‘How can you tell?’ Becca asked. ‘Has the tornado started swirling? Someone should go and tell Aunty Em.’
There was an incredibly narrow line between good taste and bad, and despite initial misgivings, Ayesha’s vision fell for the most part on the positive side. A gently curved yellow brick road created from small painted bricks placed in a chevron design weaved its way through the middle of the rows of seats to the table at the front of the room where their ceremony was going to be held under a rainbow balloon arch. They’d hired out the whole of the country hotel, and while completely incongruous with its Sussex olde worlde charm, the Wizard of Oz theme wasn’t overbearing, and added a touch of fun and colour, not eye-crossing kitsch. Apart from the bright pink flamingoes, they were as kitsch as it was possible to be. And possibly the balloon arch too.
There was an audible sigh of relief from both bridesmaids when Ayesha met them in the foyer before the service in a traditional white gown and not a blue and white checkered pinafore. Sensing their relief, Ayesha smiled and lifted her hem revealing a pair of sparkly scarlet trainers bejewelled in glitter and sequins.
‘You couldn’t have thought I’d be completely conventional?’
‘You wouldn’t be the Ayesha we know and love if you were,’ Eve said, giving the bride a squeeze before the trio held hands, took deep breaths and walked in to the waiting crowded room to the tune of You’ve got a friend in me from Toy Story.
Chapter 16
The Wizard of Oz wedding
Possibly one of the best wedding photo ideas Eve had ever seen, and God knew she’d seen a lot, involved the whole bridal party straddling fibreglass flamingoes.
‘Do you need help down from there Red?’
‘Thanks, but I’ll manage.’ She wasn’t sure how, but it certainly did not involve Ben being gallant and gaining any kind of upper hand.
‘Nice pair of poppies.’
Balls. In order not to slide off, her arms were clinging to the bird’s neck, and not masking her flowery bosom. There was nothing else for it. Loud and proud was the only way to react. Eve gave her chest a little shimmy. ‘Thanks.’
It wasn’t a graceful dismount, and Eve was pretty sure she flashed her pants to most of the guests, but at least she’d got down by herself and unassisted by Ben, who was looking infuriatingly dapper in his tails.
‘Have you seen the seating plan?’ Eve hadn’t heard Ayesha sidle up to her, so gave a little jolt when her friend whispered in her ear.
‘Not yet, why?’ Eve replied, her heart sinking a little.
‘Just that Amit’s got some rather nice single ushers and I’ve put them all on your table.’ Ayesha winked at her. ‘You’re welcome.’
Eve sighed. Her friends’ definitions of ‘nice single friends’ had proven to be vastly different to hers in the past, so Eve braced herself for yet another afternoon of toe-curling conversation followed by excruciating silences brought on by growing mutual disdain.
When Eve was wrong, she admitted it. And boy, was she wrong. As she approached her table, four attractive men stood up, hands outstretched, and one even gave both of her cheeks a kiss, while the three women enveloped her in warm welcoming hugs. It was like a parallel universe of singleton tables, one that she had no idea existed before. And they were all already drinking and eating the bread rolls. These were her definitely more her kind of people.
Sandwiched between a paramedic called Robert and Andrew, a thirty-something political speech writer, (neither of which had halitosis which was a pleasant surprise) the banter flowed as effortlessly as the wine. One guest at a nearby table even shushed them during the main course, so loud was their laughter.
‘So what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever written about?’ Andrew asked, topping up her wine glass, while Robert looked on attentively resting his chin on his hand.
Enjoying the attention, Eve thought for a moment, selecting the best topics that would have her audience open-mouthed and wide-eyed. ‘Well, I used to work on a really trashy women’s weekly, and there’s quite a lot to choose from.’ She started counting off headlines on her fingers. ‘Why our 50-year age gap is brilliant; My husband wants to be a guinea pig and sleeps on hay; I’m pregnant with my step-father’s twins; My sister’s son is my daughter’s half-brother; I hate my fiancé’s tattooed eyeballs. Take your pick.’
‘Wow. Up until this moment, I thought saving lives was an exciting job,’ Robert said. ‘Thanks Eve, for ruining my career for me.’
‘Likewise,’ agreed Andrew, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Next time I’m helping the Chancellor of the Exchequer write the budget speech, I’m going to be wondering why I’m trying to make a decrease in VAT sound like a good thing, when I could be writing about tattooed eyeballs.’
Eve held her hands up. ’Sorry guys, what can I say? It was both your faults for choosing boring jobs.’
The room hushed as the dessert plates were cleared away and a flute of champagne was placed in front of each guest ready for the speeches. Amit was effusive, and tearfully emotional when talking about his love for his new wife, so much so Ayesha had to lean close, pat his hand and say ‘that’s enough now, get a grip,’ which had Amit’s friends in stitches.
Eve hadn’t had this much fun at a wedding in ages. And then Ben stood up.
‘Thanks Amit. For those who don’t know me, I’m Ben Hepworth, I was at university with Ayesha and Amit, and while I know it’s customary for the best man to focus his ridicule purely on the groom, I’m going to cut with tradition and throw a little bit of derision to the bridal party to begin with as we take a stroll down memory lane.’ A ripple of laughter echoed around the room. ‘I agree with you, they all look absolutely stunning today, but that wasn’t always the case.’ Ben raised a clicker in his right hand and a large white screen to the left of the top table that Eve hadn’t noticed before flickered into life, displaying a massive photo of nineteen-year-old incarnations of Tanya, Becca, Ayesha and Eve in all their pouffy-haired, high-waisted jeans glory before Moroccan oil was popular and Damson Plum was the only lipstick shade available.
‘Please remember folks, that these pictures were taken on a disposable camera from Boots, before the era of filters, so be kind. But as you can see, Ayesha here, was always a bit of a catch.’ Click. ‘I think it’s only fair if I include a photo of our leading man at this point too, so you can get the whole story.’ Amiable laughter ensued as a massive still of Amit and Ben appeared on the screen, both wearing polo shirts and floppy curtains framing their faces. Their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, drooping Marlboros hanging out of their mouths. Click.
The next photo was of the six of them in the student union, in the days where dancing involved a lot of sweaty, un-self-conscious jumping rather than any rhythmic ability. Eve’s hair was plastered to her head and they all had red eyes, which was not necessarily the result of the flash. ‘And this next photo was taken later that evening, at the exact moment our blushing bride and dandy groom had their first kiss.’ The next photo was evidently taken in the early hours of the morning after staggering back to their house from the union. While centre stage in the photo were undeniably a lust-struck Amit and Ayesha, immediately to the right of them was the blown-up figure of a drunk Eve, fast asleep, her head lolling over the side of a beanbag dribbling, legs splayed, with half a kebab on her chest, garlic mayonnaise and shards of burnt chicken meat spilling out all over the top of her bright pink wonderbra.
Tanya, Ayesha and Becca had tears rolling down their cheeks they were laughing so hard, and Eve had no choice but to pretend to find it equally hilarious. All around her she could see people pointing over at their table. She knew it was all good-natured entertainment, but even so. She had a choice. She could do what every muscle in her body was urging her to, and climb under the table. She could roll her eyes, huff a bit and be generally quite of a poor sport about it all, or she could embrace the lunacy. With a deep breath, Eve decided to take her magnanimous attitude one step further, pushe
d back her chair and stood up, giving a small bow with a waving hand flourish. The room erupted in spontaneous applause and as she retook her seat, Ben caught her eye and gave her an admiring nod. She’d played that round very well.
Eve’s table was one of the few that had to move to make room for the dance floor, so she and her newfound buddies all reluctantly vacated their seats, picked up their full wine glasses and headed out to the terrace allowing the waiting staff to scurry into action. Robert and Andrew hadn’t left Eve’s side, flanking her at all times, making Eve feel like a pop star in between two minders. Two attractive, eloquent, attentive, seemingly solvent and single minders.
Becca skipped up to them. As chief bridesmaid she had had the honour of being on the top table. Perched for the duration at the end of the oblong table next to Amit’s Dad, Becca had spent most of the meal looking longingly at Eve’s table of hilarity with undisguised jealousy.
‘Evening all.’
Eve made the introductions, but when she said, ‘This is Robert,’ he quickly interrupted and said, ‘I actually go by Bobby.’
Becca grinned and then spoke slowly, sounding out every syllable. ‘Oh nice to meet you BOBBY with a B.’
Eve blushed and gave Becca wide ‘please don’t’ eyes that her friend totally ignored. ‘Why don’t you two go and dance? I’ll keep Andrew company.’
As the song filtered through to the terrace and Eve heard the recognisable Roxette lyrics It must have been love but it’s over now, she quickly remembered her task for the evening and replied, ‘Maybe later, must dash,’ and hotfooted it to the DJ’s booth.
The sound of a chair dragging and being placed alongside her startled Eve. She’d been true to her promise and barely left the DJ’s side for the last two hours, giving him warning eyes and a slow shake of her head in between each song.
‘Hi Red. Hope you weren’t too annoyed at my speech?’
‘Not at all, I thought it was funny.’ In no way whatsoever.
‘Like I found tap dancing in a crowded Covent Garden on a Saturday night funny?’
‘Exactly the same sort of funny I would imagine,’ Eve replied smoothly, a smile playing on her lips.
‘Looks like we got away with the cake,’ Ben said. ‘I heard Ayesha’s mum say that she didn’t like the bottom layer much but the middle one was amazing.’
‘There were some quality ingredients in that six-quid cake.’
‘And it was an inspired touch wrapping the yellow brick road round it.’
‘Thanks.’
They both sat side by side looking out onto the crowded dance floor.
‘Why are you not jumping around the dance floor like a drunk Bambi? Legs flying in all directions and your hair whipping unsuspecting onlookers? It’s not like you to sit a cheesy tune out?’
She wanted to quip back that he wouldn’t have a clue what she was like now, much less have a right to guess, but the wedding had been spectacularly fun so far, and ending it in a sparring match would cancel out the fun of the day. ‘I’m babysitting the DJ.’
Ben looked over at where the forlorn puppy-eyed young lad was staring at the dance floor which was filled with couples performing pre-mating rituals. ‘He looks old enough to be out by himself. Just.’
‘His name’s Sam, he’s just been dumped and his default playlist is a little suicide-inducing. So I have to sit here and give him this look—’ Eve scrunched her eyes into menacing slits and slowly wagged her finger back and forth ‘—until he comes to his senses and puts the Spice Girls back on.’
Ben laughed. ‘Wow, poor guy. Bet he’s wishing he never took this gig on.’
‘Him and me both, I’m desperate for a pee and I finished my drink about an hour ago.’
‘I’m happy to hold the fort for ten minutes if you like?’
Saying yes meant he was doing her a favour, but saying no meant that in all likelihood there’d be a puddle on the floor soon and she’d have completely sobered up through lack of alcohol. She didn’t really have a choice. ‘Fine. But show me your scary face.’
‘My what?’
‘How is Sam the Brokenhearted going to take you seriously if you don’t have a scary face?’
A pause. For a moment Eve thought he wasn’t going to play along, then Ben’s mouth contorted into a twist, his eyes narrowed into a sneer and he simultaneously raised his left eyebrow. The final result had Eve doubled up with laughter. ‘Back in ten.’ She took one step away from him, then turned back conciliatorily. ‘Can I get you anything from the bar on the way back?’
If he was surprised he didn’t show it, airily replying, ‘A beer would be good.’
Chapter 17
‘Cheers!’ Their glasses clinked together, and Ben moved his chair slightly to allow Eve to squeeze through next to him. The music had been turned up a little, and their proximity to the speaker meant they had to shout to each other, and lean in a little closer than Eve felt comfortable with. It reminded her of so many nights in the student union where she’d pressed her body to him a little gratuitously under the pretence of hearing better, despite not actually needing to.
His aftershave didn’t trigger any memories for her, he was wearing a scent she didn’t recognise. He was more of a Lynx-sprayed-all-over-his-body man back then, and the fragrance he was now wearing was considerably more expensive and sophisticated, but it blended with his natural smell and warmth, and it was making Eve feel a little light-headed with nostalgia.
‘There was a bit of a hairy moment when Sam saw you walk away and thought he’d grab his chance to line up James Blunt’s Goodbye My Lover, but I stepped in with my menacing look and saved the day.’
‘I’m pleased you’re taking your role so seriously,’ Eve replied.
They sat side by side in silence for a bit, both sipping their drinks and staring at the dance floor where a variety of enthusiastic dance moves were being performed. One uncle was doing the putting-up-shelves dance, miming hammering in the air and smoothing a plank, while Ayesha’s mum was intent on doing the twist to every song regardless of genre or rhythm. A small circle had formed around Ayesha, who was moving her pelvis in some sort of figure-of-eight belly dance around a flamingo that someone had carried in from outside.
‘So, weddings,’ Ben said, making an exaggerated eyebrow raise.
‘Yep. Got to love them.’
‘Becca’s just asked me to her wedding in a few weeks actually.’
This was news to Eve. She was sure Becca would have run the idea past her first beforehand. She could only assume the invite was extended after copious amounts of alcohol was consumed, and it was used to fill in a gap in the conversation.
‘Are you going to go?’ Eve asked breezily, not feeling breezy in the slightest.
‘I thought I might, be good to see more of the old crowd, and I am free that weekend.’
Eve nodded, giving the impression of agreeing.
‘Unless you don’t want me to?’
His ability to see her thoughts lurking behind her smile caught her off guard. ‘No, it’s fine, it’s good. It’ll give me the opportunity to get you back for the photo you just embarrassed me with.’
Ben laughed. ‘Oh that one was tame, I have plenty more.’
The thought of him keeping photos of her, lugging these photos around with him from place to place made her feel a bit strange. Had he looked at them often? What was he thinking if he had? Was there some remorse of how he’d just upped and left? Or were they merely a reminder of his youth, with no sentimentality attached to them at all? She could hardly ask him. But there were so many things she wanted to ask him.
‘Why didn’t you come with me to New York?’ The question surprised them both. Eve wanted to pick up the words and shove them back in her mouth, and Ben’s face flushed. The beat of the music was loud, too loud. It reverberated through the floor and their chairs, and when Ben replied Eve could feel his breath warm on her ear.
‘I’ll explain everything another time. But not now.’
‘Why not now?’ Eve demanded, the alcohol making her brave.
‘It’s an incredibly long story, and we’re drunk, but I want to explain, and I—’ he got cut of by an outstretched upturned hand leaning across him and stopping in front of Eve’s face.
‘Can I have that dance now?’ Andrew asked.
There was a split second where Eve looked to Ben for, she didn’t know what, his permission? He gave a shrug, and Eve took Andrew’s hand, allowing him to lead her towards the revellers. Remembering her task for the evening, she turned at the periphery of the wooden dance floor and shouted back at Ben. ‘Oi, Hepworth!’ She pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then at his, then to Sam the DJ in the recognised gesture of ‘I’m watching you, watching him’.
‘You were gone for ages,’ Andrew said, twirling Eve round under his arm.
‘Sorry, I had to babysit the DJ. I’ve passed the baton over now though.’
‘I’m not going to ask what that means. It’s fine though, your friend Becca entertained us.’
Eve raised one eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘She was telling us about how you only date blokes with names beginning with B, and that I should step aside and let Bobby ask you out.’
Oh God. In what universe did Becca think that was an acceptable topic of conversation with a couple of attractive strangers?
‘Is that true?’
Eve shook her head. ‘It’s a ridiculous thing that was said at a séance, Becca shouldn’t have said anything, ignore her.’ Eve cringed – that made it sound like she wanted him to take no notice of what Becca had said and ask her out. In her embarrassment she suddenly forgot how to dance, becoming very self-aware of every step and arm movement, to the point that it looked as though she was having a choreographed fit.
Andrew was quite a good dancer; long limbs often equate to octopus-like dance moves, but he was managing what Eve wasn’t, and that was dancing in time to the rhythm and talking at the same time. ‘She only told me because I asked her for your number.’
A Beautiful Day for a Wedding Page 13
