Relight my Fire

by Joanna Bolouri

  ‘Um . . . right then,’ I mumbled, starting to walk away. Then I stopped. I wasn’t buying it. I swung around and returned to my spot in front of her PC.

  ‘So, is this like one of those things where you pretend you’re not bothered, but really you’re expecting Grey Goose, half a kilo of cocaine, a guest list and a live sex show?’

  ‘No, but I know now what to plan for your funeral. Thanks.’

  I left again and went back to my desk, still puzzled at Lucy’s desire for zero debauchery on her hen night. Lucy’s coffee breaks are more exhilarating than this plan.

  I texted Hazel.

  Lucy wants to go for a meal on her hen night. It’s the End of Days. Save yourself.

  Her reply came swiftly.

  A meal? Is that code for strippers?

  See? Even Hazel gets it. I finally accepted defeat and booked a table for three on Friday night.

  *

  Molly’s Halloween disco was held in the gym hall from 6.30 p.m. – 7.30 p.m. and as I’d stupidly volunteered to chaperone, I had to endure Sarah Ward-Wilson, head of the parent’s committee, girlfriend of my boss, two-faced telephone-conversation-haver and all round bore bag. Now that I had absolute proof she was a nasty creature, I wanted as little to do with her as possible.

  Molly had dressed as a cat (no surprise) and made me also cattify my face for the occasion, which was fine, but of course Lord Wilson turned up as Maleficent, in full fucking costume and make-up. Honestly, there’s getting into the spirit of things and then there’s just being an absolute try-hard.

  I grabbed one of the apple-juice boxes that were stacked high on a trestle table and made my way through the costumed kids towards a free seat at the edge of the hall, hoping to sit and watch Molly have fun in peace. No such luck. I had barely sat down before I was spotted.

  ‘I hear we’re going to be wedding chums,’ Sarah announced, plonking herself down beside me. ‘I have this gorgeous little Moschino dress that’s been looking for a place to show itself off. What will you be wearing?’

  Your skin as a mask.

  ‘Sorry? What wedding?’

  It took me a second to realise she meant Lucy’s, then to piece together how on earth she could be attending, but then it dawned on me: Frank would have been invited to the reception with a plus one. Brilliant.

  ‘A bridesmaid dress,’ I replied. ‘I’m the chief bridesmaid.’

  She laughed so loudly, people turned to look!

  ‘What’s so funny?!’

  She put a hand up, instructing me to wait until she’d finished laughing. Only she wasn’t even laughing – it was all fake.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all,’ she finally replied.

  ‘No. Carry on.’ I wasn’t letting this go.

  ‘Aren’t you a little old to be a bridesmaid? No offence, but it’s a little strange seeing someone in their forties wearing a dress that should be on a much younger woman.’

  I’d had enough. ‘Seriously?! You’re sitting there dressed as a Disney character and you have the cheek to try and make me feel stupid? What the hell is wrong with you? I swear to God, you say one more word and you and your Moschino dress will be going fucking nowhere.’

  She looked embarrassed but not beaten. ‘My my. I thought Frank was exaggerating when he said you were overly sensitive but apparently not.’

  ‘Oh, Frank knows exactly where my sensitive spots are, sweetheart. Maybe he’ll tell you about that one day too.’

  I grabbed my juice box from the table and stood up. ‘And I’m not in my forties, I’m thirty-nine. This is what thirty-nine looks like when you haven’t frozen your face into oblivion, you old trout. Oh, and next time you call someone desperate and a useful distraction, make sure their friend isn’t listening behind you.’

  As I left she remained quiet, but I could tell she was angry because for the first time in the three years I’d known her, Sarah Ward-Wilson had a frown line.

  I spent the remainder of the hour in my car, fuming with her but mainly with myself for letting my secret about Frank slip. He’s going to think I did this on purpose.

  November

  Friday November 3rd

  Oliver’s doing Movember. This man grows hair like a fucking yeti so I reckon it’ll take him two weeks tops to look like Groucho Marx. It’s also officially winter now despite it being November. Seasons mean nothing in Scotland. There was a faint shimmer of ice on the pavements when I picked Molly up from nursery and everyone on Facebook has put their heating on. Still, tonight was Lucy’s hen night and I wasn’t going to let anything spoil it, not even hypothermia.

  Still not convinced that we weren’t going to end up in a nightclub or prison, I wore my favourite little black dress and killer heels. I slipped some flat shoes into my bag to soothe any sore dancing feet (or in case we needed to flee from the police). Lucy it seemed was steadfast in her meal plan, though, turning up in jeans and a plain red top, face au natural.

  Despite the fact The Jasmine Gardens was miles from anywhere, it was a decent restaurant and not as overpriced as the city centre eateries I’d suggested in my bid to lure Lucy out of the suburbs.

  ‘What’s Kyle doing tonight?’ Hazel asked, looking around at the half-empty restaurant. ‘God, this place is quiet.’

  ‘It’s quiet because all the fun people are in bars, drinking heavily,’ I responded glumly.

  ‘Kyle’s out with his friends,’ Lucy replied, making a face at me. ‘I think they went to The Butterfly and the Pig. He’ll be out for hours.’

  Even though the waitress who’d been eyeballing us since we walked in hadn’t seen us pick up a menu, she still marched over to take our food order. Luckily, I knew what I wanted and that was time to look at the menu, Sharon.

  ‘Can you give us a few more minutes?’ Hazel asked the impatient server. ‘And do you have a wine list?’

  ‘Nope.’

  I liked her.

  ‘OK, a bottle of house white is fine. Just whatever, as long as it’s not chardonnay.’

  When the wine came, we all predictably ordered the same dish we always ordered and raised a glass to Lucy who was already hogging the prawn crackers.

  ‘To Lucy! I hope you and Kyle have a wonderful life together,’ Hazel said sincerely. ‘We love you loads.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ I seconded. ‘May your life be filled with laughter, sex and the desire to babysit for me as often as possible.’

  I saw Lucy’s bottom lip begin to quiver. ‘Oh Jesus, I was kidding! You don’t have to babysit.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said, in between wobbles. ‘I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed.’

  ‘About the wedding?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. I passed her a napkin to blow her nose. ‘It’s just, I’ve spent so long being in charge of my life. What if I can’t relinquish that control? I used to go on holiday alone. I used to disappear for weekends without having to inform anyone! I like my own space! I’m scared I’m going to stop being this whole person and just become half of a couple, or worse. That I’ll just be this impossible person to live with and Kyle will fuck off and find someone more wife-like.’

  Hazel placed her hand on Lucy’s arm. ‘You’ll find a balance. Don’t forget that Kyle wants to marry you because of these things. I think he’d find it unnerving if you suddenly stopped being this independent woman he fell in love with.’

  ‘A wife, though,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s just so fucking old-fashioned.’

  Hazel laughed. ‘It’s whatever you make it. Stop worrying. I’ve managed it twice without disappearing back to the fifties.’

  Lucy steeled herself and raised her glass, motioning for us to do the same. ‘Promise me, ladies, that this won’t change. That regardless of how many husbands or children come along – we will always make time for each other.’

  ‘Agreed,’ I replied. Hazel looked like she was going to cry now.

  Lucy wiped her nose and grinned. ‘And promise you’ll forget that I suggeste
d going for a Chinese on my hen night when we have dancing and shots available to us. One of you better have some lippy and mascara I can use; we’re fucking out of here.’

  ‘Bill, please!’ Hazel yelled as I downed my wine and called a cab into town. In a little over a week my best mate would be married, but tonight she belonged to us.

  Sunday November 5th

  Bonfire Night! Despite the fact it was baltic, we all went to Glasgow Green to see the massive firework display they’d put on. I feel like I’m getting the whole parenting thing right when I do stuff like this. It gives me a sense of calm.

  When we got there it was packed with bobble hats and gloved hands holding sparklers as far as the eye could see and Molly got one of those overpriced spinning things that lights up and then breaks by the time you get home. Hazel, Kevin and Grace also attended but we decided just to have our own family time. Just me, Oliver, Molly and several thousands of pounds’ worth of dangerous explosives, surrounded by strangers. It was splendid.

  Monday November 6th

  Oliver’s Movember tash is coming along nicely and when I say nicely, I mean he’s already starting to look like a sex offender and it’s disturbing me. That man can grow facial hair at an alarming rate.

  *

  After my little outburst on Halloween, I was expecting Frank to haul me into his office to ask why the hell I’d let slip about us to Sarah, but he didn’t say a word. Not even an awkward glance or underhand comment. There’s no way she’s mentioned it to him. She’s obviously scared I’ll tell him about her bitchy phone conversation.

  Wednesday November 8th

  I found another note in the sex jar this morning and I felt a little pang of guilt, given that the last one was a proposal I’d turned down. I haven’t been near the jar since. Still, Oliver had obviously left it out for me to read so I obliged.

  You might want to shower first.

  It didn’t take me long to put two and two together. I had bacterial vaginitis a few years back and Oliver commented on the smell while he was going down on me. Now I’m paranoid and prefer to shower before he puts his face anywhere near my foof. Oliver thinks I’m neurotic and I absolutely agree.

  I scrunched up the note and threw it in the bin before sending Oliver a quick text.

  I will be thinking about this all day now. Nicely played, you complete shit.

  *

  By the time Oliver put Molly to bed, I was already in the shower shaving my bits and by the time he was finished with me, I was back in the shower again, while he stripped the soaking wet sheets off the bed. God, he’s talented. Maybe the moustache could stay.

  Thursday November 9th

  Tonight I walked around for three hours in my bridesmaid’s shoes to make sure they were broken in before the big day. Lucy is now regretting not having a rehearsal in case she walks out of time to the music and looks like a prick. So now I’m also worried about this and have been practising slow walking up the hall in high heels and pissing off the neighbours below us.

  Friday November 10th

  Despite my ninja moves, Sarah Ward-Wilson spotted me in the school car park this morning, pulling up alongside me in her unnecessarily large car. I prepared myself for battle.

  ‘I’d like to apologise if I came across as being mean-spirited at the Halloween disco,’ she said, turning off her engine. ‘I realise that my sense of humour can be misread at times.’

  ‘OK . . .’ I replied, waiting for her to yell PSYCHE! and drive her damn Monster Truck over the top of my car. But she seemed sincere.

  ‘And I realise you said what you said out of anger. The easiest way to rile up another woman is to imply that you have intimate knowledge of her boyfriend. I didn’t believe for a moment it was true . . . well, because you’re not Frank’s type.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Sarah. I said what I said to wind you up – I’m absolutely not Frank’s type.’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘But what you said about Frank was out of order,’ I continued. ‘Really disingenuous.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Look, the bottom line is, I intend to see a lot more of Frank, so I think it’s probably a good idea that we put this behind us and—’

  ‘And please don’t tell Frank what I heard you say?’ Her motives here were so transparent.

  Finally she dropped her pretence. ‘He wouldn’t believe you anyway, dear,’ she replied.

  I smiled. It was pointless arguing. This woman was beyond reproach and I was bored. ‘You know, you’re probably right. Just like you were right about your sense of humour being shite.’

  ‘What? Hang on, I never—’

  ‘See you at the wedding!’

  I drove off before she had the chance to respond. What a conniving, wholly unhappy woman she is.

  Lucy is staying with Hazel tonight and we’re all meeting at the hotel tomorrow to get ready. A woman called Sabine is coming to do our hair and makeup at 9 a.m. and it’s our job to make sure Lucy has the best day ever. No pressure then.

  Saturday November 11th

  2.30 p.m. ‘Oh God, my stomach hurts. I might be sick. I might poo myself! Fuck, what if I walk down the aisle shitting myself as I go! I knew wearing white was a bad idea. OhGodohGodohGod.’

  Lucy had spent months panicking over her wedding and five minutes before the actual ceremony was no different. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, her hand rubbing her stomach over her striking ivory wrap wedding dress. She looked magnificent; like a cross between Florence Welch and Guinevere. I quickly straightened the small flower garland which nestled perfectly on her red curls and smoothed down her dress at the back while her eyes darted between me and Hazel, looking for reassurance.

  ‘Just relax!’ Hazel soothed, placing her hand in Lucy’s. ‘We’ve got you. There will be no shitting on my watch.’

  I saw Lucy’s shoulders visibly relax as she exhaled deeply. Taking one last look in the mirror, she said vehemently, ‘Right. I’m ready. Here we go, bitches . . .’

  *

  3 p.m. We all stood behind the doors at the back of the room. Lucy had stopped panicking, all hair was perfect and no one had lipstick on their teeth. As soon as we heard ‘I’m Kissing You’ by Des’ree start to play, the doors would open and Hazel and I would start walking. But Des’ree doesn’t start playing. The mellow piano chords were nowhere to be heard. What I heard was ‘Hold My Hand’ by Jess Glynne and what I saw was Lucy grinning.

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Change of plan, ladies. Now dance me down the aisle or lose me forever.’

  Before we could respond, the doors swung open and Hazel and I were faced with over one hundred guests, all as bemused as we were. Just as I was about to tentatively shuffle forwards, Hazel threw her arms in the air and began leading the charge, so I followed suit. We owned that aisle like we were appearing on Soul Train and when Lucy appeared behind, out-dancing both of us, there wasn’t a single person in that room who didn’t join in. We danced that woman right down the aisle before entrusting our best mate to the only man we’ve ever truly approved of.

  *

  3.30 p.m. Kyle started crying during his vows. Lucy got dry mouth and her top lip stuck to her teeth and someone in the back of the hall had the loudest hiccups I’ve ever heard.

  *

  3.45 p.m. Lucy Jacobs was now officially Lucy Hamilton and my waterproof mascara was a lying piece of shit.

  *

  4.30 p.m. We hung around the function suite drinking champagne and eating canapés while the main area was set for dinner. The pale yellow room buzzed with the guests’ excitement over the soft background music. I’m certain Lucy had said there were forty confirmed for the meal and at least one hundred for the evening reception, but looking around it seemed like everyone had shown up at once and 99% were fighting for first place in the Most Hideous Fascinator competition I was currently judging. The woman with what looked like a lace seagull was currently in first place.

  I caught sight of Oliver making h
is way back from the toilets, occasionally forced to stop and politely introduce himself to the many women who thrust their hands in front of him. He always did look good in a kilt but for some reason today he looked especially delicious. Maybe it was the romance in the air or the joyful feeling in my heart, but I felt like the luckiest woman alive.

  *

  6.30 p.m. Dinner was excellent. They’d decided to do a buffet with salmon, lamb and the most delicious mini lobster rolls I’ve ever had in my life. It was a smart move given that they chose to pay for the entire thing themselves – a full sit-down meal would have been a waste. It was all very informal and from the look on Kyle’s mother’s face, not quite what she’d hoped for. Kyle’s family were quite something. And by ‘quite something’, I mean ‘fucking abominable’. Given that Kyle loves nature and poetry and my best mate, I’d assume they’d be equally laid back and gentle, but how wrong I was. The dad, James, is a cardiovascular specialist (he told me this five times) and his mum Diana is a dentist with a private clinic in Bearsden. They were loud, condescending and devoid of any discernible humour. From what I could make out over dinner, the rest of the Hamilton clan weren’t much better – their chatter mainly focussing on money, their house renovations and whispers on how they’d have organised this wedding very differently. Lucy and Kyle handled it very well but intermittent glances my way from Lucy let me know she was very aware of their bullshit too. You could tell that these people weren’t often all in the same place together and that they were definitely one whisky and water away from a punch up.

  ‘Kevin’s just off to pick up the girls,’ Hazel informed me after they’d cut the cake. ‘I’ve asked Rosie to make sure they’re party ready!’

  Hazel’s niece Rosie had saved the day, agreeing to babysit both Molly and Grace to let us have the day with our friends. Molly had been so excited to come this evening, I feared she might burst.

  *

  7.15 p.m. The girls arrived. Molly looked adorable in her pink dress and Grace looked annoyed that she’d been made to wear a dress in the first place. Lucy and Kyle appeared a little later than planned, looking dishevelled. It was obvious they’d been shagging because it’s Lucy. She’d shag at her own funeral. Also, Kelly and Brian turned up together. TOGETHER. At first I thought they’d just shared a cab but neither appeared to have brought a plus one. WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?