Always the Bridesmaid

by Lindsey Kelk

Don’t be too enthusiastic, I thought.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘And as for entertainment, do you have a preference about a band or a DJ?’

  ‘What’s the sound system like?’ he asked, springing to life. ‘Can I see the amp? Where are the speakers?’

  ‘Um, I’ve got the technical specs here,’ I said, rifling through my notes. ‘Why don’t we sit down and have a look.’

  With newly bright eyes, Tom followed me to the small table set up by the window and pulled out one of the chairs. I stood in front of it for a moment, wondering what he was doing. He was just standing there, looking at me.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I said as I realized.

  Awkwardly, I sat down in the chair and stared down at my iPad. His mum deserved a party; she’d raised him terribly well.

  ‘So, we’ve got a projector, a DVD and BluRay player, iPod dock, 5.1 surround sound, three wireless microphones and audio set up for live music. Does that sound good?’ I asked.

  He pouted. ‘I mean, yeah, I suppose so.’

  ‘Audiophile, are we?’ I smiled politely as a waitress appeared with a three-tier tray of goodness and a giant pot of tea. This was quite clearly the best part of the job. Tastings. ‘You’re into all that stuff?’

  ‘Passing interest,’ he said, leaning back from the table as the tea was poured. ‘I was in a band at uni and I always got lumbered with the set-up.’

  ‘Rock god, roadie and lawyer?’ I shook out my napkin and placed it delicately in my lap. I had to remember I was at work and not shovel all the delicious food directly down my gullet. ‘That’s an impressive CV.’

  ‘Jack of all trades,’ he said, waiting for me to select a mini strawberry tart before taking one of his own. ‘We weren’t very good. Or any good, actually.’

  ‘I would very much like to see you in a band,’ I said, laughing. He was so neat and tidy and buttoned up, I couldn’t imagine him letting it all out on stage.

  ‘You’ve already met the other members,’ he said, shaking his head but still smiling at the memory. ‘Ian was on drums, Will on bass, I sang and played guitar.’

  ‘Will was in your band?’ I asked, slightly surprised. ‘That’s funny.’

  Tom poured the tea and raised an eyebrow. ‘Funny because Will wasn’t the main man or funny because we don’t get on quite so well now?’

  ‘Both?’ I said through a mouthful of shortcrust pastry. He gave me a shot of side-eye and then picked up his teacup.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Tom asked, taking a sip from his cup while I covered my mouth with my hand.

  ‘It’s just that the teacup is so tiny and you’re so big.’ Never try to smother a laugh if there’s a risk of it coming out of your nose. Cackling is more attractive than snorting. Only just, but still. ‘It looks like a doll’s tea set.’

  Narrowing his eyes, he stuck out his little finger and carried on drinking.

  ‘You tit,’ I said, sipping my own tea and smiling.

  ‘Sorry, I should remember to carry a massive great mug around with me everywhere I go,’ he apologized. ‘Or, you know, a bucket.’

  ‘I could do a bucket of tea right now,’ I said, refilling both our cups. ‘I’m gasping.’

  ‘Big night last night?’ He took a finger sandwich from the cake stand and nibbled it delicately.

  ‘You are an idiot,’ I said, shaking my head at him. ‘Not an especially big one, but I shouldn’t drink on a school night.’

  Or stay up until four a.m., binge-watching American TV shows. Baltimore was off the to-do list forever.

  ‘I’m appalled at your lack of professionalism,’ he said drily.

  I shrugged, opening up my notebook. ‘Now, what do you think of the sandwiches?’

  ‘Have you seen much of Will?’ he asked abruptly.

  I gave a short, fake laugh and looked away. ‘Isn’t it a bit weird to talk about him to you? Anyway, the sandwiches?’

  ‘Hmmm.’ He put down his tiny teacup and pushed up his shirt sleeves. Such good arms. Really. Even when I was trying not to notice, I couldn’t help it. They were huge. ‘Look, I know it’s not my place.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, I’m sorry,’ I replied, studying the remainder of my tiny tart. ‘I don’t want to be horribly unprofessional but can I ask you something?’

  ‘You’ve already called me a tit and let it slip that the venue is going to try and fleece me on the booze,’ Tom pointed out. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘Right.’ I bit into the cupcake and swallowed. Might as well get a taste before he walked out and cancelled the party. ‘Um …’

  I really wanted to know what had happened between the two of them. Every time I saw Will, I could feel myself falling a little bit deeper and it bothered me to know that there were people out there in the world who didn’t like him and I wanted to know why. I wanted to know everything about him, from the name of his first pet to his shoe size, it was a sickness.

  Tom looked at me expectantly across the table in a way that made me think I had something on my face. Oh, wait, I did − there was icing everywhere.

  ‘Here you go,’ Tom said, whipping a clean white cotton hanky out of his top pocket as I started pawing at my sugary cheeks. ‘What did you want to ask?’

  ‘Obviously we’ll have lots of napkins on the day,’ I said, taking it from him and dabbing at my red, icing-covered face. ‘Thank you.’

  Tom gave a curt nod.

  ‘So—’

  ‘Maddie.’ Mr McDonnell, the manager of the venue, strolled across the room, resplendent in a plum velvet suit and blissfully unaware of the awkward interruption at our table. ‘How is everything?’

  ‘It’s all great,’ I assured him, shaking his hand as Tom stood. ‘This is Tom, I mean, Mr Wheeler. We’re planning a party for his mother’s birthday.’

  ‘How lovely.’ Mr McDonnell reached upwards to shake Tom’s hand; he was a good foot shorter than the stony-faced man in front of him. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Tom, I mean Mr Wheeler −’ I corrected myself again − ‘had some questions about the audio set-up.’

  ‘Of course.’ He gave Tom the respectful nod of a man who knew things about electronics. ‘Would you like to take a look?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Tom said, resting his briefcase on his knees and pulling out a shiny silver iPod. ‘Can we try it out?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Mr McDonnell took the iPod with a gracious nod and held out an arm to guide us into the other room. ‘Shall we?’

  The second room had the same beautiful picture windows as the first, and as the two chandeliers on the ceiling weren’t lit up, the three of us cast grand, late-afternoon shadows across the dance floor.

  ‘All the electronics are through here,’ Mr McDonnell said, walking us over to what looked like a small cupboard at the back of the room beside the stage, and opening the door to reveal a techie’s wet dream. I was perfectly capable of hooking up a satellite box and BluRay player to the telly at the same time, but this was beyond me. Not beyond Tom, however. He pressed a few buttons, flipped a few switches, stuck a cable into the top of the iPod and, just like that, the room was filled with music.

  ‘Let me go and see if I can sort the lights out,’ Mr McDonnell said, easing past Tom and giving me a quick wink. ‘So you can get a proper idea of the room. It’s always a little darker in here after teatime.’

  ‘Who is this?’ I asked, swaying slightly to the music crooning out of invisible speakers. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Etta James,’ Tom said, carefully placing his briefcase on the floor. ‘Mum’s a big jazz buff. I grew up on this stuff.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ I replied, closing my eyes. ‘We listened to a lot of Phil Collins in my house, and there is no cultural enrichment to be found in Su-Su-Sudio.’

  Before I could open my eyes, I felt a hand take hold of mine and Tom pulled me out into the middle of the room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, panicking. He was so strong and so big and, as far as I could tell, really quite mad at me. But his s
tony expression had broken into a smile that started in his eyes and almost found its way down to his mouth.

  ‘Do you dance?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ I looked up at him, feeling a strain in my neck from being so close. ‘Do I what?’

  ‘You know, you’re quite rude,’ he said, taking hold of my hand and placing it on his shoulder. ‘You’ve got terrible manners.’

  ‘I was a middle child,’ I replied as he took my other hand in his. ‘I apologize for nothing.’

  ‘Can you waltz?’ he asked, taking a step forward.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, letting him shuffle me backwards towards the door. ‘Am I doing it now?’

  ‘You are,’ he replied, sweeping me round in small circles. ‘Don’t think too much, just go with it.’

  ‘OK,’ I said quietly. ‘I won’t think.’

  An easy thing to say and an impossible thing to do.

  Don’t think too much? What a bloody joker. Two minutes ago I thought he was going to walk out, cancel his mother’s party and possibly knock Will on his arse into the bargain, and now he was whisking me around a dance floor like an old-fashioned gent in a black-and-white movie. Where was McDonnell with those lights? Why was it so dark in here? How was a girl supposed to think straight when a very tall man who smelled nice and had very good hair was dancing, actually properly dancing her around in a beautiful ballroom?

  I mean, this was the kind of behaviour that made a Disney princess fall in love with an actual beast. What chance did I have?

  ‘You’re a natural,’ he said as we picked up pace and he pushed me away into a spin. Tripping over my own feet, I was relieved when he caught me. Relieved and confused.

  ‘Thanks,’ I replied, folding myself back into his arms far too easily. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

  When you see couples dancing together on TV, all you see are sweeping camera angles and lush dips, but when it’s happening to you, it’s completely different. I was painfully aware of every step, every stumble, every time I swore and then immediately apologized for swearing. Audrey Hepburn, I was not. The one thing that was just how you would imagine was when I leaned in and let myself rest against Tom’s chest. I could hear his heart beating.

  While he looked calm and composed and completely in control, his heart was beating so hard and so fast, I had to hold my breath until the song was over.

  As the music faded away, he came to an elegant standstill. Reluctantly, I pried myself away from his chest, looking down at my feet and repeating the mantra ‘bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell’ over and over in my mind. I forced myself to look up at him, only to see him staring down at me. Neither of us said a word. After a moment, I realized I still had my hand in his, and I couldn’t tell who was the one with the clammy palms; but I had a feeling it was me. Behind us, the sun was low in the sky, framed by the huge windows and casting reddish shadows onto Tom’s hair, and it was all far too much in the best possible way.

  ‘That was lovely.’ Mr McDonnell’s voice broke the silence before Etta James could fire up another track. ‘We get a little bit more proper dancing these days, but not as much as I would like. Just lovely.’

  I cleared my throat as I stepped away from Tom and shook my hand free, but instead of a quiet cough, my voice came out as a melodramatic bleat. Classic. Before anyone could react, McDonnell flicked a switch and the room was filled with bright yellow electric light, flooding any romance out of the moment.

  ‘I think that’s everything,’ I said, rubbing my palm against my jeans. ‘Is that everything? It’s everything, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, looking as startled as I felt.

  ‘So that’s everything,’ I confirmed to a confused-looking Mr McDonnell. ‘I’ll be in touch very soon. With both of you. About the party. For your mum. I’ll be off, then.’

  Dazed, I marched straight out of the door. One foot in front of the other. I could just about manage without a partner, but only just.

  ‘Ms Fraser,’ McDonnell called.

  I held on to the chair and spun round, a big beaming smile on my incredibly professional face. ‘Mm-hmm?’

  ‘That’s the door to the kitchen.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘And your bag is over there on the table.’

  ‘So it is.’

  Burning bright red from head to toe, I slunk back across the room with far less grace and purpose than I had previously exhibited.

  ‘Maddie?’ Tom called my name and I looked up to see him not quite smiling, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other raking his hair back from his face. ‘This place is perfect. Let’s do the party here.’

  ‘OK then,’ I replied, picking up my coat, my bag and my iPad. ‘I’ll be in touch. Thanks, bye, thank you.’

  Waving blindly, I gathered myself together and marched out of the front door.

  Maddie Fraser, consummate professional.

  ‘We have the venue, we have the catering, the invitations are printing, Michael has his suit, we’ve done the wedding list.’ Lauren paused to take a big mouthful of salad. She was the only one eating the salad, which she’d brought with her. ‘We’re pretty much there, right, Maddie?’

  ‘More or less,’ I replied, taking a big bite of pizza and leaning my back against the settee. The three of us were sitting on my new rug. She was only missing the wedding dress, bridesmaids’ dresses, photographer, videographer, the music, the flowers, the linens, lights, table plan, the favours, registrar and the cars. No big deal. And at some point we should probably discuss the epic emotional meltdown she’d had at the bridal shop, but whatever, no rush. It wasn’t like the wedding was in six weeks or anything. Oh wait, yes it was.

  ‘And we’re all booked for next weekend,’ Sarah said, pulling the cheese off her slice and eating it. Disgusting habit. ‘I’m picking you both up here after work on the Friday for the Bachelorette.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I said as Lauren nodded. ‘You’re not going to make us wear matching T-shirts or anything, are you?’

  ‘How tacky do you think I am?’ Sarah asked, wrinkling her tiny nose. ‘Hens on Tour? Lauren’s Getting Married in the Morning? Please.’

  ‘I got us matching tracksuits,’ Lauren said. ‘Mine says bride across the arse and yours both say bridesmaids. They’re very classy.’

  ‘She’s joking,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s definitely joking.’

  ‘She’d better be,’ I warned.

  ‘You know, I still have to pick your bridesmaid dresses,’ Lauren replied. ‘Just keep that in mind. This could go badly for you two.’

  ‘You’re not leaving here tonight until they’re picked,’ I replied, pushing a pile of catalogues across my coffee table, butting against two pizza boxes on the way. ‘We can get any of these in the next month. Did your sister give you her measurements?’

  ‘She did,’ Lauren replied, opening the first catalogue and pulling a face. ‘But they don’t sound right. I’ve got to ask my mom to measure her again.’

  ‘I need to order them by next Friday,’ I told her, focusing on forcing as much pizza into my mouth as I could manage, trying to smother my feelings with carbs. ‘So tell her to get a move on.’

  ‘She’s being all pregnant and dumb,’ Lauren said with a grimace. ‘Not that she wasn’t dumb before she was pregnant, but now she has an excuse she’s really working it. Total baby brain. Your sister didn’t suddenly lose twenty IQ points when she got knocked-up − what gives?’

  I stretched out my legs and wiggled my toes. ‘Well, no, but my sister did tell me she thinks my life is empty and pointless. I think I’d prefer baby brain.’

  Both women turned to stare at me, mouths wide open.

  ‘She said what?’

  ‘That I − we, actually,’ I corrected myself for extra emphasis, ‘are wasting our lives worrying about pointless things because none of it will matter once we have a baby.’

  ‘Woah,’ Lauren breathed, putting down her sa
lad and grabbing a garlic-butter-smothered dough ball. ‘That’s so shitty.’

  ‘So shitty,’ I agreed. ‘And so unfair.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said slowly. ‘Maybe she’s right?’

  The room fell silent as we both turned to look at the woman who had once referred to pregnancy as ‘the easiest-to-cure STD you could catch’.

  ‘It’s like your phone,’ she said. ‘You know how you only have so much storage for all your apps and photos and songs and stuff? I think it’s like that, having a baby.’

  ‘Oh really,’ Lauren said, unconvinced. ‘Please elaborate.’

  ‘Well, I mean …’ Sarah clearly was not entirely sure Sarah knew what Sarah meant. ‘You’ve got loads of photos and songs and things that you love, but then you run out of space so you have to delete some stuff to make room for more important things. It doesn’t mean you don’t still love those other things or think they’re important, it’s just that maybe, for a while, the LinkedIn app is more important than the Instagram app. At that moment.’

  ‘The LinkedIn app will never be more important than anything to anyone,’ Lauren replied. ‘The LinkedIn app is for weirdos.’

  ‘You know what I’m saying,’ Sarah said, looking to me for help. Help she was not getting.

  Sarah let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I’m not saying what Eleanor said was right − of course Maddie’s life isn’t stupid or pointless just because she doesn’t have a baby, but you have to look at it from her perspective. I’m sure anything that isn’t a four a.m. feed or worrying whether or not she should vaccinate her baby is stupid right now. It’s hard to commiserate over whether or not a boy has called someone when you’re trying to keep another person alive.’

  ‘Firstly, vaccinate your goddamn baby,’ Lauren said, moving in on a second dough ball. So much for her salad. ‘And secondly, promise me you guys aren’t going to disappear as soon as you get babied–up. I couldn’t cope.’

  ‘Can’t see that being a problem any time soon,’ Sarah said. ‘Hello − divorcée over here.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lauren apologized, taking a kick to the thigh for her troubles. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Sarah said. She was considerably more together than she had been the last time I’d seen her, but I still felt as though she was on a knife’s edge: she could go at any second. ‘I’m doing all right. Just keep telling me how pretty and thin I look.’