And I want to tell Mads that it’s all okay. That maybe one day. But that wouldn’t be fair on her either.
All these thoughts disappear from my head in an instant when I notice the look on Rachel’s face. She’s not giggling any more.
‘Am I doing the right thing, Jane?’
‘What?’ I know she’s not talking about the ladle of water she’s just chucked over the already hot rocks.
‘Getting married.’ She stares blankly at me.
‘Of course you are, you love him!’ I can hear a note of panic in my voice. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Oh, yeah, I love him.’ She nods. ‘But it’s all the other stuff. What if we end up disagreeing about money, kids,’ she screws up her face, ‘we had a big row over how much he wanted to spend on new kitchen appliances.’ She laughs weakly. ‘Oh, God, that sounds pathetic, it’s nothing, I’m making a thing about nothing.’
‘Rach, it’s not nothing if it’s bothering you.’ I don’t know what to say. Cancel the wedding is the obvious one (okay, I still don’t like Michael as much as I should), but that feels like dangerous ground.
‘Oh, it’s not really bothering me. I’m being,’ she takes a big breath as though trying to clear the thoughts out of her head, then starts coughing wildly as the hot air hits her lungs. ‘Shit.’ The tears are streaming down her face, and she doubles over. ‘Bloody hell, I can’t … I’m going to die.’ We both dive headlong out of the sauna and she stands doubled over gasping for breath. After an age, and much rub-backing and concerned noises from me, she stands up and fans herself with her hand. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Really.’ Then she smiles wryly. ‘Forget what I said, it was all crap, I’m going crazy. It’s all this wedding stress, it’s driving me loopy. I can’t think straight, and I keep getting in a panic about everything going wrong! I reckon all brides must get like this.’
‘You sure?’ I frown at her.
‘Oh, yeah, it is definitely sending me crazy!’
I didn’t really mean that, but she gives me such a firm hug, and such a big grin I decide I need to let sleeping dogs lie.
‘What’s next then, boss?’
‘Shower!’
‘Wow, this Brides Bombshell is the best cocktail ever!’ Rachel closes her eyes. ‘It’s bliss, I am so going to have to have one of these after the wedding. You two are geniuses, or is that genii?’
I laugh. ‘Just call me a genie!’
Booking the cocktail masterclass was our masterstroke. A gin cocktail each to make on arrival, followed by the big surprise. A drink tailored to each of our favourite spirits and mixers. The bartender had come up with the names and is currently flipping his cocktail shaker. He stops, and with a flourish pours my drink.
‘Your One Hot Chick, madam!’ He winks.
‘Wow.’ I stare at it, salivating. My first instinct isn’t to drink it though, it’s to preserve it forever. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to break the number one rule of Hen Club.’
There were many reasons Beth and I came up with the rules of Hen Club, but the number one reason was to avoid embarrassment the morning after the night before. This particular hen and her chicks have enough scandals and secrets attached without adding to the list, so number one rule had to be – no mobile phones. Because, you know as well as I do, that if you have your mobile at hand, and you’re drunk, and you’re having an hilarious time, and you are with all your besties, then you’ll just have to post a photo on social media. Won’t you? Yeah. Exactly.
Number two rule was no holding back. Number three rule was no heels under three inches, number four rule was no getting off with anybody, or even talking to anybody of the opposite sex and number five rule was no talking about work, secrets, scandals or anything other than the here and now. This was one Beth and I firmly agreed on. She obviously didn’t want to talk about ‘the father of the baby’, and I didn’t want to accidentally talk about ‘Michael’s indiscretion’, ‘Jack’s damaged heart’ or ‘Maddie’s big mistake’. There’s a time and place for everything.
Anyhow. I need my phone. I need to take a photo. This isn’t want, it’s need. ‘I won’t take pics of anybody, just the cocktails, please.’ I look round at the other girls, clasp my hands together and beg. ‘Pretty please, they are just so awesome and it’s my job. Please?’
‘Let’s vote on it girls!’ Shouts Beth, raising her cocktail to her lips.
Luckily, it is unanimous. And the bartender reluctantly hands over the box so that I can retrieve mine. He has taken his duties very seriously, and we did make him swear that on no account would he let us persuade him to give us them back. But he has seen the vote. And he has been given full authority to snatch it back if I start shooting right, left and centre.
Unfortunately, my impromptu photoshoot has an immediate negative effect. Okay, it was totes my fault for uploading one to Instagram. But it was just an automatic reaction. Shoot, edit, upload.
Despite the fact that we’d agreed this was a day off, Darth Vader couldn’t resist. Coral is calling. I’m very tempted to ignore her, but instead I accidentally put her on speakerphone.
‘Product placement, product placement! Get one with the fucking bottle!’
The others are totally confused by the lack of introduction, but I know Coral.
‘Photoshop it in, anything, then tag it! My God, you silly cow, how could you not tag it with the gin! And why is it not on my IG?’ The last question is said in a slightly plaintive tone. Coral doesn’t really do plaintive, just hurt, or confused, if she thinks it will get her attention.
‘It’s not on your IG ’cos it’s my photo.’ I say reasonably. ‘On my Instagram. I do have my own, you know.’
‘Your fucking photo?’ She is confused now, I can tell.
‘My day off, my life, my photo.’
There is a long silence.
‘Well, get it on mine, I need to be associated with that gin. They love me!’
‘My tag?’
‘Whatever, just do it. Bill me.’
Because I am drunk, I push my luck. ‘Photoshopping isn’t very authentic though.’ I say, thinking back to Brighton-gate.
‘Fuck authentic, I need that cocktail.’ She doesn’t say please, she just assumes I will comply.
I will.
I need the money. And it is a bloody good photo, even if I say so myself.
‘Phone away, now!’ Orders Rachel, and the others start up a chant. I giggle and grin back at Rachel, who is looking happier than I’ve ever seen her. Her outburst in the sauna just had to be last-minute nerves, no way would she be as bubbly as this if she didn’t love Michael to bits, and looking forward to her big day.
‘Sorry, Coral, gotta go. Orders!’ I toss my phone at the bartender, who expertly catches it and deposits it back in the box.
But not before I’ve noticed a text from Freddie saying he’ll see me tomorrow, which makes me un-proportionally happy. We’re back to normal texting! After ‘the kiss’ I thought we’d ruined everything, now I know we’re going to be okay. Though I’m not quite sure what okay means. Losing Freddie as a friend would be so bad I’m happy to swear off lip contact with him forever, if it means we’re going to stick together.
I suddenly realise my fingers are on my lips.
Kissing Freddie was nice. More than nice.
Maybe there’s a way of making this work with kisses?
‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God!’
Maddie and I are weaving our happy way back to our shared room at 2 a.m. and she is extremely drunk. I’ve never seen her like this, normally she’s a couple of drinks girl.
Even though I’ve had a fair few cocktails though, I do remember she’s been in a huddle with Beth. Which kind of explains things.
‘I don’t know what to do Jane!’
We have tumbled into our shared room, and all I want to do is crawl into bed – fully clothed, without taking my make-up off.
‘What about?’ I don’t really want to ask, I just feel duty bound.
&nbs
p; She sits down on the bed next to me, and leans in, so she can whisper conspiratorially in my ear. Even though there’s nobody else here.
‘I’ve been talking to Beth, you will never believe what she told me. I shouldn’t tell you, but I’ve got to!’
I stop thinking about crashing back on the bed. ‘Tell!’
‘It’s Michael, he’s …’ her tone drops down to an even more hushed level, ‘slept with—’
‘I know!’ I put my finger on her lips. I don’t wait to hear any more, I don’t want to hear her say the rest, to say that woman’s name, but I am so bloody relieved that there’s finally somebody I can talk to. Somebody else who knows about Lexie!
‘You know?’ She blinks at me.
‘I know! I found out a while ago, but I didn’t know what to do … whether I should tell Rach now, or later, or never.’
‘Oh, wow!’ Mads is shocked. ‘Beth didn’t think anybody else knew!’
‘It is all over though, I mean it was ages ago.’
‘Oh, yes, definitely.’ She nods her head violently. ‘Definitely. Beth said it was.’
‘So, I kind of thought maybe it’s better just forgotten?’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s the right thing.’ She’s now shaking her head. ‘I was so shocked when she told me. I mean, Michael!’
‘Frig!’ This reminds me that Beth knows as well, everybody knows except the one person that really should Rach. ‘Does Sal know as well?’
Maddie shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I don’t think we should tell her.’
‘Me neither.’ Maddie shakes her head violently. ‘She’ll just shit stir, she’ll go straight to Rachel, I know she will.’
‘Maybe I should talk to Beth, see what she thinks?’
‘No, no,’ says Mads, ‘she told me in confidence, I mean I don’t want her to think she can’t trust me, and I’ve blabbed to everybody. I mean I only told you because I’m drunk, and didn’t know what to do, and seeing as you knew anyway then …’
‘I did. Don’t worry. Okay.’ I take her hands in mine. ‘It’s our secret, for now. Yes?’
She nods. ‘And Beth’s.’
‘And Beth’s. But she won’t say anything, will she?’
‘Not yet, but …’ She looks doubtful.
‘I’ll work out what to do, when we should tell Rach. There’ll be a good time.’ Except I’m not sure there will be. Maybe the good time has passed.
We hug, then Maddie climbs under the sheets and I head for the bathroom.
‘Night, Mads, sleep well.’
‘Night, Jane, you, too.’ She sounds sleepy, and drunk. ‘Maybe Beth should talk to Michael first?’
‘No, no.’ I frown. But it does sow a teeny seed of an idea in my befuddled brain. Maybe it’s me that should corner Michael, tell him that if he doesn’t come clean then somebody else might do it for him. Maybe that is the only way to sort the mess out.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I’ve got no choice now. Rachel’s got to know.
There’s a hard lump blocking my throat. What if this means history will repeat itself? Her wedding will be cancelled just like mine was, she’ll go through all the pain and agony I did. Doing this to her will be the worst thing I have ever done. It will destroy her, just like it nearly destroyed me.
The memories I’ve been stamping down flood my head. My beautiful dress, the church, the cake, the flat we were saving up to buy together, the bright, amazing future we’d got planned. Together.
I can’t do it. I can’t do that to her.
I have to do it.
Michael has to do it. He has to tell her. If he tells her, and he loves her as much as she thinks then it will all be okay. It has to be. They’ll be able to move on from it. They love each other.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, and chase away all the horrible thoughts. First, I will sleep on it and see if some kind of magic solution comes to me in my dreams and I don’t have to worry about it ever again.
Chapter 21
Oh, bugger. My lift has arrived. Or rather, it seems, two of them have.
This could be embarrassing.
There are two open car doors, two men looking at me expectantly. Freddie has his head slightly on one side.
After his text saying he’d realised that he’d been a prat avoiding me and was glad we were going to be friends still, I’d messaged him back this morning with a brief: Is 11 a.m. okay? Thanks! x. I’d been desperate to add: Can’t wait for movie night … not so sure about it being hands free though … However, I refrained, as he might have withdrawn the lift offer, and the friends offer.
Or he might have agreed with me, then taken me out on four dates, made me madly happy, before panicking, started to check for signs that I was looking for my happy ever after, changed the locks, broken my heart, and changed my life for ever. In a bad way.
And gone back to searching for the girl who stole his heart.
Andy is leaping up the stone steps, as competitive as ever. ‘You are looking great.’ He leans in and kisses my cheek, his hands on my upper arms immobilising me so there is no chance to dodge. Just to throw my head back and invite a kiss on the neck – creepy, as that was always his go-to never-fails erogenous target – or a Dracula-style love bite. So, I keep my chin pinned to my chest whilst trying to look cool. Freddie’s eyebrow has cocked, so that obviously didn’t come off. He folds his arm, leans against his car and looks amused.
Andy smells familiar, which he would. Sadly, he’s still not turned into a horse-headed toad like I’d wished he would. Word of advice, those ‘cast your own spell’ websites are shit. He never rang begging forgiveness, or complaining of stomach cramps, or turned into a toad. Horse-headed or otherwise. Like I say, crap. Spend your money on wine or vodka and then you’ll be able to believe all the evils have happened even if it’s a one night only thing.
‘Er, thanks. What are you doing?’
‘Sorry.’ He takes a step back. Runs a hand through his hair and shuffles his feet awkwardly. Very un-Andy-like. ‘Thought you might need a lift back to town? I wanted to make it up to you, for the other night?’ He seems to have adopted that habit of making every statement sound like it ends with a question.
‘I was way out of order, totally drunk and when you rang our room I just jumped to a stupid conclusion. Can’t believe I did that, sorry.’ He does look sorry.
‘Fine. No problem.’
‘It’s not fine, Jane. Nothing is fine, I need to explain.’
‘Nothing to explain. Nothing, absolutely nothing.’
‘But Jane, I need to.’ He gives me the plaintive, sincere look that used to drag my heart from my chest and leave me all pounding and breathless. ‘I was a complete dickhead the other night, I was just so drunk. And I think I was wrong about the wedding, I’ve made …’
I don’t stop to hear what he’s made. ‘Sorry, got to rush, Freddie’s waiting.’ I kind of slither out of his grasp and go hurtling down the steps, catching my heel on the last one and practically diving headlong into Freddie’s car. Luckily, the door is still open, or the ambulance service would think we’d got them on speed dial.
‘New bloke? Thought it was a hen party?’ Freddie asks.
‘That’s Andy.’
‘Ahh, thought he looked familiar.’
‘It’s really good of you to come.’
‘I wanted to, though if you’d rather …’ He leaves it hanging. ‘I didn’t realise you’d arranged …’
‘Oh my God. No! I didn’t arrange for.’ I wave towards Andy. I still don’t want to say his name. ‘No, no, never. No, I didn’t ask him, there was a cock-up, the stag was at the same place, but nobody knew. Well, not until Jack cornered me, then I had to call Andy to come down because of the ambulance, and he was so pissed he was useless and fainted, so Jack went on his own and I left Andy in the lobby and went to bed, and now he’s trying to apologise. Well, I think that’s what he’s apologising for.’
‘Ambulance?’
‘Jack broke his wrist, he tripped over this wall when we were talking, and it wasn’t my fault.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘And Andy said he still loved me, but he was pissed, he probably doesn’t even remember saying it, and he didn’t mean it.’
‘It’s none of my business.’
‘Oh, it is, it is, I want you to know. That was all just him being weird!’ I put my hand on his arm, realise what I’m doing and move it quick. Which isn’t cool at all, I mean before the kiss I used to touch him, and we’re supposed to have forgotten it. We are supposed to be in the this-is-not-awkward zone now. So I put it back. ‘I didn’t see Andy again until just, and I don’t know why he thought I’d want a lift.’
‘Who knows?’ Freddie shrugs, closes my door then bangs the boot shut. He gets in.
I glance back. Andy is watching. He waves, grins. So, I do a half-hearted wave back, a regal but slightly limp-wristed flourish, just to show that I don’t care.
Then it hits me. I really don’t. Care, that is.
I can feel the smile twitching at the side of my mouth, or I’ve got a bad nervous tick.
He means nothing to me. I can wave now, I no longer have the urge to strangle him or stick two fingers up. Or batter him over the head with the nearest thing to hand. I stick my hand out of the window and wave again. Just to double check.
‘If you’d rather go with …’ Freddie slows the car down.
‘No, no, just drive, please.’ I need to get away, before Andy decides the wave is another summons and comes hurtling after us. ‘But I just realised I don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Love him, even if he does love me, which he doesn’t.’
‘Oh.’
‘I don’t care at all. I don’t even care if he’s sorry. Can we go faster, please?’
Freddie drives. In thoughtful (well, I hope that’s what it is) silence.
‘You know what? That’s the first time I didn’t feel the need to throttle him.’
Bridesmaids Page 17