Always the Bridesmaid

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Says who?’ Will asked.

  I shrugged. He had a point.

  ‘Compromise.’ He planted a softer kiss on my lips and took the candle out of my hand. ‘We’ll stay in, light this candle, and I will do terrible, wonderful things to you, and then next weekend, I’ll take you out for dinner. Wherever you want to go.’

  Weren’t relationships all about compromise? I wanted to stand my ground and insist he take me out right then and there, but at the same time I knew that when I’d been working on the weekend, the last thing I wanted to do was trek back out to the pub and listen to other people’s arguments and kids and wait half an hour for dodgy scampi. He wasn’t being unreasonable.

  ‘I’m going away for the weekend on Friday,’ I reminded him. ‘Can you do Wednesday?’

  ‘I can.’ He kissed me again. ‘We’ll go somewhere nice.’

  I closed my eyes and revelled in the kiss for a moment − still a novelty, still so different from Seb’s kisses. ‘So what do you want for dinner?’

  He answered with a raised eyebrow and a maddeningly confident grin.

  ‘I’ve got some menus in here.’ I took hold of his hand and pulled him out of the hallway and into the other room. ‘Indian, Chinese … I think the sushi place is open on Sundays. Let’s have a look.’

  ‘Fine.’ He followed me, chucking his coiled-up tie on the settee as we went. ‘Whatever you want, I don’t mind.’

  It’s not like I’m stressed about the fact that a very attractive man wants to have sex with me all the time. It’s fun, it’s exciting and it’s excellent cardio, but it had been more than a month and I wanted more. I felt like Oliver Twist or the Little Mermaid. Actually, not so much like the Little Mermaid. Let’s not forget she was a sixteen-year-old princess living in a castle with her own personal singing coach and a doting father and a secret room full of shit and she still wanted more. All I wanted was for the man I’d been banging for five weeks to express an interest in my general wellbeing.

  That was definitely more on a par with a starving orphan asking for a bit of porridge.

  ‘What are you working on at the moment?’ I asked, rooting around in a kitchen drawer and taking considerably longer to find the menus that were already in my hand than was strictly necessary. ‘Is it a big case?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied, decidedly non-committal as he sat down on the settee. ‘Have you got any beers?’

  ‘I have.’ I pulled a Becks out of the fridge and handed it to him along with the menus. He pulled a face but took it anyway and started to leaf through them. ‘Tell me about the case?’

  ‘I would, but it would take forever and you’d be bored shitless in two minutes.’ He gave me the Chinese menu back and nodded. ‘Anything off there is fine by me. I’m not trying to fob you off, it’s just boring corporate stuff.’

  ‘I had a busy weekend,’ I told him as I pulled out my phone and tapped on the takeaway app. I hardly ever had to speak to people in the real world any more, it was wonderful. My great-great-great-grandchildren would be born mute with very nimble thumbs. ‘I had to work yesterday and me and Lauren went to look at dresses again today.’

  He sipped his beer and kicked off his shiny shoes. ‘You went shopping?’

  ‘For Lauren’s wedding dress,’ I clarified. ‘I’m helping her plan her wedding, remember?’

  The beginnings of relationships are strange. You go from not knowing anything about a person to them being such a big part of your life so quickly you forget they weren’t always there beside you. It’s jarring when they don’t know something that’s so everyday in your life.

  ‘That’s right. Lauren,’ he said, rolling his head from side to side, stretching his neck. ‘I don’t know how you can spend all day planning people’s weddings. It’s my worst nightmare.’

  ‘I don’t just do weddings all the time, I’ve told you,’ I replied. ‘I’m helping Lauren because she’s my best friend.’

  One more three a.m. text from her about the new seating plan and that would no longer be true.

  ‘When is the wedding?’ he asked, his gaze resting on me, stress levels noticeably lowered. It’s amazing what a beer and a snog can do.

  ‘August,’ I said. Was this the moment? Should I ask him? ‘First weekend in August.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ he replied. ‘Thank God I haven’t got to go to any more this year.’

  No, it was not the moment.

  I stared at the bridesmaid dress catalogues on the coffee table and screwed my wedding-date fantasies up into a tiny little ball, shoved as far down as they could go, until they were lodged between my dreams of meeting and marrying Johnny Depp and the idea that I might one day be a person who could wear over-the-knee socks without looking like a hooker.

  ‘What’s up with you tonight?’ Will reached over and brushed my hair out of my face before squeezing my shoulder. ‘You’re being weird.’

  ‘Just Monday dread,’ I lied, promising myself I’d be extra assertive tomorrow to make up for it. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said.

  And just like that, he made it all about himself again. Maybe Lauren and Sarah were right. Maybe I should be on guard. Maybe he wasn’t the one.

  ‘No, I mean it. Tell me why it’s going to be a nightmare.’ He took my hand in his and inched round on the sofa until he was facing me. ‘Why’s it going to be so bad? Who can I kill?’

  And there it was. That was all it took. The soft look in his eye, the smile on his face, the casual threat of murder. It was everything a woman dreamed of.

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with these two blokes who want a party for their adopted baby,’ I said, shuffling along the sofa towards him. ‘And I’m not certain I’m going to be able to give them what they want.’

  He wrapped his arm round my shoulders. ‘What do they want?

  ‘Everything?’ I replied. ‘I’m currently trying to locate a unicorn.’

  Will looked at me. It was fair; I don’t imagine he gets that many requests for unicorns in court.

  ‘No, really.’ I pulled up the last email from the Dickensons complete with photograph of unicorn. In case I needed a visual reference for the mythical beast they required at their daughter’s do. ‘I don’t know what they’re smoking, but I want some.’

  ‘Can’t you tell them no?’ he asked. ‘And then tell them that they’re totally barking?’

  ‘Normally, we would “push back” at this point.’ I applied judicious air quotes. ‘But this is sort of my interview to be a full-time event planner instead of an assistant, and I don’t want to give them any reason to be pissed off at me.’

  ‘I get that.’ Will laced his fingers through mine and kissed the back of my hand. It was working! Talking to him like a person instead of allowing him to treat me like a vagina with a lady attached was working! ‘But I think you need to manage their expectations. Nothing fucks a client off more than promising them the world and then under-delivering.’

  ‘I am worried I’ve taken on too much,’ I admitted. ‘I’m getting stress lines. Now I understand why Shona gets so much Botox.’

  He laughed. It was a lovely sound. ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘I’m really good at getting things done, making sure all the logistics are taken care of and everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing. I’m a really, really good events assistant,’ I said, shrugging and squeezing his tree trunk of a thigh. ‘Maybe I’m not a very good manager.’

  ‘You did look hot in that little waitress uniform,’ he said. ‘Actually, do you have it handy?’

  I slapped his tree trunk of a thigh.

  ‘I thought I looked nice today?’ I asked, smoothing down my dress. ‘Maybe I should wear the waitress outfit more often.’

  ‘You always look good.’ He pushed me back against the sofa, the weight of his body on top of me. ‘But I’m not against the idea of dressing up.’

  There is something brilliant about having a man l
ying on top of you. The weight of his body made me feel warm and safe and wonderful.

  ‘And what are you going to wear?’ I shifted so that I could press my forearms against his chest. However lovely this was, there was still Chinese on the way, and, in this rare instance, sweet and sour chicken was higher up on my list than doing it.

  ‘A smile?’ he suggested.

  ‘Weren’t we having a very important conversation about work?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you pretending to be vaguely interested in my job?’

  And then there were hands, hands everywhere.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you, right here,’ he whispered into my ear.

  ‘That’s the least sexy thing I’ve ever heard.’ I rolled out from underneath him, landing in a wildly attractive heap on the floor. ‘And I cannot believe you said it.’

  Will stretched out on the sofa and unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt, a big smile on his face. ‘You know you love it.’

  Sitting on the cold, slightly less than spotless floor, I looked up at him and wondered.

  Did I?

  ‘It’s a lovely house you’ve got,’ I told Mr and Mr Dickenson as I lowered myself carefully onto their pristine white settee the next day. What sort of idiot has a white settee? Weren’t they having a child? ‘Did you decorate yourselves?’

  ‘Christ, no,’ Andrew replied. ‘If it had been left to us, the whole place would have been five cans of Dulux Magnolia Moments and wall-to-wall Ikea. Andrew’s sister is an interior decorator.’

  ‘We’re not very good gays,’ Christopher said, looking left and right to make sure no one was listening. ‘I hate Kylie.’

  ‘I’m just sad for her,’ Andrew qualified. ‘Put some trousers on and lay off the fillers, love.’

  ‘Well, hopefully we won’t take up too much of your time,’ I said, so pleased that they’d saved up all their imagination to make my life more difficult. You couldn’t choose your own side tables but you could insist on me finding an eight-foot fountain that spouted strawberry margaritas? Brilliant. ‘I’m sure you’ve got lots to do with Audrey on her way.’

  ‘I can’t believe she’ll be here in less than a week,’ Christopher said, finding his husband’s hand with his. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a dad.’

  ‘I’m just so nervous.’ Andrew squeezed his shoulders up around his ears. ‘Excited but nervous. We’ve been dreaming about this and planning for it forever, and now it’s actually going to happen. It’s freaking me out.’

  ‘She’s a very lucky little girl,’ I replied, backing it up with a semi-genuine smile this time. Maybe they weren’t massive wankers with a unicorn fetish after all. Maybe they were nice men who had got a bit overexcited and wanted a memorable party for their baby. If only I weren’t the one organizing it.

  ‘I’m going to make some tea,’ Andrew announced, standing up abruptly and swiping at his eyes. ‘Everyone wants tea, yes? Yes.’

  Christopher rolled his eyes as his husband marched out of the living room. ‘He’s getting all emosh about the baby,’ he said, crossing his legs and leaning back into his beautiful, baby-unfriendly white sofa. ‘Don’t worry, carry on.’

  Nodding, I unpacked my iPad and notebook (anyone who can rely solely on an iPad clearly never had a Walkman run out of batteries during a long car ride, and I cannot deal with them) and swiped around until I found the right pages.

  ‘So, I thought I’d take you through where I’m up to. We’ll get as much as we can locked down,’ I said, as Sharaline sat mute beside me, pen poised, pad at the ready. Shona had insisted I bring her along ‘for moral support’, but so far all she had done was tread on the back of my shoes twice and point out a spelling mistake in my proposal document that it was too late to change. But it was going to be OK, I could do it. I was so tense, there was a chance I might have a stroke but as long as I had it on the way home, it would all be fine. ‘Venue-wise, I have the Matlow Club on hold for the 18th. Let me show you some pictures …’

  As I leaned across the table towards Christopher, a shrill ringing sound sounded somewhere around my feet. Heart pounding, I jumped, and my iPad flew out of my hands and hit my client squarely in the nuts.

  ‘You’re not very handy with that, are you?’ Christopher groaned, clutching his groin.

  ‘It’s your phone,’ Sharaline hissed, rootling around in my handbag to find the offending article while I remained frozen over the mid-century coffee table, arm still outstretched, and showing my knickers to anyone who passed by the window behind me. It was a classical and beautiful tableau. ‘It’s Lauren.’

  ‘Send it to voicemail,’ I nodded, standing back up slowly. ‘It’s not urgent.’

  ‘I’m so sorry − another client,’ I said, hands out in front of me, not sure what my next move should be. I’d never assaulted a client before, but Mr Colton often told us we needed to break new ground to achieve new heights. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘No,’ he choked, and held my iPad out to me. ‘Why don’t you just show me the pictures?’

  ‘Why don’t I do that?’ I agreed. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I just hit a client in the bollocks with an iPad. However little and light they are these days, it still had to sting. This was definitely the kind of thing that came up on a feedback form. ‘As you can see, the venue is just what we were looking for. Lots of light, airy inside spaces and then beautiful grounds outside that we can transform however we like.’

  Christopher grimaced and gave a grave nod.

  ‘The venue has a preferred caterer, but I’ve met with them and they’re very happy to meet all of our menu requests. If you’d like, we can arrange a tasting prior to the event, but since you’re going to be so busy with baby Audrey and I’ve worked with them before, I don’t think we need to do that unless you desperately want to. And, really, are you all right?’

  ‘Let’s just be happy I’ve already got a baby on the way,’ he replied, straightening up inch by inch. ‘I can’t imagine there’s any permanent damage.’

  ‘I’m not usually a clumsy person,’ I said. ‘I thought my phone was on silent. It just made me jump.’

  ‘Then as long as no one else calls a phone anywhere near you ever again when you’re not expecting it, the world will be safe,’ he said, a tight expression on his already surgically tightened face. ‘I don’t think we’ll have time to do a tasting. Next.’

  ‘I’ve got the storks and the rabbits organized,’ I said, keen to impress my first client and not to maim him any further. ‘And we’re having special cupcakes handmade and iced in all your colours.’

  ‘In what way are they special exactly?’ he asked.

  ‘In the way that all cupcakes are special?’ I suggested.

  Once more, my phone trilled into life and Christopher instinctively covered his crotch.

  ‘Lauren’s calling again,’ Sharaline said, waving my phone in my face. ‘Should I answer it?’

  ‘Fine, yes,’ I said. ‘Get a message and tell her I’ll call her back in a bit.’ She nodded and dashed out into the hallway.

  ‘Tea’s ready,’ Andrew sang from down the hallway, trotting back into their living room carrying a terribly elegant silver tea tray. ‘Maddie, milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk,’ I replied. ‘Thank you.’

  And-a-Valium-if-you’ve-got-it-thanks.

  ‘We’re just looking at the venue,’ I explained as they exchanged looks and Christopher attempted to communicate that I had just used the latest tablet technology to turn him into a eunuch with nothing more than one raised eyebrow and a single shake of the head. ‘It’s perfect for your celebration, very Alice in Wonderland.’

  ‘We don’t want anything cheesy,’ Andrew said quickly. ‘We definitely don’t want anything garish or ridiculous.’

  I covered my frustration with my most professional smile. ‘Of course not,’ I reassured them. Just candy-pink rabbits and the odd unicorn running around. And let’s not forget the storks that I would personally have to keep out of the strawberry margarita fountain
or risk being sued by the RSPB. ‘It’s going to be magical.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that.’ Sharaline skittered back into the house on her high heels, blue hair flying behind her. She threw the phone down on the sofa and madly tapped me on the shoulder ‘Maddie, can I have a word?’

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ I asked, wishing I had a Shona stare for moments like this. That was definitely something I was going to have to work on. ‘We’re just about to go over the entertainment.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Andrew asked. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea … Sharaline?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I replied in a high-pitched screech, the most attractive and alluring of all the weapons in a woman’s arsenal. ‘She’d love a cup of tea.’

  ‘Lauren is freaking out,’ Sharaline hissed in my ear as I smiled a smile brighter than the sun. ‘You need to call her.’

  ‘I can’t call her right now,’ I said. ‘What could be so dramatic that it can’t wait five minutes?’

  ‘Something about her mother? She’s arrived early and wants to go over the wedding plans?’

  Oh dear God.

  ‘I need to make a very quick phone call.’ I snatched my phone out of Sharaline’s hands and stood up carefully. ‘I will be right back. Sharaline, could you show the gents the pictures of the venue? And, well, everything else? I might be a couple of minutes.’

  Stalking down the hallway, I pressed call back and Lauren picked up before it could even ring.

  ‘Maddie, code red, my mom is here,’

  ‘She isn’t supposed to be here for another month,’ I said, gnawing at the already bitten-down nail on my little finger. ‘Why is she here now?’

  ‘My sister has been having some trouble with the pregnancy and so they wanted to come over early and get settled,’ she said, clearly hyperventilating. ‘Maddie, I’m freaking out. I. Am. Freaking. Out.’

  ‘Right, calm down,’ I commanded. ‘Is your sister OK?’

  ‘My sister is fine,’ she shouted. ‘She’s got morning sickness, it’s nothing. She’s being a melodramatic douche.’

  ‘Then we don’t need to worry about that,’ I said, mostly to myself. Lauren’s mother was bad enough, but a potentially poorly pregnant bridesmaid would not have been ideal. ‘It’ll be fine. It might even be nice.’