The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp

by The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp (retail) (epub)

  ‘You’re bricking it, aren’t you?’ Molly narrowed her eyes at her little bro.

  Sam leant forward, his head in his hands in an act of mock-dramatics. Peeping through his fingers, he mumbled, ‘Yup. Any tips?’

  ‘What, from your professionally single sister? From the woman whose last relationship lasted five minutes? Well, I can give you Suze’s number; she helped plan most of this shindig and I bet her expertise runs to vows and whatnot.’ Rolling her eyes, Molly realised she was sounding more than a bit petulant, which was not cool on the eve of Sam’s big day.

  ‘Not tips from my single sister: just from my sister. The person that, you know, understands me. More than anyone. I am going to be OK, aren’t I?’ Sam was inspecting the grass under his trainers but Molly could see he was intensely focusing on every word he said, and waiting for her serious response.

  ‘Of course,’ Molly ruffled his hair. Well, the bristly fur of it that was left after a close shearing this morning at the barber’s. Sam had insisted he wouldn’t get married looking like a poodle, no matter how ‘cute’ Cleo said his dark curls were. ‘You’ll be grand. You’ve practised your “I do” bits, your speech. Mum has your suit pressed and hanging up in the spare room. Have you shined your sho—’

  ‘No, not on the day, Pops. Um … as a husband. I’ll be OK, won’t I?’

  Molly put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed hard. ‘You stupid arse. You’ll be great. It’s Dad, isn’t it? That email has made you think about him.’ Sticking a pointed finger into Sam’s back, Molly said with utter conviction. ‘You are nothing like him. Nothing. Because you’re honest and good and brave. You silly hobbit. Now let’s go inside and plug the electric blanket in.’

  Sam looked up from the patch of grass he’d been memorising and blinked in confusion. ‘Why?’

  ‘To warm up those cold feet.’ Molly hopped up and shivered – it was finally turning dark and cold out there in the garden.

  Shaking his head, Sam stood up and followed Molly inside. ‘Once again: ho ho. Sod that magician we’ve got booked, we should just let you do your end-of-the pier stuff to entertain the hordes tomorrow.’

  ‘Hey, does he do balloon animals?’ Molly asked, with genuine delight. And just as abruptly as it had started the Cooper heart-to-heart was taken care of and normal banter resumed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘This has never happened to me before.’ The stylist pouted in the mirror, gesturing with two brush-laden hands to Molly’s head.

  In the mirror and in the flesh, Molly’s blush was doubly obvious. ‘Sorry. I did say it was a bit fine and flat.’

  The stylist lifted a small trickle of hair with the end on one brush. ‘But it just won’t take any volume. Never. I’ve never had this in my whole career. Does anyone have any hair pieces?’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Iris and Molly squeaked together, from chairs at opposite ends of the room. Cleo had given over her master bedroom and attached walk-in wardrobe as the dressing room for the bride and bridesmaid on the morning of the big day. Iris was having her subtle but elegant make-up done at the dressing table while the hairdresser tried in vain to back comb some sort of life into Molly’s fine tresses. Iris had wanted Molly to have a swishy up-do with a slight beehive to give it shape, but so far all the stylist had managed was less of a full beehive and more of a wispy bird’s nest.

  Iris nipped over with just one eye lined and shadowed. It had a disconcerting Clockwork Orange effect on her elfin face. Molly held back a shudder. Putting her two small hands through Molly’s flat hair, Iris chewed on her lips and thought hard. ‘I think we should just abandon the up-do.’

  The hairdresser gasped.

  ‘It’s OK, she’ll look great. Just as she is. So why don’t we,’ – Iris looked around for inspiration and spotted a hair slide clustered with pearls and diamantes on the dresser – ‘use these to sweep her hair back on one side and then just leave it loose and simple otherwise.’ She winked at Molly in the mirror.

  ‘You are the anti-Bridezilla.’ Molly nodded with respect. ‘Sam has done incredibly well. You’re a catch.’

  With a shy smile, Iris looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. Molly suddenly realised how creepy she’d sounded. After all, Iris was currently only dressed in her basque and knickers. And shoulder-length veil, of course. She would have been perfect for a Guns N’ Roses video, if she just had a demi-wave and stripper heels. ‘I consider myself very lucky – and grateful.’ Iris playfully poked Molly in the shoulder and went back to her make-up artist to finish her eyes.

  The hairdresser huffed quietly, picked up the hair slide and began lifting sections of hair this way and that, trying to find the best sweeping effect. Molly suspected she was just trying to justify her day rate, and so let her mind wander. It was a magical thing, being under a hairdresser’s fingertips: it gave you a free pass to sit and stew in your own thoughts. And there was a lot bubbling away in Molly’s mind to be stirred about.

  After ten minutes or so of busy beautifying going on in relative silence, a cheeky redhead popped round the door. ‘I would knock, but I’m too excited!’ Suze’s body quickly followed her smile into the room. Dressed in a pale blue shift dress that set off her red waves perfectly, Suze had a silver bangle and big sunglasses perched on her head to complete the simple but stunning Jackie O look. ‘Well, hello, gorgeous ladies!’ She clapped her hands in girly excitement before spotting something amiss. ‘Molly, why isn’t your hair up?’

  The hairdresser finished brushing out Molly’s smooth sheet of auburn hair, muttered crossly something about getting a cup of tea, and stormed out of the room.

  Molly giggled. ‘Um, it’s a long story. Lovely dress, chuck. Where’s the wee man?’ Molly played with a strand by her ear until Suze lovingly slapped her hand away.

  ‘Mum was only too pleased to have him overnight. She’ll take him to the WI to be petted like a King Charles spaniel and photographed every second of the day, the poor mite. But it means a late night and child-free hangover for Stephen and me! I’m sure Max will forgive us with time and counselling. Hey, Iris,’ Suze strolled over to the future Mrs Cooper’s chair and put her hands on her shoulders, ‘you look so beautiful. Ah, to be young again. Oooh.’ Suze picked up a pot of leaf-green eye-shadow from the table and turned to the make-up artist who was putting away brushes. ‘Is this the new MAC collection? Could I try a bit?’

  As Suze, Iris and the make-up lady settled into a discussion of which eye shadow colours would make Suze’s flame-red barnet really ‘pop’, Molly slipped back into her daydreams, fiddling with the jewellery laid out on the dresser in front of her. It was going to be weird to see Patrick today – weirder to be stood across from him while vows of love and honesty and understanding were made – but she would have to put on her best, bravest face. Though the steam had eventually cooled in Molly’s brain after that very early-morning argument on the common, she was still left with little bursts of anger and outrage that left her feeling hot and bothered all over again. Throwing herself into the induction of their tidal wave of new cadets, Molly thought to herself with each new membership fee processed, He thinks this is creepy? He’s the creep, if anyone is. Mooning over an ex. Bah!

  If Patrick wanted to call her and apologise, then maybe she’d take the call. Or at least listen to the voicemail. But no way was she calling him. And true to her word, she didn’t so much as poke him. He’s not worth poking, she grumbled to herself as she logged on to Facebook in her spare moments. But she also checked her phone display in those rare free spells, just in case Patrick had called. Which he hadn’t. Not once. But that was fine. Totally.

  ‘Cheer up, sleepy Jean.’ Suze nudged her friend out of her reverie. ‘You’ve been quiet recently. I haven’t heard from you in weeks! In fact, not since that painfully early text. Wedding craziness? Or just loved up to the maximum?’ She wiggled her eyebrows with a good dose of suggestion.

  ‘Oh. I didn’t tell you?’ Molly said in a flat tone, i
dly brushing a fat blusher brush up and down her forearm. ‘Cripes. Let’s go and make some coffee, then, and not bum Iris out on her day of bliss.’ The two got up to leave – Suze’s baffled expression turning into one of gloomy premonition.

  ‘You’d better bring those coffees up here!’ Iris shouted sweetly after them. ‘I’ve only heard Sam’s version and that means I’ve missed on all the best bits. I’ll have two sugars please!’

  * * *

  When Suze had heard it all, she sucked in her cheeks and gave a long, thoughtful hum.

  ‘Hmmmmm. That’s pretty … messy. Sorry, hon.’ She leant her head on Molly’s shoulder as they sipped their coffees companionably on the small sofa in Cleo’s bedroom. ‘I just thought when I hadn’t heard from you that it was all going swoonily and you were too busy smooching to call me. Oh, God.’ Suzanne’s eyes suddenly lit up in panic. ‘I saw Patrick on my way up here and said something.’

  ‘What?’ Molly demanded, feeling her skin flush cold at the back of her neck.

  ‘I said, “Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you,” and then I raised my eyebrows! Shit, I just wanted to break the ice but now it might seem like …’

  Molly finished the thought for her. ‘That I’ve been slagging him off. Brilliant!’ she trilled with ironic cheeriness. ‘This possibly couldn’t get any better.’

  ‘Unless Cleo corners him,’ Suze suggested, trying to lighten the tone with a spot of banter. But Molly’s eyes only widened in fear.

  ‘If he’s in the house, on his own, there’s every chance she could. Oh buggery bums. I should intercept, get the worst over with. Like eating your sprouts first at Christmas dinner. I’ve got time, haven’t I?’

  Iris consulted the wedding agenda Cleo had circulated the previous night, as her hair was being tonged into bridal curliness in a complicated up-do. ‘We have to be dressed and ready at the top of the stairs by eleven-fifteen to go to the church. What time is it now? My red Swatch didn’t really go with the dress, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It’s ten-fifty-seven,’ Suze said, checking her big silver Storm watch. ‘Can you get down, talk, get back up, put the dress on and the heels in eighteen minutes?’

  ‘Does the Pope do his business in the woods? Am I not the speediest dresser in the West? Iris, if it’s OK with you—’

  ‘Go, go! Anything to avoid an awkward silence at the top table. Sounds like you two should clear the air a bit, especially sober. Conversations with exes should not be done with four litres of champagne in the system. And that’s what Cleo has allocated per person, you know. Suze can help me with the finishing touches, right?’ Iris caught the redhead’s eyes in the dressing table mirror, as the now calmed hairdresser dropped one last ringlet into place.

  ‘Are you kidding? I live for this stuff!’ Suze leapt up and over to the wardrobe drawer that was currently displaying Iris’s dress to full effect. She lightly touched its delicate hem. ‘Dreamy,’ she said with a moony expression.

  ‘Right, then, I’m off. I suppose.’ Molly stalled by the door, one hand on the knob.

  ‘Go, Mols! It won’t be easy but you’ll feel better afterwards, promise.’ Iris smiled sympathetically at her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

  So with a final burst of resolve, Molly opened the door and prepared to face the music.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  When Molly found Patrick in the kitchen, sat at the old family table, his head bent low over some maps, she instantly realised she was still wearing a dressing gown. Just a dressing gown. There was a special kind of embarrassment that could only be experienced with someone who had once seen you naked, and who now didn’t want to ever again, observing you looking like a prat. Molly pulled the lapels of her pink fluffy towelling robe closer together and tightened the cord around her middle before clearing her throat.

  ‘Ahem.’

  Patrick looked up sharply, a brief flush of colour just below his jaw disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Molly didn’t want it to be true, but the midnight blue tie and charcoal suit made something deeper shine in his eyes. Patrick could work a morning suit, that was for sure.

  ‘Molly, hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘So.’

  ‘Yes, actually, I don’t have long. Believe it or not, this isn’t what I’m wearing today!’ Molly shoe-horned in a friendly, bantering lilt to her voice and laughed heartily. She was even annoying herself. ‘But I just wanted to say that Suze didn’t know. She’s my friend – with the red hair? She thought we were together when she spoke to you and obviously we’re not – we’re really not, I know that – so I just wanted to clear the air. I haven’t been slagging you off, I haven’t been talking about us – or, you know, the lack of an us…’ Again, Molly forced out a chortle and barrelled on, aware that she was talking so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath. ‘To Sam or anyone really. Anyone at all. So today doesn’t have to be weird. We put the past behind us, we move on in a civil manner. Yes. Great. OK! So, back to the beauty parlour I go. See you up the aisle. Er, um, yes.’

  If Molly had been in a cartoon, a perfectly puffy dust cloud would have been the only evidence that she’d been in the kitchen at all after she scarpered back to a safe place.

  Patrick blinked a few times, trying to clear his head and telling himself that it was gentlemanly to forget what an ex looked like naked, even if you were given a reminder or two. And even if it was one of the best memories of your whole life.

  * * *

  At 11.15 on the dot, the girls were in place at the top of the stairs, the groomsmen had returned to the B&B down the road to pick up their groom, Cleo had just stepped into a chauffeured navy Vintage Bentley (decked out in white satin ribbons, of course) and another Bentley was purring in the driveway, ready for the bridal party.

  Iris’s dad, Ernest, climbed the stairs. He took in the elegant young woman standing before him, and swallowed the quiver in his throat. Iris’s dress was simple, classic, but unforgettable. It was a long sheath of pure ivory silk with tiny spaghetti straps, tailored perfectly to her petite frame, and topped off with a bolero made of antique lace. There was nothing shouty or blinging about it; it was graceful and pure. Just perfect.

  ‘OK, petal. Ready?’

  Iris nodded, too emotional for even a small ‘Yep’. Clutching Molly’s hand fiercely, she started her descent of the stairs, towards the waiting Bentley and her new life.

  * * *

  As Sam and Iris had requested a church wedding that was as light as possible on the God bit, the happy congregation were in and out of St Catherine’s in thirty romantic minutes. The vows were said sincerely, the choir sang beautifully and the tissues were handed out generously. Molly was sure Cleo was doing her best to hide her tears under the wide brim of her Philip Treacy hat and the large purple feathers that dangled down one side, but it was obvious that she was overflowing with pride and happiness. Molly had felt all sorts of emotions herself as the wedding got underway. A strange and unexpected jealousy was the first thing to hit her as Ernest walked Iris down the aisle, Molly following in the one-together two-together rhythm. She realised, as she watched the grey head in front of her, that she wouldn’t have a kindly father figure to walk her down the aisle. Not that she would ever get to walk down one in a white dress herself, mind you. But just supposing she stopped being a foot-in-the-mouth kind of girl and bagged a keeper; who would do the job? Maybe Sam. Maybe Cleo. But it just didn’t seem the same.

  Then there was all the awkwardness of standing up in front of pretty much all her family and quite a few of her friends. Rachel and Josie were a few pews from the back (Rachel being a now-honorary Cooper almost and Josie being Kurt’s plus-one). The three of them waved and thumbs-upped the reluctant bridesmaid as she took her place holding Iris’s flowers at the altar. But at least looking out at the large, expectant audience was better than looking at Patrick, to her left. He was so annoyingly handsome in that suit, and Molly had the strange sensation that he was staring at her during most of the service. Not
that she could check, of course, because then he might think that she was bothered about him. Which she totally wasn’t. Totally. Wasn’t.

  And then a last burst of weirdness at the vital moment: no matter whose wedding it was, how relaxed or formal the ceremony, no matter how showy or how simple, not even organ music could distract Molly from the anxiety that built just before the ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ bit. Something very naughty in Molly just wanted to laugh. Or squeak. Or even shout. It was like being told not to push the big shiny red button. All you wanted to do was push the big shiny red button. Seriously, what was the worst that could happen? As the vicar got to the dreaded words, Molly turned her head away to innocently inspect the flower arrangements the church ladies had so carefully, well, arranged and trembled in silent hysteria.

  Thankfully she held that peace by the skin of her teeth and Sam and Iris were pronounced husband and wife to cheers and whoops of delight. Molly even spotted Josie and Kurt high fiving with doe-like looks passing between them. Soppy sods.

  With photos and confetti and cheek kissing and back-slapping taken care of on the church steps, it was time to get back to the Cooper household and see to the really important wedding business: the food. Oh, and the booze. The wedding party and guests loaded up in various cars and taxis and headed to the river. Sam and Iris took one of the Bentleys to snog with wild abandon as they were lawfully now entitled to do, while Molly, Patrick and Cleo found themselves in the other. There are silences, and there are comfortable silences. And this wasn’t one of them. Patrick tried to make super-polite conversation with Cleo, who was in the passenger seat, and Cleo tried her best to give long, harmless answers about the new fence and the price of ceramics and employment law until they reached the front drive. Molly sat looking out of her window in the back seat, achingly aware of the space between her and Patrick. Though it was just thirty centimetres of cream leather it felt impassable, and getting wider by each passing second.