The Wedding Date

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘I don’t know what got into Em, giving you this thug.’

  I have got a feeling I know what got into Em. ‘It’s not a problem, honest. I’m fine.’ And I now know that he is more than capable of rescuing me from Loch Ness monsters, or any other attacks. His protective streak is a definite mark in his favour, not that I’ve found any reason not to beg him to come to Scotland with me.

  ‘He’s a nice dog really.’

  ‘Just big.’

  ‘Just big.’ We walk along in companionable silence for a bit, and it doesn’t feel awkward at all. ‘Amy tells me you work at the travel agent’s in town?’

  ‘I do, so if you ever need a discount…’

  ‘I might take you up on that sometime, must be handy.’

  ‘And you’re an actor?’

  ‘I am, you might have caught my finest TV moment.’ I glance at him. If this is a test, I’ve failed; I haven’t caught any of his TV moments.

  ‘Erm.’

  He’s grinning, the faintest of lines fanning out from those mesmerising eyes. ‘You don’t mean you missed it? Tut. Watch Holby City?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ I’m wracking my brain, trying to picture him with a stethoscope and failing. Well, I can picture him with a stethoscope, but I certainly can’t picture him in an episode of Holby. Maybe I missed one.

  ‘I was in the third bed along, second episode this season.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Arm in a sling.’ He laughs, and Tank jumps up and licks his cheek.

  ‘So is that what you want to do? TV?’

  ‘Jake!’ A girl yells his name and I realise with a jolt that we’re back near the kennels. Which is a shame. I’d quite like to know what he wants to do.

  ‘I’ll take the dogs if you like, and you can clean up?’ He’s grinning as he speaks, which he seems to do quite a lot, and I look down at my clothes. I’d almost forgotten about the mud. Almost. ‘I’ll catch you in the café, and we can chat more?’

  ‘Great, I’d like to.’

  ‘And you can tell me more about your indecent proposal.’ The way he says it makes me blush, and the wink leaves me dithering between objecting and wishing it actually was supposed to be indecent.

  He whisks Angel up into his arms and has gone before my mushy brain can think up a suitably snappy reply.

  Chapter 7

  When I get back to reception it is to find a new teenager-cum-twenty-something, who is just like Em. She is trying her hardest not to smirk, and makes no comment whatsoever about the wide strip of mud that covers the front of me from head to toe. She does tell me where the bathroom is though, and where to find Sarah.

  ‘I hope nobody filmed that,’ I whisper to Sarah, suddenly having visions of it being on their Facebook page. ‘It could be all over the internet.’

  ‘I doubt it, I mean it was funny but it isn’t going to help with rehoming him, is it?’ She grins. ‘I might have tweeted a picture though.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Naw, don’t worry, I was too busy laughing, couldn’t hold my phone steady. Well?’

  ‘Well what?’ I studiously avoid her gaze in the mirror and concentrate on washing myself down.

  ‘Well, what did you talk about? Is he nice? Will he do it?’ She pauses, and leans in closer. ‘Do you fancy him?’

  I don’t know which bits to ignore, and which to answer. I decide to offer highlights. ‘His name is Jake Porter, not Taylor-Smith, because Amy is his half-sister, they’ve got the same mum. Her dad was a writer and he ran off with his agent, and it was a massive scandal. Jake doesn’t know his dad as his mum had a fling, but now she’s met somebody that everybody likes and they’ve got this enormous family.’

  ‘Wow, you two must have hit it off, you got up close and personal.’

  I frown at my own reflection. When I say it, it sounds like we did, but I almost feel like Jake was brushing over things. It’s a weird feeling. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m sure I’ve got the edited version, as though he’s used to saying it to deflect questions later. ‘Not really, maybe it’s on his CV, you know, ready prepared for the press.’

  ‘And do you fancy him?’

  ‘Sarah! It isn’t like that, I’m paying him,’ I drop my voice, suddenly worried we might be overheard. I mean, it’s not the type of thing you broadcast, is it?

  ‘That means you do. You do fancy him! I don’t blame you, I fancy him and Em definitely fancies him, and it’s good you fancy him. It’ll make it dead easy, you won’t have to pretend.’

  I sigh. If I object, she’ll go on even more. And I do fancy him a tiny bit. He’s very fanciable.

  ‘So will he do it?’

  ‘We’re going to have a coffee and chat.’ I can’t help myself, I look at her and grin. ‘I think so though!’

  ‘Yay!’ She gives me a hug, ignoring all my muddy bits. ‘Oh God this is brilliant, I’m so excited for you, I wish I could come to the wedding!’

  ‘He hasn’t said yes yet.’

  ‘He will do, I know he will. Come on, come on, don’t keep him waiting.’ I look down at my jeans. We’ve scraped the worst of it off, and there’s not much I can do apart from get changed. ‘I’d better get off as well.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m off to play with puppies! They’ve got a secret kennel area for all the babies, like a giant nursery and they’ve said I can go and see. I’ll come over and find you later, shall I?’

  ‘Do I look passable?’

  ‘Best of a bad job.’ She starts laughing again. ‘Oh God, you should have seen yourself zooming across that field.’ Sarah is practically crying, which is very mean, then gives me the thumbs up. ‘Good luck!’ Which is nice, and I know she means it.

  I would quite like to play with puppies too, but I have a job to do. A different kind of play date. The indecent proposal type.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Jake, I’ve decided, is quite posh. He’s sat at a table in the small café which is attached to the reception area and although he looks at home, there is something about him that says he’s not short of a bob or two. Though at the moment he probably is, as playing a patient in the third bed along can’t pay that well, can it?

  But there is nothing the slightest bit hoity-toity about him. He has the type of voice you can listen to without wanting to yawn, or walk away. Now I think about it, Liam has a bit of a whiney edge to his.

  He will fit into a country estate perfectly. I can imagine his sister Amy, who is definitely posh, in long boots and cream breeches standing in front of a castle with a couple of Labradors or spaniels at her feet quite easily. Jake is probably more the quadbike type, although I can picture him wading across a lake, his white shirt moulded to his muscled chest, his hair slicked back…

  ‘Sammy?’

  He’s waiting for a response, his tawny-brown eyes slightly puzzled.

  Nobody calls me Sammy apart from Tim, I think it makes me sound a bit like a dog, or a hamster. This is probably a good time to act a little bit sophisticated myself.

  ‘It’s Samantha, or Sam.’

  ‘Not Sammy?’

  ‘Definitely not Sammy.’

  ‘Shame, I quite like Sammy.’ The corner of his mouth twitches. ‘Cuddly.’

  See? Cuddly does not say Ferrari and Monte Carlo, cuddly is what pyjamas and puppies are. And hamsters. ‘It rhymes with hammy.’ I puff my cheeks out. Sammy the hammy.

  ‘Ahh, I get where you’re coming from. Amy used to call me snakey Jakey.’

  ‘Oh. And are you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Snakey?’

  ‘Well, I don’t eat live mice, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘But are you sneaky?’

  ‘Only in the way brothers are to bratty sisters. She also called me fakey Jakey when we were kids, and Jake the rake, and on-the-make Jake.’

  ‘Ahh.’

  ‘She loves me really. So is it Samantha or Sam?’

  ‘Sam to friends.’

  ‘Frien
ds?’ He grins and a cute little dimple appears in the middle of his chin. Very cute. Gawd, I am pretty sure I shouldn’t be considering my potential employee in that way. ‘From what Amy told me, I gather you’re suggesting we get to be a bit more than that.’

  I know now that this could work. Jake doesn’t look at all like a young George Clooney, which was one of my concerns as me meeting a Clooney lookalike would not be credible at all. He has got the same crinkly bits round his eyes, which suggest he smiles a lot, and that confident air, but there the similarity ends. He looks cheekier. Unsettling.

  Which could be a problem, because even though he’s incredibly dishy, this isn’t really an indecent proposal, and I really don’t want him to think I’m that kind of girl.

  ‘No!’ Oh my God, what has Amy said to get him here? ‘Oh no, no, just like friends, but…’ Does he think I want a f-buddy (I can’t say the word, not even in my head, while he’s looking at me like that). ‘I’m not sure…’ This isn’t going quite how I expected, it was easier chatting to him on the dog walk, about his family, dogs, things like that. But now we are sat down here, and I need to explain, it all seems a bit trickier.

  He seems a bit … well, a bit (lot) unmanageable. Like Tank. Jumping up at everybody. Ignoring the rules. Who knows what chaos he could cause in the wilds of Scotland?

  ‘Of course you’re not sure.’ He’s gone all serious and sensible for a moment, and my little niggle melts, along with something else as he puts his hand over mine. ‘Are you okay?’

  I don’t want to grab my hand back, because he’s got the warmest of warm hands, but it seems like a good idea. I’d rehearsed this, but in real life it isn’t quite as easy. And the fact that I want to wriggle in my seat isn’t all down to his capable looking hands.

  ‘A bit soggy.’ Major understatement. Everything down to my knickers is damp – and not in a good way. If there is such a thing in polite society. It’s obviously the cold, sogginess and aching arms that have made me feel a bit pathetic and quivery.

  I also know I look a complete disaster, I wouldn’t go out with me if you paid me. ‘I’m fine, that’s dog-walking for you, haha.’ He looks immaculate. Not a hair out of my place.

  ‘Wait here. You need warming up.’ He winks, and I’m right back in that Italian restaurant, warming up rapidly. ‘A coffee might help, or I hear they do a good hot chocolate here?’

  How did he know that whipped cream, chocolate and marshmallows are exactly what I need right now?

  Apparently he knows what every woman needs. He’s bounced up to the counter, and the girl serving him has gone all giggly as she whisks the cream, and the woman behind him in the queue is staring at him adoringly as he passes her a slice of cake she can’t quite reach (talk about obvious moves, honestly, whoever heard of anybody not being able to stretch that extra inch or three for a chocolate brownie?), and a loose dog runs up to him like he’s the last man on earth. Which is when it hits me. I need rules. If this is to work, if I’m going to be able to keep him (and myself) under control, I need rules. Boundaries.

  This is where I have gone wrong in the past. I need fake-date rules. Like you would if you got a puppy – not that I’m saying he’s a puppy. No jumping on the sofa, no bad manners, no leaping over the fence and humping the neighbour’s dog…

  Okay, so sometimes rules get broken now and then, but a broken rule is better than not having one in the first place.

  ‘There you go.’ He’s back, complete with hot drinks and a slice of chocolate brownie. If I wasn’t supposed to be interviewing him, I’d kiss him. ‘So, Amy says you’ve got a problem?’

  I like the sound of that. Describing this as a problem, rather than an indecent proposal, makes it sound much more acceptable. I have a problem, and problems should be viewed as opportunities. And I now have the opportunity to date an extremely dishy man.

  I can’t answer straight away though as I’m up to my nose in hot chocolate, thinking about rules. And of course getting a chocolate hit.

  But when he leans forward and brushes the cream off my top lip with his slightly salty thumb (sorry, my tongue kind of brushed against it) it’s a bit distracting. Like a puppy giving you kisses when you’ve told him to sit.

  I mustn’t think about kisses. Or tongues. This is a business deal. Nice eyes and arse or not. Although I do now know without a doubt that this is a face I could stand to gaze at for a week. ‘Er, bit of an awkward situation really, rather than a problem.’

  He sits back, his head slightly tilted to one side. ‘She said you didn’t want to go to your mate’s wedding on your own.’ I nod. ‘But why do you need a fake date?’ He sounds more interested than judgemental, and I suppose it is fair enough, him wanting to know.

  ‘Well…’ I concentrate on my marshmallows but can’t help noticing (when I peep up) that his steady gaze never leaves me. ‘I told Jess, that’s my best friend, the one that is getting married, that I’ve got a boyfriend and I haven’t.’

  ‘I’m surprised about that.’ His voice has softened, and when I look up, the corner of his mouth lifts. ‘The “haven’t” bit.’ The gentle tone makes me blink, which is horrible, I’m not supposed to be feeling sorry for myself. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m totally fine.

  ‘Well I did have, until five months ago. He dumped me, for another woman.’

  ‘Ahh.’

  ‘A woman who I’ve just found out is pregnant. She’s huge apparently, hugely, hugely pregnant.’

  ‘To be honest, does it matter if she’s hugely pregnant, or just a little bit? If she’s pregnant, she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Well yes it does, actually, because it means he, he…’ I pause and take a deep breath, because this is the really horrible bit. ‘Well, she’s huge, as in more than five months pregnant. So that means he was poking her when he was still with me.’

  ‘What a total shit.’ I look up at him properly then, because there’s a harsh edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before. He looks genuinely angry, and his soft tawny eyes have gone hard. Wolf eyes.

  ‘And…’ I waver. ‘He’s going to be there, at the wedding.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding?’ It’s not just his eyes, his whole body has stiffened. ‘What kind of best friend is this Jess? Inviting your ex to her bloody wedding. That is totally out of order.’ He leans forward, and gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and some of the tension seems to ebb out of him. It feels nice, reassuring. Supportive.

  ‘It’s not Jess’s fault.’ I can’t help but sigh, as I stir rather too vigorously and marshmallows pop up and down like corks on a rough sea. ‘My ex happens to be the groom’s brother.’

  ‘Oh, tricky then.’

  ‘And the best man.’

  ‘Ah. That’s a tough call.’ His thumb is rubbing the base of mine, almost absentmindedly. It’s mesmerising and almost makes me forget the story and just ask him out for a real date. But then he stops.

  ‘I also told my mum I had a boyfriend, so that she wouldn’t insist I took Desmond.’

  ‘Desmond?’

  ‘He’s nobody. But Mum and Dad and all my mates will be there, and Liam of course.’ He looks blank. ‘My ex, with his girlfriend.’ I shrug and try and make out this isn’t the most important thing in my life at this precise moment. ‘Anyway, that’s why I want a date.’ I stop all my messing about with my hot chocolate and look at him. ‘I need a date. I don’t want them all feeling sorry for me, and whispering in corners. I’m so over him, and I need to show them I am.’

  ‘You could just not go?’

  ‘No!’ I think I shout it a bit too vehemently, because he freezes. ‘She’s my best mate. I can’t let her down just because of some stupid man.’

  He nods.

  ‘I have to be there for her, she’d do it for me, and besides, I love her to bits. So I am going, whether you say yes or not.’ I stare him in the eye, so there is no doubt. ‘But, I would like to show them how totally over the heap of…’

  ‘Shit?’

 
; ‘Shit, thank you, I am. So, are you up for it?’ Please say yes, please say yes. I’m holding my breath; he might say no now he knows just what he’s letting himself in for.

  ‘Well…’ There’s a long pause, but he’s gazing into my eyes still, so at least he’s man enough to say no to my face. But then I realise I’ve missed out a crucial bit. If I don’t say this now, and he does say yes, then he might change it to no later.

  ‘Oh, and it’s in Scotland, a whole week.’

  ‘A whole week of mischief?’ His eyes are all twinkly and naughty again, which is very disturbing and makes me feel a bit giddy. ‘Well, just so you know, I did say no when Amy first asked.’

  I lose my giddiness. ‘But she told me you—’

  He holds his spare hand up to stop me. ‘I actually laughed and told her she was crazy.’

  ‘Oh.’ I am deflated. He’s right, it is crazy.

  ‘I dunno, it seemed a bit odd, I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Believe me, nor have I.’ I’m not sure if he believes me or not, he’s giving me a strange look. ‘Honestly.’ I’m very worried about what Amy might have said. It might have been along the lines of ‘sex-starved and desperate woman I met while I was having a cut and blow.’

  ‘I believe you. Honestly. Er, you’re gripping my hand a bit, I think my fingers are going blue.’

  Sugar, I’ve been hanging on to his hand for dear life. Willing him to say yes. Which is why he’s looking at me strangely. Not because Amy has told him I’m sex-starved. Or maybe that as well.

  ‘Sorry.’ I let go. ‘But you did, er, agree to meet me.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind?’ If he says he thinks I’m out of my mind now that he’s heard the full story, then my whole plan is scuppered and I’ll be going to the wedding alone. Or with combover Desmond. I have a sudden desire to grab his hand again and plead. But I don’t. I grab a piece of the brownie and stuff it in my mouth to stop the words from forcing their way out.

  ‘Okay, I want to be upfront with you here, which I guess is best seeing as this is just business?’

  The ‘just business’ bit jars a bit, I was hoping he found me a teeny bit attractive and wouldn’t keep reminding me that he is only here for the money. I notice he’s totally reclaimed his hand, and it is now wrapped round his mug of coffee. You see, this is the problem with dating an actor, isn’t it? You don’t know which bits are real and which bits are, well, acting. He might not have been genuinely angry about Liam, he might just have been practising his art.