by Lynda Renham
‘Erm, can I call you back later Muffy. I’m out for dinner with Oliver.’
‘Yeah sure, I’ll book you in, you can always cancel. You should give it serious thought.’
I hang up and smile at Sylvia.
‘Muffy,’ I say, like that explains everything.
Robert nods and asks the waiter for champagne.
‘Well, what a night huh, not only do we have a double celebration but we get to do it here. Who gets this kind of luck?’
Oh I do, I really so do, I think as I see William stroll into the restaurant with Andrea at his side. Another couple follow behind them and William turns to smile at his male companion as he passes our table. I try to duck under it but I’ve been pushed so far into the corner that it’s all I can do to get my legs under the table let alone my whole body. Bugger it. He turns back and our eyes meet. I shrug stupidly and give a little wave. He seems to freeze for a couple of seconds and Andrea nudges him while laughing with the other woman and flashing her diamond engagement ring for all she’s worth. William gives me a little nod, at least I think it is me he is nodding at, and then he is gone. I see Andrea’s chiffon dress disappear around the corner. My heart is thumping and my hands are trembling. God, what is wrong with me.
‘Someone is looking down on us,’ laughs Robert.
And who would that be, because whoever it is they certainly have it in for me. The waiter pours the champagne and hands us menus.
‘Perhaps not too much for you dear,’ Sylvia says softly. ‘Alcohol is the worst thing when it comes to calories. I’m on the five-two diet aren’t I Robert? This is one of my five days when I can eat whatever I like. I’ve lost pounds, haven’t I Robert, it’s marvellous. I’ll send you all the details.’
God, three comments in the space of fifteen minutes regarding my bloody weight, surely this is a record. I don’t mind Muffy going on, well I do really but it’s a bit much when you can’t come out for dinner without having it rubbed in. I find myself looking at the assortment of salads on the menu while trying to remember where the loos are, and if they are anywhere near where William is sitting.
‘Here’s to Oliver and his fantastic new job, well done son, and to our lovely future daughter-in-law on landing her new job,’ says Robert, raising his glass and clinking against ours. I knock mine back in one go. God, I hope I don’t have to hold it in all night. I really couldn’t bear a weight comment from Andrea.
‘Fabulous menu,’ murmurs Robert.
Sylvia looks up from hers and says,
‘Talking of menus dear, Oliver said you’re going for the salmon as the main course for the reception. I thought we all agreed duck, it’s much nicer, and salmon is so common. Everyone has salmon don’t they? I know your parents prefer it but …’
‘Oh yes, I was going to tell you,’ adds Oliver, gesturing to the waiter. ‘Could we have a bottle of the house red?’
I remember William ordering our wine by name and in fluent French too. Oh I wish I could go and speak to him. If only he had come alone.
‘Binki.’
I look up to see Sylvia waving her hand in front of my face.
‘Are you with us dear?’
I wish I wasn’t.
‘I think Mum is right, duck would be far more original don’t you think?’
‘But we’ve already chosen the menu,’ I say feebly. ‘And most people will eat salmon won’t they. The thing is …’
‘Well, of course they’ll eat it darling, but do you really want to be like everyone else?’ says Sylvia firmly. ‘I’d like my son’s wedding to be a little bit original. I’ll phone your mother.’
Great. And why can’t I have sodding salmon at my wedding? After all, it is my wedding isn’t it?
‘Good, that’s that sorted, now what are you having Robert?’ she says dismissing me.
I fight back a sigh and grab my wine glass. I order a hot chicken salad and feel decidedly more depressed than I did when Ben-wart-on-the-nose offered me his Christmas bonus. That feels so long ago now, and so much seems to have happened since then.
‘The sea bass is supposed to be amazing here,’ says Oliver.
God, I’m dying for a pee but I can’t possibly risk walking past stick-thin Andrea, or should I say waddling past her. Honestly, I feel that fat the way everyone keeps talking about my weight.
‘Do you want a starter?’ Oliver asks.
I’d love one.
‘Oliver don’t tempt the poor girl. She’s got an important dress to get into, isn’t that right Sylv,’ laughs Robert loudly.
Are these people really going to be my in-laws?
‘I’ll just have some bread,’ I say.
‘Oh, that’s the worst dear,’ says Sylvia with a tut-tut.
God, why don’t they just throw celery sticks at me?
‘So,’ says Robert. ‘Munroes is a nice little number. Gets you away from …’ he stops embarrassed and glances at me.
‘Well, we don’t want to dwell on little mistakes do we,’ says Sylvia, breaking open a roll.
There are a few seconds of silence. A little mistake, is that what she sodding calls it? Personally I call it a huge mistake. A bloody how much bigger could it get mistake.
‘Excuse me, I need the ladies,’ I say, squeezing past Oliver.
‘You okay?’ he whispers.
I straighten my clothes and attempt to walk with my head held high to the loo. Keep looking ahead I tell myself. I pass tables without looking to see who is sitting at them. I feel certain I hear Andrea’s laugh but it seems a little distance away. I dive into the ladies and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed from the champagne and my eyes are sparkling. I turn and twist my head to see just how big my backside is in the skirt. It doesn’t look that bad, or maybe I am just kidding myself and the cardigan looks okay in my opinion. Maybe a little tight around the bust but blimey it makes a change for me to look big breasted. I look like Nigella Lawson in one of her cashmere cardigans. I hear footsteps approaching and dive into a cubicle and sit on the loo. I listen as two women chat about their fabulous evening at such a posh restaurant and look down at my shoes. I’m not that dumpy. Okay, I’m not a stick insect and never have been and don’t know if I even want to be. And if I want sodding salmon at my wedding surely I should have salmon shouldn’t I? It is my wedding after all and also a special day for my parents. Maybe I’ll have beetles for the starter. They’re a delicacy aren’t they? Maybe not in this country but they are somewhere. That will be fun, watching Sylvia crunch her way through a plateful of beetles. But why should my parents eat duck? What’s happened to me anyway? I’ve become so insignificant, I’m amazed I haven’t disappeared into the wallpaper. Mind you, didn’t Muffy say I was bloody stupid when it came to men? I supposedly loved too much. God, that’s a joke. I’m now beginning to worry that I don’t love Oliver enough. How do you know if you love someone? I suppose it’s all subjective. I would hate not having him in my life but I could cope with not living with him. Do all married couples feel this way? I’m sure this is all wedding nerves. I bet if you asked any woman how she felt six weeks before her wedding she would say exactly the same. I’m marrying a man that I love dearly but is that good enough? I’ve a good job. I could rent my own flat and buy an Amanda Rowland-free bed all for myself. I don’t have to be a desperate 30-year-old do I? Maybe the clock is ticking but it isn’t going to blow up if I don’t walk down the aisle by the time the clock strikes thirty-one is it? Do I want to be married to a man who thinks I look dumpy? More importantly, is it normal to be giving oneself a pep talk while sitting in a posh restaurant’s loo? The door bangs as the women leave and I scroll through the contacts on my Blackberry and pick out three of my closest friends, apart from Muffy.
‘Mel, hi it’s Binki.’
‘Hey Binki, how are you …? Oh God, hold on. Ben, no, you can’t pe-pe there. Shit. Bloody three-year-old has just pissed on the new rug. I don’t know why the fuck we have a potty. It might as well be the dog
’s drinking bowl. How you doing? Wedding plans coming on well?’
‘Yeah great, I just want a bit of advice really,’ I say with a false laugh.
‘Christ, not sure I’m up to that but fire away.’
‘How did you feel six weeks before your wedding? I mean, did you have doubts?’
She laughs.
‘Doubts, bloody hell, I was planning the great escape for weeks before. Mind you, if I’d known what I know now I’d have taken that escape tunnel.’
‘Oh really.’
‘Ben, put that back. It’s not a toy. He’s got the sodding vibrator now,’ she says wearily. ‘Mind you, it’s the most it’s been used all year. Look honey, don’t listen to me. It’s a bad day. It’ll be great.’
‘Right,’ I say.
‘Better go, before he throws the thing down the loo or something. We’re looking forward to the big day by the way. We bought the Buddha painting on your list, nice, different.’
Ah, that was one of Oliver’s. I was rather hoping no one would bother.
‘Great, thanks.’
I scroll down quickly to Francesca. She answers immediately.
‘What? I’m really not interested in what you have to say.’
‘Fran, it’s Binki,’ I say hesitantly.
‘Oh Binki, I’m sorry I thought it was Ted. I didn’t bother to look at the screen. We’ve just had this huge row. Can you believe he called me fat?’
Yes, I can actually.
‘I’m premenstrual so of course I’m bloody fat aren’t I?’
‘Yes, I mean …’
‘Oh look, can I call you back? That’s him trying to get through. I’m not having the bugger call me fat …’
‘Erm, yeah, of course.’
The phone goes dead and I drop it back into my bag. I’d get better advice from the loo. I leave the cubicle and again check my reflection. I open the door and peek outside to check all is safe. I sound like a wanted woman. The coast is clear and I walk with head held high back to the table and squeeze back into my corner seat.
‘Your skirt is tucked in your knickers,’ sighs Oliver. ‘The whole world just saw your black panties.’
Shit. Well not the whole world exactly, that’s a slight exaggeration. You couldn’t get a bus load of people in here let alone the whole world.
‘Let’s not draw attention to it,’ whispers Sylvia.
‘I don’t think many people noticed,’ adds Robert.
They don’t have to make it sound like I moon shined the whole restaurant. It’s a small skirt in knickers catastrophe, not the News at Ten headlines.
My salad arrives and I look enviously at Oliver’s sirloin and Robert’s sea bass. Sylvia has opted for a chicken and mushroom dish and I covet her roast potatoes like I’ve never coveted anything in my life. I’m about to put a forkful of salad to my mouth when I see William approaching and drop the lot down the front of my cardigan.
‘What’s wrong with you tonight?’ asks Oliver.
I quickly brush the bits of lettuce off my cashmere cardigan, and lift my red face to William. ‘I thought it rude not to come over and say hello,’ says William in that soft gorgeous voice of his. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed it until now.
‘Hi,’ I say shakily. ‘This is Oliver, and this is William.’
Oliver gives William a long stare before extending his hand.
‘Oh right, nice to meet you. Congratulations on your engagement by the way.’
I feel a tomato slide down my cleavage as William looks at me.
‘Thank you and congratulations to you too,’ he says, looking into my eyes.
‘Hello, I’m Sylvia, and my husband Robert.’
Sylvia leans across, almost knocking my wine glass over. That will be the next thing, what with salad down my cleavage and my knickers on the outside of my skirt I must look a right mess. William shakes hands with Robert, and Oliver says,
‘This is William, Binki’s previous boss,’ with a look that dares me to mention he is the same guy I shared a house with.
‘Nice to meet you and good to see you Binki. Did you get transferred from The Manor too?’ he smiles.
‘Oh no, we were already booked,’ says Oliver.
I snap my head round to look at him. How can he lie like that?
‘I’d better get back,’ William says.
I want to say so much but all that comes out of my mouth is,
‘It is nice to see you.’
‘You too,’ he responds.
And then he has gone. I wonder what the going rate is to hire a hit man to knock off Andrea. I need to talk to Muffy, or maybe I should pop back to the ladies, the restaurant loo is a good listener. I pull the tomato from my cleavage and knock back some wine as I remind myself of the facts: William is marrying Andrea and I’m marrying Oliver, and the truth is, if we’re looking at the evidence your honour, I wouldn’t be marrying Oliver if I thought I had a chance with William, but I don’t have a chance because: (a) He is engaged to Andrea. (b) According to Piers Roche, he is not the marrying type and (c) According to Nathan, I’m not William’s type. So there you have it. The whole thing is out of the question and I can’t hanker after someone I’ll never be able to have.
‘Here, have some of my sirloin,’ says Oliver, wrapping an arm around me. ‘I know what you fancy.’
Actually, I think he doesn’t know at all.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Good luck.’ Oliver kisses me on the cheek, grabs his briefcase and flies out the door of our flat, tripping over my shoes as he does so.
‘Oh Oliver, can you phone Douglas today and check he’s got the flowers organised?’ I ask, placing the breakfast dishes into the sink.
‘What flowers?’
God, men, they should be drowned at birth.
‘For the buttonholes, he’s supposed to be organising that. Get him to phone my dad if he’s unsure.’
I don’t want to be thinking about carnations and buttonholes. Today is my final dress fitting and if the dress doesn’t fit I’m in real shit street. Muffy’s dress is organised and Fran’s little boy’s outfit is sorted. My mum is finally happy with her hat and the car is booked, and the honeymoon arranged. Two weeks in Tuscany. It’s all we could afford with the new house and everything, but I’m happy. Everyone seems to think we should be flying to the Caribbean or something. I mean why? Isn’t that where all the other newly-weds will be? A touch overcrowded with hand-in-hand doe-eyed lovers don’t you think? The Dorchester has everything perfectly organised and all I’ve got to do is pray the dress fits. I’ve not been near the chocolate teapot. In fact Muffy has taken it away and hidden it somewhere. She promises to return it after the wedding. I’m attending the fitting alone and I am quite relieved to be honest. The thought of hearing everyone’s groans if the zip doesn’t do up is too much to bear. Muffy couldn’t make it as she has an important meeting and I purposely didn’t tell Mum it was today. So Amanda the fitter, who fortunately prefers to be called Mandy, and I will have to groan together and come up with a Plan B, which we probably should have come up with months ago but hey ho. I feel sure I’ve lost tons of weight. I feel lighter. Of course it could just be wishful thinking. God, I feel sick. I’ve got no idea what I will do if it doesn’t fit. I walk into the bathroom and see Oliver’s towel folded neatly over the rail. His shaving gel sits on the shelf with the lid on, and his toothbrush stands erect alongside his special sensitive gum toothpaste. I brush my teeth, forcing myself not to think of the untidy bathroom back at Driftwood, but of course you do don’t you? It’s impossible not to think of something when you tell yourself not to think of it. I wrap my scarf around my neck and throw on my woollen poncho. The weather is milder today so I leave my hat and pull my hair into a messy bun. I head out of the flat to face the dreaded fitting and walk along the streets of Notting Hill enjoying the busyness. Turning into Portobello Road I spot a market stand with a load of beautiful teapots. The temptation to buy one is overwhelming. I could have o
ne for M&Ms and another for chocolate buttons.
‘Three quid darling and they’re real china. No rubbish ‘ere. I’m practically giving them away,’ says the stallholder.
The thought of chocolate sends a craving through me and I hurry past. I’m determined to overdose when on my honeymoon, on chocolate, I mean, in case you thought I was talking suicide. Marrying Oliver isn’t that terrible. I take the bus to Knightsbridge. The closer I get to the shop the more my stomach churns. I stop at Starbucks and order a latte and then quickly change it to a skinny latte. Honestly, as if what I drink now is going to make any difference. My phone bleeps with a text as I leave Starbucks and I fumble in my bag for it. I pull my phone out as I turn the corner and bang, my latte and phone are knocked out of my hand, and my handbag slips from my shoulder as I collide with a hard firm body. I feel myself lurch backwards as I try to recover the handbag. The latte splashes over my hand, down my poncho and onto my boots. Déjà vu or what?
‘Can I call you back Andy,’ says a familiar voice.
God, I don’t believe this. I look up into William’s eyes.
‘Perhaps if you hadn’t have been chatting to Andy in the first place this wouldn’t have happened,’ I say, rubbing my poncho with a tissue. ‘Don’t you have an office to go to?’ I smile.
‘I think you walked into me. You’re making a terrible mess of your poncho,’ he responds.
I can’t stop my heart from thumping and I feel sure he must be able to see it pounding away through my clothes. I dust off the bits of tissue and lift my head to look at him. His grey eyes are twinkling and he is grinning. His appealing cupid’s bow affects me the way it did the first time we met. He is wearing a dark blue suit, again, and carrying a rucksack and I feel like I’ve travelled back in time. He scoops up my phone and the bottle of aspirin.
‘I think you’ve lost a few of these.’
‘Well that’s the suicide cancelled then isn’t it,’ I laugh. ‘I was looking forward to that too.’
‘I’m sure things aren’t that bad,’ he says, his hand touching mine softly as he hands the bottle to me.