things – is the housewarming party, and tonight we’re throwing an epic one.

  There are fairy lights everywhere, the music is booming, and with the tens and tens of guests who walk through the door, each one brings more and more to alcohol to add the healthy supply we bought in anticipation of the big event.

  As the familiar drum beat of The Ting Tings ‘That’s Not My Name’ starts, someone turns up the music.

  ‘Tune,’ Clarky declares as he, for some bizarre reason (probably alcohol), walks like an Egyptian across the crowded room.

  I glance around the living room, looking for my friends. I watch as Fifi and Zach take part in drinking games. They kiss for a dare, but when the game moves on, Zach puts up a wall between the two of them, like he always does. Clarky sits down at the table and spins the bottle, which lands on Fifi. He looks delighted when she’s quick to kiss him, but she’s obviously only doing it to make Zach jealous. I know better than to try and get her attention right now, she’s a woman on a mission.

  Matt is in the kitchen, sitting on the worktop, with a captive group of girls forming a crowd in front of him. He’s wearing a fedora, because of course he is. I think he thinks that cool guys at parties wear fedoras, but I can’t see that one standing the test of time. This is all classic Matt, turning his cheeky charm on for the ladies. I don’t know if he does it because he’s interested in one of them (or all of them) or if he just flirts for sport, but you’ll always find him flirting in the kitchen at parties, that’s for sure.

  The house is pretty full – full of more people I don’t recognise than people I do. For some reason that I can’t quite put my finger on, I’m feeling a little bit overwhelmed by all the noise and all the people. I wonder where Ed is. Ed has never been much of a party animal, he’s probably hiding in his room. Perhaps I can go and hang out with him for a while, hide from the party chaos, watch him play FIFA until things calm down or Fifi tears herself away from Zach for long enough to spend a little time with me.

  I knock on Ed’s door once. Then again. He might have his headphones on, so I open the door just a crack, only enough to see whether or not his light is on (because you never know what you’ll walk in on
when you live with men who weren’t teenagers too long ago), but it isn’t, so he’s either not in there, or he’s fast asleep.

  I sigh, heading to my own room where I close the door behind me. The booming of the music and the chatter of the rowdy crowd is only slightly muted by my bedroom door, but it’s just nice to get away from all the noise. I leave my lights off, only turning on the little fairy lights that hang above my bed. I sit on the edge of my bed for a second before lying back and closing my eyes. I just need a quick breather before I go back out there. It’s just the noise and the people and perhaps because I’ve had a little to drink. I just need a couple of minutes.

  In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I feel myself becoming lighter again. That is, until I hear someone open my door. I quickly sit up.

  ‘Hello,’ a man standing in my bedroom doorway says casually.

  ‘Erm, hi,’ I reply, not sure what else to say to the stranger, hovering right on the edge of my personal space.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asks.

  ‘I’d rather you—’ I start, but the man closes the door behind him before he sits down on the bed next to me. Now he really is in my personal space.

  I feel so uncomfortable, having this random man sitting next to me, on my bed.

  ‘So this is your room?’ he asks me. ‘Or are you just looking for somewhere to hide from the crowd?’

  ‘Both,’ I reply, scooting over on the bed so that our thighs are no longer touching. ‘Which one of my housemates do you know?’

  I feel like each one of my friends is so different that I’ll be able to get the measure of this man as soon as I know who he fraternises with.

  ‘Oh, none of them, I don’t think,’ he replies, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

  ‘What are you studying?’ I ask, looking for connections.

  ‘I’m not at uni,’ he laughs. ‘I just came for the party, me and a few of the lads thought it might be a good place to meet fun people.’

  Suddenly it becomes apparent that this man looks a few years older than your average third-year uni student, and I don’t want to be cynical, but it sounds like he and his mates have only come here to meet younger girls.

  ‘You look like a virgin,’ he tells me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Madonna. “Like a Virgin”. You look like she does in the music video, in that little black vest, with all those necklaces.’

  I grab my phone from my bedside table, as casually as I can, like I’m just checking my texts, when what I actually want to do is try to call one of my friends, so they can come in a diffuse this awkward, uncomfortable situation.

  ‘Are you?’ he asks. ‘A virgin?’

  The man leans over to me, placing a hand firmly on the back of my neck as he tries to kiss me.

  I try to wiggle from his grasp, but he’s holding me pretty tightly.

  ‘Don’t,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Come on, just relax, lighten up,’ he demands, taking my phone from me, tossing it to one side. ‘It’s a party, you should be enjoying yourself.’

  The man pushes me back on the bed, pressing his body down on top of mine. He feels so impossibly heavy and my best efforts do nothing to shift him.

  ‘Get off me,’ I shout, trying to wiggle free from under him. ‘I said get off!’

  The man halts his advances, but remains on top of me, pressing down so I feel like I’m trapped under a car.

  ‘Babe, you need to relax,’ he tells me. ‘Let your hair down a little.’

  He might have stopped trying to kiss me, but he’s still on top of me, still trying to reason with me, still trying to get me to change my mind. The thing is, I’m not going to change my mind – there’s nothing he can say to convince me – and the fact that we both seem unwilling to compromise absolutely terrifies me.

  I try to wiggle out from under him again, and this time I feel his weight lifting from on top of me.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hear a different man shout.

  I look up to see someone is dragging the man from my bed by his hair.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, what are you doing, bud?’ the first man asks as he’s dragged across the room, towards the door.

  ‘She said get off her,’ the second man insists. ‘Are you deaf?’

  I quickly sit up and watch as the second man forcefully shoves the first out of my bedroom door.

  ‘Get out of here,’ he tells him. ‘And if I ever see you again, you’ll regret it.’

  I exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes, unable to believe my lucky escape.

  My hero leaves my bedroom door wide open, which I think is a deliberate action, to make sure that I’m not scared of him. Then he makes his way over to me, squatting down next to my bed, which I also think might be intentional. Not shutting me in a room with him, not sitting on my bed – it’s appreciated.

  At least I recognise this man – I’ve seen him in my lectures and I’m pretty sure he’s a friend of Matt’s. He’s tall and broad, with brown, messy hair pointing in all directions. He’s got this cool, easy-going look about him, and he almost always has a smile on his face when I see him around campus. He isn’t smiling right now though.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks me. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I tell him. ‘Just shaken up. Thank you for stepping in. If you hadn’t turned up when you did …’ I feel my blood run cold.

  ‘But I did,’ he says. ‘And if I hadn’t, someone else would have heard you shouting. You have nothing to worry about, just take deep breaths. Do you want me to leave you alone or do you want me to stay with you for a bit?’

  ‘Please stay,’ I say quickly. ‘Just in case he comes back.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll dare come back,’ he reassures me with a smile, playfully brandishing a fist. He does look kind of big and scary when he’s angry, but here, now, I don’t feel scared at all. I can see his softer side, and it’s going a long way to making me feel a bit more relaxed.

  ‘It’s OK, you can close the door,’ I tell him, noticing we’re having to raise our voices to hear each other over the noise of the party. It really is a miracle he heard me; then again, it felt like I was shouting for my life.

  He does as I say, pushing my door closed before sitting down next to me, keeping just enough distance not to spook me, which I appreciate.

  ‘I recognise you from my course,’ I say, wiping away one of the tears that has managed to escape.

  ‘Yeah, I recognise you too,’ he replies. ‘Matt and I are working together on our production project – he invited me tonight.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, apparently anyone can get in,’ I say, furious about our non-existent door policy.

  ‘He wasn’t someone you knew then?’

  ‘No, I’ve never seen him before in my life. He isn’t a student, I think he was older,’ I reply, shuddering at the thought of some creepy older guy infiltrating student parties to prey on young women. I change the subject. ‘You’re Tom, right?’

  ‘That’s me,’ he says. ‘And you’re …’

  ‘Luca.’

  You think that when you finish school you put the God-awful hierarchy of the classroom behind you, but unfortunately uni follows a similar model. On our course, Tom is the cool guy, the one everyone wants to work with, the class clown. Of course I know who Tom is, and of course he doesn’t know me.

  ‘I’ve seen you around – I’ve noticed your colour-changing hair. I appreciate cool hair.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I say, nodding towards Tom’s dark, spikey, gravity defying hair.

  ‘Yeah, we look like anime characters,’ he laughs.

  I laugh too, but as I relax, I start to feel relief, and as the relief washes over me, I burst into tears.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ he says, reaching out, placing an arm around me, giving me a big, reassuring squeeze. ‘Everything is OK, I promise. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. I’ll attend all your parties from now on, how about that? I’ll wear a
suit and an ear piece – the works.’

  ‘You’re my hero,’ I tell him. ‘You should wear a cape.’

  With Tom here, I feel so safe. Not just because I’ve seen him on my course for over two years and because I know that Matt can vouch for him … I just feel like he really is looking out for me, like nothing bad can happen to me on his watch.

  ‘How about we sneak downstairs, grab some food, come back up here and I’ll watch whatever movie you want me to. I don’t even care if it has Matthew McConaughey in it.’

  ‘I’d rather watch a Scorsese flick, to be honest,’ I admit. ‘Give me a young Ray Liotta over Matthew McConaughey, any day.’

  ‘Whoa, OK, we didn’t agree you could be cool and have good taste,’ he jokes. ‘Smart, stylish and a cinephile. That’s a triple threat.’

  I smile.

  ‘Right, come on, let’s go steal some pizza, and if anyone so much as looks at you in a way you don’t like, I’ll go full Joe Pesci on them.’

  Chapter 7

  Now

  I feel like to say this wedding has turned into a circus would be grade-A hyperbole … except I just saw an alarmingly muscular man doing press-ups on the lawn with the mother of the groom on his back. So there’s that.

  I hurry over to Kat, the bride, with a book full of messages from well-wishers. I’ve done my best to get around everyone – I think I might’ve accidentally asked one of the waiters too, but he was more than happy to write something so all is well that ends well. It’s finished, I can go back to being a regular guest whose only responsibility is having a drink without making a fool of herself.

  ‘That’s great,’ Kat says, taking the book from me. ‘When I need something else, I’ll call on you.’

  ‘You’ll call on me?’ I reply weakly.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll call on you.’

  I think the words she is looking for are ‘thank’ and ‘you’.

  I pull a face to myself as I walk away, leaving her to the circle of guests that has formed around her. How have I landed myself in this mess? I know how – it’s this stupid, beautiful dress that I spent far too much money on. If I were still a goth I would’ve turned up in something black and slutty and, sure everyone would’ve asked me if I were attending a funeral (perhaps even a funeral for strippers, depending on who was making the joke) but there’s no way I would have been asked to fill in for a bridesmaid dressed like that, and there’s no way I’d be assuming boring bridesmaid duties right now – I’m not even sure they’d let me in the photos.