by Paige Toon
‘Don’t you dare. It suits you like this. How was your journey from London?’ she asks. ‘It’s a bit of a shit, isn’t it?’
‘Could’ve been worse.’ The flight from Sydney to London was bleak, made a million times worse by my broken heart. ‘I’m excited to see a part of the UK I haven’t been to before.’
‘I’ve got so many beautiful places to show you.’ Bridget sounds like she can’t wait.
‘We’ll have to cram it all in.’ I’m determined to stay upbeat for her.
‘I wish you could stay longer,’ she laments. ‘I feel like postponing my honeymoon.’
I laugh.
‘I’m not even joking,’ she says. ‘Laura can’t get here until Saturday.’ That’s four days before the wedding. Laura is her friend who lives in the States.
‘Are you sure you’ll have room for us all?’
‘Definitely! It’ll be a bit of a squash, especially when Mum and Dad get here, but I want you with me, so much. Are you sure you don’t mind sharing a room with Laura and Max for a couple of nights before the wedding?’ Max is Laura’s baby. ‘Mum was talking about getting a hotel room, but she hasn’t managed to get organised.’
Bridget’s parents are divorced, but their relationship is amicable enough for them spend a few days in the same house together. The same room, however, would be pushing it.
‘Of course not,’ I reply. ‘I can’t wait to meet everyone. So Marty’s staying at a B&B?’
‘Yeah. She and Ted wanted a proper mini-break. She can’t believe we’re getting married midweek and making them use up some of their holiday time.’ She shrugs and grins.
Marty is engaged, too. Bridget thinks it’s hilarious that she’s beating her chief bridesmaid down the aisle. No one saw that coming.
‘Why couldn’t Leo make it?’ I ask. That’s Laura’s partner.
‘Too many bookings, and I didn’t give them enough notice.’ They run a guesthouse in Key West. ‘It’s probably just as well. I don’t want anyone to upstage Charlie on our Big Day.’ She giggles.
She’s told me on numerous occasions that Leo is super-hot.
‘I can’t wait for you to meet Charlie!’ She bangs the steering wheel with excitement.
I have a feeling that, if she weren’t driving, she’d be clapping her hands like a three-year-old.
‘Me neither,’ I reply, and I mean it.
We’re back at Charlie and Bridget’s house in no time, a gorgeous four-bedroom detached house with a whitewashed exterior and a silver-grey slated roof. Charlie and Bridget have only recently finished renovating it after buying it late last year.
‘This place is amazing!’ I gush as we climb out of the car.
‘We couldn’t have got it without Dad’s help,’ she reminds me coyly, as we walk up the pretty, flower-lined stone path to the moss-green front door.
She’s already told me as much. Bridget’s dad ‘invested’ in a flat in Chalk Farm years ago, but it’s obvious he bought it primarily to help his beloved daughter get onto the property ladder. Property prices in London have skyrocketed in recent years, so he made an absolute packet when he sold it and insisted on using the profits to help Bridget buy a family home with Charlie.
‘He’s so great,’ I say, and I know this from experience. I met Bridget’s dad many times when she and I lived together. I’ve never met her mum, but I will do in a few days when she’s here for the wedding. Bridget said it was a complete faff trying to agree on a date that suited her.
She doesn’t talk about her mother much, but I understand they’ve had a slightly strained relationship over the years, not helped by the fact that her mum chose to go back to work on a cruise liner, travelling the world, when Bridget was just six years old. Her dad raised her pretty much on his own.
‘He’s thinking about selling up the pub and retiring down here,’ Bridget says of her dad.
‘No way!’
‘Yeah.’ She grins and gets her keys out of her purse.
‘What does Charlie think about that?’ I ask in a low voice in case he can somehow hear me.
‘Oh, he’s delighted. They get along like a house on fire. Dad says Charlie’s the son he never had.’
‘That is so cute.’
‘Yeah, it’s lovely,’ she says fondly, unlocking the door.
‘Hey!’ A male voice calls out, and, a moment later, Charlie appears from a door off the hallway, a big grin on his face. ‘Hello, Bronte,’ he says warmly, coming forward to embrace me. ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you properly.’
‘You too,’ I reply with an equally big smile as we hug.
He withdraws and ruffles Bridget’s hair. She bats him off with a smirk, blushing. Has she gone all shy? She has! She really wants us to like each other, I realise.
Charlie’s even better-looking in person. His eyes, which are a sort of golden hazel and are really striking, didn’t come across on the small screen when Bridget has made us say hi via FaceTime. He’s also taller and broader than I expected with shortish, dark-blond hair, the same sandy shade as Lachie’s I think with a pang.
I haven’t wanted to talk about Lachie yet, but I know that Bridget will get the whole story out of me later.
‘You want a cuppa, Bronte?’ Charlie offers, jerking his head towards what I assume is the kitchen.
‘Yes, please.’
‘April!’ Bridget calls out. ‘Where is she?’
‘In the living room,’ Charlie replies over his shoulder.
‘She’s quiet. What’s she doing?’
‘Go and see,’ Charlie calls back with amusement.
‘What are you up to?’ Bridget asks in a high-pitched voice as we round the corner. There’s a small, blonde-haired girl in a red-and-white-spotted dress lying on her tummy on the wooden floor. She’s surrounded by about two dozen brightly coloured crayons and several sheets of paper covered with messy scribbles.
‘Oh, wow, these are beautiful!’ Bridget exclaims, crouching down beside her adopted daughter.
April grins up at her and then looks at me.
‘This is Bronte,’ Bridget introduces us.
‘I see Bonty on phone,’ April replies, pointing at me.
Oh, my goodness, she’s adorable. She’s not quite three.
‘Yes, Mummy talks to Bronte on the phone quite a lot, doesn’t she? She’s Mummy’s very good friend.’
‘Hello!’ I say to April, sitting down cross-legged and proceeding to act as if her artwork were worthy of Picasso’s protégé.
She seems to like that.
That evening, once Charlie has taken April upstairs to bed, Bridget and I retire to the living room with a bottle of rosé.
‘How are you feeling?’ Bridget asks, and I know it’s time to talk about the break-up.
‘I’m going to need tissues,’ I alert her.
She passes me a box from under the sofa, followed by a pack of baby wipes. ‘There are more where those came from,’ she says.
I tearfully bring her up to date.
‘Can I speak completely freely?’ Bridget asks after a while.
‘When do you not speak freely?’ I reply with an emotional grin. ‘I’d expect nothing less. I want nothing less.’
She smiles. ‘Well, I’m kind of surprised that you and Lachie lasted this long.’
I’m a little taken aback.
‘I never really thought he was your forever love,’ she says. ‘Did you?’
I shake my head. ‘I guess not, if I’m also being honest with myself. He was there at the right time and the right place and I loved him to bits. But you’re right. If you’d asked me back then if I thought we’d still be together four years later, I don’t think I would have said yes. Lachie is still all of the things that worried me about him when we first met. Young and carefree and flirty. And I did grow to like that about him, but I’ve been getting increasingly tired of it. I just wanted him to grow up a bit, take things up a notch. But if anything, he’s been hitting the pub more than ever lately, alm
ost as though he’s rebelling against getting older.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s helped that Elliot’s been free and single and a willing accomplice.’
‘No.’ I shake my head ruefully.
Elliot gave me a card to give to Bridget, actually. He’s in a pretty good place now, I think.
‘I wonder if you’d still be breaking up if Elliot and I had stayed together,’ Bridget muses.
‘Who knows? Possibly not.’
That’s a slightly freaky thought. We all know that the people we meet shape us, but who knew that our friends’ experiences could alter our entire destinies? Maybe I wouldn’t be so broody if Bridget and Elliot were still a couple and resolutely child-free. And, if Lachie had never met young, fun Fliss, would he be so resistant to growing up?
‘I could’ve fought for him,’ I say. ‘He wasn’t sure about breaking up, you know. We did – do – still love each other, but I’m scared I’ll waste some of the best years of my life with him and we’ll still break up eventually. Then again, maybe he would have come around to the idea of having a baby. It terrifies me that I’m back to square one and might not meet anyone else. Who wants a single woman in her mid-thirties?’
‘Erm, Charlie did,’ she teases, and I blush, feeling like an idiot. ‘You can’t think like that,’ she carries on. ‘If you think like that, you’ve already lost. You’ve got to believe it will all work out. Throw yourself in headfirst and live positively and love will find you.’
I brush away another tear. ‘I’ll try,’ I promise.
‘Are you going to see Alex while you’re here?’ she asks discerningly.
I blanch. ‘You’ve got to be kidding, right? As if I need another complication.’
She shrugs. ‘I just thought…’
‘What?’ I’m astonished at the direction this conversation is taking. ‘You hate the guy!’
‘I don’t hate him. I just hate what he did to you, how shit he made you feel. But I know there are two sides to every story and he was going through his own struggles.’
I’d told her how he’d apologised when he came to Sydney. I gave her the full lowdown at the time.
‘I know you’ve never got over him,’ she says. ‘You thought he was your soulmate, not Lachie. I still remember the way you let him continue to email you after he left Zara, telling you he loved you and that he’d wait for you… I know you loved him back, even though you were happy with Lachie and loved him, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if you still had the pictures of him looking at you on his wedding day.’
My face heats up.
‘Ha!’ She points at me. ‘Gotcha.’
‘No,’ I state, trying to be firm about this. ‘I’m not going to see Alex again. I’m sure he’s moved on by now, anyway.’ Despite everything, my heart pinches at the thought. ‘I’m just not going there again,’ I say adamantly. ‘I’m not strong enough.’
She reaches across and presses my hand. ‘It’s all going to be okay. Failing everything else, there’s always sperm donation. I bet Charlie’s younger brother would help you out.’
We crack up laughing.
‘I’m so happy to see you,’ I reply, when we’ve both calmed down.
‘We’re going to have the best week!’ she exclaims. ‘I’ll cheer you up.’
‘Believe me, you already have.’
Bridget always was the best medicine.
Bridget’s mates love her too much to force a full-blown hen weekend on her if she really doesn’t want one, but there’s no way we’re allowing her to tie the knot without doing something together. So, on the Saturday night before her impending nuptials, we head into Padstow for dinner and a pub crawl. Apparently, one of the pubs is hosting a karaoke night, and Charlie has made me promise to video Bridget doing Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself’. We’ve never done karaoke together before – he claimed with a grin that it’ll be one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed.
Some of Bridget’s local friends have joined us, including her former across-the-road mummy friend Jocelyn, who seems very likeable. Then there’s Bridget’s best mate Marty, Maria, who’s doing Bridget’s make-up and is also an old friend of mine, plus the lovely Laura, whom I’m so happy to meet after hearing so much about over the years. Rachel was doing a wedding in Hertfordshire today, so she couldn’t make it, but she’s coming here on Monday to catch up.
Poor Laura is a little jet-lagged after arriving from Florida only a couple of days ago. She’s been visiting her parents in Cambridgeshire with six-month-old baby Max and came to Cornwall earlier today.
Max is unbelievably cute. He has a full head of dark hair, big brown eyes with ridiculously long lashes and chubby cheeks that expand twofold when he smiles. I keep picking him up for cuddles, and then struggle to put him down again.
Laura said I won’t like him nearly as much when he wakes me during the night. In the words of Lucy’s husband Nathan, jet lag is a bitch.
Charlie has very kindly offered to babysit, despite his hangover – he had his stag do last night, organised by his younger brother, Adam, who is hilarious and a complete flirt. He’s been over a couple of times in the last few days to hang out with us, and, although Bridget has warned him quite vocally – albeit unnecessarily – not to mess with me, his attentions have done my confidence a few favours.
‘Here’s to Bridget and Charlie!’ Marty exclaims, raising a glass to our bride-to-be. ‘You guys were meant for each other!’
We all drink to that.
‘You know what?’ Bridget says later, when we’ve lucked into finding an outdoor table at a pub that seats us all. ‘You say that Charlie and I were meant to be together, but it terrifies me how close we came to never crossing paths.’ We lean in to listen as she speaks. ‘When I look at the series of events that brought me to him, I feel completely freaked out.’ She turns to me. ‘If I hadn’t bumped into Elliot when I did, he never would’ve given me the idea to write that book. And, although I didn’t get a book deal, my writing landed me the job that brought me to Charlie. And if I hadn’t met you,’ she adds, still holding my eye contact, ‘then you wouldn’t have led me to Australia, which in turn led me to Elliot.’
‘Well, if I hadn’t met Lachie,’ I say, ‘then I probably would’ve come back to England instead of staying with him in Australia.’ I even might’ve caved and gone back to Alex after he told me he’d split up with Zara. My head spins at the thought.
Where would Alex and I be now, if I’d given us that chance? Maybe we’d still feel tainted by how we’d got together. Would his friends and family be over it by now? Would Zara have felt happy enough to move on with someone else, or would she have felt so bitter about Alex getting together with me that it would have poisoned her, and in turn poisoned those who care about her?
Would Alex and I have lasted through all of the stress and the emotional turmoil? What if we had?
Would we have children by now?
Maria puts her arm around my shoulders, startling me back to the present. ‘And if you hadn’t agreed to cover Sally that weekend in Scotland,’ she says, referring to Rachel’s former unreliable assistant, ‘then you never would’ve met Lachie.’
‘Why did Sally cancel again?’ Bridget asks.
‘She had a new boyfriend,’ Maria reminds her.
‘So, basically,’ I say, grinning at Bridget, ‘you are marrying Charlie, the undisputed love of your life, because Rachel’s former assistant hooked up with a new man.’
‘The world works in mysterious ways,’ Marty says when we’ve all calmed down from laughing.
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Bridget raises her glass and the rest of us happily follow suit.
When Rachel arrives in Cornwall, she and I go out for a coffee together to catch up on old times, while Bridget stays behind to talk flower arrangements with her mum.
Bridget has been totally relaxed about the wedding on Wednesday, insisting on keeping it simple and doing a lot of the work herself and with Charlie – although I’ve al
so been helping out, obviously – but now her mum wants in on the action. Bridget is trying her best to indulge her, but I think she wants to tear her own hair out.
‘It’s so good to see you again!’ Rachel enthuses when we’re sitting opposite each other in a cosy café in Padstow with windows overlooking the sailing boats in the tiny harbour. The town is gorgeous, full of quaint buildings painted in shades of green, blue and white, narrow winding streets and a hilly backdrop.
‘I’m so glad to be working with you again,’ Rachel says.
‘Me too,’ I reply. ‘Although I’m a bit nervous.’
‘There’s absolutely no need to be. You always were a natural,’ she says, trying to reassure me. She furrows her brow. ‘Why did you stop, if you don’t mind me asking? Was it because of that last wedding? I was worried it had traumatised you for life.’
Rachel didn’t know beforehand that Alex and I had a connection – she never would have asked me to step into Sally’s shoes if she had.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Sure, I was traumatised, but I think I stopped pursuing wedding photography because it felt so intrinsically linked to England and my time here. I don’t think I could bear to face up to how much I missed it. It felt safer to go back to what I knew, and, when I was offered the job at Hebe Australia, it seemed too good to be true. I guess life ran away with me after that.’
I glance out of the window at the estuary, titchy in comparison with Sydney’s vast, beautiful, blue harbour, but, for some reason, I feel a pang at the idea of going home.
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if I stayed, if I didn’t go back to face my horrible new boss and long working hours. What if I didn’t have to deal with packing up the flat or finding somewhere new? What if I didn’t have to see Lachie again and feel the intense pain of our break-up? What if I could just bury my head in the sand and run away from it all?
But no. I’m not doing that again. I need to follow through cleanly and properly so I might actually stand a chance of closure this time around. I want to move on with my life without a dark cloud hanging over me, and then, hopefully, I will meet someone new and wonderful and we’ll do all of the things that I dream about doing.