The Wedding Date

by Zara Stoneley

  So what do I do?

  I book an emergency appointment at the hairdresser’s. The cheapest form of therapy known to man (and, of course, woman).

  I am on the way for a cut and blow, hoping a pamper session will leave me feeling less like devouring the contents of the fridge and more like joining in the celebrations. It will also give me time to decide whether Sarah has a valid point, and I am now actually desperate enough to put an advert on Gumtree: ‘Desperately Seeking Stud’.

  Chapter 4

  ‘How are you gorgeous?’ Tim, the loveliest hairdresser in the world, gives me a very unprofessional hug, then holds me at arm’s length. ‘A little snip here and there and you’ll be all bouncy again.’

  It will take more than a little snip to give me back my bounce, although a snip in Liam’s direction might help cheer me up. In fact a snip several months ago might have meant we were still together. It’s dawned on me in the last few minutes that for anybody to be hugely pregnant, they would have had to be shagging my boyfriend long before he became my ex.

  This is not a good thought.

  My plastered-on smile must have slipped a bit because Tim is frowning at me.

  ‘I think you need a bit of colour in your life. How about a hint of pink?’

  I nod. Pink, purple, bright blooming blue. I’d say yes to anything right now.

  ‘Chantelle will run you some colour through, won’t you, darling?’ Chantelle is nodding. ‘And I’ll get you a nice little glass of prosecco.’ He pats my hand. ‘Then you can tell Uncle Tim all about it.’ Uncle Tim is probably a good few years younger than me, but right now I’m happy to play along.

  Prosecco in hand, with Chantelle gaily adding streaks of colour to my boring hair and life, and Tim sitting looking intently at me, I am already starting to feel a bit better. Tim might be gay, but he’s the only man who’s run his fingers through my hair this year. And that’s fine.

  ‘It’s that lousy Liam, isn’t it?’ I nod rather too vigorously, then freeze, hoping Chantelle hasn’t added a highlight the size of a zebra stripe. Tim knows all about ‘the break up’; he’s my hero – he supplied me with fags, wine and a good haircut as I wept in front of his mirror, and never once suggested I wasn’t good for business before wheeling me into a dark corner of the salon. If Tim didn’t have a boyfriend I’d have suggested he move in with me by now.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ Shit. He knows. Everybody knows. How come I’m the absolutely last person on the planet to find out about the huge girlfriend?

  ‘His mum was in here last week, she’s putting a brave face on it babe, but… She. Is. So. Fuming.’ He spaces the last four words out, then shakes his head before patting my hand. ‘Such a dick, you are so well rid.’

  Logically I know I am well rid, and I know that his mother disapproves of all his girlfriends (including me), but in my heart there is still a tiny illogical Liam-shaped hole. I’ve been hanging on to that hole, I haven’t been ready to stitch it up and shut him out forever. ‘He’s going to be at the wedding, with her.’ And it. The unborn. The prosecco seemed to have lost some of its bubbles. ‘I can’t go.’

  ‘Oh, girlfriend, you have got to go. Hasn’t she, girls?’

  There is a nodding of heads and chorus of consent. I suddenly realise that the dryers have gone quiet and all ears are tweaked our way.

  ‘But I can’t.’ I know I’m being a bit feeble, and it’s a bit of a wail, but Tim is not to be deterred. ‘My parents have been invited as well, and I can’t face them all unless I look amazingly fabulous, I will totally be the centre of attention and I’m fat and…’ Tim holds a hand up to stop the flow, but he knows what I’m getting at. The next time I see Liam I have to be slim, glamorous, drop-em-dead gorgeous. The one that got away. For my sake, not his. My voice drops to a whisper. ‘And I have to have a man.’ It isn’t that I think my life isn’t complete without a man. I’m not that hopeless. ‘I’ve told Jess I’ve got a new boyfriend, and Mum.’ Christ why did I do that? ‘And everybody…’

  ‘Will be looking at you?’ Tim sums it up in one. He stands up, triumphant. ‘We’re going to make you look fab-u-lous, and—’ he waves his hand flamboyantly ‘—we’re going to find you a man, aren’t we girls?’

  Sitting with gunge plastered all over my head, a rather hot heat lamp threatening to singe my hair, and a glass of prosecco in my hand, I don’t feel fabulous.

  ‘Right gorgeous, describe your perfect date.’ He’s back in his seat. ‘Hit us, babe. The full works.’

  I wriggle in my seat (it does feel a bit like my head is burning, and for a moment I wonder if he’s got carried away and turned me up high). ‘Well, Jude Law’s very nice.’

  Chantelle tops up my glass. ‘Oh my God, did you see him in The Holiday? I mean he’s a bit old for me—’ anybody over twenty-one is probably a bit old for Chantelle ‘—but I wouldn’t have said no.’

  ‘Daniel Craig is more my taste.’ A lady at the far side of the salon puts her copy of Harper’s Bazaar down. ‘I didn’t know I liked blonds until I saw him stride out of the sea in those swimming trunks.’ She fans herself with the magazine.

  ‘Isn’t he everybody’s, darling?’ Tim joins in the fanning melodramatically.

  ‘He has got quite nice, er, pecs.’ I’m never quite sure which muscle is which, but I do know Daniel Craig has plenty of them. And I do know he scares me a bit. ‘He’s not quite my style though.’ An image of Liam jumps into my head, totally pec-less. I shake it away – I can do better than that. ‘I mean I like muscles, but I like cuddles as well.’

  There’s a collective sigh. Don’t you love hairdressing salons? Guaranteed support, and a haircut.

  A burst of loud music launches itself at my ear drums and Chantelle whisks away the heat lamp as the timer goes off. ‘That’s you done, don’t want you too intense, do we?’ She ushers me over to the backwash unit, and points at my right thigh accusingly as I settle myself into the chair.

  I’m just about to apologise (several packets of cheesy wotsits have found a home there) when she leans over and jabs a button that I hadn’t noticed (my thigh was in the way). ‘New chairs, you even get a massage. How good is that?’

  I’m not actually sure it would rate in my brilliant category, but after two glasses of bubbly and no bum fondling or back kneading for a long time, the gentle vibration is actually quite acceptable.

  ‘I like a man who can cuddle too.’ Chantelle digs her fingertips into my scalp firmly.

  ‘Hugh Grant was my type years ago.’ The woman at the next backwash sighs. ‘I’d have cuddled him and much more.’

  I glance over, and she looks at least sixty. She grins back in a very naughty way, positively licking her lips. Then winks. Too much information, it’s like your mum bringing up her sex life when all you agreed to was some bonding over handbag shopping.

  ‘It’s the hair, and the smile. He’d make you laugh, wouldn’t he love? Can’t beat a man who can make you laugh.’ I’m not so sure on that point. ‘That film when he’s Prime Minister,’ Miss Sixty-Plus carries on undeterred.

  ‘Love Actually?’

  She nods. ‘And he’s doing that bit of dad-dancing, bless. Ooh, I could have grabbed him, I could.’

  Tim whisks me and my drippy hair back to my seat in front of a mirror, so luckily I don’t have to come up with a response.

  ‘Liam Hemsworth is cute.’

  Tim’s gaze meets mine in the mirror. ‘If he was one of my clients, he’d be yours, gorgeous.’ He combs my hair through. ‘When I was working in London, we had actors in and out all the time.’ The way he says it lends a definite double entendre.

  ‘You could always borrow my little brother for the day.’

  The words come out of the blue. For a moment I think I’ve misheard as I glance round wildly, then realise it’s the girl opposite me, hidden by the mirrors. She leans to one side, so I can see her. My first impression is perfect smile, perfect make-up, and perfect hair. My second impression is money.
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br />   ‘Oh my God, Amy. Yes!’ I think Tim’s about to orgasm as he clamps his hands over his mouth. His gaze switches from her to me. ‘He is SO gorgeous, SO you.’

  I dread to think what he thinks ‘me’ is, and I daren’t ask, because if this man is anything like his sister Amy then he’s nothing like me at all.

  ‘And that man can act, can’t he Amy?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘He’s an actor, he can play anything from cuddly uncle to porn star.’ I’m not sure either of those fits my particular bill. ‘He’ll do anything to practise his craft – and throw in a party and he’ll think he’s in heaven.’ She winks. ‘And he’s broke.’

  ‘If he wasn’t straight I’d have had my hands on that butt of his years ago.’ I’ve never seen Tim quite so animated. He’s snipping away at my hair with gay abandon, a lustful smile on his face, and I’m wondering if it would be safer to ask him to stop now before I end up with a pixie cut that I haven’t got the face for.

  ‘Jake’s a bit of a twat, but he’s harmless.’ Amy grins. ‘He needs somebody down to earth and nice to put him in his place; you’d be perfect.’ I’m not sure if this is a compliment or an insult, so I just smile nicely and try not to worry about the scissors. ‘Those airheads he normally dates just simper and swoon when he tells them he’s lined up to be the next James Bond.’

  ‘Is he?’ I know my eyes have opened a bit wider, and I’ve sat up a bit straighter. Holy crap, have I just bagged myself a real hunk? I’ve always been able to take it or leave it as far as James Bond goes, but I wouldn’t say no to a date.

  ‘Is he hell!’ She laughs, and my backbone sags back into its normal curve. ‘He’s doing bit parts, waiting for his big break.’

  Otherwise known as working as a barista. Licensed to handle a coffee machine isn’t quite the same as licensed to kill. Or thrill. Although I’d probably get a good latte out of the deal.

  ‘Here.’ She stands up, showing off endless legs and a designer handbag. ‘Take my card.’ Even the card, framed by immaculate nails, looks expensive.

  It would be rude to ignore it, but this is never going to work. The whole idea of a fake date makes me feel slightly queasy, and actor Jake is way outside my league. At least if I hired an escort like Sarah suggested, we’d all know where we stood. And he wouldn’t be nearly famous.

  ‘I’m not sure it will be up his street.’ I try and match her posh tone, and just sound a bit like my mother when she answers the phone. ‘And er, it’s not for a day, it’s for a week.’

  ‘Even better, he could do with a change of scene! Honestly, he’d love it.’ She puts the card down, then blows Tim a kiss. ‘Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll sound him out, though he’s anybody’s for a free lunch.’

  ‘Oh she’s interested, aren’t you gorgeous?’ Tim hugs me. ‘He’s just what you need.’ We watch Amy leave, and Tim wields the hairdryer until I look streaked and sleek.

  ‘Divine.’ He holds a mirror so I can see the back. ‘I can just see Liam’s face when you walk in on Jake’s arm looking absolutely fab. The dream team.’ He sighs.

  I stare at my own reflection. I do look quite good, and Jake might look like a young George Clooney, or a Brad Pitt, or a cute Alex Pettyfer. After all he is an actor.

  Tim spins me round. ‘You can do this, I’m not taking no for an answer.’

  I grin back. ‘I can do this.’ I swan out of the salon on a high, hair all swishy and a spring in my step. I can do this. I have to.

  I shall go to the wedding. I shall take a date.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter 5

  There are obviously loads of things that will might go wrong if I take a fake date called Jake to my best friend’s wedding.

  1. I might hate Jake.

  2. Jake might hate me.

  3. Somebody might know him.

  4. I could become a laughing stock.

  5. Everybody will despise me when they realise I’ve tried to dupe them.

  There are of course positives in any situation.

  1. Everybody will admire how well I have moved on (if they don’t guess it’s a sham), and how little I care about Liam and his huge girlfriend.

  2. His mother might regret being nasty and be insanely jealous when she sees me with another man, and realise that I can no longer be her daughter-in-law.

  The fizz has worn off a bit by the time I get home, and the frizz has set in. There is no hair product known to man that will totally stop my hair going all frizzy when it’s damp outside.

  I feel a bit daft, and all flat and deflated. I got totally carried away with Tim and his plan. I know he loves me and means well, but it’s a mad idea. Who in their right mind would take a total stranger to a wedding? This is practically a family wedding. Everybody knows me, everybody will realise that I would never meet a young, posh George Clooney lookalike.

  I decide I need to forget all about Jake, and take my new hairdo out for a glass of wine while it still has a tiny trace of swish factor left.

  ‘What’s up?’ This seems to be Sarah’s opening line at the moment. I am obviously not hiding my concerns as well as I think I am.

  ‘I can’t decide whether to have another Aperol spritz, or have one of those espresso martinis.’ I’m eying up the one on the next table as I suck up the last drop of Aperol through a straw.

  ‘Well hurry up and decide before that sexy barman does a runner on me.’

  ‘Which sexy barman?’ I’ve been coming in this wine bar on a regular basis for the past year with Sarah, and I’ve never seen anybody I’d rate as even mildly sexy. Some of them think they are, but they need a reality check if you ask me. I mean, being able to toss a cocktail shaker in the air doesn’t make you anything more than a tosser, does it?

  ‘There is definitely something up with you if you’ve not noticed. Look, there.’

  I glance over the top of my glass, trying not to be too obvious. ‘The one that looks about eighteen?’

  Sarah nods. ‘Soo cute.’

  Okay, maybe he is quite cute. In an eighteen-year-old way. ‘You can’t!’

  ‘Watch me.’ She winks. ‘Some men like a mature woman, I could teach him a trick or two.’

  ‘I bet you could.’

  ‘But I was looking for you, not me. You could take him to the wedding, it would be way cheaper than going to some agency. I Googled and it’s scary how much these people charge, and that’s just the normal places, not the type of guys that mag article was on about. I mean you can’t even get a quote from some of those places without producing your birth certificate, statement from your bank manager and proof you’ve got a million followers on Twitter.’

  ‘Really?’ It’s starting to look like if I’m going to do this, then it’s Jake or nobody.

  ‘And you have to swear on your dog’s life that you won’t tell anybody.’ Sarah has obviously spent some time researching this.

  ‘I haven’t got a dog.’ I haven’t even got a hamster.

  ‘See, I knew it was impossible. I mean you’re not going to get a dog just so you can hire a guy, are you?’

  ‘And you already know, so it wouldn’t be a secret either.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Sarah has what I can only describe as a look of mischief on her face. ‘So taking the cute bartender is an ace idea – they’d all be drooling, you’d be the centre of attention.’

  Okay, feeling good about myself is what I’m after, attention is not. I’ve told Sarah about the wedding invite, and the ‘huge’ complications. I have not told her it’s got worse. I’ve not told her about my mother, or Scotland.

  ‘I don’t want to be the centre of attention.’ I am hoping to sneak in under the radar and hardly be noticed. I don’t want drooling any more than I want pity.

  ‘I’ll get you a surprise.’ Sarah is on her feet. ‘And his number.’ She’s off to the bar before I can stop her, and comes back surprisingly quickly which I think means wonder boy isn’t available to be whisked off for som
e private tuition.

  The drinks are green. I’m never quite sure that anything I eat or drink should be green. Apart from M&Ms.

  ‘Appletini. Callum reckons they’re the in thing.’ Oh, so he didn’t blow her out of the water completely. ‘Vodka and apple schnapps.’ She takes a sip and sucks air in through her teeth. ‘Yikes.’

  ‘So you had time to discuss ingredients?’

  ‘And what time he finishes!’ She grins like a cougar that’s got the kitten and smacks her lips. ‘That has got a bit more kick than a V&T.’ She sits back and watches as I toy with the slice of apple, then leans forward. ‘You don’t have to go, Sam.’

  We both know what she’s talking about. Sarah saw me through the break up, she fed me pizza, and supplied tissues and wine. And she listened. A lot. Sarah deserves a sainthood.

  ‘I do, Jess is my friend. And I’m supposed to be maid of honour.’

  ‘She’ll understand.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Suppose not. In fact I’d think you were a bit of a selfish cow putting your broken heart above what’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I know she’s said it tongue in cheek, but every word is true. ‘And I told her I was over Liam and had a hot new man.’

  ‘True.’

  I take a big gulp of my drink, and my eyes water. ‘Wow.’ It comes out all spluttery and weak, I think my vocal chords have been damaged. ‘That has got a kick.’ It’s got a knock-you-over, brandy kind of kick. Maybe I should take Callum and just let him wreak cocktail havoc, nobody will remember a thing.

  Sarah puts her hand over mine. ‘Sam you’re gorgeous, loads of men would kill for a date.’ We both know that’s the green cocktails talking.

  ‘Sarah, it’s got worse.’ I swig the rest of my lethal cocktail. ‘I haven’t just told Jess I’ve got a new man, I’ve told Mum as well.’