‘Not really.’ I stare back. ‘You don’t have to be in each other pockets,’ or weddings I could add, ‘to stay friends.’
‘You were part of the gang, Beth.’ Rachel adds.
‘You were more a part of the gang than me.’ I say.
Beth shrugs. ‘I know, but it wasn’t quite the same. All those adventures you two used to have in the old days.’ She grins at me, but it looks strained. ‘The way you led her astray!’
‘I did not. You were the one who led us all astray!’
‘Mebbe.’ She rubs her baby, who is making mewling noises, on the back. ‘God, look at us now though. Well, look at me!’
We are all looking.
‘Oh, God, the secrets I could tell!’ She laughs, then it dies as quickly as it appears, and is replaced by a look that’s a mixture of angry and sad. ‘Kidding. No secrets, just me being stupid enough to believe some stupid jerk would stick around for more than one poke.’
‘One?’ I stare at her, slightly shocked.
‘By the time I’d pulled up my knickers, he was talking about his ex.’
‘Oh, shit.’ I put my hand over my mouth.
Beth shrugs, and squeezes her baby a bit more tightly. ‘It’s fine, and I got Joe, the best thing that ever happened to me.’ Our gazes lock for a second over the downy baby-head. In those few seconds, I can see she loves him to bits, but she’s hurt, angry as well. And who can blame her?
‘Oh, Beth.’ Maddie rushes round the back of the seat, so she can lean over and hug her. ‘Men can be such bastards, can’t they?’ Then she goes beetroot red as she remembers where we are. And why. ‘Sugar, I didn’t mean … well, I mean, some men,’ she’s flapping her hands and spinning round. ‘I mean some men are fantastic, they’re—’
‘Shit, fuck, buggering …’ We don’t get to find out what the fantastic men are, as the darling baby has just projectile vomited right in Beth’s eye, over her shoulder and all over the carpet at Maddie’s feet.
Maddie squeaks and shoots backwards, topples over an unfortunately placed pouffe that is acting as a coffee table displaying bridal magazines, and lands on her back.
There’s the tiniest of sounds, that might have been ripping, of the gossamer, ethereal creation that she’s currently wearing.
‘Wow, that is bloody impressive. Who knew such a small creature could control such a stream of regurgitated milk? Respect.’ I high-five Beth, Joe splutters. ‘Oh my God, I’ve got vom in my eye!’ I flap my hands, smear the stuff further into my eye. ‘Shit, I’m going blind.’ I mop my eyes, realise I’m doing it with the hem of a satin dress, shriek, close my eyes, stumble back, and trip over Mads’ ankles.
‘Well, I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose, little cutie pie!’ Trust Sal to side with the baby. She’s gliding across, all coo-ey and concerned. Impossible to ignore.
‘Hell, sorry, Mads, sorry Jane.’ Beth leaps to her feet, and baby Joe, with a new target in sight treats us to a spectacular finale. At least I hope it’s a finale.
We all stare at Sal. He’s managed to hit her right between the boobs. We watch as it trickles down, pools in her cleavage.
There is a deathly hush. Broken by, ‘Ta-dah!’
Rachel leaps out from behind the curtain, a vision in white satin and lace. ‘What do you th—’
She freezes.
Joe dribbles, then smiles. The widest most genuine smile in the world and I can’t help it. I giggle. Maddie looks at me and starts. Beth puts her hand over her mouth, but then starts to snigger, and snort. Sal is still staring down her front, aghast.
Which makes it even funnier. Nothing like getting your just desserts. Or in this case, Joe’s.
‘Oops! I guess I shouldn’t have jumped up like that and jolted him.’
‘I guess not.’ The venom drips off Sal’s words in a pretty blood-curdling way.
‘Oh my God, let me hold him!’ Rachel, oblivious to the vom-soaked Sally has her arms outstretched.
‘No!’ An alarmed Beth, clutches Joe tighter to her chest and he starts up a wail that could compete with a pack of baying wolves. ‘The sick! Your dress, you don’t want, you can’t …’ She’s backing away as she speaks, the chaise longue gets the back of her knees and her and Joe collapse in a heap.
‘But I just—’
Rach is interrupted by Darth Vader. Which from the look on Beth’s face is a good job. I’ve never seen her panic like that before.
I scrabble to my knees, and slither across the cream carpet towards the very cute and very expensive looking chair.
‘Don’t touch my French Louis XV chair!!’
The screech reaches me, just as I put a slightly sticky hand out. It misses the chair, makes contact with my handbag – which I pull down.
Lovely Debs groans with relief and sinks onto the carpet.
‘I need Bristol!’ Coral’s words echo into the silence, as I’ve accidentally put her on speakerphone.
‘Bristol?’
‘It’s so fucking authentic. Get me a shot of that seagull with those limited edition Doc Martens I gave you.’
‘Oh, you mean Brighton.’
‘Bristol, Brighton, whatever. How the fuck am I supposed to know? New York is so overdone, it’s like pissing in a hailstorm getting noticed here.’
‘But—’
‘What is it with you and your fucking buts? Just get off yours and earn your keep.’
‘I’m on holi—’
‘Just do it. Gotta go.’
I flop back on the rather comfortable carpet and stare at the fake regency ceiling.
‘I thought you said she was thinking of staying out there?’
I tilt my head, so I can see Rach. ‘Sounds like the love affair is over.’ I smile. ‘Cool dress, you look ace by the way.’
‘I do?’
‘You do!’ We say it together, all four of us. Three bridesmaids and one puke-covered guest of honour. Finally, all singing from the same hymn sheet.
‘Really, Rach.’ I soften my tone and stare at her. ‘You’re the most gorgeous bride I’ve ever seen. Michael will be blown away.’ There’s a lump in my throat. This had been me, not so long ago. I had the most gorgeous dress in the world, a dress that pulled me in in the right places and showed off a figure I didn’t know I had. A dress that was supposed to blow Andy away, at the wedding that never happened. My bridesmaids had all been excited for me, and we’d celebrated with bubbly as I twirled and spun my way round the shop in impossibly beautiful shoes, with my hair piled up on top of my head.
I can’t ruin Rachel’s wedding, and I can’t let anybody else. I have to make this the best day of her life. Michael’s secret is safe with me.
‘You look amazing.’ She does, and this is all about her from now on, not me.
I can feel the tears well up in my eyes, but I daren’t wipe them away due to the risk of baby vom. So, I have to let them brim over.
Joe belches, and the moment is spoiled. It was nice while it lasted though.
Chapter 17
‘Freddie? Freddie! You’ve not seen my red Converse, have you?’ As normal, I’m late. This is because I had another ‘urgent’ call from Coral. Her calls are always urgent, and I have been known to put my foot down when they’re really not, but this was something that I could handle.
She’s just received a new handbag from an on-trend designer who is destined for BIG things. This is a scoop, and her photo has to be up before anybody else’s.
It just has to.
The hashtag will go viral, and she’ll be back to queening it over Daniel and his dog.
I’ll also be queening it. I’ve been thinking about what Freddie said when we were in Brighton, and realised he was right. I might not yet be ready to cut the shackles, but I am ready to start chipping away at them. So, I’d folded my arms the other day and faced up to her. I wanted my tag on the photos.
I’ve been building a portfolio up while I’ve been working with her, but have no followers of my own, and after the New York fia
sco (when she had to bin a whole load of Crystal’s snaps, ha) I felt it was now or never.
I might not be ready to break free from her yet, but I am going to have a plan. I’m going to start digging the tunnel, metaphorically of course. Along with chipping at the chain.
As Freddie said, she actually needs me more than I need her right now, and if I’m going to put up with the shit, then I might as well put some of it on my roses. I think he got a bit confused, but he means well. So, anyhow, we agreed that just as Rach’s wedding is all about her, and nothing to do with my disaster, my photographic career is all about me and nothing to do with Andy thinking of it as a hobby.
Freddie has told me that no way should I waste any opportunity to make my dream come true. That I need to have a game plan (he likes a game plan – after all, he does write computer games and he knows exactly how they’re supposed to turn out) and be the kick-ass version of myself that I used to be.
He’s right. Andy dissing my work, then dissing me, did kind of leave me wondering if it was all a pipe dream, but Freddie believes in me. He also pointed out that all my friends do, too, that it’s not just Rach, but also Maddie and Beth, and (begrudgingly) Sally who like my pics. And if Coral says yes to my demands then that proves something, too.
She said, yes.
Woohoo!
So, I got my tag. Tiny but hey, the grand masters only had a mini signature in the bottom of their masterpieces, didn’t they?
There is no answer from Freddie, so I start to grab T-shirts and jeans. Then it happens. My T-shirt moves. Without my assistance.
Oh. My. God. We’ve either got a poltergeist or a rat.
More likely a rat. In our beautiful bijoux apartment.
It moves again. Sugar.
The important thing is not to panic. Or scream. Stay calm. Get a long stick and poke it out.
I scream and jump on a stool.
‘What the hell, Jane, are you okay?’ Freddie is standing slightly breathless in the doorway. I give him a sideways glance but keep most of my attention on the drawer.
What if it gets out? Makes a run for it? It could end up anywhere.
‘Shut the drawer, shut the drawer!’
‘What?’
‘Quickly! And get a stick!’
‘A stick, why?’ He hasn’t moved.
‘To poke it with! Get the broom or something. There’s a rat or something, look, look,’ I point so wildly I nearly lose my balance. ‘There’s something, there’s something, something moved! It’s alive, in my drawer.’ I’m waving like a loony, my heart is pounding so hard I need to sit down.
Freddie edges towards the drawers. Sideways. Brave, but not full on.
‘No forget the stick, just shut the flaming drawer. Poking it might make it angry, it might leap at me. Rats can leap, can’t they?’
‘Guess so.’
‘But grab that blue top first, that one, with the stripes. There!’
He looks. Then grins. Then chuckles.
‘Don’t laugh, do something!’
Then, he belly-laughs, which makes me kind of want to laugh, except it’s not funny.
‘Freddie!’
‘You silly bugger!’ He fishes in the drawer then holds something up triumphantly. It’s not very rat-like, but it is furry. Ginger and furry. ‘It’s a kitten! I wondered where he’d gone.’
‘What the frig is a kitten doing in my undies?’
‘He’s a surprise.’
‘A surprise.’ I step down off the chair, and peer into the drawer, to double check there isn’t a rat in there as well. ‘I could have killed him!’ I shout, and the little thing flinches. ‘What if I’d battered him? Oh my God!’
‘He was in my room.’ Freddie looks downcast. ‘I thought the door was shut, I was sure …’ His voice tails off.
I gaze up at the very interesting ceiling. ‘Oh, er, I might have,’ cough, ‘opened it, popped in to borrow your mirror.’ Freddie has the only full-length mirror in the flat, and he doesn’t normally mind if I pop in and use it. Though, I do normally ask. Because of course that’s his private room, and we don’t wander in and out of each other’s bedrooms. That would be weird. ‘Sorry.’
‘I should have left him in the basket.’
‘No, no, it is your room. I shouldn’t …’
‘I thought you needed cheering up. If you don’t want him, I will. Or we can share.’
‘He is cute.’ I stroke his tiny head and he opens his mouth in a silent mewl.
‘What shall we call him?’ Freddie is grinning, he knows he’s got me.
‘You’re being serious here?’
‘I am. Totally.’
I think for a moment, remember what this little kitten was like when I was trying to take a photo of him and his gang. The way he danced across the floor, flung himself up the blinds.
‘I’ve got it!’ I grin triumphantly. ‘Louie!’
‘Louis?’ Freddie looks at me warily. ‘Like St Louis?’
‘No.’ I punch his arm lightly and lean in closer so I can touch the tiny paws. ‘Like Louie Spence.’
‘’Cos of his dance moves?’
‘You got it!’ Little Louie stares at me, all wide-eyed and innocent. His little tongue is sticking out, I think he forgot to put it in.
‘He’s so adorable, I could eat …’ I glance up at Freddie and suddenly realise we’re practically in a clinch.
He’s staring at me, not the kitten. And it’s just like that moment in Brighton when our gazes met, then we both decided the sand was more interesting.
Except this time there is no sand. And he doesn’t look away. Nor do I.
We both stare. And I can feel the heat bubbling up inside of me.
He kisses me.
For a moment I’m stunned. But his mouth is so warm, his lips so gentle against mine it makes me want more. I want to taste him. Touch him.
The kitten is nestled between us, but his other hand is on my arm, and the warmth sends a shiver down my spine.
He blinks. ‘He’s not the only adorable one.’ His voice is hoarse. Then he takes a tiny step back and holds Louie up between us. ‘Sorry. Sorry, really sorry. I shouldn’t have …’
‘We shouldn’t, we can’t …’ I take the kitten, I can’t not. I swallow hard. We shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t. Freddie is my friend.
‘No.’ His voice is low, flat. ‘Sorry.’
‘Freddie, I didn’t mean, it’s not that I don’t want …’ But Freddie is gone, striding off to his own room, leaving his name lingering in the air behind him. I know I said it quietly, so quietly maybe I didn’t want him to hear. I’m not sure.
The gentle click of his door closing echoes around the flat.
For a moment I stare at the kitten. Then I carefully put him down and carry on dressing, in a daze.
I touch my lips. The spot he kissed still feels the same, still normal. But inside my heart is hammering and everything feels out of kilter.
He kissed me. Properly. Like full on lips and a hint of tongue.
Oh, hell, we snogged! That wasn’t supposed to happen, ever.
Have we cocked everything up?
Or, and this is a massive ‘or’, because inside I’m feeling all the fuzz and tingles that I can’t remember ever feeling with Andy. Is it true that my fiancé never was the one? That I had a lucky escape. That this is what it feels like to find ‘the one’.
Except, he’s just run away, and he’s sorry he ever did it. And I’m sorry. And, shit, I told him we shouldn’t.
Is everything going to go wrong now?
I sit on the edge of the bed, and help Louie clamber up the cover until he reaches the summit. My knee.
His spiky tail is ramrod straight, and his eyes the bluest imaginable.
‘Miaow.’
‘Is this how Rach feels when she kisses Michael? Is this why,’ I pick him up, tickle his velvet-soft tummy, ‘people do the daftest things?’
Louie doesn’t answer. He just purrs. Incredibly loudly, so t
hat it shudders through his whole body.
‘Oh, God, Louie, what am I doing? What if this changes everything? No, no I’m being stupid. It was one little kiss. It will change nothing.’ I need to keep my fingers crossed on that one. More like I need to keep my legs crossed, because if he kisses me again I might just make the biggest mistake of my entire life.
Who in their right mind would risk losing their best friend, their home, the person who believes in them, their sounding board? The man who is bloody perfect in every way. Except for not wanting to commit to a relationship because they’ve already met and lost their true love.
I smack my forehead.
Right now, I’d be tempted.
I’m confused.
Chapter 18
‘It looks, a bit, er, green.’ I gulp as I frantically rub away at Rachel’s scalp working up enough lather to wash a whale.
I rinse it off. It looks worse. My beautiful blonde bombshell of a girlfriend is now more Hulk than princess.
‘Ouch.’
‘Sorry.’ I’m getting a bit frantic now, scrubbing away like my life depends on it. And it might. ‘Conditioner, we need conditioner.’
God knows why I think conditioner would make any difference at all. Her hair is still green, but it’s now green slime. Ever seen a seaweed-covered slipway? Well, you’re getting there.
I’d thought this was a good idea. Me, her, a bottle or three of bubbly and some girlie pampering the week before the hen party.
We could bond, I could make up for all the nasty thoughts I’d had about Michael, and all the negative things I’d said about the venue. I could make sure everything was going to be perfect.
I might have been mistaken.
Especially on the perfect front.
‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad.’
‘Worse. Do NOT look.’ Bugger. I wrap it in a towel and wonder if my hairdresser takes emergency calls at this time on a Thursday evening, or if she’ll be up to her eyebrows in vodka shots.
‘How is mine looking?’ I’ve got my head down, and water in my ears and eyes, and I reckon from the way Rach is kneading my scalp with her fingernails that we’re going to be even-stevens on this one. Ish.
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