Always the Bridesmaid

by Lindsey Kelk

‘Dark hair but really, really short,’ I said. It felt strange talking about him like this as though he was someone I’d seen on TV, not someone real. ‘Nice smile, like, you just want to laugh every time you see it. Golden-brown eyes, great bod.’

  ‘Give me a comparison.’

  ‘Um, George Clooney before he went grey?’ I said. ‘Only English and without the gay rumours.’

  Lauren squinted at me angrily. ‘George is married now! You’ve got to quit saying that shit.’

  ‘Elton John was married,’ I replied. ‘And he works in Holborn. And one of the ushers from the wedding really doesn’t like him.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he probably fancies you as well,’ Sarah said. ‘Men only ever fall out over women and football.’

  ‘Oh, he plays rugby! I know he plays rugby,’ I replied. ‘And the usher didn’t fancy me − he thought I looked like a fat panda, plus he’s engaged. Will says he’s a knobhead and I’m inclined to agree.’

  ‘Is this him?’ Lauren held up her phone to reveal an iPhone plus-sized photo of the man I’d been having sex with not three hours earlier.

  ‘Bloody hell, how did you do that?’ I asked, grabbing the phone out of her hand. I fancied him so much I could hardly stand to look at him.

  ‘Facebook? I put in Ian McCallan and the wedding photos came up. Ladies, meet Will Jennings. His profile is private but the dumbass who just got married still has his set to public.’

  ‘Maddie Jennings,’ I said. Online stalking was the best. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Have a minute,’ Sarah warned, balling up her napkin as she finished her food. ‘What happened last night?’

  I didn’t know what to share. We’d snogged like teenagers, and as soon as we were through the door my knickers were round my ankles. It was such a long time since I’d felt anything for anyone, to feel so wanted and to want someone else so much was totally overwhelming.

  ‘Honestly?’ I asked. ‘You want the details?’

  ‘I do!’ Lauren squealed.

  ‘I mean, did you talk about seeing each other again?’ Sarah overruled. ‘Are you properly going out?’

  ‘Well it’s only been one night so far. Also, I don’t think people actually have the “are we going out together?” conversation in their thirties, Sarah,’ I said. As if I’ve got any idea what I’m talking about. ‘But yes, we did make plans. He said maybe Wednesday.’

  ‘Which one of these is the usher that fancies you?’ Lauren interrupted, waving a group shot from the wedding in my face.

  ‘This one.’ I took the phone and enlarged it to show Tom the Usher. ‘But he doesn’t fancy me, honestly − he was just awkward. It was a painful exchange.’

  ‘He totally fancies her,’ Sarah whispered to Lauren. ‘Let me see him.’

  ‘He’s kind of nice too,’ Lauren said, passing the phone around the table. ‘Is he a giant or something?’

  ‘He is ridiculously tall,’ I confirmed. ‘I think this one is his fiancée.’

  I swiped through to the next page to show the bridesmaids, zooming in on the obscenely attractive blonde girl who I was fairly certain was called Vanessa.

  ‘Shit.’ Sarah leaned across the table along with Lauren to get a better look. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to look better than the bride on her wedding day.’

  ‘I’m putting the two of you in trash bags,’ Lauren muttered, tapping on the screen. ‘Tom Wheeler. Maddie Wheeler. I kind of like it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t change my name anyway,’ I said, going back to the picture of the groomsmen and staring at the screen. Gawky Tom on one end of the photo, laughing Will at the other.

  ‘What happened to Maddie Jennings?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘She went to prison for killing her best friend,’ I said, looking up for signs of more canapés and handing the phone back to Lauren. ‘Now, tell me more about these trash bags. I need to get them ordered.’

  Being a bridesmaid can be hard work! But your bride chose you because she knows you’re the woman for the job. Use this space to remind yourself of your own unique qualities and why your bride can rely on you during this special time.

  If you could be anyone, who would you be?

  It’s taken me 31 years to find a pair of jeans that fit properly − I’m not starting that all over again. I’ll stick with myself.

  If you had to choose between world domination or world peace, which one would you pick?

  Would I still be in charge if I chose world peace?

  Who or what inspires you?

  Lorraine Kelly. Imagine getting up that early for that many years and still having a smile on your face.

  What is the one thing you wish you could do if given the chance?

  Not end up alone.

  Where do you see yourself five years from now?

  Still trying to answer this question.

  7

  Monday May 18th

  Today I feel: Conflicted.

  Today I am thankful for: Nurofen and Dolly Parton.

  ‘Maddie, can I talk to you for a minute?’

  It’s not every Monday morning I’m yanked into the gents’ toilets by the head of HR, but I’m a curious soul so I went along with it.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I asked while Matilda Jacobs checked to make sure all the stalls were empty. I wasn’t sure what would happen if they weren’t; what was the poor sod supposed to do, go to HR?

  ‘No,’ she replied, washing her hands. ‘It’s just that this is the only place we can talk without Shona listening.’

  ‘How have I never thought of this before?’ I wondered out loud. That was why they paid her the big bucks. ‘She’s not in today, though, it’s fine. What’s wrong? Why do we need to be Shona-proofed?’

  Matilda was a decent woman. She’d been at the company almost as long as I had, only she’d started as the HR assistant and now she was head of the department. I’d started as Shona’s events assistant and I was now Shona’s events assistant. You can see how our career paths have not enjoyed the same trajectory.

  ‘You know we’re advertising Victoria’s job?’ she asked, folding her arms over her enormous bosoms. It was the only word for them. They were bosoms.

  ‘I do,’ I replied. ‘Actually, I’ve got a CV for you.’

  ‘So you are going to apply for it?’ Matilda’s eyes were as big as saucers. ‘That’s fantastic.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I said, cutting off her enthusiasm. I had Sarah’s CV. As much as the idea of working with my best friend made me want to do a little sick, I could hardly refuse to help her out right now. ‘Wait, what? Why?’

  ‘Because Shona emailed me this morning and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to accept an application from you for the position,’ she said.

  Shona. What a massive bastard.

  ‘Of course, I told her if you wanted to apply, we were legally obliged to put you through the process, the same as any other applicant.’

  ‘But I haven’t applied,’ I said, panic starting to rise. ‘I have a friend who wants to apply for the job. I’m not going to apply for it.’

  ‘Yes you are,’ Matilda replied. ‘I want a CV on my desk by the end of the day.’

  ‘No, really, it’s fine,’ I insisted. ‘I’m very happy doing what I’m doing now. The management side of things doesn’t interest me that much.’

  Matilda stood very still, looked me square in the eye, and smiled.

  ‘Maddie,’ she said. ‘You’re being an idiot.’

  I wasn’t sure that line came out of the HR best practice handbook. ‘I am?’

  ‘You are,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m not asking you to apply to be CEO. I’m asking you to apply for a job you have, to all intents and purposes, been doing for the last nine years. Only I’m asking you to do it for more money, better benefits and without reporting in to a woman who told the MD he couldn’t promote you because she was worried you were taking crystal meth. You didn’t hear that from me.’

  ‘I wondered who was leaving those rehab brochures i
n my pigeon hole,’ I breathed. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  Matilda looked up at the polystyrene panels in the ceiling. ‘Victoria was a very good friend of mine and Shona is not my favourite person in the world.’

  ‘So it’s not because I’m really, really good at my job then?’ I asked, slightly deflated. Matilda replied with an expression I hadn’t seen since year ten maths class.

  ‘I’m not here to blow smoke up your arse, Maddie,’ she replied. ‘I’m here to do the best for the company. You should be applying for this job, bottom line. The fact that it will piss off a woman who gave me a six-month subscription to gay.com for my secret Santa last year is a happy coincidence.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were gay,’ I said.

  ‘Because I’m not,’ she replied. ‘She told me at the Christmas party that I give off a vibe and should probably get nice shoes if I didn’t want everyone to think I was a dyke.’

  ‘Classy.’ I’d missed that party because I was in the office sticking Swarovski crystals onto one hundred tealight holders for a winter wedding the following day. Good times.

  ‘You can email the CV or bring it over, whichever is less likely to cause a fuss. I know she monitors your emails.’

  I did a double-take. ‘She does what?’

  ‘She reads your emails.’ Matilda nodded. ‘Technically all managers can read their employees’ emails, but Shona is the only one who takes advantage of the privilege. I think she’s also your next of kin according to your company pension, so let’s hope nothing happens to you before you get on the phone to Legal & General.’

  ‘Is that a joke?’ I asked as she pushed past me, folding her sleeve around her fingers to open the door.

  ‘The fact that you’ve got to ask is why you should apply for this job,’ she called back. ‘Do it now, Maddie.’

  ‘Morning, Maddie.’ Paul the Perv, deputy sales director, walked in as she walked out and gave me a wink. ‘Any particular reason you’re in the gents?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said.

  ‘Let me be the first to welcome you,’ he said, unzipping and beginning to pee right next to me. ‘You’re welcome in here any time.’

  ‘Thanks, Paul,’ I said, heading straight for the door.

  It’s just like they always say. You go nineteen months without seeing a single penis, and then two come along at once.

  It should have been a relaxing couple of days. Shona was on an overnight with a PR, checking out some new hotels they were looking after so we could use them for future events, and I didn’t have anything especially pressing on my agenda. I was looking forward to getting some paperwork out of the way, finding a caterer for Lauren, maybe doing a little light online shopping and leaving dead on the dot of five-thirty.

  I settled in to my ergonomically sound and bloody uncomfortable chair, cupped my mug of tea in one hand and opened my email to IM Sarah for advice on the job front. Only I couldn’t. HR wanted me to apply for a job that she wanted. She’d asked me if I thought she was in with a chance at Lauren’s engagement party and of course, I’d said yes. Because, according to the CV she had sent me that evening, she was definitely qualified for it. Plus she had more than enough on her plate with the Stephen situation. I’d never seen her so messed-up about anything; I didn’t want to make things more difficult for her. This definitely had to be an in-person conversation. I couldn’t talk to her about this on email.

  Instead I clicked on Lauren’s name in the instant messaging bar, sent a dancing lobster and waited for her to respond.

  ‘You’ve got crabs????’ she typed immediately.

  ‘No, I haven’t got crabs,’ I replied. I’d know if I had crabs. Wouldn’t I? ‘I’ve got a work problem, I need some advice.’

  ‘Sounds like a Sarah problem TBH.’

  Like I didn’t know that already.

  ‘I can’t ask Sarah, that’s why I’m asking you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t get offended,’ I typed as quickly as I could, one eye on Shona’s glass-walled office beside me. In some ways I preferred it when she was in there: at least then I knew where she was. Having her out and about was like knowing there was a spider somewhere in the flat but not knowing when it was going to jump out at you. ‘They’ve asked me to apply for a promotion at work but it’s the same job Sarah wants to apply for.’

  ‘Sarah is applying for a job at your place????’

  Lauren loved to overpunctuate. As the child of two English teachers, it genuinely caused me physical pain.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But I think it would be weird if she worked here.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me she was looking for a new job. She’s gone radio silence on me. Do you think she’s mad at me because of the wedding?’

  ‘I think she’s upset about Steve.’

  ‘It’s so crazy. They’re really really getting divorced?’

  ‘They’re really, really getting divorced. It’s bad.’

  For a moment she didn’t say anything.

  ‘So she won’t need a plus-one for the wedding?’

  I sat staring at my screen for a full minute.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lauren typed, adding a crying puppy for good measure. ‘Joking. Job. You want it?’

  ‘Think so,’ I replied. ‘It would be more money. Wouldn’t have to work for Shona.’

  ‘Is she going to be mad?’

  ‘Yes,’ I confirmed, running through the revenge scenarios that could await. ‘She told me not to apply and asked HR not to give it to me.’

  Lauren replied with a winky face.

  ‘Wait, wrong one,’ she tapped, following up with a shocked emoji. ‘And you’re not going to tell?’

  ‘No.’ Wasn’t that the whole point of this conversation? ‘She’s so upset about the divorce, I don’t want to upset her more.’

  ‘I can’t believe they’re getting divorced,’ Lauren replied before a little blue link appeared in the conversation. ‘What do you think of this dress?’

  ‘Nice,’ I said, without clicking on it. ‘It’s so weird. I know it’s happening but it doesn’t feel real.’

  ‘I guess we hardly ever see him,’ she said. ‘How long is it since he came out with us?’

  ‘I know, I think things were worse than she wants to say.’

  I could understand why Lauren was struggling with the concept. When I woke up on Monday morning I only remembered Sarah was getting divorced when I found our wine glasses from Friday night under the sofa. Sarah probably hadn’t even slept. It was this big, huge, giant thing, and nothing had prepared any of us for what it actually meant. It’s so strange how something can affect one person in such a huge way and only have a ripple effect on others. My heart hurt to think of how hard it had to be for her.

  ‘I think you should apply for the job,’ Lauren typed.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘If the company have asked you to, it’ll look bad if you don’t. They must think you can do it. Sarah will understand. Just tell her they offered it to you.’

  ‘I’ve got to interview, they’re not just giving me it,’ I explained. Underneath the stress of Shona finding out, of upsetting Sarah, and the general terror that I would somehow fuck it up, there was a part of me that was so excited. ‘But could be fun?’

  ‘Deffo,’ she agreed. ‘And my wedding will be great practice!!!!!’

  I’m so lucky to have such good friends.

  Lauren always says the best way to get over a man is to get under another one. Maybe she’s right. When I got home, there was a letter addressed to Seb on the doormat, and for the first time I picked it up and stuck it in the box on the telephone table (that had never had a telephone on it) without even considering bursting into tears. Definitely growing as a person.

  Plugging in my phone, I dumped myself on the settee and turned on the telly, my mind overrun. Lots to think about, lots to think about. I had to tell Sarah I was applying for the events position, I had to figure out how to work Kevlar into a passable
outfit for the office once Shona found out I was applying for the job, and I had to plan my best friend’s wedding. So of course the only thing I could think about was why I hadn’t heard from Will. My own brain was failing the Bechdel test. I was the worst fourth-wave feminist ever. He would be in touch; he was probably still at work. Lawyers didn’t work normal people shifts. Seb used to be in the office until all hours. But then Seb was having an affair …

  No.

  We’re both playing it cool, that’s all, I told myself, forcing myself up to flick on the kettle before hitting the biscuit tin. He’s got my number, he knows where I live. If he wants to call, he’ll call. After all, the sex was brilliant, if I did say so myself. Why wouldn’t he call? That was not the last I’d seen of Mr Will.

  8.02 p.m.

  It was absolutely the last I’d seen of Mr Will. Oh God, oh God, oh God. It’s been twenty-nine hours and I haven’t heard from him. He hasn’t texted or called or added me on Facebook or looked at my LinkedIn profile. I think I just had my first ever one-night stand and it feels horrible. Why hasn’t he texted me? I know the rules say wait three days, but no one really waits three days, do they? This is horrible. I feel like such a slag. What did I do wrong? My poor vagina. She does not deserve this!

  8.34 p.m.

  I’m going to text him. I mean, he gave me his number − he wants me to use it, surely? And it doesn’t matter who texts first, we’ve already slept together. I can send a little message that’s just a ‘hi!’ and it’s fine. This is ridiculous. If I hadn’t had sex with him, I’d send him a text message. If he was just a man or a woman I had met and liked and had stuff in common with and wanted to see again, I would text him. I’m going to text him.

  8.56 p.m.

  I sent the text. I just said ‘Hi! So happy Monday is over!’ That’s OK, isn’t it? That’s totally normal. That’s like, hey! What’s up! I’m not crazy! He’ll reply to that. And you know, if he likes me, it won’t matter who texted first or what I said, he’ll just be happy to have heard from me. It’ll probably be a funny anecdote in the wedding speeches. ‘She couldn’t wait to hear from me so she texted me first and I was so happy!’ Actually, I think I texted Seb first. So it’s fine.