Always the Bridesmaid

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Goose died,’ she said, standing up and readjusting her tights.

  ‘Iceman?’

  ‘Iceman was a wanker. You’re already Iceman.’

  ‘And don’t forget I owe you a Nando’s as well,’ I said, hoping she’d hold me to it. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Twenty minutes later, when I was still standing outside on my own watching cab after cab after cab pass me by, I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake. Sarah was long gone and gangs of girls rolled by me, holding on to each other and laughing at a joke I would never be invited to understand, while I hung around in the street, handbag over my shoulder, legs crossed at the ankle as though no one was keeping me waiting.

  The bar was so busy now I couldn’t see what was happening in there, and as much as I wanted to go back in and get Will, I didn’t want to be that girl. I didn’t want to be demanding. I wanted to be cool and not bothered and whatever. Not that I had ever been either of those things in the history of ever.

  A bright orange light came tearing down the road and I stuck out my arm. I just wanted to go home.

  ‘Perfect timing.’

  Just as the taxi pulled up to a halt, Will appeared out of nowhere and slung his arm round my shoulders.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, clambering inside as he held the door open for me. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

  There was a forced lightness in my voice that made me feel a bit sick at myself.

  ‘Sorry, took ages to get my card back,’ he said, settling in beside me, warm hand on my cold thigh. ‘I wasn’t that long, was I?’

  ‘Long enough,’ I said, arching my eyebrow and losing the fight before it had begun. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘When women say it’s fine, it never really is,’ he said, pressing his face into my neck as I gave the driver my address. ‘How am I going to get back on your good side?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. I would remain a cool, calm, detached ice queen. Even when his hand was already up my skirt. ‘I’ve got some jobs that need doing in the flat?’

  ‘I can think of a job that needs doing,’ he whispered, his fingertips finding the edge of my knickers. Thank the Lord I’d worn nice ones.

  I wonder how many times a day, on average, people thank the Lord for things he really doesn’t want to be thanked for?

  Being part of a bridal party is a lot like being part of a family. You don’t get to pick your brothers and sisters and everyone must take care of their chores to keep the household running! But more importantly, just like a family, you and your fellow bridesmaids and ushers will become a family in the time leading up to the wedding, making sure things run smoothly for your bride and groom on the day.

  Use this space to remember how important your own family is to you and take a moment to be thankful for all the love that brought you to this day in your life.

  Your mom’s name: Tracy

  Your dad’s name: Peter

  Brother(s)’s name(s): Daniel Michael

  Sister(s)’s name(s): Eleanor Jane

  Do you have any cousins? Yes, but only one and we don’t talk to him because he went on Big Brother after it went to Channel 5 and is officially a ‘disgrace’.

  Tell us about any nieces or nephews you might have: I only have one and she is reasonably new so there isn’t much to say. She’s quite pink and doesn’t cry too much. I suppose that’s a bonus.

  What qualities do you share with your mom? Big boobs, irrational love for tomato sauce, allergic to cats.

  And what qualities do you share with your dad? Brown hair, green eyes, sense of humour, inexplicable need to eat an entire box of Quality Street every Christmas Eve even though it makes us throw up, undying love of Game of Thrones.

  10

  Sunday May 24th

  Today I feel: As though I might be adopted.

  Today I am thankful for: Give me a minute … I’ll think of something.

  Given that I get very few weekends off in the summer and I had already spent last weekend at a wedding and then planning my own friend’s wedding for free, I thought it was very good of me to agree to spend Sunday with my family when I could have been sitting on my arse watching whatever bad films were on ITV2. I was such a good daughter.

  ‘It’s looking at me funny. Why is it looking at me funny?’

  ‘Maybe because you’re looking at her funny,’ my sister replied, taking my new niece out of my arms and placing her back in the travel cot. ‘What’s all that crap over the back of your cardi?’

  ‘Must be from the train.’ I pulled my cardigan off and shoved it into my handbag. Train, kitchen floor, whatever. Will had popped back round this morning on his way to rugby; these things happened. ‘You look well.’

  ‘Do you mean I actually look well or do you mean I look fat?’

  ‘I was actually thinking you’ve lost the baby weight quickly,’ I said, staring into the baby’s green eyes. It stared back but said nothing. So confusing. ‘So, yeah, I meant what I said.’

  ‘I haven’t been trying to lose it,’ Eleanor said, yawning. ‘But I’m exhausted all the time and I haven’t slept for months, so that’s got to be good for burning calories, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Are you breastfeeding?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Don’t pull that face. You’ll have to do it one day.’

  I wished I were as certain as she was.

  ‘Look at my girls!’ My dad came booming into the room as my dad is wont to do and launched himself on me. My dad is not a slender man. It was not comfortable. ‘Your mother says dinner is ready and you’re to get yourself to the table before Daniel eats it all. Shall I stay in here with madam?’

  ‘No, she’s fine,’ Eleanor said, pulling on a jumper and peering from underneath it at baby Emily. ‘She’ll let us know if she wants anything.’

  My little sister has been a parent for exactly five weeks and she’s already better at it than either of ours.

  ‘You just leave her?’ I asked, staring at the baby.

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘Where’s she going to go?’

  My parents don’t live in the same house I grew up in, but for some bizarre reason best known to them, when they moved they decorated the new house to look exactly like the old house. It’s very disconcerting.

  ‘Now, who wants how many Yorkshire puddings?’

  In the new old dining room, Mum was looming over the table holding a giant bowl full of Aunt Bessie’s finest.

  ‘Mum says Sarah’s getting divorced,’ Dan said, grabbing the gravy boat and pouring half the contents all over his plate before anyone else had a chance. Dan, love him though I do, is a complete wanker. How his girlfriend has managed to put up with him for so long is beyond me. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Who told you?’ I asked Mum as she untied her apron and beamed vacantly.

  ‘Who told me what?’

  ‘Who told you Sarah is getting divorced?’

  Mum pressed her hands to her heart and pulled a face she usually reserved for Children in Need or whenever she found out another BBC TV presenter was a paedo. ‘Her mum told me,’ she said, ladling mint sauce all over her lamb. ‘She’s very upset.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ I replied. ‘She never liked him.’

  ‘Well, it’s distressing, isn’t it?’ Mum said, clearly not wanting to relay the exact conversation. ‘Anyone would be upset.’

  ‘What happened?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Did he cheat on her?’

  I shook my head. ‘She says he didn’t.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Mum sniffed. ‘He says he didn’t.’

  ‘And I see Seb had his baby,’ Dad said, lifting his wine glass. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘Should we send him a card?’ Mum asked. ‘I’ll send a card.’

  I put down my fork and stared at my parents. ‘Are you still Facebook friends with Seb?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ Mum replied. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

  ‘Because we broke up and he’s married to someone else
?’

  ‘He was part of the family for a long time,’ Dad said, waving a lamby fork around to diffuse the tension but only succeeding in sending a lump of meat into Eleanor’s lap. ‘That’s what FB is for, isn’t it? Keeping in touch with people?’

  ‘No, it’s for stalking people and passing judgement on the lives of others,’ I said. ‘You’re Facebook friends with my ex-boyfriend but you’re not Facebook friends with me? And don’t call it FB, it’s weird.’

  ‘We thought it would be awkward,’ Mum explained. ‘We didn’t think you’d accept.’

  ‘They’re Facebook friends with me,’ Eleanor chimed in.

  ‘And me,’ Dan said. ‘And Rachel.’

  Now I was annoyed. ‘You’re Facebook friends with Dan’s girlfriend?’

  ‘They’re friends with Jessica, as well,’ Eleanor added. ‘And Emily.’

  ‘Oh, OK then,’ I said. ‘It’s just Dan, Dan’s girlfriend, Eleanor, her wife and their baby?’

  ‘You’re making a drama out of nothing as usual,’ Mum tutted. ‘I’ll send you a friend request.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ I said, digging into my mashed potato. ‘I’d only put you on restricted view anyway.’

  ‘She didn’t want to interfere with your adventures,’ Dad said, giving me a nudge. ‘All those boys poking you.’

  ‘Please, I’m trying to eat,’ Dan groaned. ‘And no one’s poking her. She’s unpokable.’

  I was dying to tell them all about Will, but it was too soon. The second I mentioned his name, it would be the only thing I heard until our tenth wedding anniversary. I’m not sure when it happens − maybe it’s something to do with puberty − but as soon as you start showing an interest in the opposite sex, your love life becomes open season for every dinner-table conversation until you settle down and start boring everyone.

  Seb and I broke up ages ago, and yet he still came up in conversation every time I came home because they couldn’t not mention him; they couldn’t not ask me the relationship question. Nature abhors a vacuum, and the vacuum nature abhorred the most was the one in my vagina.

  ‘No new young man on the scene, then?’ Dad asked. ‘No dashing suitors we should know about?’

  ‘None you should know about,’ I confirmed.

  ‘And now Sarah’s back on the market, you’ve got even more competition,’ Dan added.

  ‘Thanks, Dan.’

  ‘Sarah’s fit, though.’

  ‘Thanks, Dan.’

  ‘If I was single, I would.’

  ‘All right, Dan.’

  ‘How’s Lauren?’

  ‘Getting married.’

  ‘Lauren’s fit as well.’

  ‘Oh, that’s exciting.’ Mum swapped her ‘not Rolf Harris as well?’ face for her ‘Oh, Des Lynam’s on the TV!’ expression. ‘Has she asked you to be a bridesmaid?’

  I nodded, chewing thoughtfully. ‘Yep. It’s just a bit weird, because Sarah is getting divorced, and Lauren is getting married, and it’s all happening at the same time and—’

  ‘Guess what − I’m going to Japan for a shoot next week,’ Dan said. Dad reached over and ruffled his curly brown hair. ‘Should be interesting.’

  And so the sibling one-upmanship begins.

  ‘That’s exciting,’ Dad continued. ‘You haven’t been there for a while, have you?’

  ‘Been a few years.’ Dan shrugged. ‘It’s just Tokyo, just for a couple of days.’

  Just Tokyo. Like I said, Dan is a bit of a wanker.

  ‘What about you, Ellie?’ Mum asked. ‘Anything exciting happening?’

  ‘I had a baby,’ she replied. ‘I’m knackered all the time. This here is the most exciting thing I’ve done all week, which should tell you all you need to know.’

  ‘It’s so nice to have you all together,’ Mum said, ignoring her youngest daughter’s response. ‘So lovely.’

  ‘How about you, Maddie?’ Dad asked. ‘Put on any good parties lately?’

  ‘I booked the Chuckle Brothers to turn up at someone’s fortieth last week,’ I said, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. ‘And I’m sort of up for a promotion at work.’

  Mum slapped my hands away from my head. ‘Don’t play with your hair at the table. A promotion? What sort of a promotion? You won’t be doing parties any more?’

  The excitement in her voice was heartbreaking. Neither of my parents really understood my job. They were both English teachers and their experience of ‘a fancy do’ stretched as far as renting the nice room above the pub and ordering in some M&S party platters.

  ‘It’s still events,’ I said. ‘But I’d be a manager instead of an assistant.’

  ‘Have you thought any more about teaching?’ Dad asked, clasping his fork so tightly I could see his knuckles turning white. ‘Because you know we always said we’d pay for you to go back to university.’

  ‘I’d be a rubbish teacher,’ I said. Dan and Eleanor nodded. ‘And I don’t need you to pay for me to go back to university.’

  ‘You needed them to buy you a flat,’ Dan pointed out. ‘Which you still live in.’

  ‘That’s our retirement fund,’ Mum said, answering for me. ‘Maddie is looking after it for us.’

  ‘You haven’t been round there lately, have you?’ Dan muttered through a forkful of peas.

  ‘You’d be such a good teacher,’ she went on, wrestling with an undercooked Brussel sprout as she spoke. ‘Surely you don’t want to play at parties forever.’

  ‘I’m not playing at parties,’ I said, tired of having the same conversation a thousand times over. ‘And I don’t want to be a teacher.’

  ‘You don’t want to be anything,’ Dad announced, placing his fork down with some force. ‘Life isn’t all fun and games, Madeline. You can’t expect to just muddle through.’

  I don’t know exactly what I did to deserve a ‘Madeline’, but my dad looked like he was properly pissed off.

  ‘OK,’ I said slowly, looking around the table for help and finding none. ‘That’s not true. Just because I don’t want to be a teacher doesn’t mean I don’t want to do anything. This promotion would be a lot of responsibility. It’s a big job.’

  ‘Hiring the Chuckle Brothers to show up at someone’s fortieth birthday party,’ Dan added. ‘Sounds massive.’

  ‘Just because you don’t understand what I do, doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult,’ I replied calmly. ‘You couldn’t organize your arse from your elbow if Rachel didn’t tell you which was which.’

  ‘God help you when you have a baby,’ Eleanor said as Emily started crying in the other room. ‘I don’t know how you’ll manage when you’ve got actual important things to worry about.’

  I turned in my seat to give my baby sister the full weight of my ‘Excuse me?’ face.

  ‘Ooh, Sarah’s mad at Lauren and Lauren’s upset with Sarah and I can’t decide what I want to do with my life even though I’m thirty, why don’t I go and plan a party for some rich git who’s got more money than sense,’ she said in a sing-song voice that she pretended was jokey. ‘Poor me, poor me, poor me.’

  Dan coughed to clear his throat. ‘She’s thirty-one.’

  ‘Isn’t it all a bit, I don’t know, pointless?’ Eleanor said, looking me directly in the eye. ‘Don’t you get bored of planning parties for other people? I don’t know how you can be bothered to get up in the morning − it just seems so empty.’

  Oh. Oh no. Now I was mad.

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I asked calmly.

  ‘Madeline! Language!’

  That Madeline I probably deserved.

  ‘What?’ Eleanor hadn’t even stopped eating to insult me and her baby carried on wailing in the background. ‘Everything is so superficial, Maddie. I don’t want to be rude, but the more you talk about things, the more it sounds a bit pointless.’

  I looked at my little baby sister, stunned. ‘You’re saying my life is pointless?’

  ‘I said your job, not your life, but it’s not as though you’re curing cance
r, is it? Maybe pointless isn’t the right word,’ she mused, trying to find the exact phrasing with which to trash all my life choices. ‘Empty. It’s empty.’

  I take back everything I said about her being a good parent. You can’t be a good parent when you’re a shitty human being.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Shouting was not allowed at the Fraser dinner table, but it was either control my voice or control my fists, and punching was definitely more frowned upon. ‘How is my life empty?’

  ‘None of it means anything,’ replied the twenty-five-year-old married mother of one. ‘All this stressing out over nothing. I’m not having a go at you − I’m trying to put it in perspective. You’ve got too much time to worry about things that don’t matter. When you have a baby, you’ll get it.’

  ‘Oh, Els, she’s going to kick your arse,’ Dan said, shaking his head into his dinner and grinning.

  ‘Daniel …’ Mum gave him a light warning for the use of the word arse before turning her attention to her daughters. ‘Now you two stop it. Eleanor, your sister’s life isn’t pointless. And Maddie, Eleanor’s right.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry, not what.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your life is not pointless − Eleanor didn’t mean that. But everything does change when you have a baby,’ she said, flapping her hands around in the air. ‘You’ll see. You won’t have time for your nonsense.’

  Is justifiable homicide a thing in England? Or is that only on American police shows?

  ‘What if I don’t have a baby? What if I don’t want a baby?’ I asked. ‘What if I can’t have a baby?’

  ‘Oh, Maddie!’ Mum’s hands flew back to her chest. ‘What’s happened? Is it your Fallopian tubes? Because your aunt Ivy had a terrible time with her tubes—’

  ‘Classic,’ Eleanor interrupted. ‘Let’s make it all about you.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ I leaned my head as far back as it would go and took a very deep breath before responding. ‘You’re the one that made it about me. You’re the one who just said my life doesn’t mean anything.’