Call Me, Maybe

by Call Me, Maybe (retail) (epub)

  ‘It’s so George doesn’t end up with smudged lipstick all over his mush,’ she says. ‘If you want to go brighter at the reception, I’ll sort you out.’

  When we’re all dolled up and ready to go, Mandy claps her hands together and takes her camera out of her handbag.

  ‘You bunch of stunners!’ she exclaims. ‘I want to take the first picture.’ We gather together and pose with our flowers.

  Just before we head downstairs, Rachel takes a final look in the mirror. We’ve been best friends for life, inseparable throughout school, and even university, and I’ve seen her dressed up to the nines plenty of times. She's always gorgeous to me, but she’s never looked as beautiful as she does today. She smoothes her immaculate manicure over her dress – a mermaid-style gown in ivory satin with a delicate lace overlay. The skirt skims her hips and flares out just above her knees, and the fabric crosses under a sash at the bodice into a sweetheart neckline. She has pearl earrings and a matching necklace and pinned into her hair is a pretty lace veil with tiny pearly beads sewn in.

  ‘You look properly amazing,’ I say, and behind me, Mandy, Marie and Lauren nod in agreement.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, but I can tell by her eyes she’s nervous. I take her hand and squeeze it.

  ‘Today is going to be epic,’ I tell her. She takes a deep breath that reaches all the way up to her shoulders and nods.

  ‘I’m bricking it,’ she admits.

  ‘I know you are, but I have something for that,’ I say.

  ‘In your Bag of Brilliance?’ she asks and I nod.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Jeff and Diana Michaels are waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. We can hear them chatting loudly all the way down the corridor, but they stop short as they see us. Diana’s bottom lip trembles as Rachel treads carefully on the plush maroon carpet. It’s the kind of carpet that’s so thick and spongy you feel like you could probably sleep on it. Every now and then her stiletto heel pings against the brass stair rods.

  ‘Oooh our biggest little girl!’ she gushes, grabbing on to the sleeve of Jeff’s morning suit. ‘Getting married! I can’t believe today is finally here.’ She reaches into her handbag for a tissue and daintily dabs at her eyes. Jeff doesn’t say anything. I think he’s been rendered speechless, and even though I’ve known him almost all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jeff Michaels, speechless, before.

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind, petal,’ he finally says, gruffly, and I think it’s an attempt at a joke so he can hide the fact that he’s feeling weepy, too. Jokes in place of heartfelt words is a tactic I know inside out.

  ‘Dad!’ Marie scolds.

  ‘That’s enough of that, Jeffrey,’ Diana says.

  ‘Calm down, Di. I’m only having her on.’

  Rachel rolls her eyes. ‘Can we just go, please?’ she says. ‘Mum, you’re in the car with Marie and Lauren, Dad, you’re coming with me and Cass.’

  We step outside into the sunlight. A crisp, autumnal breeze blows through the trees, making the leaves rustle and the branches sway. The cars are waiting, sleek navy vintage Jags, each with white ribbons tied onto their bonnets and secured to the front grills with a bow. Diana, Marie and Lauren leave first, and they start off down the gravel driveway whilst I am still helping Rachel into the car. Jeff shifts from one foot to the other and his shoes crunch against the stones. He wants to help but he’s not sure how so I hand him our bouquets until we are both safely strapped in. Rachel grabs my hand and doesn’t let go as we follow the other car towards the church. She doesn’t say anything, just stares out of the window at the hedgerow. A few passing cars honk their horns at us and each time she squeezes my fingers a little tighter.

  ‘Are you okay, Rach?’ I ask. I appreciate she’s nervous but I am not convinced abject fear is a reaction a bride is supposed to have. This isn’t something she’s been forced into, after all. She looks over at me and opens her mouth to say something, and finally, after months of this odd fractiousness, she starts talking.

  ‘Cassie, what if he doesn’t turn up? What if we get there and the vicar comes out and tells me he’s not coming and I’m left loitering outside the church? I won’t be able to go in.’

  So this is what has been bothering her. She’s scared she’ll be jilted. But she’ll never be jilted. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. ‘I mean, he hasn’t been bothered with the planning, what if he’s not into this? What if he and Marcus have done a bunk?’

  ‘He and Marcus have not done a bunk,’ I say. ‘Where would they go? Your dad would track them down. It wouldn’t be pretty.’

  ‘I don’t know. Prague? That’s where Marcus wanted to go for the stag do.’

  Of course he did. Marcus is a walking cliché. We stop walking and I take her hand.

  ‘Is this what’s been bothering you all this time?’

  She nods.

  ‘He probably hasn’t helped much because he knows he’d likely get stuff wrong. Like the beer pong thing. Remember that? Or when he suggested the three peaks challenge as your honeymoon. Or that his parents’ dog should be the ring-bearer.’

  Rachel laughs. ‘He wasn’t even joking about that one,’ she says.

  ‘And I bet you let him know none of those things were ever going to happen?’

  ‘Too right.’

  ‘Well then. He knew it wouldn’t be how you wanted it and he’d rather not have that grief. I bet this is him just being a bloke.’

  ‘I’m not convinced, Cass.’

  ‘Well be convinced. He will be there, and he’s going to look back as you walk towards him and there will be delight and amazement written all over his face because he won’t be able to believe just how far above his weight he’s punched.’ Rachel seems a little reassured. ‘I’d give anything to have what you have with G-Man. I thought I might have it with Jesse but obviously not even close.’ She opens her mouth to say something but I shake my head and don’t let her speak. ‘I’m not moping. I promise. I’m just trying to tell you, he’ll be there.’

  ‘Thanks, Cassie,’ she says. We hug and I rub little circles on her back.

  ‘And if he isn’t, well I’ll go in and tell everyone that it’s all off, and then we’ll stick two fingers up to the lot of them and you and I will go on your honeymoon and spend the entire time getting pissed on Bahama Mamas on the beach.’

  She laughs. ‘It wouldn’t be right not to go on holiday,’ she says.

  ‘Here, have a nip of this,’ I say, taking my hip flask from my bag.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Peach schnapps,’ I tell her, ‘and I had to flirt outrageously with Igor the bartender to get it. So you’ll drink it and you’ll like it.’

  She takes a sip and giggles. ‘Ah, it’s like being back in Greece.’

  I sing the chorus from ‘Girls and Boys’ by Blur and make my hands into box shapes. ‘I wish you’d told me this was what you were worried about,’ I say.

  ‘You had your own problems,’ she shrugs, and even though it's true, I get a pang of guilt that she hasn’t felt able to confide in me about it.

  We pass through the church gate and pull up outside the front door and the car crunches over the gravel, momentarily drowning out the sound of the bells. Diana, Marie and Lauren are waiting outside the door. We help Rachel out and shake her dress for her, smoothing out wrinkles with our hands. I grab her bouquet from the car seat and Marie comes back with the vicar, an elderly, mole-like man, slightly doddery but very sweet, and he encourages us into the church vestibule.

  Then it’s just about time to start. All three of us rally around, giving Rachel a final once-over like ladies-in-waiting to a queen. We dust her dress down one last time. We pull her veil over her face. She looks terrified again as she takes Jeff’s arm. He pats her on the hand affectionately and Lauren holds the door open for them as the Wedding March begins, time-honoured and familiar. Every single eye in the church is on Rachel as she walks down the aisle. Except mine. I’m looking a
t George, and I’m pleased to note that I was right. The look of love is very definitely in his eyes.

  After the first hymn, during which Rachel’s uncle steals the show with his baritone voice, and my dad makes no attempt whatsoever to sing, the vicar starts talking. He says some inspirational things that I think are probably from the Bible and then starts the ceremony.

  Rachel’s dad puts her hand in George’s and we’re asked if anyone knows any reason why they can’t get hitched and there’re those tense few seconds where everyone looks around the church, but exactly no eye contact is held with anyone. Rachel and George make their vows and slide rings on each other’s fingers. She speaks quietly and her voice is shaking a little. He gazes into her eyes the entire time and he’s looking at her like she’s an angel. My vision starts to blur, and I rummage around in my bag for a tissue.

  ‘Can I get one of those?’ Marie whispers. I hand her the packet.

  And then they’re pronounced man and wife and George lifts the veil and plants a juicy smacker of a kiss on her. The register is signed, Rachel’s mum and George’s dad do a reading each, and finally The Highly Strung begin to play. The chords of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ ring out through the church.

  The wedding party follows Rachel and George back up the aisle and handsy Marcus guides me towards the entrance.

  ‘I’m expecting a dance with you later,’ he leans in and whispers. His breath tickles my ear lobe, and his hand is slightly too low on my back.

  ‘Sure thing, Marcus,’ I say, tightly.

  Outside, the photographer snaps away at Rachel and George as they leave the church, and the sunlight hits me square in the eyes. Bells ring and pastel-coloured confetti is thrown. It flutters to the ground like paper snow, and Rachel, calmer since it became apparent George definitely did want to marry her, is back to her usual, confident self. Guests crowd around them, kissing their cheeks and shaking his hand and admiring her dress. Marie, Lauren and I hang back together in our little gang of three, posing for photos and chatting, and as Rachel and George make their way towards their car she reaches up, brushes a petal of confetti from his hair, and leans in for a kiss. I feel a pang of longing that I immediately push straight back down to where it came from.

  ‘Aww,’ Lauren says. She saw it, too.

  ‘This is lovely. They’re lovely,’ I say, linking our arms. ‘Did you see the way he looked at her?’

  ‘He was all lit up,’ she coos.

  ‘I’m glad they found each other,’ I say.

  ‘Feeling wistful?’ Lauren asks, tentatively.

  ‘No. Yes. Not about Jesse,’ I say. ‘She’s my person, and now he’s her person. And he’s a good person. So if I have to lose her to anyone, I'm glad it's him. It’s a new chapter for them. It’s exciting. That’s all.’

  The wedding car pulls away from the church and everybody waves. I blow Rachel a kiss as they drive past, and she catches it in her hand through the window.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Cassie

  ‘All right, big smiles,’ the photographer commands. Click. ‘And again, that’s lovely.’ Click. He studies the screen on the back of his camera. ‘Just the bridesmaids now.’ We shuffle around, getting into position. Click, click, click. ‘And now with the best man.’ I inwardly groan. Marcus has been giving me the eye relentlessly since we walked out of the church together. He’s really trying hard but I’m not feeling it. I’ve promised him one dance at the reception, and then I’m going to discreetly avoid him for the rest of the evening.

  Because even if I was ready to think about meeting someone, that someone would not be Marcus Lewis. He’s not even remotely my type. And despite the fact that he likes to think he’s a lad, to me he always comes across a bit desperate. I do have to concede, however, that he does have a nice smile, and he’s a good height. When I stand next to him, we fit snugly against each other. But it doesn’t really matter; he’s hit on me loads of times before, most notably at George’s thirtieth birthday, and on New Year’s Eve, and I have never once taken the bait. It’s almost getting embarrassing now. If I was going to pull Marcus, I’d have done it a long time ago. He edges his way in between Marie and I, and slides his arm around my waist. I can feel the heat of his hand through the fabric of my dress. I smile for the camera but I know it doesn’t make it to my eyes. It will be one for the album, not for display. Finally, I am released and I scarper back to the car and slide onto the leather seats. Marie and Lauren are close behind and we are off back to Latimer Abbey.

  * * *

  A waiter hands me a glass of Pimm’s on the croquet lawn. Chunks of cucumber and strawberries bob around in the glass and a mint leaf sticks to the side. People chat and laugh. Another waiter weaves through the crowd holding a tray of canapés; little goats’ cheese and red onion tartlets, squares of fried potato with a neat strip of rare steak on top and choux buns filled with cream cheese and chives. Rachel and George are off with the photographer, probably down at the lake, kissing on the bridge whilst her veil billows around them. Mum totters over in her early nineties stilettos with Dad in tow.

  ‘You looked wonderful up there, button,’ he says, raising his glass. I briefly wonder if he’ll always call me button, or poppet. I bet he will. Old habits die hard.

  ‘Thanks,’ I tell him. ‘Are you enjoying yourselves?’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Mum says. ‘Isn’t it lovely, David?’

  ‘Lovely,’ he agrees.

  ‘I just knew, as soon as Diana told me it was going to be here, that it would be wonderful.’

  ‘Well, you weren’t wrong,’ I say. Another tray passes. I take a tartlet and pop it in my mouth.

  ‘How was your evening last night?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Fine, thanks. I took a walk around the grounds, then we had dinner. And then I watched episodes of Frasier until gone midnight.’

  ‘Oh, Cassie,’ Mum says. She looks disappointed. I don’t understand. What was I supposed to have done?

  ‘What, Ma?’

  ‘You’re moping.’

  ‘I’m not moping. I just think Frasier is funny. What’s mopey about that? If anything I was trying to cheer myself up. I was trying to do the opposite of moping.’

  The waiter comes by with a full jug of punch. I stick my glass out and Mum watches as the glass fills up with amber liquid. A piece of apple plops in with a hollow sounding splash. She scrutinises me, her eyes slightly narrowed.

  ‘Were you drinking?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Wine. Did you drink any? Last night? Whilst you were watching your Frasier?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘You’re not eating, and you’re drinking a lot.’

  ‘I am eating. I have eaten everything you’ve put in front of me.’ Another tray of canapés materialises. I grab two little choux buns and shove one in my mouth. ‘See? Eating!’ I say with my mouth still full. Dad looks like he wants to back away slowly into the crowd. Mum tuts.

  ‘Cassandra!’ she snaps. ‘Manners!’ Cassandra? No one has called me Cassandra since I was in school. I swallow my choux bun and take a big gulp of drink. Mum and I stare each other down the entire time. She breaks the eye contact first, and looks to Dad for help.

  ‘We’re just worried about you,’ he mutters.

  ‘Well, you needn’t be,’ I say. ‘Really.’

  ‘You’re coming up thirty,’ Mum says.

  ‘A fact of which I am well aware.’

  ‘We’d like to see you meet someone.’

  I roll my eyes. I should have known this would happen. I had hoped she’d be less crass than to do it at Rachel’s wedding reception, though. As if today isn’t hard enough.

  ‘I did meet someone,’ I hiss, ‘and look how that turned out. People do actually like me, you know. Men do actually like me.’ I stop myself from descending into a rant about Date My Mate, and look around. I am relieved to find no one is paying any attention. I lower my voice to little more than a whisper. �
�Look, I don’t need this. From you. Right now. Or ever, in fact.’

  She backs off. She looks a bit stung. I feel guilty. She has an uncanny ability to get under my skin, even after she’s goaded me into snapping at her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ I say.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she says in an odd, clipped voice. We stand together for a little while longer, but no one says anything. I look at the ground and tap the grass under my feet down with the toe of my shoe. Mum looks at her watch. We are all glad when it’s time to go inside.

  During the wedding breakfast I am seated next to Marcus at the top table. We are slap bang in the middle of the room and Rachel says this is so she and George can see everyone. Our glasses are filled and bread rolls are distributed. Little curls of butter lay in a silver dish and they sort of remind me of Marcus’ hair. We reach for it at the same time and his hand brushes against mine. I pull it back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur.

  ‘Ladies first,’ he says, at exactly the same time. I look up at him and his eyes dart over me in the same, almost leering way they had in the church. I butter my roll and nibble a dainty bite.

  The starters arrive: feta and roasted red pepper tart with a few leaves plonked haphazardly on the plate next to it. It’s drizzled with balsamic glaze. George’s father talks to me about how glamorous we all look today. He tells me he remembers his mother having a dress not dissimilar to mine back in the fifties. She used to wear it to dinner parties and she had a furry muff to go with it. Rachel’s eyes widen and I choke on my drink, and beside me, Marcus bursts out laughing. George’s dad looks momentarily confused, and George gently explains, with a hilarious series of hand gestures and eye movements, that ‘furry muff’ might be somewhat of a double entendre. For a moment I am worried George’s dad might be horrified by how juvenile Marcus and I apparently are, but then he laughs, too. Wine glasses are topped up, but now Mum has mentioned it, I am hyper aware of my alcohol consumption and I pour myself some water from the jug on the table instead.