by Lindsey Kelk
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let the tears start falling.
‘You took hold of that city with everything you had and you didn’t let go. You said you wanted to be a writer and now you’re a writer. You wanted to make it work with Alex and you’re getting married. You needed a visa, you found a way to get a visa. You don’t let anything get in your way. You’re amazing.’
‘But I couldn’t have done any of those things without you,’ I said quietly. It was always strange to have someone lay your life out in front of you, especially when it was from a perspective you weren’t used to seeing it. ‘If you hadn’t been there at the beginning or at the end of the day or on the end of the phone. I couldn’t have done any of it on my own.’
‘But you did do it on your own,’ she argued. ‘Just own it. Just for one minute drop the “Oh, I’m just so ditsy and all these crazy things just happen to me” act. Just know that everything you have now you have because you made it happen.’
There didn’t seem a lot of point in arguing with her.
‘I was standing in my room at home with my suitcases open, packing for this trip, and I just lost it. I don’t even know what I put in there. Nothing seemed right − everything was just totally wrong. Everything. I just figured, if Angie can do it in New York, why can’t I do it in London? But I can’t. I can’t do anything right because I’m not you. You fuck up and everything falls perfectly into place. I fuck up and the love of my life marries another girl. I fuck up and I lose my job. I’m still living with a roommate at thirty-one, for Chrissake.’
She took a deep breath and cracked her knuckles noisily.
‘And what have I actually done while you’ve been off conquering New York? Quit one lame-ass job, went to LA, failed. Came back to be a stylist. Failed. Had to get a job from my best friend, which I’m fucking up royally. Reconciled with my ex, who dumped my ass. Met a great guy, cheated on him with my ex, who then dumped me for the third time, married his new girlfriend and is now trying to get me to meet up so we can what? Get into some nasty little affair where he messes with my head for another six months and then leaves me on my own, thirty-two and alone and hopeless and lonely and used up and—’
‘Right! Enough’s enough.’ I slapped her arm hard to cut her off. She grabbed at the spot and rubbed it, looking at me like a lame puppy. ‘If we really have switched roles, that makes me the Oprah in this scenario, and I’ll be buggered if I’m listening to your pity party for one more second.’
‘It’s not a pity party when it’s true,’ she rallied, prepping for a second slap. Which she got. ‘Stop hitting me.’
‘Stop sulking then. You’re talking shit, you do know that?’
‘What part of what I said isn’t true?’ she demanded. ‘What part of my life is kittens and unicorns and rainbows?’
‘I’m not disputing you’ve had a rough time of it,’ I replied. ‘But you’re letting the Jeff thing colour it all. You left your job at the Union to follow a dream. Brave. You went to LA and you were a success, Jenny − you got work. How many people actually get work? No one. Then you came back because New York is awesome and LA lives on salads. No shame there. And the job with Erin was hardly a hand-out. I’m not saying she didn’t help you out in the beginning, but if it was just a charity gig, why did she promote you? You killed your styling business to put full-time hours into that job. And she would have fired you by now if she didn’t believe in you. Erin is hardcore. We both know that.’
‘Still doesn’t explain why I’ve been such a tool over Jeff,’ she muttered. ‘I would never let you act this way.’
‘Maybe we haven’t completely swapped places, then.’ I nudged her with my hip. ‘Because I don’t think I could have stopped you. God knows I tried. But there’s not a lot you can do when you love someone.’
She opened her mouth to say something, but a heartbreaking sob came out first. I hated to see Jenny so helpless. She was my rock. When everything else went to shit, she stood firm and proud and full of bullshit psych 101 advice, but when she fell apart, I had no idea what to do. London walked around us, giving a slightly wider berth than before, and I wrapped Jenny up in the biggest hug I could manage and let her cry it out.
‘I do love him. Even though I know everything I know, I just love him so much,’ she whispered after the sobs had died down into tremors. ‘And I don’t want to any more. I want to hate him. But I just keeping having “what if” moments. If I hadn’t cheated on him, would we still be together? Would we be married now? I’m thirty-two in July. I thought I’d be married. I thought I’d have kids. I feel like such a failure.’
‘How could you possibly think you’re a failure?’ I smoothed her hair back from her forehead. I knew that topknot wouldn’t hold for long. ‘You’ve done so much.’
‘Please,’ she sniffed. ‘We both know none of it matters if you don’t have a boyfriend. None of it.’
It was hard to hear her say that, and while I absolutely, one hundred percent did not agree with her, I knew I couldn’t argue because I was the enemy. I had a boyfriend, and anything I said would either sound patronizing or be a lie.
‘Your definition of success is your definition,’ I said carefully. ‘You can’t help who you’re in love with, but you can help what you do about it.’
‘You’ve been hanging out with me too long.’ She pulled up her T-shirt and wiped her eyes, revealing the edge of her bra and causing a businessman to fall off his fold-up bike. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been such an asshole.’
‘You’ve have been an asshole,’ I agreed, remembering not to defend her. ‘But I know you were trying to help. I did spring the wedding thing on everyone, and I suppose I did just let you take it all over. It can’t have been easy.’
‘It would have been easier if I’d let you and Louisa help me,’ she said. ‘And it would have been a whole lot easier if I hadn’t just launched my phone off a bridge.’
‘So we’ll get you a new phone.’ I made a Jewish-mother clucking noise. ‘And we’ll beg Louisa’s forgiveness together. Tomorrow. When she’s cooled down.’
‘We shouldn’t go see her now?’ Jenny looked genuinely upset. ‘I feel like a total shit. I should, like, buy her flowers or chocolate or an hour with Michael Fassbender or something.’
‘Maybe we’ll get her Shame on DVD,’ I suggested. ‘But no, she’ll need a night to calm down. Trust me.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Jenny sighed. ‘Doctor Angela.’
‘Doctor Angela is prescribing a cocktail,’ I took her hand in mine and swung it around. ‘Doctor’s orders.’
‘OK. If it’s doctor’s orders,’ she shrugged, squeezing my hand tightly and spinning away from the bridge and back towards London town.
‘Lezzers.’ A particularly angry man on a bike swerved around us.
‘Better a lesbian than you, asshole,’ Jenny shouted after him.
And she was back.
‘You really think it’s a good idea to go?’ I asked, pinballing off the walls of the toilet cubicle I was currently using as a changing room. ‘We’re not too drunk?’
‘There’s no such thing as too drunk,’ Jenny said considerably louder than she needed to. ‘It’s your bachelorette. We didn’t even do shots. We didn’t even start yet.’
I was drunk, but not nearly drunk enough for her statement not to worry me. The last seven or so hours had been a blur of cocktail-crawling and drunk shopping. I remembered Dirty Martinis at Dirty Martini, mojitos at Freud, something in a teacup at Bourne & Hollingsworth followed by a smash and grab in Topshop. Now we were in the toilets of the Social, changing out of our jeans and T-shirts into what Jenny referred to as the ‘banging’ bachelorette outfits we’d picked up. I’d ordered food, but I couldn’t remember whether or not I had eaten it. Or what it was. Or where we’d been sitting.
I emerged from the cubicle, resplendent in a silver sequin minidress with a kick-ass flippy skirt that span when I did. Jenny followed me out in a purple mesh bandage dress that just
about covered everything that needed covering with slightly thicker fabric. Jenny looked disappointed.
‘You look hot.’ I pointed at her fluffed-out hair. ‘Really hot.’
‘It’s pretty cute.’ Jenny dropped her chin and checked herself out in the mirror. ‘I need so much eyeliner. So much.’
‘No way. We’re good. We’re good to go.’ I applied lip gloss with a heavy hand and passed it over before leaning into the mirror. ‘Can you see my black eye?’
‘Sadie gets into town tonight. She wanted to meet us.’ She layered on several coats of gloss and pouted, ignoring my question. ‘But I don’t have my fucking phone.’
‘I’ll text her,’ I promised, drunk enough to lie, sober enough to know I wouldn’t. ‘James was going to meet us too. We’ll meet them after. We have to go.’
‘Yeah.’ She ran her hands down her curves and revisited her opinion. ‘You’re right. And we’re going to be a thousand times hotter than anyone else there tonight. You know that, right?’
‘A thousand. At least.’
As it turned out, not only were we a thousand times hotter than anyone else in the Garage, we were a thousand times more overdressed, and the venue itself was a thousand degrees Celsius. I crashed down the stairs into the main room where I’d spent hours of my life nodding to random indie rock bands and cast an eye about for Alex. As luck would have it, my extremely high heels made me at least three inches taller than anyone else in the room, so he wasn’t hard to find. I grabbed Jenny’s hand, pulling her away from the blatantly underage blond boy she was fluttering her eyelashes at, and yanked her across the room.
Alex was surrounded by the skinny jean, plaid shirt brigade, and had I not been properly sauced, I might have felt a little self-conscious in my sequins. But I was and I didn’t. I hovered around his elbow, waiting to be noticed. I coughed quietly and gently tugged on Alex’s sleeve, keeping Jenny tethered with my other arm. She orbited around me, making happy noises. At least I hoped they were happy.
‘Alex?’ I tugged a little harder on his leather jacket. ‘Um, hubs?’
The rest of the group looked at me over his shoulder with varying degrees of suspicion. I gave them a big wave, swooping my hand in a broad arc. ‘Hi, guys.’ Alex turned round, all bemused expression and expertly messed-up hair. Only I knew it had taken him half an hour and half a tub of Tigi Bed Head wax to make it look so effortless.
‘Hi, mirror ball.’ He took in my outfit and stroked my hair. I immediately pulled back and messed it back up again. ‘You found me.’
‘Always will.’ I nuzzled his neck and found my happy place. ‘Happy bachelor party.’
‘Happy bachelorette,’ he replied as his entourage dispersed. ‘You have a fun day?’
‘I had an interesting day.’ I kept a strong grip on Jenny’s hand as she barrelled around behind me. ‘You will note I am one bridesmaid short.’
‘I will note that,’ he agreed. ‘Should I ask?’
‘I’ll tell you tomorrow.’ I couldn’t face telling the story without at least seven more drinks in me. ‘What time do you go on?’
‘I’m just waiting for the guys.’ He looked over at the door and then at his watch. ‘They should have been here by now.’
‘Can I get you a beer?’ I asked. I had dry mouth. Bad sign. ‘I’m going to get some … water?’
‘I’m good.’ He kissed me on the forehead and slid his hand down to my waist. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting oiled up by strippers or something?’
‘I’m going to strip you down later.’ I traced a finger down his white shirt in a terrible attempt at being sexy. ‘And um, dance?’ I felt like being a little bit sick in my mouth. It was hard to act the temptress when you looked confused and your boyfriend was laughing at you.
‘At your mom’s house?’ He looked scandalized. ‘I’ll get the cooking oil and meet you in your dad’s shed.’
‘It’s a date.’ I turned on my heel and sashayed away, only tripping once. Result.
‘Two shots of tequila and two beers.’ Jenny slammed her fist on the bar before hoisting herself up on top of it. ‘I can get them if you’re busy.’
‘No need. Get your arse off my bar,’ the bartender said, giving her a light push back down onto the floor and replacing her bottom with two bottles of Corona. She landed on her feet like a cat and rewarded him with a smirk and a twenty-pound note. That I had given her. It was expensive to drink in London.
The club was busy and the music was loud, but I could still hear Alex’s name on everyone’s lips. They were excited. I was excited and drunk. Jenny was just drunk. I looked around for Alex again, but I couldn’t find him anywhere in the crowd. I spotted at least a dozen pale imitations, copying his haircut, imitating his easy style, but there was only one. And that one was suddenly on the stage. The background music cut and was replaced by a wild whooping from the floor. All the separated cliques swarmed forward to take their place by the stage − girls, groupies and photographers vying for space at the front, fanboys and chin-stroking musos filling up the middle of the floor, while friends of friends and reluctant dates made up the group hanging around the bar.
‘Hey,’ Alex said into the microphone, pulling his guitar strap over his head. ‘Thanks for coming out tonight.’
The girls in the crowd screamed like he had just promised to father all of their babies. Which he definitely had not. The men muttered and nodded at each other. Craig waved a drumstick in greeting from his stool at the back of the stage while Graham fiddled with his bass, pressing various pedals and buttons at his feet.
‘Is it me?’ Jenny slurred, ‘or does Craig look hotter?’
‘It’s not you and it’s not him,’ I replied sternly. ‘It’s the tequila.’
‘We’re Stills and we’re gonna play a few songs,’ Alex said. Then he turned his back to the audience, nodded at Craig three times, held up his arm, guitar pick in hand, and launched into a familiar rhythm.
The club went crazy − everyone in the house was there because they’d got the message about the secret show. They were all Stills uber-fans and they knew every word, every beat. The place hummed with one heartbeat and it was contagious. I’d been a fan of the band before I was a fan of Alex, but now, knowing everything I knew, every single word of every single song meant something new to me. Sure, sometimes that meant I had to grit my teeth and pretend he wasn’t singing about his ex-girlfriend, and sometimes I had to turn a theoretical blind eye to the tunes dedicated to his time as a Manhattan man-whore, but more often than not, with the new tunes, I knew they were about me, about us. And sure I was biased, but I thought they were the best.
Alex hurled himself around the stage, crashing into Graham, the two of them jousting with their axes before spinning away and jumping up on the drum riser or leaping onto the monitors. As he moved around, eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, he was always drawn back to the microphone just in time, like a magnet.
I was resting against the bar, my body swaying, imagining doing terrible things to him on top of that big orange amp, when I realized Jenny was missing. I scanned the room for her, but since she wasn’t dressed in sequins she was hard to find. And from the looks of the Cinderella situation to my right, she had abandoned her shoes, making her both vulnerable to broken feet and an easily-lost-in-a-crowd midget. Not sure what else to do, I hopped up onto the bar and squinted into the sweaty mass of bodies before me.
‘So I’m actually in town on some personal business,’ Alex panted into the microphone, wiping a towel across his forehead and shimmying out of his tight leather jacket. ‘I’m getting married on Saturday.’
I tried not to be offended by the mixture of high-pitched boos that underlined the crowd’s cheer.
‘Don’t do it,’ shouted one man. A man who would eternally hope I never recognized him.
‘Marry me!’ shrieked a girl at the front. Oh, she was just asking for it.
‘Thanks for the options.’ Alex looked down while he tuned his guitar an
d laughed. ‘But I think I’m gonna stick with my girl. She’s, uh − she’s the one.’
Damn straight, I nodded in agreement while the crowd alternately ahh-ed and booed.
‘In fact, she’s here tonight.’ He looked up and held his hand over his eyes to shield them against the bright stage lights. ‘So if you see a super-cute girl dressed like she’s on her way to Studio 54, say hi − tonight’s her bachelorette party.’
He looked up and smiled. Even though he couldn’t see me, I knew that smile was for me and I melted.
‘This one’s for you, Angela.’ He combed his hair with his fingers and tried to tuck it behind one ear, but it escaped before he even got his hand back to his guitar. ‘They’re all for you.’
I heaved myself up onto the bar to get a better look, my sequins twinkling under the low lights, while Craig brushed out a soft beat and Graham hung back, letting Alex take the spotlight as he strummed the open bars of my song. I had heard this song a thousand times in the last few months. I’d watched Alex write it. I’d seen it go from notes on a napkin to lyrics on the page and heard it echoing through our apartment until every chord was perfect, every note was chosen and declared just right. But this was the first time I’d seen him play it live, with the band, in front of an audience. This was the first time it had come to life. And it soared. And in that moment, I wasn’t just in love, I was proud. So proud that Alex was the man I was going to marry.
The crowd listened quietly, attentively, while Alex sang softly into the microphone stand, and I knew it wasn’t just me who was imagining I was that stand. I was certain everyone was holding their breath just as carefully as I was; you could have heard a pin drop in the Garage for three straight minutes. Which was why it was so hard to miss Jenny as she clambered onto the stage and crawled over to Craig’s drum kit. I felt my jaw drop and held my head in my hands as I watched a sound technician try to weave across the stage to beat her to the punch, but Jenny was a girl on a mission, and when she knew what she wanted, there was no stopping that girl. Plus she was pretty fast for someone on her hands and knees. Meanwhile, Alex was upping the tempo and crashing into the end of the song, and Graham and Craig were both beating the shit out of their instruments − until Jenny reached the drums, grabbed hold of a very surprised-looking Craig’s skinny tie and pulled him into a deep, intense kiss. The crowd cheered, the drums stopped and everyone saw both Jenny’s knickers and Craig’s tongue.