‘He was dead sweet, he even offered to foot the bill if I wanted him to!’
She laughs, and we all join in. We know Rach’s dad would never let anybody foot the bill. ‘And you should see the bridesmaids dresses they’ve got! We’ll all go there next month and pick,’ she claps her hands, ‘I’ve booked a slot. You get bubbly and the place is all white, and posh, and the girl who owns it is lovely. What do you say?’
We all say ‘Yes’ loudly, and drink lots (and I mean lots) of bubbly and laugh. By the end of the evening I feel I might be warming to Michael, but am now totally confused about Jack. He just used to be so nice. And I know I’m going to have a humdinger of a bad head tomorrow.
‘Oh, Gawd, how can it be last orders already? This evening has gone by so quick, it’s been so fab.’ Rach reaches out, and we all have a group hug over the tableful of empties, and the barman snatches them from beneath our boobs. ‘Aww, I’m so lucky to have you lot.’
‘We’re all so lucky, this is so exciting!’ Sal stands up. ‘Let’s have a room party! Come on, all back to mine, I’ve got a bottle of sambuca, it’ll be just like old times.’
The old times with sambuca that I remember made me very ill, I am no longer friends with sambuca.
‘Really sorry, but I’m going to call it a night, I can’t keep up with you lot!’ Maddie smiles, even through my alcohol fug I can see she’s tired. She never was a heavy drink, she liked to have a laugh, but was never the ‘let it all hang out’ type.
‘And I’m going to have to get back or I’ll get locked out.’ I link my arm through hers in a gesture of solidarity. Though it’s quite a wobbly kind on my side.
‘Ooooh, Freddie’s waiting for her!’ Sal cackles.
I settle for a wink. ‘Who knows?’ I’m going to regret saying that, but it does shut her up. Point for me.
‘Well, at least meet us for breakfast, babe?’ Rachel wraps me in a hug.
‘Defo, you’re on!’
‘And you will all come to my engagement party next week, won’t you? You will be home? We need to plan my hen party!’
It’s her parting shot as I say goodbye to the three of them at the door of the bar. They all weave off up the road in one direction, and I head back to Freddie. My cool geek.
And I think I’ve just realised when I first started to fall for him. When I created fantasy Freddie. The day he came home clutching champagne, pizza and a copy of the game he’d been working on. The game that had gone viral, the game we played until 3 a.m. The game with a red-haired kick-ass heroine called Jane.
Chapter 11
Brighton was bliss. Partly because I had a bit of a Facebook fast (apart from posting the photos – which was a bit of a hit and run job). First, because I didn’t want to read Coral’s New York posts and I wouldn’t have been able to resist, and second (and more importantly) for the first few days I was scared stiff I’d forget to disable my location and everybody (Coral and Crystal) would know I wasn’t in Ibiza. And anyway, Freddie wouldn’t let me spend more than thirty seconds a day doing it. He said it was bad for my mental health, and I needed a break.
I did realise though, after meeting up with the girls, that I was on dangerous ground. This particular secret was one that was now bound to come out. I’d kind of forgotten that the rest of the world, not just Coral, would see. And, before you ask, I fully intend on ’fessing up to everybody. Even before Rachel and my parents started to ‘like’ my pictures. So, I decided it was daft lying to Coral, she’d find out at some point. It was easier to just show her I was having a bloody good laugh in Brighton. And believe me Brighton is cool, just look on Insta. I got more likes within seconds of posting my first beach huts than my twenty-seven fake Ibiza photos had in total.
One massive bonus (always look on the bright side) of not being in New York though, is that I got a total break from Coral (I’m pretty sure her real name is actually Carol) and a bit of me time, which I haven’t had for ages. Not that I got that much me time as Freddie seemed to think he was on some kind of suicide watch. Though when I broached it with him, he did say that suicide isn’t all about walking into the sea, sometimes it’s about burying yourself in carbs and slumping on the sofa all day, both of which can (according to Freddie) seriously shorten your life. He did however say this as we were crashed out on the sofa, stuffing our faces with ice cream, popcorn and beer, mid Netflix binge.
‘And I want you to live a long and happy one, as long as you promise you’re not going to keep trying to throw my old clothes away and pretend it’s for my own good.’
‘It is for your own good.’ I pause Killing Eve, just as Villanelle strokes her finger along the blade of a knife. ‘You’ll never get the girl you deserve if you look like a tramp.’
‘I don’t want the girl I deserve, I want the …’ He pauses, mid-flow and his eyes narrow. ‘You’re doing that thing where you stop the convo about you by switching it to me.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. We were talking about your suicide, not my jeans.’
I give a deep sigh. ‘Ha-ha all that was ages ago, I told you, I’m up for this wedding. I am so over Andy.’ But I’m not, not deep down. I think it’s the shame, the embarrassment, the loss that comes when you’ve invested everything into (as it turns out) nothing. I mean, what kind of girl gets dumped during her hen party? Although, as Rach said at the time, ‘that says more about him than you’. This wedding is going to bring it all flooding back though, and I so want to be genuinely happy for Rach, not just faking it and pretending I’m somewhere else. As bad things go, missing Rach’s wedding comes second only to missing my own.
‘I was talking about Coral and New York, not him.’ Freddie says softly.
‘Whatever, I am not suicidal, I never have been. I’m not the type.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Anyhow, you’re one to talk, you don’t want a guy, so why should I want a girl?’
‘That’s different.’ I stare at my ice cream, suddenly fascinated by the way the fudge bits manage to stay solid. Once upon a time, I did believe in forever guys, then I was shown the error of my ways.
‘No, it’s not.’ His voice softens. ‘Just because I haven’t been publicly stood up …’
‘That’s it, rub it in.’ Having my heart broken was bad enough, but having it done in full view of the rest of the world really hurt. I might as well have held up a big sign with I’M A TOTAL FAILURE on it. See, I’m not completely over it. I might have fallen out of love with him, but not yet fallen out with the idea of being part of an ‘us’.
Freddie ignores my interruption. ‘… doesn’t mean I’m on a hunt for commitment. Love isn’t like that.’ He shrugs. ‘You can’t always fall for the right people—’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘—and if you don’t want second best then.’ He stirs his own tub of ice cream, then puts the spoon down. ‘You have to stick with your old favourites, the ones you’re comfy in.’
‘We’re talking jeans here?’
He ignores me, ‘and don’t try and stir things up.’
‘I thought Andy was my first best though.’
‘We’re all allowed the odd mistake.’
‘So how the hell are you supposed to realise when you have found the One, the best?’
‘You know.’ He’s not looking at me now, he’s miles away. ‘Believe me, you know. Nobody else ever looks the same again.’ He stands up abruptly and not for the first time I wonder what happened to lovely Freddie. Who did this to him? ‘I better check the place is like Mum left it, we’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
I grab his hand to slow him down. ‘Thanks, Freddie, really. You’ve been ace.’
He pulls free and ruffles my hair. ‘De nada. Anyhow, I like being mates with you. It’s cool.’ He grins, then sighs and glances down at his mobile. ‘Much better than all that complicated will they won’t they, stuff … and being scared of saying stuff that can be taken the wrong way.’ He throws his phone down. ‘Ann
ie’s not happy about me being here without her.’ ‘Nor with me,’ I add in my head, though don’t say it out loud. ‘And,’ his face squishes up, ‘she’s asking about moving in.’ He threads his fingers through his hair, so that it sticks up in all directions.
My heart sinks. A ménage à trois would not be the same. ‘Do you want her to?’ I force myself to say.
‘No, but I don’t know how to tell her. She’s nice, I like her.’ He looks tortured.
‘Just tell her the truth Freddie. She’ll understand.’
‘I don’t think she will.’ He shakes his head. ‘I better get tidying. Bins out, stuff like that.’
‘Freddie, what were you going to say before? You know, you didn’t want the girl you deserve, you wanted, what? Who?’
He doesn’t turn round, and his words are soft, but definite. ‘I want the girl I fell for a long time ago. The one I always thought was “my One”.’
‘Who is she?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not now, Jane.’
‘Maybe you need to give up, move on, keep looking?’
‘Maybe, or maybe not quite yet. I always was a silly, stubborn sod. You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?’
I smile. ‘Not if she means that much to you.’ There’s a lump in my throat. I’ve never thought of Freddie as being madly in love with a girl. ‘If she ever says yes, I’m totally buggered. Who am I going to talk to then?’
He laughs. ‘Worry about that when it happens. Have you finished with that beer?’
‘Sure, I can help you tidy up.’
‘No, you just chill. Jane?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You know what I think you really need to do, to get over what happened?’
‘Shag Bradley Cooper?’
‘I’m being serious.’
I kneel up on the sofa, lean on the back and look at him. ‘Go on.’
‘You need to get your career sorted.’
‘Career?’
‘Your photos, you noddle!’
Nobody has ever called it a career before. Though I have been called a noddle.
‘The pics you’ve taken here are brilliant. They’re funny, clever. You need to get your finger out.’
‘But I’m not—’
‘You don’t have to walk away from Coral, you just need to know in your head when you will. Get some credit, I don’t know.’ He shrugs, waves a hand. ‘My name is on those games I write, I get some credit. You need to own it, Jane. Claim your life back, the one you want, not the one that jerk wanted you to have.’ He has coloured up. It’s quite a speech for Freddie and I’m left open-mouthed. He’s never called Andy a jerk before either. ‘I’m proud of you, you know.’ It’s a bit of a mumble, but I know he means it. Which brings a lump to my throat.
‘Thanks.’ It comes out all small and pathetic, but I don’t think he hears anyway. He whizzes off as though he’s overstepped the mark.
I slump back down on the sofa. He’s right, I do need to own my life.
I also think I’m in trouble. Because just now, I wanted to grab Freddie and do things to him that have always belonged firmly in the fantasy box.
And he’s just told me that he’s never got over some other girl. That he’s still waiting for her to come back.
Talk about rebound relationship, we’d be totally doomed.
So, while Freddie is tidying up, I distract myself with work. I un-post my last batch of Ibiza photos and, throwing caution to the wind, I re-post a load of silly seagull Brighton ones. Then dash down to the seafront and take some more.
It feels strangely liberating, as the wind buffets my face, and my hair lashes against my cheek.
It also makes me feel sad. I’ll miss this place. And my time with Freddie. I mean I know we’re together in the flat, but this has been different. As intimate as it gets with your clothes on, I guess.
I’m sad for Freddie, too. And when this wedding is over I’m going to help him find his old ‘one’ or persuade him to look for a new improved version. We can’t both be miserable sods, hankering after relationships that were never meant to be, can we?
Freddie deserves to be happy. Being here, like this, has made me realise that whoever gets Freddie is a very lucky girl, loads luckier than I’d have been if I’d married Andy.
Andy never was one for eating cockles, laughing at seagulls or kissing turtles.
Andy would have thrown my camera into the sea and made me grow up.
He doesn’t like sand in the bed.
Or Killing Eve.
I wish I could just stay here.
With Freddie.
Chapter 12
I’ve been at Mum and Dad’s house for less than half an hour when my mobile rings. Luckily, it is not Darth Vader. Darth and I have only been on texting – and not speaking – terms since that horrible phone call. I’m hoping I’ve still got a job, but I’m not one hundred per cent positive. For all I know Coral could be packing Crystal into her mah-oosive Louis Vuitton fake trunk and shipping her back as we speak. I hope she has to pay a premium for oversize luggage.
‘Hey, I saw your posts on Insta! You went to Ibiza and New York? Jeez, you get around these days, girl.’ Rachel laughs, to show she’s kidding.
‘Fuck, the Ibiza pics aren’t still up, are they? I thought I’d deleted …’
‘Chill, they’ve gone. I was kidding. How was Brighton after we left? Any hot dates?’
That makes me pause. The image of Freddie and our shared sunset flickers into my head. Nope, better not go there. ‘You were my only hot date!’
‘Ha-ha, you’re funny. That’s why I rang, thought I better check we were still on for tomorrow and you hadn’t dashed off into the sunset with Freddie and dumped me.’
‘Never! I wouldn’t miss your engagement party for anything! Italian place on the High Street?’
‘Bugger, didn’t you get my email?’
‘Email?’ Hell, I’ve been so busy posting photos and having fun, I just haven’t bothered checking. Which is so not me, I’m a ‘refresh every 10 seconds’ kind of person. Normally. Except now isn’t normal.
‘Oh, don’t sweat it, it doesn’t matter. But the whole thing kind of spiralled out of control a bit, and we’ve invited everybody! Mikey said why not, you only get engaged once!’
Mikey, it seems, only does everything once, apart from the obvious thing that he’s done several times with several different women.
‘So, Mum offered to do something at home. Much better, free booze and I only have to walk up the stairs when I’m drunk!’
‘Fab!’ Bugger.
When Rachel said the words ‘engagement party’ in Brighton, even though I was bladdered, a part of my brain went, ‘Oh, Gawd, what do I wear?’ Then at breakfast the next day she’d said it was at a restaurant we went to quite a bit, and I went phew, smart jeans, sparkly top, heels, sorted. Which is what I packed before heading to my parents. And a blingy necklace, which I had thought might be over the top, but I’d take it anyway.
The situation has now changed though. The necklace is definitely not over the top, it is the only suitable part of my wardrobe, but obviously I can’t wear just that.
Rachel’s house is a whole different scenario. As is, ‘We invited everybody.’
I did not arrive at my parents’ house equipped for a flashy engagement party. I arrived with the type of small wheelie-case that makes it easy to make a quick getaway when you’ve heard one too many comments about eating toast in bed leaving crumbs, and the toothpaste needing to be squeezed from the bottom. I mean, I do love my mum, but loving somebody and living with them can be two different things altogether.
Now, Rachel might not be intending it to turn out that way, but it will definitely be très pawsh. This is because her folk are loaded. This isn’t loaded as in you don’t have to think twice about buying the book and the new lipstick. I’m talking seriously flush, though, surprisingly un-flash.
Their whole life went supersized the day her dad entered the Dragon�
��s Den and came out with bucket loads of dosh and a whole load of TV exposure. When we were thirteen they upsized in a way that made my jaw hang loose. At that age you’re not green eyed about stuff like big houses (just boyfriends, and new jeans and flash mobiles), you’re just awe-struck.
Up until then, tea round at her house had involved being squashed round the Formica kitchen table and being able to see the TV in the lounge if you leaned back just a tiny (unnoticeable) amount.
Now there was a TV the size of a car in the kitchen, reaching the lounge couldn’t be done in high heels, and you could hold a party in her bedroom.
I know. We did. And now, my whole flat would fit in the third bathroom.
So however nice, normal and totally unflashy her folks were, the other party guests will be dressed to impress. I have to make an effort.
And who knows what ‘everybody’ means. It could even mean Andy, as we had made quite a foursome a few years ago and I know he is still good friends with Michael.
Normally I would log onto my bank account and check the balance then say to hell with it and go shopping. Now is not normal though. Now is post non-US trip, and like I said I am stony broke.
I check my coat pockets, and that little secret pocket in my handbag where I occasionally squirrel away a £10 note. I even rattle the piggy bank in my bedroom that Mum has kindly kept. It yields several old £1 coins, some hair grips and a trolley token.
I have reached such a desperate low that I am actually building up courage to ask Mum if I can borrow something of hers to wear.
Then I do a mental reccy of her wardrobe and all hope is lost. Let’s just say, there are ways to do animal print that are on-trend and look wicked, and there are ways that say it is so over. I will be better dressed if I turn up in just my sparkly necklace.
I mean, I do love Mum, and she does have a certain style, but I’m not ready to turn into her yet. Or talk about hot flushes. Or keep my elbows off the table and my knees together.
Bridesmaids Page 9