Bridesmaids

by Zara Stoneley

  There is only one way out of this, and it involves a man and next day delivery.

  I need to talk to Freddie.

  I glance down at my vibrating phone, and it’s him.

  It’s like we have this weird connection. Like when you and your best friend suddenly realise your periods have totally tuned in. Like I say. Weird. He’s a man.

  ‘Freddie!’

  ‘Jane, I have …’

  We both speak at the same time. Both stop. Then start again.

  ‘I am so screwed, I …’

  ‘I’ve made a spur of the mom—’

  We both stop talking again. But I did hear what he said. Spur of the moment? Freddie doesn’t normally do spontaneous. Apart from the Brighton trip. And the day I told him how I’d been dumped by Andy, when he suggested we hold a wake for my (never to be used) wedding dress … Okay, he’s spontaneous when he knows I’m having a crisis, which seems to have happened more times than it should have done lately.

  ‘What do you mean?’ That is said in synchronicity, so we both start laughing.

  ‘You first.’

  ‘No, you first.’

  ‘Hang on a second.’

  ‘What are you doing, there’s an echo now.’

  ‘I’ve gone into the bathroom.’ I push the door shut and sit on the loo. ‘So Mum doesn’t listen in.’ I’d forgotten how nosy mothers can be. It’s no wonder the teenage years are so tough, that you end up paranoid that you can’t do anything right, and never get to do what you want. Big Mother is watching you (or reading your private stuff) and slyly making suggestions to try to get you back on the right track. I now realise Mum did not have any kind of ESP or worldly knowledge. She spied (or as she would say, kept a loving eye) on me.

  ‘I’ve got my feet up, hang on, hang on, let me make a coffee.’

  ‘Freddie! Are you suggesting this could take some time?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger.’ I stop twiddling my hair and grinning like a teenager in love. ‘Well, you’re wrong! I just need you to do me a favour, if you’ve got time?’

  ‘Always got time for you. Although …’ there’s a pause in his voice, which makes my heart hammer. This isn’t my ‘Dear John’ is it? When I discover he’s got a new girlfriend who he really is into this time, and I’m going to lose my flatmate and my home. Is this why he rang?

  ‘Although?’ Be brave, Jane. Be brave. I cross my fingers and close my eyes. Please don’t say you’ve fallen in love. Please, please.

  ‘I’m going away for a few days to see a mate. I was just ringing to see if you want me to shut the curtains and set the light timer on? I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.’

  Phew. Or not phew.

  ‘Going away, like today?’ Shit, shit, shit. I’m going to have to borrow money off Mum. Or Dad. Dad is a better option, less explanation required, just more truth. A tricky one.

  ‘Like tomorrow.’ There’s a smile in his voice, I can hear it. I can picture the lift at the corners of his mouth. The twinkle in his eyes.

  Phew.

  ‘Why, what’s up?’

  ‘I need a favour. I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’m totally desperate. Say no if you want, I won’t be upset.’ Much.

  Memo to self. When feeling in despair at being a singleton, or feeling overwhelming randy, or thinking similarly inappropriate thoughts when faced with a sexy man wandering half naked through your flat (or wandering barefoot on the Brighton sand). Remember, a friend is for life, not just for romance. Whereas a lover can be here one Christmas and gone the next.

  So, value your wonderful friend, and do not allow yourself to lust after him in any way whatsoever. And definitely do not be tempted to paw him. Because that way will lead to disaster.

  Freddie has saved the day. And my dignity. He has gone one better than Parcelforce and agreed to make a detour and bring me a dress. See, I’d be a fool to snog him and risk losing all this, wouldn’t I?

  Chapter 13

  ‘It’s too short, isn’t it?’ I like skirts just above the knee because if they’re any longer they’re at the top of my footballer-calves and make my legs look like tree trunks. Hem above the knee and I have shapely legs, hem below, I have chair legs.

  Unfortunately, when I said little green dress, I forgot there were two. This is not the just above the knee one, this is the mid-thigh one.

  I squealed when he handed the bag over, then felt like screaming when I peeped inside. But how could I even let on? He’d ventured into my room, rooted in my drawers and almost saved my bacon. And I loved him for it, even if my head was shouting, ‘Sheeeet!’ in a very melodramatic way.

  Maybe thick black tights would save the day. Or a long coat.

  The coat idea is a no-go. Unless I wear a parka (bit heavy), or my Dad’s black funeral coat (defo says funeral not wedding), which I don’t think will work. For one, the sleeves are too long – I know because, in my desperation, I tried it on.

  The tights do make my legs less noticeable, which is a definite bonus.

  I am wondering about sewing the hem of the dress to them or putting my jeans back on when I hear Mum quizzing Freddie and decide I really do have to get a move on.

  So I scurry downstairs, and accept his very insistent offer of a lift. Then discover that mid-thigh is fine, until I sit in a car. Or stand up. Or wiggle. Or move at all really. And that thick black tights just give this dress something to cling onto and climb up.

  Hopefully this is a ‘stand-still, clutch a canapé and chat’ type of party.

  ‘Can you just look the other way, please?’ We’ve pulled up, so it is safe to ask. ‘Ouch, bugger, oh, frigging hell, how am I supposed …’ Some girls can take their entire wardrobe off in a car and put a new one on. I can’t. I don’t think I was born bendy enough.

  ‘What are you—’

  ‘Trying to take these bloody tights off. Don’t look, don’t you dare turn round!’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Shit, I’m stuck, buggering, bugger. My foot is, can you …’

  ‘Am I allowed to look now then?’

  ‘My foot is stuck.’ Word of warning, don’t ever put one foot on the dashboard when your thighs are bound together by a tight dress, and your knees are in the deadly grip of a gusset that believe me isn’t giving extra stretch. ‘I’ve got one foot on the dash, and the other is wedged under the glove compartment, and I’m getting cramp!’

  ‘Oh, look, lots more guests arriving.’

  ‘Shit, what, where?’ I twist around and crick my neck. Seeing me spread-legged is so not what an engagement party is supposed to be about.

  ‘Kidding. Here.’ He hauls me upright on the seat, and my legs snap together like the jaws of a hungry crocodile.

  ‘Thanks.’ I take a deep breath and try to wriggle the hem of the dress down to a decent level. ‘That was mean, saying that.’

  ‘Sorry.’ His grin doesn’t say sorry, his grin says I’d be better off begging him to take me home.

  ‘I should have asked you to bring my black dress.’ The down to the knee, no cleavage showing, dress.

  ‘Too late now.’

  ‘I need to go back and change.’

  ‘I thought you had nothing else to wear?’ He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and makes me laugh.

  ‘True.’

  He kisses me on the cheek. It’s a fleeting touch of his lips against my skin, but it sends a tiny shiver all the way down to the base of my stomach. He’s never kissed me before, he’s blown kisses, hugged me. But never actually kissed me.

  I look out of the window self-consciously and wonder what would have happened if he’d done that in Brighton. When we had our moment. On the seafront.

  Oh, how ridiculous! I’m being daft, it was a friendly peck on the cheek for heaven’s sake, not an invite to start fantasising. I’ve done it to him without thinking, it means nothing. He’s just never done it back.

  I dare glance back at him, knowing I’ve got pink cheeks, but he doesn’t seem to no
tice.

  Phew. That’s good. If he ever guesses about the route my thoughts take me on sometimes, we’re stuffed. He’d be out of here faster than a rocket out of a rocket launcher.

  ‘Stop panicking, you look gorgeous. It will be great, honest.’ He looks me in the eye. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  He’s right, well, at least on the dress front. I’m not sure about the physical contact kiss-front. It muddles my brain, or my body at least. Treading on dangerous ground.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ I’ve just got myself all worked up because this feel likes a big deal. It is the first step along the ‘Rach is getting married and I’m going to her wedding’ route. And that’s why the kiss made me feel like that. Nerves. Panic. Nothing to do with lustful thoughts that are strictly out of bounds.

  ‘You will. You just need to get this over with.’

  ‘I do.’ I’m still frozen to the spot.

  ‘Go on then.’ He nudges. ‘Get your bum out of my car. The party will be over before you get there!’

  I swing my legs out, knees glued together. I’m sure I read in Cosmo that this is the way ladies avoid knicker flashing. Although I think I might have already done that.

  Which reminds me, I think I forgot to put my no VPL ones on. I really, really want to check. I think about pretending I’ve dropped my bag then I can have a sneak peek between my legs but that would look like I’m puking and would be weird with Freddie (well, anybody) sat next to me.

  ‘Have fun.’ He winks. ‘You look amazing.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like to? No. No.’ Inviting him in would start a million and one rumours.

  As I wiggle my way towards the massive front door, keeping my knees together to avoid a riding-up incident, I realise I’ve got my fingers on my cheek. Where he kissed it. Bugger. I really am going to have to stop myself liking him quite so much.

  It was a friendly gesture.

  When he said I looked gorgeous and amazing he was just being nice, boosting my confidence.

  Freddie is my flatmate. The perfect best male friend. And even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t do relationships. Apart from with the one from his past.

  Like he said, mates are better.

  ‘Aww, it’s so lovely to see you again, Jane. How are you?’ Rachel’s mum wraps me in a Chanel-scented hug, then holds me at arm’s length. ‘You look wonderful!’

  ‘All over that stupid bugger, are you?’ Her dad nudges me in the ribs. ‘Bet you’ve got a new man, eh? Is that him dropped you off? Where’s he gone, parking up?’ He winks. He’s always been the ‘bigger than life, dad-dancing, chasing you round the house, tickle you to death’ type. Though I’m not sure that’s appropriate with thirty year olds, even if it was when we were eleven. In fact, was it then?

  ‘He’s, er, a friend.’

  ‘She lives with him!’ Rachel bounces up and grabs me in a hug. ‘Come on, come on.’ She’s pulling me across the hallway, and I manage a limp wave at her parents before she corners me and whispers in my ear. ‘Don’t worry, Andy isn’t here.’

  I resist the urge to do a fist pump. ‘Thank God for that!’

  ‘But Jack is.’

  ‘Oh, no, you’re kidding?’

  ‘We had to invite him, I mean he is the husband of my bridesmaid.’

  ‘I don’t think you had to spell that one out.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She pulls an apologetic face. ‘And he’s the, er, best man.’

  ‘Great, him and Maddie can walk down the aisle side by side. Bugger.’

  ‘And Andy’s an usher. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, but he’s been Michael’s mate for so long just like you’ve been mine, but at least he’s not here today.’

  This is getting to be Ex’s Reunited, without the united bit. There’ll be a fistfight between the pews if we’re not careful.

  ‘You couldn’t keep an eye on Mads, could you? I swear she’s already had three glasses of bubbly, and you know she’s never been a big drinker.’

  ‘Sure. Of course.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get you a drink, then we’ll find her. Oh, and Beth’s here, isn’t that brill!’

  That one piques my interest. Beth used to be a real laugh, I’m not quite sure if she’s completely reinvented herself, or whether the old Beth lies dormant beneath her motherly boobs, but I’m dying to find out.

  ‘With the baby?’ It could be hard to see beyond the bosom if she has a newborn clasped to it.

  ‘She got a babysitter.’

  ‘I certainly did.’ The girl herself has popped out from the kitchen, clutching what looks to be a massive mojito. ‘I wasn’t going to miss this for anything. God, it’s weird, I feel like I’ve forgotten a bit of myself, but it’s so bloody brilliant being off duty! Bloody hell, Jane, it’s good to see you, how long has it been? You’ve not changed, well, you have a bit, but the scaffolding is still the same!’

  The old Beth is still there, and it’s such a relief I start to cackle hysterically, then stop and bury my nose in the glass of bubbly that Beth has pushed into my hand.

  She’s got less black kohl round her eyes than last time I saw her, and her short spiky hair has lost some of its, well, spikiness, but there’s a stud in her nose, a piercing at the tip of one eyebrow, and she still swears like a trooper.

  Our parents didn’t like her, but we all loved her.

  ‘Mouth like a sewer,’ more than one mother had been heard to say, when they all thought we weren’t listening. Which made us even keener to draw her into our clique, we needed her in our gang.

  ‘Oh, Beth, Beth, Beth, it’s really you!’ Maddie has crept up behind me and is now jumping about like a lunatic. I glance at Rachel, who mouths ‘Prosecco’ and grins.

  ‘Mads, Mads, Mads, it really is!’ Beth mimics Maddie, then grabs her in a bear hug. ‘Now you have changed, what happened to mousy Mads?’

  ‘Mousy? You didn’t call me that, did you? Who called me that?’

  ‘Everybody was mousy compared to Beth.’ Sally’s judgmental tone cuts into the conversation. We all spin round.

  ‘Fuck me, it’s the scarlet woman!’ Beth laughs so loudly I can’t help but smile. ‘Just like old times, eh?’

  They look at each other. Just like old times. Sal was never that keen on Beth, I think because she couldn’t compete with her. They were too different, and Beth wasn’t into one-upmanship, she did her own thing and to hell with what people thought. ‘Corrupted poor innocent Jack, I hear, and,’ her eyes are twinkling, ‘squashed him under your well-maintained thumb.’ Sal straightens her spine, her eyes narrow. Trust Beth to say what we’ve all been dying to, but not had the balls. Or been too polite. ‘Wouldn’t have thought you were his type to be honest, and,’ she tips her head on one side (as I tip my Prosecco down my throat), ‘wouldn’t have thought he was yours. Don’t you fancy a man who’s a bit of a challenge, who can man handle you, in a purely figurative way of course. Although,’ she laughs, a tinkly, pretty laugh that’s always been at odds with the feisty girl we love, ‘look where that got me! Maybe you should just stick with it, Sal. Sorry Mads.’ She gives Maddie a quick hug. Beth all over. She always was as quick to kiss and make up as she was to shit stir and say what she thought.

  Why the hell was I worried about my dress? Nobody is even going to notice what I am wearing with sparks like this in the air.

  ‘Well, now, lovely ladies, bit of bad news, I’m afraid!’ Luckily, Rachel’s Uncle Peter lurches into the middle of our little group before it all ignites. ‘Jack has had an urgent work call.’ He’s a vet. ‘Apparently, a greedy snake has over done it on the fat mouse front and is choking! What’s the chances, eh? Never a dull moment!’

  What are the chances indeed? But this is good, and even better that the man in question hasn’t dared to set foot within a hundred yards of our little group.

  ‘Oh, Jane, I’m so, so pleased you said you’d be my bridesmaid.’ I’ve never been good at juggling a glass of wine and a plate of nibbles, so Rach and I have found a spot on the stairs for a drunken c
atch up. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with it though?’

  She’s frowning with concern, and I can feel myself welling up. I can’t lie, thinking about this wedding has been keeping me awake at night and making my stomach churn in the day. That’s partly why I knew I had to feel good about myself this evening, being dressed to my best was bound to make me feel more positive, right? Well, that didn’t start well. Although maybe having my legs bound together with a gusset is a sign.

  ‘Of course, I’m sure. No way would I miss your wedding!’ I hug her and take a moment to compose myself, and hope the tears go back in and not spill over my face – the one bit of me that didn’t prove too much of a problem. I might not have brought an appropriate frock, but I did bring my entire make-up arsenal.

  ‘Oh, Jane, I mean, I know this must be difficult, and you must hate weddings.’

  See? Everybody is going to assume that if I say anything negative, it’s sour grapes, because I hate weddings. ‘I don’t hate weddings, just ones with Andy. And I’m not planning on one of my own any time soon.’ Not that anybody is asking.

  ‘I do love him, you know.’ Rachel suddenly puts her plate down and grasps my hands in hers. ‘I know you worry, but he’s not the silly idiot he used to be at school you know. This is right, this is what I really want.’

  ‘I know.’ I smile. ‘And that’s all that matters.’

  ‘The whole Sara thing was a silly mistake you know.’

  I frown, I can’t help myself. This has come out of the blue. Who is Sara? I don’t remember a Sara from school. ‘Sara? I thought it was Emily?’ Oops, done it again, engaged mouth before brain. But, in the bright (too bright if you ask me) light of day, it is time to be honest. Somebody has to be. I owe it to Rachel to make sure she’s not just going to have the best day of her life, she’s going to have the best life.

  ‘Emily?’ She frowns, then suddenly laughs. Which rather takes me by surprise. ‘Oh, God, Jane, I’d forgotten about her! That was so funny!’

  ‘Ha-ha, yeah, how could you forget Emily?’ The Emily incident was a long time ago, in fact a very long time ago. We were studying for our A levels, and it cemented our friendship as solidly as, well, cement.