Always the Bridesmaid

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. She was sitting on a stool, leaning her elbows on the big stainless-steel island in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Everything’s fine. Do you want a drink?’

  Sometimes this happens. Sometimes my boss Shona forgets she’s a she-beast who would be better occupied guarding the gates of hell and likes to pretend we’re friends. This is how you know she’s a properly evil mental case. The truly psychotic are not consistent.

  ‘Go on, then,’ I said. I didn’t know if it was a trap or not, but I am not above taking a free drink when it’s offered.

  She poured two glasses of champagne into water glasses and pushed one towards with me something resembling a smile. I took it, peeking at the phone in my pocket while she chugged. Shona might tolerate drinking and smoking on the job, but carrying your phone while you were waitressing? She’d replace my champagne with lighter fluid, spark it up and still make me drink it. There was a message from Sarah but it was going to have to wait two minutes until I could escape.

  Looking up at my boss, I saw that she was already three-quarters of the way through her Veuve Clicquot. Shona was tall and thin with white-blonde hair that sometimes looked fantastic and sometimes looked as though she needed to shave it off and start again. Today fell somewhere between the two.

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to need you to serve for the late shift,’ she said, refilling her glass and not refilling mine. ‘I was going to send a couple of the girls home, but why don’t you just knock off early instead.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, utterly relieved.

  ‘I don’t mean leave,’ she expanded. ‘I just mean you don’t have to waitress. I still need you here to make sure everything runs OK. I’m probably going to go home after this.’

  Oh, Shona, you card. It was only ten and I knew full well that we had the venue booked until two a.m.

  ‘Going somewhere nice?’ I asked through gritted teeth.

  ‘Maddie, I’m exhausted,’ she announced, rubbing both of her hands over her face. ‘Ever since that slacker Victoria quit, I’ve been doing two people’s jobs. I need a bath, another seven drinks and an early night. You can handle this − I trust you.’

  Fighting the urge to charge her with the carving knife resting on the butcher’s block to my left, I pasted on a smile. She was my boss, she was allowed to leave early. Even if I had arrived two hours before her, done all the prep and spent three hours serving at the reception while she sat on her arse in the kitchen drinking herself stupid.

  ‘Speaking of Victoria—’

  ‘The slacker.’ Shona nodded.

  ‘Such a slacker,’ I replied with far too much enthusiasm. ‘Can’t believe she just left like that.’

  ‘Standard,’ she replied. ‘She was crap anyway.’

  For the record, Victoria is neither crap nor a slacker, she’s a very nice lady who happened to marry a man who used to work with us who Shona fancied. Probably best that they’ve both left now, for their own safety.

  ‘Actually, I meant to ask, is her job still going? Have we hired anyone yet?’

  Across the island, Shona lowered her glass from her lips and nursed it in both hands. Very, very slowly, I reached out for the carving knife and placed it in the sink behind me.

  ‘Victoria was crap,’ she said in a crisp voice, never taking her eyes off me. ‘Compared to me. Compared to most other people in the industry, she was brilliant.’

  ‘OK.’

  I wished I could have recorded that and sent it to Vic. It might have made up for the time Shona emailed the entire office asking them not to eat snacks in front of her because she’d just joined Weight Watchers and we should all support her in her weight-loss journey. It was just about the nicest thing she’d ever said about anyone.

  ‘But you won’t get that job, Maddie. So don’t embarrass yourself by applying for it.’

  For some reason, it seemed as though I had suddenly decided to stop breathing. What?

  ‘You’re a decent assistant, Maddie, but there’s a lot to learn and a long way to go. You know I’m not an event planner, I’m—’

  She cued me to complete the line.

  ‘An experiential architect,’ I said, trying not to be sick in my mouth.

  ‘An experiential architect,’ she confirmed. ‘And let’s be honest, you’re not cut out for management, are you? I know I can say that to you without hurting your feelings because we’ve known each other for such a long time.’

  Too long, some might say.

  ‘If you were working for anyone else, I’m not sure they would have been as patient as me,’ she said, raising her glass and sipping. ‘I’m so used to you, it’s like I hardly notice how you let me down me sometimes.’

  I didn’t say anything, I just nodded.

  ‘I mean, you’d have to apply like everyone else, submit your CV, interview with Mr Colton,’ Shona’s eyes sparkled at the very thought. ‘And to be honest, he’s so totally threatened by me, your being my assistant for so long would probably go against you.’

  ‘It would?’

  ‘That’s if they even gave you an interview,’ she said, wincing at the very thought. ‘I know everyone likes you, and your job must seem like a lot of fun, but moving up would mean a lot of responsibility. You would literally have to be me.’

  I’d have to lose three stone, fuck up my hair and start taking motivational tips from Darth Vader first.

  ‘Don’t overreach, Maddie. When you shoot for the moon, you end up with your face in the mud.’

  I blinked several times and gently reminded my lungs that I needed them to work for me to go on living. They weren’t convinced. It had been a bloody long day.

  ‘I thought it was reach for the moon and you might land amongst the stars?’ I said. ‘Isn’t that the saying?’

  ‘To be in the stars, you’ve got to be a star.’ Shona gave me a sharp, kindly look. ‘Do you feel like a star, Maddie?’

  I looked down at my slightly too-small-across-the-bust shirt, knee-length black skirt and nana-approved shoes. I did not feel like a star. I felt like a girl at the end of year nine who has grown out of her school uniform but her mum doesn’t want to buy her a new one until September.

  ‘Do you know what −’ she slipped off her stool in her three-inch black patent heels and sleek grey dress and knocked back the dregs of her drink without so much as a champs shiver − ‘why don’t you take the rest of the night off? No point in having an assistant around if her head’s not in the game anyway, is there? I’d only spend all night worrying and double-checking.’

  I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to be so thoroughly insulted and abused but still get away with an early finish, so I kept my mouth shut and my eyes down. Shona rounded the kitchen island and patted me on the shoulder.

  ‘Go home and think about what you’re suggesting,’ she said as I flinched. ‘Ask yourself if you really want to put yourself through it. I can’t guarantee that your job will still be waiting for you if you decide you want to play at being me and it all goes wrong.’

  ‘That’s not—’ I started to explain but she cut me off with a sad shrug.

  ‘It’s just not who you are, Maddie,’ she said with a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re an assistant. You’re good at that. Mostly. Don’t rock the boat.’

  Left alone in the kitchen clutching the bottle of champagne, there was nothing for me to do except storm back outside into the gardens. The party was in full flow inside, big picture windows lit up with flashing lights and silhouettes of people much happier than I was. Or at least more drunk than me. Pouting, I considered the champagne and decided it was churlish to waste it just because I didn’t want it. Besides, nothing said thirty-one and going nowhere better than binge-drinking alone.

  Staring blindly into the party, I was vaguely aware of a vibration against my right thigh. Phone. It was my phone.

  ‘Oh no, Sarah,’ I remembered, throwing myself down underneath a tree like a fifteen-year-old with a bottle of White Lightning. ‘You home
?’

  This was followed by a sad-face emoji and a gun. And that was followed by two Martini glasses and a dancing girl. The phone rattled in my hand as I tried to decipher the pictograms while swigging champagne out of the bottle. Class act all the way.

  ‘Tell me you haven’t killed yourself.’

  ‘If I’d killed myself, I couldn’t tell you, could I?’ I typed. ‘I’m still at work, you ok?’

  Turns out there wasn’t a better way to ask that question.

  ‘No.’

  And no better way to answer it.

  ‘Have you seen FB?’

  ‘No.’ I typed, wondering what fantastic news awaited me on the wonderful world of the Internet. ‘What?’

  There was a pause, followed by three little grey dots on the screen.

  ‘Seb’s missus had the baby.’

  If only they had stayed dots.

  Seb had a baby. There was a baby Seb. A tiny, red-faced, screaming mini Seb.

  And it wasn’t mine.

  Seb. Formerly Bash or Sebby, latterly Knobjockey, Cockchops and, most recently and accurately, that absolute bastard who systematically pulled apart every single one of my organs like Cheestrings before getting to my heart, taking it out, freezing it, defrosting it in the microwave, freezing it again, defrosting it and freezing it one last time until all that was left was a leathery bit of offal that would nourish neither man nor beast. I was still getting letters from Direct Line about his car insurance renewal and he was married with a baby.

  ‘So?’

  I tapped out the letters, totally not imagining the former love of my life sitting in a fancy private hospital room holding his new baby while his sweaty but beautiful wife smiled at him knowingly. I had some dregs of champagne and a shirt that was a size too small. The only thing that could even this out was a kebab on the way home.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’ Lying was so much easier through the medium of text. ‘See you tomorrow?’

  ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

  A very tall man appeared from nowhere in the semi-darkness before she could reply, and for a split second I was very worried that I might not live to see that kebab.

  ‘That’s not an incredibly creepy way to address someone you don’t know,’ I replied. It was the insulting usher. ‘I definitely didn’t think you were going to kill me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, clearly not meaning it. ‘Not smoking again?’

  ‘No, this time I’m not not drinking.’ I held up the champagne bottle and didn’t smile. ‘Cheers.’

  He crouched down beside me and took the bottle, helping himself to a swig.

  ‘You might be the most interesting waitress I’ve ever met,’ he said, handing the bottle back. Even in a squat he was massive. I’m pretty standard height at five four-ish, but he had to be pushing six five. He would be a very helpful man to know if I needed any light bulbs changing.

  ‘Thanks,’ I replied, sipping my booze straight out of the bottle in as ladylike a fashion as possible. ‘I try.’

  No point explaining I wasn’t a waitress. Might as well be a waitress anyway: most of the waitresses I met did something else. They were actresses or models or musicians or they were at uni studying something fantastic. That or they had lovely families at home and they waitressed as a part-time thing. All I had at home were fourteen back issues of Marie Claire, three still in their mailing bags, and a stale chocolate croissant that I would probably eat when I got home, regardless.

  ‘I wanted to apologize,’ he said. ‘I think I was rude earlier.’

  Seb had a baby.

  ‘What?’ I looked at him, confused.

  ‘Earlier, I was a bit out of it.’ He folded himself up into an oversized-schoolboy sitting position. ‘It feels as though I ought to say sorry.’

  ‘You think you were rude?’ I said. ‘And it feels as though you ought to say sorry? Don’t knock yourself out, whatever you do.’

  ‘All right, I was rude and I am sorry,’ he replied, overenunciating but still not leaving, which was all I wanted him to do. ‘I’m having a very bloody bad day.’

  I took another sip and then laughed.

  ‘My boss just told me I’m shit and I’ll never get promoted, one of my best friends is getting divorced, the other is getting married, and my ex-boyfriend literally just had a baby with his new wife. As in, an hour ago.’

  ‘Not ideal,’ he said, combing his hair back off his face. It had completely given up any semblance of style and was starting to curl up over his collar. I thought he looked much better now, less like a young Tory backbencher and more like he’d just come in from taking the dog for a walk before bed. ‘Did you not know he was having a baby?’

  Trust a man to completely miss the point.

  ‘I did,’ I said, ‘but it’s still weird to think that there’s, like, a new human out there that’s half of him.’

  The usher thought on it for a moment, his eyebrows coming together slightly, and then he nodded.

  ‘Why does your boss think you’re shit?’ he asked, taking the champagne again. Without asking, again. ‘Are you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Blunt but fair. ‘She’s not the nicest person in the world. Or the most reasonable. Or the most sane.’

  ‘Then why do you work for her?’ He stuck out his tongue as he tried to balance the empty champagne bottle on the uneven grass. Someone was a bit drunk and, unfortunately, it wasn’t me. ‘Can’t you be a waitress anywhere?’

  ‘I suppose I just can’t imagine it,’ I said. ‘I’ve been doing this for so long, I’m probably a bit frightened of being the new girl. And what if she’s right? What if I am shit?’

  It’s strange how some things are easier to say to strangers than your best friends. I knew I wasn’t bad at my job, but there was every chance I wasn’t brilliant at it. It wasn’t like I’d won any awards or been headhunted or anything. The idea of applying for a new job and not getting it, or worse, getting it and then fucking it up, scared me senseless.

  ‘I don’t believe it for a second,’ he said, reaching out to robotically pat my shoulder with a stick-straight arm. ‘Apart from the fake smoke breaks and getting drunk under a tree during the reception, I bet you’re a brilliant waitress.’

  ‘The best,’ I confirmed, pushing the carefully balanced bottle over with my foot, much to his dismay. ‘What’s been so bad about your day, anyway? You’re at a wedding. You’re in a wedding. What can possibly have been so bad?’

  He closed his eyes and shook his messy head. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Well, no, I don’t,’ I agreed. ‘But you brought it up and I’ve asked now, so it would only be polite to tell me.’

  ‘What on earth is going on out here?’ A voice chimed in the darkness, and the silhouette of another man approached. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

  ‘When has that ever stopped you?’ The usher unrolled himself and climbed unsteadily to his feet. ‘We’re having a chat.’

  Be still my beating heart, it was the best man.

  ‘Looks like it,’ he said, nudging the empty bottle with his toe. ‘Has he been a naughty boy?’

  ‘Please shut up, Will,’ the usher said, digging his hands deep into his pockets. ‘We were just talking.’

  ‘About me?’ He grabbed the knot of his dark blue tie and pulled it away from his neck before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He was a very attractive man. Just looking at him made me feel all flighty and unnecessary. ‘Whatever he told you, it’s not true.’

  ‘Strangely enough, you’re not my only topic of conversation.’ My champagne-swilling buddy was not nearly as impressed with Best Man Will as I was. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I came out for some fresh air − things are getting a bit much in there,’ he said, cocking his head back towards the reception. ‘Shouldn’t you be inside with your fiancée?’

  The usher stepped back. ‘Shouldn’t you—’

  ‘I should be a lot of things, bu
t I wouldn’t worry about them if I were you,’ Will cut in before he could finish. ‘Let me guess, he’s making an arse of himself, being horribly offensive and sulking like a little girl?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I said. ‘Although I’m not sure it was all on purpose.’

  For a moment they stood staring at each other, Will with his collar and tie undone and a big grin on his face, and the usher all buttoned up and vibrating with a very British rage. It was like EastEnders versus Downton Abbey. Sitting under a tree where I’d been directing the bride and groom portraits a few hours earlier, watching these two random blokes square off to the sounds of the Village People, it felt as though my very odd day was complete. They were either going to knock seven shades of shit out of each other or kiss.

  ‘Kiss!’ I shouted.

  They both turned round and stared. I shrugged and reached for the disappointingly empty bottle.

  ‘Right, well …’ The usher adjusted his cuffs, tugging the white fabric down below his jacket sleeves and breaking the testosterone-fuelled spell. ‘I came to apologize and I’ve done it. I hope your day improves, but I should warn you, talking to this arsehole isn’t going to help.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Will replied, immediately dropping down onto the ground beside me. ‘Ouch, Thomas.’

  ‘Your name is Thomas!’ I clapped, realizing he hadn’t introduced himself, but then Will casually draped his arm round my shoulders and I lost the ability to speak.

  ‘Tom,’ Thomas said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. ‘It’s Tom.’

  ‘It’s Thomas,’ Will whispered in my ear. ‘Everyone calls him Thomas.’

  Why was he touching me? How could I make him keep touching me? And then how could I turn that into him marrying me and making a baby so I could put it on Facebook for Seb to see?

  Thomas the usher didn’t look nearly as happy about my current situation as I was. He gave me one last warning look before turning back towards the party.

  ‘Bye, Thomas,’ I called.

  ‘Yeah, bye, Thomas,’ Will echoed, laughing as he turned towards me. ‘You’re funny.’