Bridesmaids

by Jane Costello

  ‘Are you going to the bar?’ Grace shouts after him, clearly trying to pretend she’s not as taken aback by this as we all are.

  But he ignores her and continues with his swaying march away from us.

  ‘I hope you weren’t expecting to get lucky tonight,’ I say. ‘I haven’t seen Patrick this pissed since your wedding night.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she says, forcing a smile.

  ‘Grace, are you sure everything’s all right?’ I ask, but the second I say it I know now’s not the time. She’d never spill the beans in front of Jack.

  ‘Oh fine,’ she answers. ‘Anyway, I’m starting to think if I can’t beat him I may join him. Can I get either of you a drink?’

  We both shake our heads. As she walks away in Patrick’s direction, I grab her by the arm, out of earshot of Jack.

  ‘Grace, really,’ I say. ‘Do you want to talk?’

  ‘No, honestly,’ she says. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  But it is starting to seem like a big deal to me. It’s starting to seem like a very big deal.

  Chapter 94

  If I thought Patrick was acting strangely, that is nothing compared with Charlotte.

  This is the first time she’s drunk anything other than saccharine-packed fizzy drinks since the start of her WeightWatchers regime, and it has had an immediate effect. When I shared a Portaloo with her earlier she was swaying so much trying to hover that she nearly toppled the thing over mid-flow.

  ‘Oooh,’ she says, throwing her head back wildly. ‘The first proper drink I’ve had in ages and it’s made me go really squiffy.’

  She’s not the only one. Thanks to my black eye and painkillers I couldn’t feel wobblier if I’d spent the entire afternoon on a playground roundabout.

  ‘Still, it’s not unpleasant,’ she giggles. ‘In fact, it’s quite nice.’

  I wish I could say the same thing.

  As Charlotte and I head back into the marquee, the band are in full swing–and so is Valentina. Apparently not put off by the fact that they’re playing a Van Morrison track, she has dusted off her old Spice Girls routine and is giving it its first outing since 1999. Edmund couldn’t look more proud.

  ‘You know,’ says Charlotte, out of nowhere, ‘people look at you differently when you’re thin.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I say determinedly. ‘I mean, you look great and everything, but you’re still the same old Charlotte to me. I’ve always thought you were lovely and I always will do.’

  ‘Yes, but not everyone’s like you Evie,’ she says. ‘Take my mother…’

  She swallows a large gulp of her wine.

  ‘Do you know what she said on Sunday? “There’s barely a pick on you,” was what she’d said. I’d gone round for lunch and passed on the Yorkshire pudding and gravy—’

  ‘What, and she nearly fainted?’ I joke.

  Charlotte giggles.

  ‘But it’s not just my mother,’ she continues, running her hands contentedly over her new bias-cut dress. ‘It’s…’

  ‘Who?’ I ask.

  She looks up at me and smiles conspiratorially.

  ‘Men,’ she whispers, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl.

  ‘Men?’ I echo, grinning. ‘Go on, who’ve you been flirting with?’

  ‘Ah,’ she says, taking another liberal mouthful of wine. ‘That would be telling.’

  ‘Charlotte,’ I say, slightly amazed, ‘stop teasing. Come on, tell me.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Not yet,’ she says.

  ‘Charlotte!’ I squeal. ‘Who are you talking about? Tell me this bloody instant!’

  She giggles again.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ I am desperate to know, but don’t want to make her clam up completely. ‘But has anything…happened?’

  She looks into her wine glass and smiles again.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says dreamily.

  My eyes widen.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head again, apparently enjoying teasing me with this story as much as the story itself.

  ‘So, have you kissed?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says again.

  ‘Look here, you,’ I say, exasperated, ‘I am a journalist and I will get this out of you sooner or later–I promise. So, look, are you seeing him again?’

  Charlotte’s smile suddenly disappears and she looks very serious, and very drunk.

  ‘I hope so,’ she says. ‘I really do hope so. But, I’ll be honest with you, I’m not so sure.’

  Chapter 95

  Patrick has always been what you’d call a happy drunk. A harmless drunk. The sort of person who, after a few jars on a Friday night, does silly things with his boxer shorts and gives sloppy kisses to his male friends. Not the sort of drunk who’s obnoxious. Although on the evidence of his behaviour earlier, something’s clearly changed on that score.

  It is because of this that I’ve left Jack chatting to my mum about mudslides in Guatemala and the food crisis in Malawi (glad to see they’ve kept the agenda upbeat to befit the happy occasion) and go off in search of Grace, who I find talking to Jim near the bar.

  ‘Hi, you two,’ I say brightly, not wanting to arouse any suspicion that I’ve come in search of a deep and meaningful conversation. ‘What do you think of the band?’

  ‘Brilliant,’ says Jim. ‘Although I think Valentina threw them earlier by asking if they knew any Christina Aguilera numbers.’

  ‘Listen, Jim,’ I say, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I wonder if I could borrow Grace for a few minutes?’

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I was going to try and persuade Charlotte to come and dance with me anyway.’

  Grace and I go in search of a quiet table in the corner away from the dance floor. I can’t help noticing as we pass that Valentina’s dancing, which always involves a fair amount of arm movement anyway, tonight involves so much conspicuous waving of the hand with her ring on it that she could be directing traffic.

  ‘What’s up?’ says Grace as we sit down in a suitable spot.

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ I say.

  But before she gets the chance to answer, my handbag starts ringing and I realise it’s Jack’s mobile which, since he abandoned his jacket earlier, I’ve been looking after. Normally, I’d take it straight to him, but now is really not a good time so I just dig it out and press the silence button.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I don’t want to pry or anything, but I’ve noticed that you and Patrick both seem a bit…I don’t know…not really yourselves.’

  She bites her lip and considers this for a second.

  ‘You’ve noticed then,’ she says.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think there is,’ she sighs. ‘But, well, it’s hard to put my finger on really.’

  Suddenly, the phone goes off again. I dig it out of my bag, and press silence again, before nodding at her to go on.

  ‘It’s hard to put my finger on because it’s no one big thing,’ she continues. ‘We’ve not had a huge row over money, or the kids or, well, anything. But we are at each other’s throats a lot. Everything I say seems to offend Patrick at the moment. And he just never seems happy.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what’s caused it?’ I ask.

  ‘You mean do I think he’s having an affair?’ she says, her eyes welling up.

  ‘No!’ I say hastily. ‘I don’t think that for a second.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ she says. ‘I’m not so sure. I’m really not so sure.’

  Some people, when they cry, look like they do in the movies, with a single tear cascading poetically down porcelain skin. Grace, like me, isn’t one of them.

  Her cheeks now resemble corned beef, her eyes are almost as puffy as my own and her nose has acquired that special beetrooty tinge that comes from excessive blowing on a sixply napkin.

  ‘Patrick loves you
, I know it,’ I say. ‘God, you only had to see the way he looked at you at your wedding. Things can’t have just gone from that to what you’re talking about overnight.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have thought so,’ she says, sniffing into her napkin again. ‘But that’s what it feels like.’

  ‘I take it you’ve tried talking to him about it?’

  ‘Hmm, yes. I mean, sort of.’

  I frown. ‘That means no.’

  ‘I suppose I haven’t wanted to confront him,’ she admits.

  ‘Well, you should,’ I say firmly. ‘Confront him, talk to him, tell him you love him.’

  I see the hint of a smile.

  ‘For someone who has never had a long-term relationship, you’re very good at giving advice on them.’

  I put my arm around her. ‘Had is the operative word,’ I say. ‘Commitment is my new middle name. Jack and I are so loved-up we make Romeo and Juliet look emotionally stunted.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad,’ she says. ‘I really am.’

  Suddenly, Jack’s phone rings again. This time, for the sake of shutting the damn thing up, I decide to answer it.

  ‘Hello, Jack’s phone,’ I say.

  ‘Er, oh, hi,’ says the voice of a young-sounding woman on the other end. ‘Is Jack there, please?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ I say. ‘I mean, he’s around but I’m not sure where he is right now. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Yeah,’ says the woman. ‘Can you tell him Beth rang. Just let him know he’s still got my T-shirt. I forgot to take it with me when I left this morning and I wanted to know whether I could come over and get it tomorrow.’

  I freeze.

  ‘Er, can I take a number?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, he’s got it,’ she replies.

  I am suddenly unable to think about what to say or do.

  ‘Hello?’ she says.

  ‘Er, yes, no problem,’ I say, and end the call.

  ‘What’s up?’ asks Grace, leaning over. ‘Evie, you’re as white as a sheet. Whatever’s the matter?’

  Chapter 96

  Evie, you’re an idiot. No, worse than that. You’re a gullible idiot.

  I’d known the second I saw Jack talking to Beth on that jetty in the Scillies that something was going on. There was more chemistry between the two of them than you’d find on top of the average Bunsen burner. Then there was the phone call to his mobile the other week. And now this. So how could I have been so stupid?

  I know exactly how. I’ve been swept off my feet to such an extent that every ounce of commonsense appears to have been swept away at the same time, and I managed to convince myself I hadn’t even noticed anything was going on.

  Which is absolutely ridiculous because it couldn’t have been clearer if someone had put a sign up. I knew this was happening and just chose to ignore it!

  ‘I just can’t believe it,’ I tell Grace as I storm across the floor of the marquee. ‘I really can’t.’

  ‘Are you sure there couldn’t be an explanation?’ she says, trying to keep up with me.

  ‘Tell me,’ I say, spinning around and making my head feel as if someone is clog dancing on it in the process. ‘What explanation could there possibly be? I saw it coming at Georgia’s wedding. He gave her his phone number. I saw them flirting. Then, I saw her name come up on his mobile a couple of weeks ago. Now Beth has apparently left an item of clothing at his flat when she left there…this morning!’

  Grace is obviously trying to think of something to say but is just opening and closing her mouth like a frustrated goldfish instead.

  ‘So you weren’t with him last night, then?’ she asks finally, clutching at straws.

  ‘I was busy helping my mum get ready for the wedding,’ I continue, ranting so much now that I sound like Gordon Ramsay with PMT. ‘Which was obviously the perfect opportunity. I just don’t see what possible explanation there is apart from Beth having stayed over for a mad, passionate all-night sex session.’

  ‘Okay, so she may have stayed over. But it might have all been innocent,’ says Grace. But I can see from her face that even she can’t imagine how.

  ‘If it was that innocent, why wouldn’t he have mentioned it?’ I ask sadly.

  ‘I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, Evie,’ she says, grabbing my arm. ‘I know how much you like him.’

  ‘That was before I knew–knew for certain–that he was two-timing me,’ I say.

  Leaving Grace next to the entrance of the marquee, I continue to look for Jack. But my mother gets to me first, calling my name out as she skips towards me, her peacock feather now bent over in a perfect right angle.

  ‘I’ve hardly seen you all night,’ she beams. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ I say, forcing a smile. I couldn’t be more transparent if I was made of Perspex.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh nothing,’ I tell her. ‘Have you seen Jack anywhere?’

  ‘Oh, I meant to say, earlier: he is lovely, you know,’ she enthuses. ‘I mean, if I’d tried to speak to some of your other boyfriends about the humanitarian crisis in the Republic of the Congo they’d think I was speaking another language.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘And he seems very fond of you,’ she continues.

  I’m starting to think I’m talking another language.

  ‘Yes,’ I say patiently. ‘But have you seen him?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I left him talking to that chap you know.’

  ‘Which chap?’ Honestly, Mum!

  ‘You know,’ she says, ‘the one with the unfortunate complexion. I told him he ought to get that seen to. I met someone with a rash like that when I lived in India and he fell into a coma a week later.’

  ‘You don’t mean Gareth, do you?’ I say.

  ‘That’s the one,’ she says brightly.

  Chapter 97

  I feel an instinctive stab of horror at the fact that I’ve failed to keep Jack and Gareth apart. But I remind myself that this is now utterly irrelevant under the circumstances.

  When I see the two of them together, the first thing I notice is their expressions. Gareth is smiling one of his increasingly creepy smiles that have started reminding me of the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

  Jack, on the other hand, isn’t smiling at all.

  ‘Can I speak to you a minute, please?’ I say to him.

  ‘What?’ he says, frowning. ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Having a nice evening, Evie?’ Gareth enquires as we walk away, but I can’t bring myself to do anything other than ignore him.

  When we are a safe distance away, I turn to Jack and produce his phone.

  ‘There,’ I say pointedly. ‘There’s your mobile. Beth phoned. She left a message asking you to phone back.’

  ‘Right,’ he says, taking the phone from me without showing even a flicker of embarrassment.

  ‘That’s right,’ I add for good measure. ‘Beth.’

  ‘I heard you,’ he says, and I’ve seen brick walls acknowledging more remorse.

  ‘Oh, did you?’ I am aware that my voice is starting to sound slightly wobbly in an I’m-actually-hysterical-but-I’llbe-buggered-if-I’m-going-to-show-it kind of way. ‘Oh, you heard me, did you? Right. Right then. O-kay.’

  He just ignores me, which I can’t help thinking is unbelievable. Positively shameless, in fact.

  ‘I need to ask you about something, Evie,’ he says instead.

  ‘Oh?’ I cross my arms huffily. ‘What?’

  ‘About something that—’ But he stops midway through his sentence. ‘Why are you doing that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pulling that funny face?’ he says.

  Now I really am annoyed.

  ‘Because I’m upset,’ I say, trying to control my voice as I realize I’m sounding more and more like Miss Piggy throwing a tantrum.

  ‘In fact, I’m bloody upset, you deceiving…’ I want
to say bastard, but am concerned that might be a little too Vicky Pollard ‘…you deceiving…so and so.’

  But even I think that sounds ludicrous.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Jack looks mystified.

  ‘I’m talking about the thing you’re having with Beth,’ I grind out.

  He furrows his brow.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ I say, my head banging again. ‘I know you gave her your number in the Scillies. I know she’s been phoning you because I saw her name come up on your mobile. And now she’s just phoned to say she left her top at your place this morning. You must think I’ve got the intelligence of an amoeba.’

  ‘Evie,’ he says calmly. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘Oh, you’re denying it then?’ At this very moment I could be a Crown Court prosecutor.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I am denying it. But while we’re on the subject of deceptive so and sos, I wonder if you could clear something up for me?’

  ‘Fire away,’ I tell him, crossing my arms so tightly now my wrist has gone dead.

  ‘You know how you told me that heartrending story on the beach in the Scillies about how you’d just been dumped? Who was it, by Jimmy, who you’d been seeing for two and half years?’

  I can feel the heat rising to my neck now.

  ‘That was a load of bollocks, wasn’t it?’ he says.

  I’m trying to think of a suitable response but nothing is springing to mind.

  ‘And, tell me something else,’ he goes on sternly. ‘Is it true that you’ve never, not once, been out with anyone for longer than a few weeks because you’ve split up with them all before then?’

  Again, words are somehow failing me. Which is not something I’m used to, I’ll admit.

  ‘I take it from your silence that it is. Why did you lie to me, Evie?’

  I consider this carefully and try to remember again why I did.