It Had to Be You

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Hey kinky Binki, how are you doing?’

  I turn at the sound of my name to see Richard Head swaying towards us, Andrea at his heels looking so casual that I want to crawl under the table and hide myself and my black cocktail dress from the whole world. What the hell is happening? Have I accidently clicked something on my Facebook page that tells the whole bloody world where I am? I barely ever bump into anyone when I’m out and tonight I’m seeing just about everyone. Christ, my sodding parents will walk in next. And what the hell does he mean by kinky Binki? They have both clearly had too much to drink. They are with a group of others that have followed them from the top floor. It looks like they have just come from a five-year-old’s birthday party minus the party bags. One of the group holds a bunch of balloons and is draped with a Just Engaged sash. Richard is barely able to walk in a straight line and Andrea’s cheeks are flushed bright red. She is wearing a floppy wool fedora on her head and a thick multi-coloured poncho over her jeans. They were obviously leaving, what a shame they didn’t quite make it to the door.

  ‘Kinky Binki,’ repeats Piers, laughing.

  Andrea leans brazenly across him almost falling into his lap. Her eyes are bloodshot and her mascara has run slightly making her look almost evil.

  ‘Piers, how are you darling, it’s been months since I’ve seen you. I didn’t know you were here. We’ve been on the top floor celebrating Kat and Jools’ engagement. You know what it’s like upstairs, up the bloody stairs.’

  She goes to kiss him on the cheek but loses her balance and ends up giving him a slobbering kiss on his neck.

  ‘Ah, didn’t you know,’ she slurs. ‘Binki works in a sex shop, kinky Binky, get it?’ she giggles.

  Piers looks at me.

  ‘I thought you were in sales,’ he says, frowning.

  I’ll kill the bitch.

  ‘Flavoured condoms and porn DVD sales maybe,’ laughs Richard. ‘Hey Binki, do we get discount as we know you?’

  Right that’s it.

  ‘Hello Richard,’ I say sweetly. ‘How did you get here? Did someone leave your cage open?’

  He stares at me like an imbecile.

  ‘I don’t get what you mean.’

  ‘Well don’t think about it too much it might sprain your brain,’ I snap.

  ‘You don’t have to get on your high horse darling,’ snorts Andrea. ‘It’s not our fault you work in a sex shop is it?’ she sways towards me and grabs the back of Piers’s chair.

  ‘Oh I feel sick. Where’s William. Where’s my Will.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean about a cage,’ says Richard dreamily, bumping into a waiter. ‘I’ll sit here next to you mate,’ he says to Alex.

  ‘This is Richard Head,’ I say sarcastically, ‘but everyone calls him Dick Head.’

  ‘Well, if the name fits,’ laughs Alex.

  ‘You sit down, over there, at table,’ shouts the waiter.

  ‘Don’t you bloody shout at me, you obnoxious chink, I’ve just spent over seventy-five quid in here,’ Richard snarls leaning dangerously towards me.

  ‘Okay, you’ve overstepped the mark now,’ says Roche, standing up.

  ‘You sure have Dick Head,’ says Alex, also standing up. ‘I know they’re bloody rude to us but that’s what most of us come here for. If you don’t like it you should go somewhere else. No need to be racist.’

  ‘William,’ shrieks Andrea as she sees him walking towards us. ‘Oh, Will honey I feel so rough.’

  He catches her as she falls into his arms. Very conveniently I have to say. Richard drops his head onto the table.

  ‘Oh God,’ he groans.

  ‘Will, honey can you take me home. I’m so sorry Will … I’m …’ whines Andrea.

  ‘Yes, okay I’ll take you home,’ says William without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘I’ll call a cab for you,’ Roche says, ‘and I’ll take Binki back, and as for you, William, you’ve just paid the bill haven’t you.’

  William smiles glancing at me but I turn away.

  ‘I’ll sign the contract; send it over in the morning and William, let’s keep this between us until it’s all legally settled. We don’t want it to upset the markets do we, not yet?’

  William shakes hands with Roche.

  ‘It’s a deal, you have my word.’

  William turns to me a grin on his face.

  ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Oh, don’t rush,’ I say spitefully.

  ‘Will, can we go,’ moans Andrea.

  Within a few moments William and Andrea have gone, as well as the engagement party revellers and the restaurant quietens.

  ‘A sex shop huh?’ Roche asks.

  ‘Yep, you should visit. A free chocolate penis with every purchase,’ I say, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

  ‘I’ll be there tomorrow,’ laughs Alex, pouring the last of the champagne into a glass.

  ‘So you’re not in sales? What was all that about this evening then?’ asks Roche.

  ‘Up until Christmas I was a senior sales assistant at Temco and I was good at my job. I had everything Piers, and then some prick of a boss decides he wants me over his desk on Christmas Eve and I say no. He has since made it impossible for me to work anywhere, and if that wasn’t enough I went home to find my boyfriend screwing his boss in our bed. But all that aside, you should sign that contract. I may work in a sex shop but I don’t lie.’

  He studies me. I feel a lump in my throat and knock back half a glass of wine to calm me down.

  ‘The guy in the bar,’ he says.

  I nod.

  ‘What’s his name?’ he asks, wrapping my pashmina around my shoulders.

  ‘Ben Newman,’ I say miserably.

  ‘Leave him to me.’ He nods and leads me from the restaurant.

  ‘William is a good guy but he isn’t one to commit. He’s too work focused. You may not need this advice but there it is for what it’s worth.’

  I climb into the Mercedes and say,

  ‘No I don’t need it. I’m accepting my boyfriend’s marriage proposal tomorrow.’

  And it was done. The decision was made and it was that simple. I suddenly knew it was the right thing to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘There must be something you like,’ says Muffy, squeezing herself into a Spandex all in one.

  ‘There was, that black dress that you said was too sixties,’ I say, opening a bag of M&Ms.

  ‘It’s perfect if you’re planning a sixties themed wedding but personally I can’t see Oliver in a paisley shirt and kipper tie,’ she pants and scrutinises herself in the mirror. ‘Besides, the going away dress is as important as your wedding gown.’

  She looks down at the Spandex.

  ‘Christ, do women wear these all day long. I’d need to carry smelling salts.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop eating those,’ says Mum pointing to the M&Ms. ‘You’ll never get into your wedding dress.’

  ‘What wedding dress?’ quips Muffy, ‘She hasn’t bloody chosen a wedding dress yet. This will be the only wedding where everyone will be dressed up except the bride,’ she huffs.

  She adjusts her silk bra before slipping a dusty blue ball gown over her head.

  ‘There’s plenty of time,’ I say.

  ‘Two and a half months is not long in wedding terms. Will you tell her Bella?’ pleads Muffy.

  ‘She’s quite right darling. It will be here before you know it,’ agrees Mum.

  ‘And you’ll be walking down the aisle like Lady Godiva will you?’ quips Muffy.

  ‘At least it will be different,’ I smile.

  Muffy twirls in front of us almost knocking the M&Ms out of my hand with her chiffon scarf.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘You look like Camilla Parker Bowles on tour in India,’ I say, studying her.

  She sighs.

  ‘Let me try it. I don’t mind looking like Camilla Parker Bowles at your wedding,’ says Mum excitedly.

/>   ‘Do you want to look like sodding Dawn French when you waddle down the aisle?’ snaps Muffy, snatching the M&Ms from me.

  ‘She’s quite slim now,’ I say, sipping iced water from a glass the assistant had given me.

  We’re in Victoria’s Bridal, for that perfect outfit for that perfect occasion, is what the brochure says. Mum disappears into the changing room to turn herself into Camilla.

  ‘I don’t know what I want,’ I say honestly.

  ‘Apart from bloody M&Ms,’ Muffy says scornfully.

  The truth is the excitement I had always imagined I would feel preparing for my wedding kind of evaporated the minute Oliver and I started looking at invitation cards. It isn’t Oliver’s fault either. The past three weeks since I accepted his proposal he has been so romantic, too romantic if I am honest. You know that kind of puke into a sick bag romantic. He sends me little text hearts every hour on the hour, to the point where my Blackberry got clogged up. In fact I am surrounded by hearts and flowers. There are flowers all over the house and little heart notes which say things like, You’ve made me the happiest man in the world and Thinking of you. He even sent me a huge heart card that the post lady couldn’t get through the letter box. He’s actively looking for another job and struggling to find a tenant for our flat so we can move into the dream house we have found just around the corner from Muffy. I should be ecstatic, I know. I’m walking around with a huge rock on my finger and I’m acting like I lost a thousand pounds and found a tenner. William’s deal with Roche has gone without a hitch and once the final details are sorted by the solicitors it will be made public. I have a great job working for William. I fall out of bed and straight into my office chair in the offices next to the house. William is seeing Andrea again, I think. Well, he is seeing someone. Don’t worry, I’m not counting his condoms or anything but I imagine they are going down at an alarming rate. He whooshes more than ever so something is giving him that extra energy. I’m not whooshing at all. And the way I have been going through the chocolate teapot I really should be whooshing at something. Oliver and I are using a bit of energy having sex of sorts. It’s all a bit embarrassing really and I’m sure I shouldn’t feel like this with my future husband but somehow I can’t quite get Amanda Rowland out of my head. I’m sure I will, and of course it doesn’t help that we do it in hotel rooms because I won’t go near the flat. We must be the only engaged couple with a shared flat who are spending a fortune having sex in hotel rooms. I can’t imagine what the receptionists at these hotels think. We only ever stay a few hours. I’m wearing an engagement ring. Honestly I must look a right slag having it off with someone while engaged to someone else. We do try and alternate the hotels. Oliver seems to like the sordidness of it as each time the hotel gets cheaper and cheaper. Well, we are preparing for a wedding remember. We’ll be shagging in a Travelodge soon. Still that’s fine as even they have a kettle and coffee sachets which is about all I fancy afterwards, well that and a few M&Ms. Muffy is right though I really should stop eating them. The worst part is that I just want the sex to be over as quickly as possible. Nothing he does sexually seems to work and I’m starting to wonder if I should see a sex therapist. The other problem is that Oliver thinks everything is great. I’m so keen to get it over with that I fake orgasm so often even Meg Ryan could learn something from me. I am seriously good. I even do that build up stuff really well, you know the moaning and the ‘oh don’t stop, don’t stop,’ stuff, when in fact he isn’t doing anything to stop, but it all sounds good and then my finale is truly worthy of some kind of award. Apart from screaming ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ like a banshee and thumping the mattress, which may be a bit over the top, I seriously think I could easily win one of those awards they give to porno stars. Actually, if my job with William doesn’t work out I should consider a career in the porn game. Of course the M&M addiction would have to be curtailed. A nice bum is crucial in the porn business. I should know, I saw enough of them at the sex shop. Still, I suppose once I get into that business I’ll be doing lines of cocaine, never mind the M&Ms.

  ‘I know I complained about you working in that sex shop but God Binki, it’s turned you into a really dirty bitch. You’re coming all over the place these days,’ said a satisfied Oliver.

  So, now he thinks I’m multi-orgasmic. What’s worse he thinks he barely has to do anything to make it happen. That doesn’t bode well for our marriage does it?

  ‘Well,’ asks my mum emerging from the changing room looking like the queen mother, when she was alive, of course.

  ‘Great, you look perfect,’ I say.

  Muffy holds up a wedding dress and the assistant gasps.

  ‘Oh, this is a one-off, the designer is new but in a few months you won’t be able to get any of her designs. The demand will be massive. I predict …’

  ‘Try it on at least,’ urges Muffy.

  My phone rings and I pull it from bag and feel my heart flutter when I see it is William.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘I’m just back from Holland. How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m in Victoria’s Bridal with Mum and Muffy. We’re looking at dresses.’

  Do I sound as bored as I feel?

  ‘Give Oliver my love,’ says Mum.

  ‘Sounds riveting,’ he laughs.

  ‘Did it go well in Holland?’

  ‘Yeah, really well and I bought you two family bags of M&Ms at duty free. They’re in the teapot.’

  I smile.

  ‘I didn’t know Oliver was in Holland,’ whispers Mum to Muffy.

  ‘It’s William,’ mumbles Muffy trying on a flowered hair accessory making her look like a Druid.

  ‘You’re not wearing that,’ I hiss. ‘You like a Satan worshipper.’

  I will miss Driftwood when I am married to Oliver. I should really chase up the solicitors to find out if the house is mine or William’s but I somehow can’t bring myself to. I don’t want to know who owns our house any more because in my mind, that’s what it is, our house. The night following the dinner with Piers Roche, William had officially offered me a job at Ellis Enterprises.

  ‘I can’t find my purple striped shirt. I’ve got a meeting later and I really wanted to wear that one. Have you seen it?’

  I smile.

  ‘It’s in the bathroom, hanging behind the door.’

  I hear his footsteps on the stairs and he laughs.

  ‘Ah, how did it get there?’

  I sigh.

  ‘Right, will I see you later? Are you doing anything with Oliver tonight?’

  I bite my lip. Oliver was planning on taking me to dinner.

  ‘No,’ I lie.

  ‘Great. Roche’s investment with Optimun is all finalised and the news hits the Financial Times tomorrow. We should go out and do something to celebrate.’

  ‘Yes,’ I hear myself say. What the hell am I doing? This is a bad start to my marriage, but William is just my friend right? It isn’t like I’m having dinner with another man is it?

  ‘I’ll book that place opposite the ice rink. See you later.’

  I hang up feeling my heart racing. Roche’s words run through my brain he isn’t one to commit, he’s too work focused. He’s quite right, it’s all about work. What do I tell Oliver? Surely he will understand if I say I want to celebrate this deal with William. After all, I did kind of help him to get it.

  ‘This veil works perfectly with the dress too,’ says the assistant excitedly.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ says Mum, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

  ‘Are you crying?’ I say.

  ‘Of course not, it’s the glaucoma,’ she sniffs.

  ‘You don’t have glaucoma.’

  I walk into the dressing room, strip off and step into the dress. It’s soft material cool against my skin. The assistant zips up the back while cooing at me.

  ‘Oh madam, you look stunning.’

  I stare at myself in the mirror and I have to agree. I step out of the dressing room and Muffy and my mum
gasp.

  ‘Oh my God, you look so Grace Kelly,’ says Muffy.

  ‘Before she died I hope,’ I say.

  ‘Oh my,’ whispers Mum with a hand on her heart.

  Okay, it looks nice but I’m not royalty and the bloody lace at the throat is a bit itchy and I’m about to say that when Muffy says,

  ‘And the lace bit at the throat, God, it’s the final touch.’

  It’s the final irritation more like, but they are right, it’s perfect. My fairy-tale wedding dress, the one I had dreamt of wearing since I was a child. It gathers in beautifully at the waist and then billows out fabulously. I don’t look at all like your typical marshmallow bride. The sleeves are lined with little pearl buttons and fall just below my wrist.

  ‘I bet it costs the earth,’ I say depressingly.

  ‘Two thousand,’ whispers the assistant.

  ‘Two thousand,’ I gasp.

  ‘We’re paying for the dress, don’t forget,’ says Mum quickly. ‘It’s our wedding gift.’

  ‘But two thousand pounds, you couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘You only get married once,’ says Muffy.

  Hopefully, but I hate to mention that statistics disagree with her.

  ‘Well,’ I say hesitantly.

  ‘We could give a small reduction,’ says the assistant.

  ‘How small?’ asks Mum.

  ‘Fifteen per cent, that reduces it a fair bit.’’

  I study myself in the mirror and visualise walking down the aisle. It is perfect, but two thousand pounds, Christ, when I think what two thousand pounds could buy. I suppose it is special isn’t it, your wedding day? I could always put it on eBay afterwards.