by Paige Toon
‘Christ, yeah, I’ll do anything,’ he replies with a cheeky grin, looking back at me with a raised eyebrow.
This boy has more confidence than Johnny frigging Jefferson. He’s a wedding singer, not a rock star, for crying out loud.
Rachel checks her watch when he goes for his final stint. ‘How much longer do you want to stay?’ she asks. ‘Another half an hour?’
‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘Whatever suits you.’
‘Okay, I’ll book a cab.’
Lachie joins us again as we’re preparing to leave. ‘You’re going already?’ he asks with a frown.
‘Yep. Flying back to London first thing. Are you done for the night?’
‘I’m never done for the night.’ He winks at me – he actually winks. Rachel laughs.
‘Can I hitch a lift with you?’ he asks.
I shake my head, bemused. ‘You don’t know where we’re staying.’
‘Yeah, I do. You’re at The Hare.’
Rachel’s surprise matches my own. ‘How did you know that?’
He grins. ‘Saw you checking in.’
‘Come on, then,’ Rachel says, casting her eyes at the ceiling. How did we miss him?
We go and gather our kits and coats from the room next door. Lachie slings his guitar case strap over his shoulder and follows us. He rides in the front of the taxi, chatting amiably to the Scottish driver the whole way back to the inn. The sound of their easy-going voices sends me to sleep. I jolt out of my slumber when the door opens and look up with stinging eyes at Lachie smiling down at me.
‘Wakey-wakey, sleepyheads,’ he says.
I glance across at Rachel to see her yawning. ‘I’m knackered. I’m going straight to bed,’ she says with tired but certain determination as she gets out of the car.
‘You’ll come and tap a beer with me in the bar, won’t you?’ Lachie asks me with a frown. ‘Come on,’ he urges when I dither. ‘One won’t kill you.’
‘When have I heard that before?’ I say wryly, climbing out. He barely moves backwards for me so I find myself looking up at him. I didn’t realise how tall he was earlier – he was sitting down for most of the time. He must be about six foot two because my eyes are in line with his broad chest. I notice that he’s still only wearing a grey T-shirt with his guitar strap hung over his shoulder.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ I ask as we wander into the inn.
‘Nah. I’m hardcore,’ he replies, glancing down at me. ‘Cop a feel.’ He holds his arm out to me. ‘Still really warm.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ I reply drily, refusing to indulge him. He doesn’t seem fazed by my lack of bicep-fondling as we walk inside.
‘Well, good night,’ Rachel says in the lobby.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Lachie replies.
‘You too.’ She smiles at him then turns to me. ‘See you in the morning for breakfast at nine? I should be back from getting the hire car from the hotel by then.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I reply with a smile, still undecided about whether I should just head upstairs to bed myself.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Lachie shoves me towards the bar area.
‘Hey!’ I complain as he puts his hand on my shoulder and steers me through tables of punters. I stumble ahead of him until we reach the bar and he lets me go.
‘I’ll get us a table,’ I say as I spy one coming free by the window.
He comes over with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
‘Australian,’ I comment, noting what he’s chosen.
‘Adelaide Hills,’ he points out, jabbing his forefinger in my direction.
I can’t help smirking. ‘Good choice,’ I concede, plonking the bottle back down on the table between us.
‘So how did you come to be a wedding singer?’ I ask as he glugs red liquid into my glass. I can’t help looking at his tanned, toned arms.
He shrugs. ‘I’m not just a wedding singer.’
‘Nothing to be ashamed about,’ I say.
‘I know,’ he replies, more seriously. ‘I used to busk all the time and then when my older cousins and sisters got married, it became a bit of a thing for me. Word spread, the money was better than busking, so I kept it up.’ He picks up his glass and chinks it against mine. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ I reply, taking a sip. ‘Mmm. Nice.’ I put my glass back down. ‘So how do you know Karmen and Luca?’
‘I don’t. Luca’s... Let me see if I can get this straight. Luca’s aunt’s husband’s son works at the pub in Edinburgh where I work and sometimes gig, so he put me forward.’
‘Right. So you live in Edinburgh?’
‘At the moment. Not for much longer. Figure I might head to London after this.’ He scratches his beard.
‘It’s that easy?’
‘I work in a pub. It’s a cash job. Anything’s easy if you put your mind to it.’
And if you have enough confidence, I think to myself.
‘What about you? Where do you work when you’re not photographing weddings?’ He leans forwards and rests his tanned forearms on the table.
‘I work for a magazine.’ I shift and try to cross my legs over my bulky kit bag. I can’t risk anyone nicking my camera equipment so I’m keeping it close.
‘Really? Which one?’ he asks with interest.
‘It’s called Hebe.’
‘No shit? My sisters love that magazine. I bet you know all the gossip.’
‘People always say that, but there’s not as much behind-the-scenes gossip as you’d think. All the good stuff goes in the magazine. If the rumours were actually true, you’d know about them. How many sisters do you have?’ I take a sip of my red wine.
‘Four.’
‘Wow. Any brothers?’
‘Nup. Just me, the baby, the golden boy.’
He’s quite sweet, actually. Talking to him is certainly easy.
‘You got any siblings?’ he asks.
‘No. Only child.’
‘Aw. ’
I shrug and turn the conversation back around. ‘How old are your sisters?’
‘My oldest sister Bea is thirty-three, Maggie is thirty-one, Tina is twenty-nine and Lydia is twenty-six.’
Maybe that’s why he feels so comfortable with older women. Not that I’m that much older than him. Jeez.
We chat and make our way through the bottle of wine until the lights go on.
‘So how did you come to be a wedding photographer’s assistant?’ he asks with an easy smile, making no attempt to leave, even as the bar empties out around us.
‘Rachel was stuck. I’ve done a little freelance photography so a friend put us in touch.’
‘You enjoy it?’
‘Um...’
He hooks onto my hesitation like a fish on a fishing line. ‘It’s not for you?’
‘I like photography,’ I explain. ‘And I have enjoyed photographing the three weddings that I’ve done. I just don’t believe in marriage. Or God. And I hate churches,’ I find myself admitting. The wine has loosened me up.
He puts his glass down a little too loudly on the table. ‘Isn’t Adelaide nicknamed the City of Churches?’
‘Yep.’ Just my luck.
‘Why don’t you believe in marriage?’
‘Why bother? If you want to be together, be together. If you don’t, don’t. Why make it legal? Why swear, under the eyes of God, to stay together for the rest of your lives? Which brings me onto my next issue with the whole shebang – who believes in God anyway?’ I pull a face.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I sort of do.’
‘Do you?’ I stare at him with surprise.
‘Yeah.’ His lips turn down and he cocks his head to one side as he regards me from across the table. ‘I mean, I believe in something. I don’t know what’s out there, but there’s gotta be something.’
I screw up my nose. ‘Why? Why has there got to be something out there?’
‘I don’t know. I just think there has to be.’
&nbs
p; ‘It’s not exactly the most convincing argument I’ve ever heard,’ I tease as the bar staff start putting on their coats. I nod at them, then smile at Lachie. ‘We should go. Let them get off.’
He nods and scratches his beard, then folds his arms and stares at me. The posture makes his biceps bulge.
‘Which room are you in?’ I ask, feeling oddly nervy as I reach behind me to grab my coat and stand up.
‘Yours?’ he says cheekily, looking up at me.
‘Ha! In your dreams.’
He grins and gets to his feet, picking up his guitar case and slinging it over his shoulder. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’
I can’t believe the cheek of him! ‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘That still doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with you!’
He shrugs. ‘I’ll just crash on your floor, then.’
‘Are you for real?’ I tut and make my way out into the lobby. I can sense him behind me, but as I start to make my way up the stairs, I realise he isn’t following. I turn around on the stairs and look down at him in confusion.
‘Isn’t your room upstairs?’ I ask with a frown. He’s standing at the bottom, looking a little less confident than before.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t have one.’
My mouth drops open. ‘Hang on, you said you saw us checking in...’
‘I was having a drink in the bar. Doesn’t mean I’m staying here.’
‘Where are you staying, then?’ I ask incredulously.
‘My friend’s car is in the car park.’
‘What?’
He laughs lightly. ‘I’ll sleep in my friend’s car. I borrowed it to drive here from Edinburgh.’
‘Are you serious?’ I sit down on a step with a bump.
‘Yeah. It’s no biggie. I’ve slept rough before.’
‘Were you really just expecting me to sleep with you?’
He leans against the wall and smiles lazily up at me. ‘A guy can hope.’
I shake my head at him with amazement. ‘I’m sure you’ve had no trouble at all picking up plenty of pretty bridesmaids over the years, but you’ve made a mistake thinking I might be that easy.’
His lips turn down and he shrugs, but he’s unfazed by my comments.
‘I barely know you,’ I say with a frown. Alex flashes into my mind. I barely knew him, either. And look where that got me.
‘I’m not that scary, am I?’ he asks.
A thrill darts through me at the sight of him standing there, staring up at me with his sexy, cheeky grin. He really is obscenely hot.
I shake my head and get to my feet. ‘Are you seriously going to sleep in a car?’
‘If I hadn’t hitched a ride with Luca’s mates to the wedding, I’d be sleeping on the pavement.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ I say drily, looking up the stairs.
‘Night, then.’
I almost shout at him to wait, but I can’t.
No. I won’t. I won’t go there again.
‘Bash on my window in the morning before you go,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘Check I’m still alive.’
I turn and stare after him, but he flashes me an easy grin. ‘Just kidding. Catch you later, Bronte. Come say bye before you set off.’
He pushes through the inn door and I watch him go, not doing a thing to make him stay.
Chapter 9
I don’t say goodbye to Lachie before we leave the next day. I find his borrowed car – a battered old red hatchback looking slightly steamed up in the car park out the back – and I peer through the window to see him huddled in a sleeping bag on the back seat. I can’t bring myself to wake him up.
He’s still on my mind on Thursday afternoon when I’m in the office filling my glass from the water cooler.
‘Hey,’ Alex says, joining me.
‘Hi,’ I reply, breathing in his divine scent and sighing a small sigh.
‘Busy?’ he asks.
‘Yeah.’ I pick up my glass and he fills his. ‘Helen’s not in today.’
‘Bronte, you are going to have to go on the shoot this afternoon,’ Nicky interrupts, coming over to me.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’m too busy,’ she says bluntly. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Clare and Simon and I have to prepare... Oh, I’m just busy, alright?’ she snaps, storming back to her desk.
‘It’s fine. I’m more than happy to go,’ I reply calmly, following her.
She no doubt would have asked Helen if she were here. She’s sent her on more shoots than me since I started, which is disappointing, because I really enjoy them.
‘Take these,’ Nicky says curtly, picking up a stack of papers and practically throwing them at me.
I scramble to gather them up before they go everywhere.
‘Is everything alright?’ I glance up to see Simon frowning at Nicky.
Her face breaks into a smile. ‘It’s fine,’ she says charmingly. ‘Just gathering everything together. I’m going to send Bronte on the shoot this afternoon so that will be fun for her and I’ll have more time to prepare for our meeting in the morning with Clare.’
‘Great,’ Simon says smoothly.
Nicky’s smile slips from her face and she glares at me as he turns away.
She is such a bitch.
‘Are you coming too?’ I ask Alex with surprise as I wait for Russ beside two boxes of props at the door. Russ is conducting the interview.
‘Sure am.’
‘Guys, I’m going to have to meet you there,’ Russ calls. ‘Esther needs me to write something up for the next issue.’
Alex and I make our way outside to hail a cab. He opens the door for me and climbs in afterwards, while I direct the driver to take us to London Bridge.
‘Nicky still giving you shit?’ he asks, sitting beside me. ‘You seem a bit down.’
‘She’s just being her usual self,’ I say resignedly. ‘Nothing I can’t cope with.’
‘I’ve barely spoken to you this week. Did you have a wedding on at the weekend?’
‘Yeah.’ My face lights up marginally. ‘In Scotland, actually.’
‘So are you doing more weddings with Rachel, then?’
‘A few more, yes, when Rachel’s assistant Sally can’t make it. Don’t worry, I’m sure Sally will be doing your wedding in December.’
‘Why should I be worried? I’d rather you did it, actually.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yeah.’ He shifts slightly. Maybe he’s having a rethink. ‘Rachel said you’re really good.’
I smirk. ‘Despite my sometimes soft focus and the occasional need for Photoshop?’
He laughs. ‘You’re obviously not that bad. She raved about you.’
‘Really? Aw. Well, we’ll see, I guess. December is a long time away.’ But I’m still quite certain I won’t want to do his wedding. ‘How are the preparations going?’ I ask.
‘Fine. Well, Zara’s doing most of it. She’s leaving it to me to organise the car and the music. Oh, and the photographer.’
I smile at him. ‘Rachel told me the groom always gets to do the car and the music. What are you planning?’
‘I don’t know. DJ, I guess. But I don’t want a crappy DJ who does shit wedding music, so if you have any suggestions...’
‘I’ll ask her. I’m sure she knows people.’ I pause for a moment as I think of Lachie. ‘I met a really good wedding singer at the weekend, actually. Aussie. Played the guitar. Cool stuff, not cheesy at all.’
‘You sound enthralled.’
I laugh. ‘I was a bit.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of him,’ Alex says wryly.
‘Well, I wouldn’t know how to get hold of him if I tried,’ I reply. Who was it who got him the job? Luca’s cousin’s auntie’s... No, that can’t be right. Oh, I give up.
It’s six o’clock by the time we finish the shoot, which involved photographing a bunch of cool kids from a hot new British TV show on London Bridge. I was pleasantly surprised when Maria turned up to do the
make-up. I hadn’t had any input in organising the shoot at all.
‘Are either of you going back to the office?’ I ask Russ and Alex as Maria gathers the last of her things.
‘Yeah, I need to,’ Russ replies.
‘I’m going to head home,’ Alex tells me.
‘Can you drop the props back?’ I ask Russ. ‘I might go see my friend who lives nearby.’
Polly texted me last night to say she was bored working the graveyard shift so I could surprise her if she’s home.
‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ Russ agrees.
‘Do you want to come and see Polly with me?’ I turn to Maria.
‘Sure. I haven’t seen her for yonks.’
‘Why has it been so long?’ I ask her, calling bye to the boys as we walk off.
‘I don’t know. I suggested meeting up a few times after the wedding, but she always said she was busy. I don’t really know her that well, to be honest. I was a bit surprised when she invited me to her hen do.’
‘Well, I’m glad that she did,’ I say.
‘Me too.’ She smiles and hooks her arm through mine.
There’s a lot of surprise flying around when we arrive at Polly’s flat. Polly is surprised to see us, Maria is surprised at how much Polly’s appearance has changed since she last saw her – I can tell by her expression – and my surprise is reserved for the fact that Polly is already two thirds of the way through a bottle of wine.
‘Where’s Grant?’ I ask, eyeing the bottle – and my friend – with concern.
‘He’s at work.’ Polly waves her hand at me dismissively. ‘Work, shmerk. Always at work.’ Polly pours us each a small glass and tops up her own. ‘I’ll get us another bottle,’ she says, bumping into the corner of the coffee table on her way to the kitchen. ‘Ouch!’
I have a feeling she’s already drunk more than one bottle. I glance at Maria and then cautiously follow Polly. ‘Don’t open another,’ I say. ‘I only want one glass.’
‘You’re such a party pooper!’ she squeals. ‘Get with the programme, B!’ she adds in an annoying American accent.
‘I don’t really want much to drink either,’ Maria says, coming to my rescue.
Polly glares at each of us in turn and then stumbles slightly into the worktop.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask worriedly.