A Beautiful Day for a Wedding

by Charlotte Butterfield

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, Eve, that is, I, would love you there. With me. In a tent.’

  ‘Well, that’s settled then. You’d better give me your number now so that I can get all the details from you.’

  Eve tapped her number into his outstretched phone, and handed it back to him. He promptly called her so she had his number too. There didn’t seem to be any dating etiquette dodging where Bruno was concerned, none of this ‘he has my number, but I don’t have his,’ or ‘you have to wait three days between dates’. The fact that this time yesterday Eve hadn’t even met him and Bruno was somehow now her plus one to her best friend’s wedding defied all dating logic.

  An hour later when the least hospitable innkeeper in the history of innkeepers had made it quite clear that breakfast was over, the four of them reluctantly left the dining room. Ayesha and Becca said they needed to pack, and bid a hasty retreat leaving Eve and Bruno standing awkwardly in the hallway of the hotel.

  ‘You are just as beautiful in the daylight,’ Bruno said.

  ‘Hardly,’ Eve blushed.

  ‘You are like a pre-Raphaelite painting, with your white skin and long orange hair.’

  ‘Auburn,’ Eve immediately wished she hadn’t been so pedantic.

  ‘I am very happy you invited me to your friend’s wedding.’ I didn’t. Eve thought, but then realised that once again, semantics didn’t matter. Without Becca’s heavy-handed nudging, Bruno definitely wouldn’t be coming to Devon and sharing a hay bale with her, let alone a sleeping bag. Becca had merely fast-tracked what Eve wanted. As he leaned in to kiss her again, Eve closed her eyes and gave an involuntary shiver of excitement at the thought that the next time they did this, they might be naked in the middle of a field.

  Chapter 29

  Most people would admit to having ‘a type’. Some of the celebrities Eve used to write about would move from one cookie-cutter model to the next, with only their names being different: same height, same build, same hair style, same faraway expression. Eve never thought that she prescribed to that, and had never favoured one attribute over another when it came to men. If you’d caught her in a moment of honesty, she’d admit that Ben’s abrupt departure in her life had stopped her seeing other men that way, not really paying attention to what strangers looked like, or if she liked how they looked. But if she ever allowed herself to picture her soul mate, a slip-on-shoe-wearing, charismatic Frenchman probably wasn’t it. That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t open to widening the boundaries of what she found attractive, but Eve had assumed that a more casual and slightly dishevelled man might be the one. A joker that didn’t take life, or themselves, too seriously.

  Someone not unlike Ben.

  Ben. Once upon a time, she and he had planned the family they would one day have. They even had names picked out: Rosie and Stella for girls, Harry and Oliver for boys. Knowing that he’d said all those things, instigated conversations about their future, Eve sadly realised that she’d wasted the last four years pining for a man that clearly wasn’t worth it.

  Eve’s phone pinged, signalling a new message. She assumed it was from Adam or George. Eve had been waiting for them in the cafe they were supposed to be having lunch in for over half an hour, but they were running late.

  It wasn’t them though, it was Bruno.

  I can’t stop thinking about you.

  Eve was unsure of the next step. Should she immediately tap back a similar message, wait a while and then write back echoing his sentiments, or ignore it, and play hard to get? A complete novice at relationships, Eve was at sea. Thankfully back-up arrived at that moment in the form of her brother and George. The pair were laden with distinctive yellow bags from Selfridges. Eve’s irritation at them choosing shopping over her passed as soon as George reached into one of the bags and brought out a pair of oversize clip-on gold earrings shaped like feathers, just for her.

  ‘We saw these and thought of you,’ he explained. ‘They’d look amazing with your hair down. And they look like quills.’

  ‘Thanks guys, I love them.’ Eve attached the new earrings on straightaway.

  ‘So, how was France? Did you choose the wines and taste the food?’

  ‘Yes, and yes. And I met a man.’

  George started flapping while Adam yawned, pretending to play the disinterested younger brother while itching to show the same enthusiasm as his boyfriend.

  ‘Tell us everything.’

  ‘Well, the guy that runs the vineyard you sent me to—’

  ‘Oh my God, you mean Bruno?’ Adam suddenly said, sitting forward in his seat. ‘He is gorgeous!’

  George nodded. ‘We met him when we found the chateau and they recommended we get the wines through him, and we were both like, “wow.”’

  ‘Yes, so we went for the tasting, and Ayesha and Becca got a bit pissed and went back to the hotel, and he took me out to dinner.’

  ‘Squeal!’ George chose to say the word rather than make the sound.

  ‘And then we kissed.’

  ‘And his name’s Bruno. Which begins with a B!’ Adam suddenly shouted, the penny dropping. ‘You’re going to have French children!’

  ‘Steady on, it’s just one kiss. Well, two, but then Becca invited him to come over for her wedding, and he said yes, and now I’m freaking out a bit.’

  ‘Yay! So we’ll meet him again then!’

  Eve looked confused. ‘You’re going to Becca’s wedding?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve already got our outfits.’

  Becca was a lost cause. It was totally possible literally thousands of people were packing their rucksacks ready to descend on a Devon field next weekend. Eve was secretly pleased Becca had invited Adam and George though, at least it meant she’d have friendly faces around her should it all get a bit too much.

  ‘You know Mum’s coming too?’ Eve said.

  ‘Yeah, we went tent shopping with her last weekend.’

  ‘There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear my brother say,’ Eve laughed.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. I mean, I wouldn’t want to do it for more than one night at a time or anything, but now we’ve got all the kit, we might make it a regular thing.’

  ‘We better bloody had do!’ George spluttered. ‘It cost more than a long weekend at Hotel du Vin to buy all the camping stuff, we’re going to use it all the time.’

  ‘I bet you’ve bought proper beds and everything,’ Eve teased. ‘No roll up foam mats for you two.’

  Adam shuddered. ‘Baby steps little sis, baby steps. Why people pay good money to pretend to be homeless is still baffling me.’

  ‘But we went camping all the time when we were young, you liked it then.’

  ‘That was before I got a taste of the good life.’

  ‘I know what you mean though’ Eve said. ‘The whole point of holidays is to have a better life than your normal one isn’t it?’

  George and Adam exchanged a look.

  ‘And how is your normal one?’ George asked, in the same voice a therapist might use when catching up with a client.

  The last time she saw George Eve recalled unloading all her angst on him, so his question was understandable, if not exactly welcome.

  ‘It’s fine. It’s good. I kissed a man, and I liked it.’

  ‘Not just any man either,’ Adam reminded her. ‘The Man.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Eve shrugged. ‘So my love life is potentially looking up, work is ok, and I just have Becca’s wedding and yours left this summer, and wedding season is over.’

  George reached for a biscuit and had his outstretched hand slapped by Adam. ‘Saving the best for last, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Which reminds me, we need your help putting together the wedding newspaper,’ Adam said, getting a big folder, notebook and a new pack of pens out of his bag. He handed a pen and notebook to Eve. ‘For you. Ok, so we want a mini magazine to be handed to each guest when they check in. Nothing too long, only about ten, fifteen pages or so. It
should have an itinerary of the weekend, a map of the local area, a guide to things people can do in their down-time, some interesting facts about the chateau and village, some essential French phrases, a bit about us and how we met, and also a Who’s Who of everyone at the wedding.’

  ‘O-kay. And where do I come in?’ Eve asked.

  ‘We thought you could help us put it together,’ her brother said.

  ‘Yes. But I don’t work for the local tourist office.’

  ‘But it’s easy for you. It’d take us ages, we’re not writers. You can just knock out something like this in an evening.’

  The penny dropped. ‘Hang on, you want me to put together a whole magazine for your wedding?’

  George squirmed a little. ‘It’s more of a pamphlet really.’

  ‘Fifteen pages is not a pamphlet George.’

  ‘I honestly thought you’d want to help us Eve, especially since we just gave you and your friends an all-expenses paid trip to France, and hooked you up with the love of your life,’ Adam said, moving his chair slightly away from Eve to highlight how irritated he was with her. It was a tactic he’d perfected when they were young. By turning his back slightly to her and sticking his nose a few centimetres in the air Eve would normally have handed over the last piece of cake or coveted piece of Lego.

  ‘This is more than an evening’s work though, Adam. You must see that George?’ Eve swivelled her attention to George, who could usually be relied upon to be slightly less demanding.

  ‘It would be helping us out so much, Eve. We still have so much to do, and this is such an important thing that means so much to us, and we just couldn’t do it justice like you could.’

  ‘Say I do this—’ Eve held her hand up to stop the premature jubilation ‘—say I do this, who is going to lay it out and print it?’

  Once again, the two grooms looked shifty.

  ‘So let me get this straight, you want me to write it, design it and print it?’

  George replied first. ‘You work in magazines, you have all the knowledge.’

  ‘And the contacts,’ Adam added.

  ‘And we’ll give you lots of the information, you just need to make it better.’

  ‘And wittier.’

  ‘Oh ok, no pressure then. Better and wittier. Jeez guys, thanks for commandeering every minute of free time I have between now and your wedding,’ Eve said sulkily.

  ‘Those earrings really suit you.’

  ‘Shut up Adam.’

  ***

  ‘Ben’s here.’

  Becca’s yell from the living room made Eve stop dead in the hallway. Eve could tell by Becca’s airy shout that it was a warning more than an announcement of fact. Eve was wearing a bright purple pacamac raincoat that she’d hurriedly bought from the pound shop on her way home as the heavens opened. Her long wet hair was dripping onto the carpet and her mascara was no doubt running in two narrow rivers down her face. How did Ben even know where they lived? She stood frozen to the spot frantically wondering how to stop time so that she could change, dry her hair and redo her make up before going into the living room.

  He suddenly appeared in the doorway to the lounge. ‘Hey Red. Becca’s address was on the bottom of the wedding invite as an RSVP, and I was in the area. It was pouring down so I thought I’d pop in, say hi and wait for the storm to pass. Nice mac.’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  ‘No, really, what would one call that colour? Puce? Magenta?’

  ‘Crimson, I’d say,’ Becca chimed in, joining Ben in the doorway.

  Ben shook his head. ‘It’s more plum than crimson, although you could argue that it’s got a touch of fuchsia.’

  ‘It’s purple.’ Eve rolled her eyes. ‘It’s sodding purple. And yes, I know I look ridiculous but it’s bloody pouring out there and it’s all the pound shop had.’

  ‘Pound shop? Well in that case, it’s a steal.’

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know that the rain’s easing off, so you can go now Ben,’ Eve said haughtily.

  ‘Becca’s invited me to have a pie at the pub downstairs with you two, so you’ve got the pleasure of my company for a bit longer. I need to go by eight though.’

  ‘I’m not hungry, so you guys go ahead. I need a bath anyway. Have fun without me.’ And with that Eve turned her back on them both and stamped down the corridor to the bathroom and slammed the door noisily locking it. She was livid. How could Becca invite Ben into their flat for a start, and then ask him to join them for dinner? Eve stood there in silence for a few minutes staring at the grout between the tiles above the basin before moving to the bath and angrily turning on the taps so Ben and Becca could hear the running water. Eve realised that her towel was in her room, and didn’t want to dilute the effect of her storming off by creeping out to retrieve it. She’d just have to wait until they went out before getting it.

  Scowling at the purple monstrosity that was the cheap raincoat in a heap on the floor, Eve eased herself into the boiling water, wincing at its heat. She lay back in the bath with her eyes closed and forced her mind to go blank. Ben had no right to magically appear back in her life and disrupt it like this. No right at all. He’d made his decision back then and they both had to live with it. Turning up, making jokes, teasing her, pretending that everything was now fine was not cool. Not cool at all. Thank goodness Eve had Bruno now. Oh God, she’d forgotten to text him back after he messaged at lunchtime. Oh well, she’d do that as soon as she heard Ben and Becca leave the flat and could go and get her towel.

  Right on cue Eve heard voices in the hallway and the front door slammed shut.

  Clambering out of the scalding water, Eve looked down and saw that her body was bright red. She drip-dried on the bathmat as much as she could so that when she sprinted across the hallway to her bedroom she wouldn’t get the carpet too wet. She opened the door to check that the coast was clear and once making sure that it was, Eve made a run for it.

  Flinging open her bedroom door Eve inhaled sharply, Ben was in the middle of her bedroom and looked as shocked as she did seeing her standing stark naked in the doorway.

  ‘Bath water a bit too hot?’ he said finally with a smile.

  One of Eve’s hands flew to cover her breasts and the other one a bit lower. Her face, despite not getting wet, was as scarlet as the rest of her body. ‘Oh my God Ben, what are you doing here?’ She took her hand away from her chest to grab her dressing gown that was hanging on the back of the door, and quickly tied it tight around her middle.

  ‘I was leaving you this letter,’ he said, gesturing to an envelope with her name on that was propped up on her pillow. ‘We keep getting interrupted as I’m trying to explain why I left so suddenly, and I wanted to tell you everything.’

  ‘Ben, you don’t need to,’ Eve said, her embarrassment turning into blind rage at the sight of him in her private space. ‘Can you get out of my room now?’

  ‘Just read it,’ he replied, moving towards the door. ‘Then you’ll understand.’

  ‘I really don’t think I will Ben, and anyway, I said I’m not interested. You said it yourself, you fell in love with her again after ditching me at the airport. End of story. Take it with you.’

  ‘Eve, I—’

  ‘Here.’ Eve picked up the envelope from the bed and held it out to Ben. It was heavier than she had anticipated, it felt like many sheets. ‘Take it.’

  ‘Please Eve, just—’

  She shook it at him. ‘Take it.’

  He reluctantly took the letter from her and thrust it deep in his jacket pocket. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘No, Ben, its not what I want. It’s far from what I want. What I wanted was for us to be married, probably have a couple of cute little kids, and be living out our dreams in upstate New York. We might have been able to afford a brownstone by now, which we’d have decorated with amazing artwork we’d buy from art students, and furniture we’d have picked up at weekend flea markets and painted ourselves while listening to your old vinyl
records. You’d be head of photography or creative director at a top agency, maybe teaching photography at New York Film Academy. I’d be writing my own novels that topped the bestseller charts. We’d hire a motorhome for our holidays and drive across Canada or maybe rent a little cottage on a lake or something. But you know, you can’t have everything can you?’

  ‘No,’ Ben said sadly, turning to leave. ‘You can’t.’

  Chapter 30

  The country wedding

  The likes of Bruno didn’t belong on budget airlines. Eve thought so, most of the other passengers on his flight thought so, and it was quite clear by his wrinkled nose and the way he wheeled his expensive suitcase behind him as he emerged from Exeter airport that Bruno himself thought so too.

  ‘How was your flight?’ Eve asked cheerily. It was more of a rhetorical question. He’d arrived in one piece, and that was all that mattered. He clearly agreed as he chose to ignore what she’d said completely and instead kiss her with such force she had to take a step back. So that was the way it going to be, Eve thought with a smile. O-kay then.

  They held hands all the way back to Eve’s rental car, a small two-door city motor, that again looked completely at odds with Bruno, who, in his designer jeans, crisp salmon-colour shirt and cream V-neck sweater should have been putting one long leg into an Aston Martin rather than a Fiat Panda.

  ‘Sorry,’ Eve said. ‘It was the only choice that was left, can you fit in?’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Bruno replied, pushing the passenger seat back as far as it would go.

  They drove the first twenty of the seventy-mile journey in complete silence. Eve kept opening her mouth to fill the car with banal information about the weekend ahead or random facts about the villages they were passing through, before thinking better of it and then closing her mouth.

  ‘So,’ Bruno said finally. ‘Your friend Becca, the bride.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She is your best friend?’