by Laura Tait
Had that thought occurred to me? Yep, but whose business is it but Holly’s? And from listening to her now, it’s clear that what she and Richard have is the real thing. She’s happy.
‘Did you see that arsehole at the bar?’ says Jemma, releasing a packet of Scampi Fries from her teeth. ‘The poor cow should run a mile.’
A few minutes later the results are revealed and we narrowly miss out on the prizes, finishing a respectable tenth out of eleven. Jemma turns my way and cups her mouth at one side so Holly can’t hear or see what she’s about to whisper.
‘I bet you any money she checks her watch within the next minute,’ she says. ‘Always does after the results.’
Jemma and I exchange mischievous glances for about thirty seconds until Holly kinks her left wrist, winning a roar of laughter from Jemma.
‘Oh, shut your face,’ says Holly. ‘I was just seeing what time we’re at. And for your information I was just about to go to the bar.’
Jemma snorts doubtfully but Holly is true to her word, scooping her handbag so that it hangs from her shoulder and striding to the bar.
‘Actually,’ confides Jemma as Holly flashes four fingers to the barman with one hand and points to a bottle of Sambucca with the other, ‘I’ve never seen her drink so much on a work night. She’s like a different person with you around.’
I take an extended sip of wine to hide a round of blushes.
‘And I meant what I said earlier,’ she continues. ‘You should come again.’
Chapter Fourteen
HOLLY
It’s the first time I’ve seen Max since he moved his stuff out almost a year ago.
Richard has his arm wrapped around me outside the church after Chloe’s wedding. He’s all smiley – probably because we’ve been chatting about what our wedding day would be like. We’re looking loved-up and sickeningly happy when . . .
‘Holly!’
‘Max!’ I notice him walking towards us, trailed by his reasonably-pretty-if-a-little-unglamorous girlfriend. His hug lasts longer than necessary, until he remembers Felicity and Richard are there too.
‘You look great,’ he tells me, checking me out after everyone’s been introduced. It’s true – I do. I swear yesterday’s spray tan makes my legs look longer and my arms thinner.
‘So do you,’ I reply charitably, even though his once ruggedly sexy stubble is now slightly too long, and his blond hair could do with a chop. It’s almost like he’s not quite as concerned about his appearance these days.
‘So, I guess we’ll see you at the reception?’ I say warmly. Max meets my eye and smiles but I wouldn’t say it was a happy smile. More – and obviously I’m guessing here – a smile of wry reflection. Ah, Holly Gordon. The one that got away.
So anyway, that’s how it goes down in my head.
The reality is a bit different.
Richard not being here is a setback of colossal proportions. It means I’m standing outside the church with Susie and Jamie, trying hard not to listen to their argument (Jamie forgot to remind Susie to charge her camera) but to appear to everyone else like I’m involved in the conversation so I don’t look like a loner, when . . .
‘Holly!’
‘Max!’ He’s strolling over, his arm draped around the toned shoulders of a girl who looks like she should be on a mountainside, dressed in Lycra, advertising muesli.
‘This is Flick,’ he announces. ‘Flick, this is Holly, Susie and . . .’
He’s holding his hand out to Jamie and while Susie’s introducing them I see Flick eyeing me up.
Does she know who I am?
I don’t want to come across like a hostile ex-girlfriend. Need to say something nice.
‘I love your dress,’ I gush. ‘Where’s it from?’
I wish I could say I’m just being polite. Unfortunately, I genuinely do love her layered, coral-pink fringe dress and matching fascinator. The colour complements her tan.
I had to cancel last night’s spray tan appointment because I was preoccupied booking train tickets as Richard would no longer be driving, the unreliable git.
Flick is telling me the name of some exclusive boutique in Chelsea where she buys, like, ALL her clothes but I’m finding it hard to concentrate on what she’s saying because whilst the breeze is blowing her blonde hair away from her face like a wind machine in a modelling shoot, it’s blowing mine onto my face from behind, making it stick to my lip-gloss.
‘Where are the others?’ Max looks around.
I’m not sure whether he’s just referring to Leah and Rob, or if it’s my plus one he’s asking after.
‘Getting the car,’ says Susie. ‘Rob drove so he’s giving us a lift to the hotel.’
‘Richard couldn’t make it,’ I add. ‘Big work thing. Couldn’t be helped.’
Max looks like he’s about to say something (ask who Richard is and why I’m telling him the whereabouts of this random person?) but Flick pipes up.
‘Darling, shall we . . .?’
She doesn’t finish her question but Max seems to comprehend because he tells us he’ll see us there, smiles, and leaves.
A happy smile, if I’m not mistaken.
‘Well, that wasn’t at all awkward,’ I say to break the silence that descends as soon as we pile into Rob’s Corsa. I’m joking but it prompts attempts of subtle glances between the other four. Are they kidding me? I’m wedged in the back between Susie and Jamie, and sitting forward almost level with Leah and Rob’s seats. They literally have to LEAN AROUND ME to subtly glance at each other.
I chuckle in case there’s any doubt I meant it lightheartedly.
I can see how they’d be confused. I am a bit sulky. It’s nothing to do with Max, though. It’s Richard.
My stomach lurched as soon as I saw his name appear on my BlackBerry screen last night. He was supposed to be three hours into a Gatwick-bound flight – how could he be calling?
Had he got an earlier flight from NYC so he could get an early night to be all rested and sparky for my friend’s wedding?
Like hell he had.
I tried to be understanding as he apologized his head off, explaining there were still people he had to meet. And I know this promotion is important, but eff it – I’m so gutted he’s not here. I’ve played out today in my head so many times.
Holding hands in public.
Dancing to romantic songs.
Introducing him to my friends.
Just the little things that couples do.
‘They’re your friends,’ he said. ‘You don’t need me there.’
‘I do need you there!’ I screamed. In my head. But of course I couldn’t say that out loud because it would sound NEEDY and PATHETIC, and I’m pretty sure they’re not on Richard’s list of top qualities for a girlfriend.
And the Max thing? I just wanted him to know I’d moved on. Not because I still have feelings for him. I’ve not a speck of regret about our break-up. I want him to be happy.
It’s just, well – and I would never say this out loud – it just feels pretty crappy seeing him happier than he was with me.
That’s not something I could tell Richard. Nor could I tell him I’ve made a massive deal about him coming to my friends.
‘I’ve never understood why people called Felicity shorten their names to Flick,’ Susie says eventually, staring out her window. I love her for it.
I’m over my bad mood by the time we get to the hotel. It’d be selfish to walk around with a face like Posh Spice when it’s Chloe’s wedding day.
Best day of her life, and all that – I’d hate to spoil it. Besides, the awkward bit is over and it’s not like it can get any worse.
But then it goes and gets worse.
On our table is me, Susie, Jamie, Leah, Rob. And Max. And Flick. And an empty seat for that inconsiderate bastard, Richard.
‘I hope this is one of those one-in-three marriages that ends in divorce,’ I say calmly to Leah, who’s just appeared at my shoulder as I ponder the seat
ing plan chart at the entrance to the function room.
I know Chloe wouldn’t have known I’d be solo, but to stick me on the same table as my ex? Seriously?
I’m going to have to suck it up. It’ll be fine – I’ll just be friendly, and non-moody, and charming, and very, very drunk.
I lift two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waitress and hold one out to Leah.
‘No thanks, I’m not drinking.’
‘What do you mean you’re not drinking?’
We’ve never had this conversation this way round before.
‘I said I’d drive so Rob can drink. Come on, let’s sit down – and don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Just have fun.’
I neck the first champagne and follow her to our table clutching the second.
Just have fun.
I try. I really, really do.
I laugh along with everyone else when Max reaches the finale of yet another story about his nights out with bands I’ve never heard of . . .
‘So then I woke up in this random stranger’s house at six in the morning . . .’
Why didn’t I just bring someone else?
‘. . . and the place looked like it had been burgled . . .’
Jemma would have been a laugh but I already told her I never got a plus one.
‘. . . empty bottles everywhere, wonky pictures on the wall . . .’
Or Alex? I’d considered inviting him in the first place until Richard volunteered himself, and he still doesn’t know many people in London so it’s not unfeasible he’d have been free at the last minute. And he scrubs up well, so he would have been a match for Flick in the plus-one stakes.
‘Then I found the bass player at the sink washing dishes . . .’
Or Harold? Ha ha.
‘. . . stark naked . . .’
I hope I left Harold enough food.
‘. . . with a tea cosy on his head!’
Max always was the life and soul of a party. It was one of the things I loved about him. Most of the time. Sometimes dinner parties started turning into An Audience With Max Brown, and I’d know it was time to tell him we were out of beers.
But at least he was there when I needed him, which is more than can be said for Richard, undependable fiend that he is. I really thought he might be looking forward to today. Could he really not have got back on time, if he genuinely wanted to? My throat constricts as if I’m going to cry so I take a swig of water and push my relationship doubts out of my head, channelling back in to the conversation at the table.
Max works in music PR now – apparently Flick knew someone who knew someone.
‘I told him it’s about time he got a regular job with a regular salary.’ She rests a hand on the back of Max’s neck and smiles proudly, like a mum who’s just weaned her child off his dummy.
I top up my wine.
‘I like Flick,’ I tell Leah and Susie’s reflection in the loos later, sucking in my cheeks to apply my blusher. ‘She’s a bit controlling, though, isn’t she?’
Leah’s mascara wand and Susie’s lipstick freeze in unison.
‘She just seems to do everything for him. It’s like she’s his mother.’
‘Oh, that reminds me, I have a message for you,’ Susie says, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. ‘It’s from the kettle. Stop calling it black.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You totally did the same.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did too, Hols,’ says Leah. ‘It’s not a criticism – I mean, this is Max we’re talking about. I love him to bits but he couldn’t organize his way out of a paper bag. Remember that one time at uni when we made him take a turn at organizing the film night?’
We’d ended up watching the Eurovision Song Contest because Max had forgotten to get any films. I was still trying to impress him at that point so I didn’t let on I was secretly thrilled about this development.
‘That’s why you two worked,’ Leah continues. ‘You love organizing and he needed to be organized.’
I’m about to argue but stop myself. Is she right? Did I do that?
Maybe I did.
That was then, though. Thank God I’m in an adult relationship now. And to be fair to Richard – although I don’t know why I should be, the selfish moron – at least he’s independent and doesn’t need looking after.
‘I really am OK with Max being with someone else, you know,’ I tell them, scooping everything back into my make-up bag.
‘Yeah, we know you are,’ says Leah, just a split second too late for me to believe her. I want to argue but what’s the point? She’s right. None of this feels OK.
‘I just wish Richard was here,’ I admit unhappily. ‘You don’t think Max is sitting there feeling sorry for me because he thinks I’ve been stood up, do you?’
‘Nah.’ Susie shrugs. ‘He probably thinks you made Richard up.’
‘Oh God, I didn’t even think of that!’ I gasp. ‘Like in Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion? You know – that film with Phoebe from Friends, where she and her mate pretended they invented the Post-it note so their old classmates wouldn’t realize how lame their lives got? No? It’s funny – you should watch it. But seriously, what if everyone thinks I made up a boyfriend so they wouldn’t think I’ve turned into a loser?’
‘I was kidding, hun. No one would think that. And no one is feeling sorry for you. If anyone’s the loser it’s Richard.’ Susie tries to take the sting out her words by pressing her freshly painted lips against my forehead to leave a bright red kiss mark, then breezes out of the loo, just as Chloe bursts in.
‘I’m going to throw the bouquet – come on!’
‘I’m already married,’ Leah reminds her.
‘I’m . . .’ The ten gallons of champagne I’ve drunk mean I can’t think of a valid excuse to get out of it so I wipe the lipstick off my head and reluctantly follow her to the dance floor, where she thrusts me between a teenage cousin who’s already sporting a big diamond on her engagement finger and a girl about my age, whose boyfriend is hovering with a face like a defendant on a murder charge waiting for the verdict.
Chloe turns her back on us, lowers the bundle of cream-coloured roses, and then flings them high into the air.
I catch them. Of course I do. God clearly HATES me because I actually see the bouquet CHANGE DIRECTION to find me.
If I’d have had time to think about it I would have batted it away like a volley ball, but it happens so fast that suddenly it’s in my hand, and I’m forcing a smile until I get face ache, before pushing my way through the small gathering.
‘Why did she go for it?’ one resentful-looking girl asks another with her eyes. ‘She doesn’t even have a man.’
‘Oh apparently she does,’ the other girl’s eyes respond bitterly. ‘Not that anyone’s ever actually seen him.’
Then I’m back at my table just in time for yet another coupled-up dance-athon.
As much as we were all ‘why the rush?’ about friends who got married in their early twenties, their weddings were undeniably more fun. Once the first dance was over, it wasn’t dissimilar to a Saturday night at a cheesy club. But in posh frocks. All dancing in big circles, and flinging each other around the floor.
Tonight it’s all dancing in couples. Even the singles have paired off, aside from a handful of girls tapping their feet to the music like those dateless extras sitting at the back of the hall at the prom in Grease, waiting to be invited to dance.
Rob and Jamie are taking turns to drag me up, which is sweet of them but I have to put a stop to it because it’s all getting a bit humiliating.
‘I’m fine here . . . No, honestly, I’m fine . . . I am having fun . . . My feet just hurt a bit that’s all . . . You go dance . . . Yep, I’m sure.’
They stop asking after approximately the thirty-ninth time, which is lucky because I’m one ‘I’m fine’ speech away from beating myself to death with my new bouquet.
It’s not just today I’m feel
ing humiliated about. The more I think about it, the more I think I must have this Richard thing all wrong – Susie was right. This isn’t a serious relationship to him, or he’d be here. Or he’d at least bloody understand why it’s wrong that he’s not.
God, tonight is going slowly. I honestly don’t know how much longer I can pretend to enjoy myself. When my phone rings I almost hope it’s a neighbour calling to say my flat is on fire so I’ve a valid reason to leave, but it’s Richard.
He’s landed then, the self-centred fool. I should ignore it.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, baby. Are you having fun?’
‘Yeah it’s fine. I just—’
‘Hang on, I can’t hear you . . . What?’
‘Yeah, it’s fine. I—’
‘Hang on, what?’
‘NO, I’M NOT ACTUALLY – I—’
‘Then we better do something about that.’
I’m confused. That didn’t come from the phone, it came from behind me. I spin around.
And there he is.
RICHARD.
Suited up and beaming and handsome and HERE.
I jump up and throw my arms around his neck. A combination of shock and way too much champagne makes tears spring to my eyes.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I whisper as we hug.
‘I caught an earlier flight so I could make it,’ he says, pulling away and looking me up and down. ‘You look stunning, by the way.’
‘You scrub up pretty well yourself. Now come and meet the others.’
Richard is charm personified with my friends. Leah gives him a warm welcome, and even Susie defrosts after the first couple of minutes. Max is a tad uncomfortable-looking during my boyfriend’s enthusiastic handshake, and I wonder whether that’s about me or about the fact that Flick got all pouty-mouthed and fluttery-eyed when she met him.
I can’t believe I almost wrote us off. It’s this whole secrecy thing messing with my head. And as Richard spins me on the dance floor I’m totally convinced of one thing: it’s time we went public.
I don’t want to get out of bed when I wake up at 7 a.m. However, it’s clear I’m going to die of dehydration if I don’t. And with a boyfriend having an important promotion to prepare for and a cat with trust issues, dying isn’t convenient right now, so I drag myself to the kitchen.