It Had to Be You

by Lynda Renham

  ‘To be frank it is. I’m on my way to my final dress fitting at Victoria’s Bridal and last time it wouldn’t zip up. I’ve done everything apart from having my flesh surgically removed. If the thing doesn’t fit this time I don’t know what I’ll do.’

  He pulls a face.

  ‘Oh dear, sounds nerve-wracking,’ he says, rolling his eyes.

  ‘It’s all right for you men. You just buy a better suit don’t you?’

  I drop my mobile into my bag and hesitate. I’m running late but I don’t want to say goodbye.

  ‘Are you off to a meeting?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Just left one, was going for a coffee actually. Maybe I can get you another?’

  He looks at me hopefully.

  ‘I’m late for the fitting but … Well you could come to the fitting with me. They do great coffee there actually, and chocolate biscuits,’ I say boldly, feeling my shoulders tense in anticipation of him saying no.

  He looks thoughtful.

  ‘Unless you have somewhere else you should be,’ I add quickly, making it easier for him to say no.

  He bites his lip and feelings I really shouldn’t have run through me.

  ‘No, I haven’t. Isn’t Muffy meeting you there?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘She had a meeting.’

  ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ he smiles.

  He tucks my arm through his.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Sophie doesn’t bat an eyelid when I walk into Victoria’s Bridal with William. She settles us on her cosy white couches and gets us coffee.

  ‘So, we’ll let you get your breath and then we will try the dress, and I feel certain it will fit. I can see you have lost weight,’ says Sophie.

  I feel a bit more confident. William removes his jacket and takes off his tie, reminding me of when he had done that in the kitchen at Driftwood.

  ‘How is Driftwood?’ I ask

  ‘Quieter now you’re not there,’ he smiles.

  ‘I wasn’t that noisy.’

  Sophie hands a plate of biscuits to him.

  ‘For you only,’ she says to William. ‘Now, let’s get this fitting done before us girls both collapse from anxiety.’

  Oh God, any confidence I may have felt left me with that one sentence. I follow her to the fitting room.

  ‘You won’t leave will you?’ I call over my shoulder.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy my biscuits and while I’m at it I’ll eat your share.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  He laughs and my heart beats even faster. My whole body is a tremble. I can’t believe he is marrying that beauty-tweeting bitch bloody Andrea.

  ‘God Binki, you’re shaking all over. It will be fine. If it doesn’t fit we’ll do something. There are always ways around these things,’ consoles Mandy.

  I’m barely thinking about the dress now if I’m honest. I look at it hanging on the stand and check my reflection in the dressing room mirror. I look radiant and it’s not often I think that about myself I can tell you. Tendrils of hair have escaped the messy bun and hang loosely around my neck. My cheeks are flushed and I do look a bit slimmer, not loads but hopefully, please God, enough to get into the dress. I slide out of my clothes and exhale as Mandy takes the dress from the stand.

  ‘Ready?’ she asks.

  I feel like I’m being led out to a firing squad instead of going to try my wedding dress for the most important day of my life. I nod nervously and step into the dress. She gently pulls it up and I slide my arms into the cool fabric and slip it over my shoulders. It fits snugly on my hips and I take a deep breath.

  ‘Right,’ says Mandy, and I feel her yank the zipper. I will myself not to hold my breath. It has to fit without that. The dress gets tighter as she pulls up the zip and then …

  ‘It fits,’ she cries.

  I fight the desire to literally cry myself.

  ‘Oh Binki, it’s beautiful and it fits a treat. Look,’ says Sophie.

  She twirls me around and I come face to face with myself in my wedding dress. It hangs perfectly and I really do look like a fairy-tale princess. Before I realise what she is doing she has whisked open the curtains and is saying to William,

  ‘So what do you think?’

  William slowly puts his coffee cup down without taking his eyes off me. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it again.

  ‘You don’t like it?’ I say. ‘It’s supposed to give me a Grace Kelly look, you know, before she died remember,’ I say.

  He swallows.

  ‘You look sensational, and a hundred times more stunning than Grace Kelly,’ he says finally.

  I smile.

  ‘Really, you’re not just saying that?’

  ‘I never lie, remember?’

  ‘Once you did,’ I say softly.

  ‘It wasn’t strictly a lie I just held back the truth,’ he smiles.

  Our eyes lock and I think we would have stayed that way had Sophie not pulled me back to the dressing room.

  ‘Right, let’s get this off and do a final veil check and then you can have a chocolate biscuit if your brother has left any.’

  I don’t correct her and neither does William.

  ‘I’ve put two to one side,’ he calls.

  I see my phone flashing in my bag and remember the text from earlier. It is from Muffy.

  ‘Sweetie, can you phone when you get out of the fitting. I feel like shit and had to go home, gone down with some bug. Do you think Oliver will go with you to Ronnie Scott’s tonight? God, I’m so sorry.’

  Shit. I was so looking forward to that too. Oliver sitting through an evening of jazz music is almost unthinkable. God it’s like asking him to sit through Strictly Come Dancing. I tap in her number.

  ‘Hello,’ she says croakily.

  ‘Just checking you’re really sick,’ I say.

  ‘God, I’m not sick, I’m dying. I think you should make arrangements for a standin maid of honour,’ she groans.

  ‘You’ll survive,’ I laugh.

  ‘I’ve never puked so much in my life. Do you think Oliver will go?’ she asks anxiously.

  ‘Yes, of course he will. If not my mum would love to, so don’t worry and at least I have the tickets,’ I lie, knowing that Oliver hates jazz and that my mum probably would come but under sufferance.

  ‘Dare I ask, did the dress …’

  ‘Yes,’ I say excitedly, and am about to tell her about William when she breaks in with,

  ‘God, I’m going to puke again. Phone me later.’

  The phone goes dead. I toss it back into my bag and throw on the rest of my clothes before joining William.

  ‘I’ll get the veil and we’ll have a fiddle,’ says Mandy.

  ‘Sounds delightful,’ I say.

  ‘You have everything else, the something borrowed, and the something blue?’ Sophie asks.

  ‘I see what you mean about it being easier for us men,’ laughs William.

  I reach across him for a chocolate biscuit, expecting him to move back slightly but he doesn’t, and my face comes close to his. He smiles at me shyly. I grab the biscuit and lean back feeling my legs tremble.

  ‘Mum is giving me the something borrowed but I have still to get the something blue.’

  ‘Ah,’ says William, ‘that’s on me then. What’s the usual blue thing women have for their wedding?’

  Sophie laughs.

  ‘That is such a man thing to say, but usually a garter unless you have one already Binki?’

  I shake my head. God, I can’t let William buy me a blue garter for my wedding day, Oliver would have a thousand canary fits, no two thousand more like if he knew. She brings a tray of garters for him to look at, and he rolls his eyes.

  ‘Not what I imagined I would be doing when I woke up this morning,’ he says, fingering the lacy garters and affecting my loins in a way they haven’t been affected in years.

  ‘It seems fitting that I of all people should buy you something
blue,’ he laughs holding up a particularly pretty garter. ‘Just remember not to wash it with your white jumper. How about this one? Do you want to try it?’ he asks.

  I shake my head, thinking it is perfect and exactly what I would have chosen myself.

  ‘Your brother has good taste. I’ll put it with the rest of your things,’ says Sophie.

  I sip my coffee. I’m finding it hard to know what to say to him. I want to ask him about beauty-tweeting bitch Andrea but I can’t.

  ‘I’ve been demoted from husband to brother it seems,’ he laughs. ‘I can’t imagine what Andy would make of that one.’

  His phone rings and he excuses himself to take the call. It’s obviously Andrea. I wonder if he will tell her he is with me.

  ‘Right, let’s try this veil,’ says Sophie.

  I follow her over to the dressing room again as two women enter the shop. I slip into the dress again and she settles the veil on my head and fiddles with it for a bit while I wonder if I should ask Oliver to come with me to Ronnie Scott’s but I know he will hate it.

  ‘I’ll come if you can’t find anyone else. Have you asked your mum?’ he says.

  ‘I’ll do that now. How is your day?’ I ask, slipping on the garter to see how it looks.

  ‘Bloody manic actually. I probably wouldn’t be able to get away in time anyway. How is the fitting, was it okay?’

  ‘Yes, everything fits.’

  ‘Phew,’ he laughs. ‘Just a few more days and we’ll be relaxing in Tuscany.’

  The garter looks lovely and I stare at it for several seconds before saying,

  ‘I’d better go, we’re adjusting the veil.’

  ‘Okay Hun, see you later, text me what you’re doing.’

  I spot William wander back into the shop and the two women turn to look at him. One nudges the other and giggles. He smiles at them and looks around for me.

  ‘Trying on the garter,’ I say.

  ‘Come and see,’ says Sophie.

  No! I really should tell her he isn’t my brother. This is getting out of hand. Nicely out of hand I admit, but out of hand all the same. He pops his head around the curtain and I lift the dress timidly, and give him a glimpse of the garter. He nods approvingly.

  ‘I hope Oliver appreciates it,’ he says, pulling the curtain.

  Ten minutes later and I’m finished. I tidy my hair, apply some lipstick and hug Sophie warmly. The whole time my thoughts have been on William. He has been with me for nearly two hours, surely he will have to leave soon. He is sitting relaxed on the couch when I come out, chatting about work on his phone. He gives me the thumbs up and finishes the call.

  ‘Is that it? Your wedding officially sorted?’

  I nod.

  ‘Yep.’

  I’m struggling to think of ways to keep him here but bloody nothing is coming to mind. Aside from having a sudden fainting spell I’m totally buggered, and in a few minutes I’ll be saying goodbye and who knows when I’ll see him again. We leave the shop and step outside and I shiver. It was so warm in the shop that I had forgotten how chilly it was outside. I wrap my scarf around me and push my hands into my poncho pocket.

  ‘Well,’ says William, looking down the street.

  ‘It was nice seeing you and thanks so much for being a support,’ I say.

  ‘It was fun,’ he says hailing down a cab.

  Oh no, think of something Binki, but nothing remotely sensible comes to mind. The cab pulls up beside us.

  ‘Can I drop you somewhere?’ William asks.

  Yes, off Tower Bridge sounds a good idea. He moves towards me and I put my arms around him with the intention of giving him a goodbye hug. His arms pull me closer and his lips nuzzle my neck.

  ‘Have a great wedding,’ he says into my ear and then steps into the cab. My hand reaches out to the door before he can pull it closed and I lean in and hear myself say,

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re free a bit later. I’ve got tickets for Ronnie Scott’s. It’s Muffy’s birthday present to me, but she’s gone down with a stomach bug and Oliver hates jazz and …’

  ‘Get in,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘Get in the cab.’

  ‘Right,’ I mumble, throwing in my bag.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  So here I am again in yet another restaurant talking to the loo. I’m beginning to think that restaurant loos are not given anywhere near the credit they deserve. They are not mentioned at all in any self-help book. I should write my own self-help book called Loo Therapy, or words to that effect. I find it is a great place to be really mindful, and no one interrupts you. You can sit on your little toilet seat safe in the knowledge that no one will disturb you and you can have your own little meltdown in your own little public loo, which is precisely what I’m doing now. Have I gone totally insane? What am I doing? I’m having dinner with another man, who I’m not only deeply attracted to but am beginning to think in love with too. I’m getting married in five days and what is worse, I’ve not told Oliver the truth. When he’d texted and asked if I was okay for Ronnie Scott’s, I simply said yes, and when he presumed I was going with my mum I didn’t correct him. I’m being unfaithful to my husband and I haven’t married him yet. Not that William and I have done anything apart from have dinner but I swear if he swept everything off the table and sprawled me on it, I’d be his for the taking. He can have me with the soup of the day any time. This is awful. What’s worse is that I’m sure he was seeing Andrea this evening. Of course I can’t be sure. He had assured me that he had nothing important on this evening.

  ‘Nothing I can’t get out of,’ he had said, but on returning from my second loo therapy session I overheard him finish a conversation with her,

  ‘Apologise for me will you Andrea? And we’ll do dinner with them together next week. I couldn’t say no to this proposition, Phil will understand. I’ll see you later.’

  He had hung up quickly on seeing me. I’ve now left him to pay the bill and order a taxi where we will drive to my flat so I can change for Ronnie Scott’s. I’m praying Oliver hasn’t come home or I might have trouble explaining who is in the waiting taxi outside the flat. I keep trying to tell myself that everything about the evening is completely innocent, but I know that just about everything is far from innocent. Admittedly we’ve kept our dinner conversation to basics like work, the offices at Driftwood and how they are finally finished, but we’re both acutely aware that we have been dishonest with our prospective spouses and there is only one reason you would do that, right? Which means this whole evening isn’t completely innocent is it? I reluctantly leave the loo and my little private therapy session and walk back to our table where he is waiting for me.

  ‘Ready?’ he asks.

  ‘I should pay my half of the bill,’ I say, putting on my poncho.

  ‘No way, I’m getting a free ticket to Ronnie Scott’s. The cab is outside.’

  He takes my hand like it is the most natural thing in the world. He tips the waiter and says,

  ‘Thanks Louis, see you next time.’

  ‘I hope so Mr Ellis. Good evening madam.’

  I smile and feel William’s arm slide around my waist as he directs me to the cab. The drive to the flat is short, and thankfully Oliver isn’t home. I pull my best evening dress from the wardrobe. You know the one, the little black dress that always comes out for weddings, christenings, bar mitzvahs and of course, jazz evenings. I tie a silk white scarf around my neck to complement the dress, and pop some pearl studs into my ears before redoing my make-up and hair. I slip my feet into a pair of black heels and finally throw my coat over the whole lot while a little voice in my head whispers It’s not right you know. Why is it these little voices try to put a damper on everything? It’s a night at a jazz club not a night in a Travelodge, although I am wondering which would be preferable, and that’s a first because I have never craved a night at a Travelodge before, even more so after my exploits in them with Oliver. As usual William is on the
phone when I step into the cab, and continues to stay on it the whole journey to Ronnie Scott’s. He finishes as we pull up and pays the driver before I have a chance to reach into my bag. When I complain he smiles.

  ‘If I remember you always were a bit slow getting that purse out,’ he says.

  ‘That’s not true,’ I protest as he takes my arm.

  ‘You look nice by the way.’

  I’m glad it’s dark and he cannot see my blushes. We enter the club and I’m immediately swept along by the atmosphere. A prettily dressed woman is offering around a tray of Baileys.

  ‘Ben Bailey is our artist tonight. A little treat,’ she says. William goes to take two glasses but I shake my head. Just a taste of anything that looks like chocolate will tip me over the edge.

  ‘I’ve got to get into that dress in five days’ time,’ I say, fighting the temptation.

  For us addicts anything that reminds us of the smooth melt-in-the-mouth creaminess of chocolate is an absolute nightmare. Seriously, I could snort a whole tin of cocoa powder right now, I feel that desperate.

  ‘I was trying hard not to remember that?’ he says quietly.

  I turn expecting to see his usual smile but there isn’t one. He guides me to the bar and orders a Bacardi Breezer and a whisky. We don’t speak for a time and just sip at the drinks.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says finally, ‘I should have asked if you wanted a wine or something?’

  ‘This is perfect,’ I say.

  He turns on his stool to face me.

  ‘When is your wedding?’ I say quickly.

  Why the sodding hell I said that I do not know. He looks a bit taken aback and shakes his head.

  ‘I don’t know. We’re not organised like you. I guess we’ll just do it one weekend when we’ve got nothing else on,’ he replies gesturing to the barman for another whisky.

  ‘I would have invited you. It’s Oliver and …’

  He rests his hand on mine.

  ‘It’s fine. I’m happy to know you’ll be wearing my garter,’ he smiles.

  Right Binki, chapter one of Loo Therapy should be titled Don’t fall in love with your best friend, and should follow with Never go to a jazz club with your best friend, especially if he is a man, and more importantly, do not let said best friend buy your wedding garter. But most of all make sure you drink only one Bacardi Breezer even if he drinks two glasses of whisky. But of course, I haven’t written the book yet so I can’t follow its advice can I? I have a second Bacardi Breezer. Second chapter should be titled Jazz music is a No No. Unless you hate it of course, because the artist may ask for requests and your best friend requests your favourite song It had to be You and you feel so sodding sad and fumble around in your handbag pulling out everything from a lipstick with the top off to a pair of frilly knickers which you end up blowing your nose on because you can’t find a tissue until finally your best friend will hand you a tissue which you take and your hands that touch will somehow stay together for the rest of the evening. His hand is warm and I feel I should move it but somehow I can’t. As the club empties he turns towards me, unclasping his hand from mine as he does so.