The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp

by The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp (retail) (epub)

  She made herself vow never to look back. That wouldn’t butter any crumpets. Or whatever that saying is. They could just be friends. And you can never have too many friends.

  Though, of course, it is easier to be just friends when you don’t know for a fact that someone is an extraordinary kisser and has hands that … A shiver wriggled down Molly’s satin-covered body and Patrick’s head moved an imperceptible fraction towards her. Just as quickly, he started another conversation with Cleo about the best time of year to plant dahlias.

  * * *

  There’s nothing like the low-level hum of happy chewing, slurping and digesting as 120 people tuck into prime rib, fondant potatoes, spring greens and a whole lot of good champagne. Molly almost felt like an extra in The Tudors, sitting up at the head table as so much indulgent consumption happened on a grand scale. At least the guests weren’t throwing bones over their shoulders: she was thankful for that small mercy. Leaning back behind Iris’s dad, Molly tried to tug Sam’s sleeve to share this with him, but he was forehead to forehead with Iris, murmuring something Molly was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to stomach hearing. She straightened up in her chair, just as a glass was pinged to her right and Patrick stood up, holding up his open hands like a Lollipop Lady trying to stop traffic when she’s forgotten her lollipop. He was being very gingerly and nervous. Different from the Patrick she knew. Well, the one she thought she knew.

  Molly prayed for Patrick not to be really good and funny. Just one little cock up would do. Maybe just one that might make Sam hate him enough to not want to socialise with him again till she’d met someone else and got married and had ten children. Just that. Maybe if he told the story about Sam and the confused ferret …

  But unfortunately for Molly, Patrick’s speech was everything you wanted from a best man – PG-friendly humour that didn’t make the grannies uncomfortable, some charming compliments on the beauty of the bride and a hurried thank you to the bridesmaid (Sam coughed at this point), a few gentle reminiscences about Sam as a student and then an unusually sweet summation right at the end. Molly was almost tempted to believe it was nicked from a website.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all I have to say, ladies and gents, on the subject of fair Iris and the irrepressible Sam. But please join me in a toast to the happy couple. If love can overcome any obstacle then you two don’t need to worry: you have enough to jump over Kilimanjaro without so much as a pole. To Iris and Sam!’ Patrick lifted his glass, and the whole marquee of people echoed his words back at him.

  * * *

  When the meal was all gobbled up and the guests allowed a twenty-minute breather before being stuffed with wedding cake brownies, Molly took grateful leave of the head table and went in search of her friends. She’d wished during the whole wedding breakfast that she was with them at a table off to the left, rather than treading conversational minefields with Ernest, with Patrick in earshot. Honestly, he was a thoroughly nice man, but if he asked her just once more why she didn’t have a nice fella on the go, being such a clever and successful girl, she was going to prong him to death with her silver salad fork and flee the country.

  ‘Yoo hoo! Gorgeous bridesmaid lady, get over here!’ called an inebriated Josie. She patted the empty seat next to her and grinned her perfect American grin.

  ‘Stephen’s nipped outside to call my mum and check our Maximillion isn’t in a Maximillion pieces by now,’ Suze explained. ‘You may as well get comfy in his seat – he won’t be back for ages. He’ll probably recite the whole of The Grufallo to him down the line.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Martin. I didn’t know you were coming.’ Molly waved at Rach’s usually grumpy boss, who for once looked as happy as the fat cat that got the double cream.

  Martin ran a hand over his freshly-shaved face. ‘Yes, well, Cleo doesn’t take no for an answer, as I’m sure you know. We met when she came into the store for her mother-of-the-groom outfit and insisted I join in, as our stock had given her the perfect ensemble. Fantastic wedding.’

  Molly plopped down wearily. ‘Thanks. It’s all gone swimmingly. At least, I haven’t seen my mum throttle a caterer yet, so I assume everything’s peachy.’

  Chatter at the table bubbled away, with Martin and Kurt doing the usual manly sports discussions, and with Molly making sure everyone had enough to drink. Suze, Rach and Josie got straight onto the topic they were interested in: they couldn’t bear to wait until Molly volunteered the information herself.

  Suze leapt in. ‘Tell us how it’s going up there. You look about as uncomfortable as a Weight Watcher at the Krispy Kreme counter. And just as hungry.’

  Molly rolled her eyes and fidgeted with the halterneck of her dress.

  ‘Hey, chick, we’re just feeling your pain,’ Rachel chimed in. ‘And don’t play with that satin – it might catch on your charm bracelet. Hey, is that new? It’s cute.’

  Spinning her wrist from side to side to show off the jingle of her new bracelet, Molly smiled fondly. ‘It was a present from Iris, to say thanks for being bridesmaid today. Isn’t she the nicest thing? It’s got an M here and an S, and a boot charm – because I booted Sam into action and because of, you know, the bootcamp.’ She pointed out each delicate little silver pedant with a polished nail.

  ‘Why does it say M&S? Does Iris know about your weird penchant for their Footglove shoes?’ Rachel teased.

  ‘No, it’s not S for Spencer. Although their shoes are just that extra bit wide enough to be heavenly, so I don’t see what’s wrong with them. The S is for sister, because that’s what we are now.’

  ‘Ahhhhh!’ Josie, Suze, Rach and even Kurt cooed in unison.

  ‘She’s like, so amazing … and you’re so … you guys!’ Josie’s eyes welled up and she took another swig of her very delicious white wine. ‘I love weddings!’ Kurt patted her sweetly on the back of the hand and they shared a look.

  ‘Yes, me too,’ said Molly with conviction. She’d been too wrapped up in her own mini dramas these last few weeks but resolved now to throw herself into the festivities with a light heart and a thirsty throat. ‘Now, who’s going to be the first to brave the dance floor with me?’ she asked, as she topped up everyone’s wine glass.

  Stephen crept back in, sliding his mobile into his jacket pocket. ‘Hey Mols, great dress. You look tops. If there’s any nineties R&B on the wheels of steel I will be only too happy to mortally embarrass my wife. Missus? Let’s hit the floor.’

  * * *

  After several hours of pounding the dance floor of the marquee, getting the hem of her dress really dirty and pulling Cleo into a conga line completely against her will, Molly was definitely feeling in the party spirit. Her feet had felt it half an hour ago, so her gold heels were kicked off by a chaise longue somewhere and she was jumping about barefoot to ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Suze and Rach twirled around together in a circle, laughing hysterically at God knows what. Stephen and Martin were laughing just watching them from the sidelines with full pints and their jackets abandoned long ago. The girls had given up on finding where Josie and Kurt had slipped off to – it was probably best not to ask. Iris suddenly joined them, the few soft tendrils of hair that had escaped her hair do during the day only adding to her blushing bride appeal. ‘I need to cool down and get a drink. Do you girls fancy a chill down out in the garden? Sam’s in some giant Jenga battle with his best man and I can’t drag him away.’

  Molly nodded. ‘Good call, I don’t think sweat on blue satin is a good look for me. Or anyone. Ladies, shall we take a break?’ They filed out of the marquee − Suze once again pausing to declare that Cleo was a genius in getting those chandeliers, and then wiping the drool from her chin – and Molly swiping two bottles of champers from an obliging actor-waiter. The whole wedding colour scheme had gone so far that even the waiters had navy blue waistcoats and sky blue cravats tucked into them. The napkins were pristine midnight blue linen, Iris’s bouquet was crammed with powder blue roses and Cleo had employed a classful of A-level students the previ
ous week to handpick out the pink, purple and yellow bits of confetti from the only renewably sourced pack of paper sprinkles she could find. It all had to be blue, and Molly admitted that the effect of such dedicated co-ordination was staggering. Well, and she was staggering about because of all the booze, but still.

  The four women strolled out into the fresh, cooling night air and meandered over to the water’s edge.

  ‘Let’s get in the boat!’ Rach whooped, air-punching like only a sizzled girl can.

  Luckily Molly still had 60% of the sense she was born with. ‘Um, no. Let’s not. Coopers keep their feet on the ground, remember? Let’s sit here.’ Molly tried to sit down on the chaise longue as elegantly as she could in a form-fitting gown, but looked more like a mermaid trying to do the triple jump. The others flopped down next to her, Iris twirling her bouquet in her hands.

  ‘This is so lovely. I feel like a princess when I hold it. Do I really have to throw it?’

  ‘Nah,’ Suze said after a refreshing slug of champers. ‘Your new mother-in-law—’

  Rachel broke in with an ‘Ooooohhh!’

  ‘Yes, well she thought of that. There’s a dummy bouquet for you to throw – no wiring in that one, so no risk of a Lawyers 4 U case down the line – and then you can have this one dried for all time.’ Batting her lashes like a Disney princess, Suze held her hands under her chin and looked swoony.

  ‘Clever old Cleo.’ Iris nodded emphatically. ‘Now, what are we going to do about the other problem?’ She looked at Molly.

  ‘Problem? Have we run out of champagne? Has the hog roast fallen off its spit? Is Sam dancing again?’ Molly ran through any likely disasters she could think of.

  ‘Nope. I mean you,’ Iris gestured down the lawn, where Sam and Patrick were circling a four-foot tall Jenga tower like hyenas, sizing up the weakest brick to leap on. They were lit only by some tall church candles along the path and aqua blue Chinese lanterns dangling beautifully along a cord from the house to the marquee, but Molly would know those figures anywhere. The poker-straight posture of her brother, combined with his gangly limbs and habit of ruffling up his hair when thinking. Patrick’s broad shoulders hunched in concentration, one hand at his chin, the other shoved in his charcoal grey trousers. Yes, Molly would know him anywhere.

  As her eyes traced his figure up to his face, she suddenly realised he was looking at her. Right at her, even in the half-light. Molly’s heart kicked into fifth gear and raced away, but she kept her features cool and turned to Iris as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. And him. You know who I mean.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Molly pursed her lips.

  ‘You bloomin’ well do!’ Suze said with an indignant squeak. ‘Rach, back me up here.’

  But Rachel was quietly asleep, sat on a soft rug with her head resting against the seat of the chaise longue. Suze tutted and carried on, without her eye witness.

  ‘Fine. You have been like cyber-Molly these past weeks. Not calling or texting, just working. Working working working. We’ve all noticed it, and there’s only one explanation. He’s tall and devastatingly handsome and maybe just as stubborn as you.’

  Molly ran her hands over the silky smooth satin and inspected the grubby hem that trailed into the grass. ‘I’m allowed to be a bit grumpy after a breakup, aren’t I? Throwing yourself into work is the classic coping mechanism.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Iris toyed with the baby’s breath in her bouquet, considering what an unpleasant name it was. ‘If things were totally broken, I might agree, but it seems like it’s not quite the end of the story.’

  Molly tried to bluster her way through a denial but Suze cut over her. ‘Yes, all those lingering looks over the head table and then the dance floor and now this nice lawn seem to suggest there’s something still there, Mols. Something worth trying for. Just talk to him, for God’s sake.’

  Flushing red with embarrassment and frustration, Molly replied quickly, ‘Can I just remind you that he had a big barney with me, not the other way around? If I went over there right now,’ – the Jenga pile that Patrick and Sam were frowning over wobbled dangerously – ‘and disturbed their little engineering competition, it would hardly be the best platform for olive branch type business. He probably still thinks I’m a scheming puppet master who likes to toy with people for my own evil enjoyment while I cackle like a sociopath and stroke a cat and plant bombs in buildings and—’

  Suzanne held up a neat and well-manicured hand. ‘You’re going into crazy waffle mode. Stop. Stop now before I garrotte you with vintage bunting. Talk to him. It won’t be that bad.’

  Molly held back a splutter of cynical laughter. ‘He told me how vile I was in the middle of the park; I’m sure shooting me down in front of all of my friends and family won’t even put a wrinkle in his rugby shirt. I, on the other hand, would find it a bit perturbing. So, no. I stay here,’ – Molly patted the chaise longue to her side and got a handful of Rach’s face by mistake – ‘and he stays over there. And I drink this.’

  With a wash of champagne down her throat, Molly tried to close the subject. She half-succeeded: there was silence for almost forty seconds.

  Before Iris broke in thoughtfully, in a soft voice. ‘Nothing’s for certain, Mollypops. Can I call you that, by the way? Anyway, he might shoot you down, or he might just be really grateful that you’ve broken the ice. Nothing’s guaranteed. I mean, Sam and I … who can say how a marriage will work out?’

  A stereo gasp from her audience made Iris realise she hadn’t quite phrased that in the best way.

  ‘No, no,’ she giggled, ‘I mean, I know we’ll work out – I love him and he makes me unbelievably happy – and I know in my heart that he’s the one for me, but can I predict what might go wrong? No. Can I guarantee that Sam and I won’t have our troubles and fallings out? No. In fact I can probably guarantee we will sooner or later. The gamble is part of the excitement. You can’t always know – or control – what might happen, Mols. You might get hurt; you might find the most extreme happiness that makes you talk like a loon. Yes, I know Sam and I have ridiculous pet names. But that’s what love should do: make you into a fool. A bit of a knob, sometimes.’ With a grin, Iris looked at her new sister-in-law while she twiddled the wedding band that still felt a little odd on her left hand.

  ‘What she said.’ Suze nodded solemnly.

  ‘You’re all drunked,’ Molly said, her vision suddenly getting a bit swimmy. ‘And I need a coffee. Enough of this Oprah-ness, or Rach will be annoyed she missed the juicy bits.’

  As if in reply, Rachel gave a soft snort of a snore from her position on the rug.

  The two married ladies watched their friend hobble off towards the house, her heels sinking into the lawn as their hopes for her love life sunk deep into their stomachs.

  Chapter Forty

  At just after half past twelve, the DJ faded down ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancing’, much to the annoyance of the recently awoken Rachel who was throwing shapes like a geometry teacher who dabbled in mime. Molly had been enjoying ridiculing her blonde friend’s strutting for the last five minutes, so was equally miffed.

  ‘What the f—’ A drunken Rach shouted just as a squeal of feedback made the whole throng of dancers wince.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Cleo said crisply to the DJ as she spoke into the mic. ‘Ladies and gentlemen and all other youngsters, it’s lovely to see you all enjoying yourselves. Now, you have been promised karaoke tonight and as much as I love you all,’ a boozy cheer went up from the dance floor, ‘I don’t want to hear you screaming like tone-deaf banshees strangling cats in my back garden.’ A wall of boos hit the DJ’s booth. ‘SO,’ Cleo continued, with a firm shout, ‘I have saved my ear drums and my sanity and arranged for a barge to take you on a two-hour trip of the Thames here, with a fully operational karaoke machine and heavily stocked bar. The “party boat”,’ – Cleo wearily rolled her eyes – ‘awaits you. All aboard!’

  The cheers returned in a fer
ocious volume and forty-odd twenty-somethings (and those dastardly cheeky cousins from Sam’s leaving party) filed out of the lavish marquee.

  Molly caught up with Cleo, the older Cooper heading back to the house. ‘Mum! This is amazing! Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Cleo wrapped her cashmere shawl a little more tightly around her and stifled a yawn. ‘It’s time to separate the wheat from the old gits. Jasmine tea and a sofa are calling us. Go and live loud, my darling.’ With a soft kiss on the cheek, and giving Molly a whiff of her Jean Paul Gaultier perfume, Cleo strode on to her cosy retreat.

  * * *

  Within ten minutes of setting sail down the Thames, it was like Molly and her friends had found themselves on a time-travelling pleasure boat. The cheesy nineties tunes were back to back, the air was full of bright flashes of green, red and yellow from the old-school disco lights and a balding DJ – who Molly swore did her A-level leavers’ ball – was spinning the wheels of steel up on the deck. Well, he was spinning his iPod wheel, anyway.

  ‘Hellooo party people. Are you having a good time?’ he drawled, to which there was a sarcastic, ‘Um, yeah’ from Sam, as he pointed at his new and gorgeous missus. ‘Well, OK,’ the DJ carried on regardless. ‘Just some classic tunes to get you in the mood, then we’ll kick off the karaoke madness. I believe the husband and wife’ – a communal coo went up from the boaters – ‘would like someone to volunteer to sing them a ‘first karaoke dance’. But whooooo will it be?’ Milking each word for all its worth, the DJ winked at Rachel and made her worry about seeing all that champagne again.

  The blonde fashionista turned to Molly and Martin. ‘Don’t make me sing. Am too drunk but still human. Would die up there. Is this boat rocking or is it just me?’