by Matt Dunn
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Given the day I’ve had, nothing would have surprised me. Lots of ups and downs. Especially with my emotions. For a moment, I thought I was going to blub in front of everybody.’
‘You? You never cry.’
‘Maybe it was just my hormones.’ Livia shrugged. ‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Rachel stared at her glass for a moment, went to take a drink, and then, as if making some momentous decision, put it back down on the table. ‘You were right earlier. I need to just get on with my life, have fun, see what happens. Who cares if I’m the last one standing?’
‘What about Izzy? I don’t see Patrick getting down on one knee any time soon.’
‘She’s twenty-two! In any case, she’s already got him wrapped around her little finger. And several other body parts, by the looks of things.’
Livia lowered her voice. ‘There’s always Liam?’
‘No thank you!’
Livia glanced across to where he was sitting, just the other side of Rachel, blatantly staring at Izzy’s cleavage. ‘No, I meant that he’s around our age and still single, and nowhere near settling down.’
‘Are you surprised? Besides, that’s through choice.’
‘You’re single through choice. You chose not to let Rich treat you like that. And you’re being choosy as to who you meet. I rest my case.’
‘Yes, well, that’s because—’
‘In any case, Liam’s not that bad, once you get through the top layer of, well, Liamness.’ Livia lowered her voice. ‘Which was why we sat the two of you together, so . . .’
‘Is this some kind of set-up?’
Livia gave her a look. ‘Sure, Rachel. Jed’s actually been in on this the whole time, and he and I planned this whole weekend in Barcelona as a ruse to get you and Liam together, instead of just arranging a night out down the pub back home. I meant so he can give you some tips.’
As Rachel grinned, perhaps at the absurdity of the both of those ideas, Livia reached over and gave her friend a hug.
‘What was that for?’
‘Thanks, Rach.’
‘What for?’
‘For coming. And staying. I know this can’t be easy for you right now.’
‘How do you mean?’ said Rachel, though she looked like she knew full well what Livia meant.
‘Being the only single person at a wedding. Apart from Liam. Though give him half an hour, and he won’t be.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Like I said. Weddings make you think, don’t they? And by the looks of Liam, he’s been doing some thinking.’
Livia laughed. ‘You have to have a brain to do that.’
‘Well, I gave him a bit of a hard time earlier, and . . . let’s just say he might surprise you.’
‘Liam surprises me quite often. Usually not in a good way.’ Livia smiled at her, then nodded at Rachel’s plate. ‘Now, are you going to eat that?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Great!’ Livia helped herself to Rachel’s leftovers. ‘Keep this up, and you’ll be the best maid of honour ever. Though after your little adventure this afternoon, perhaps “honour” isn’t the most appropriate word.’
Rachel stuck her tongue out, but before she could say anything back, the tapping of a spoon against a glass from behind her made her swivel round.
‘Oh good,’ said Livia, sarcastically. ‘The speeches.’
‘Are you going to say something?’ asked Rachel.
Livia thought for a moment, then she hauled herself to her feet, causing Liam to tap his glass so hard he cracked it.
‘Before Liam starts, I’d just like to say . . .’ Livia looked round at her friends, then she smiled at – and the revelation almost took her breath away – her husband. ‘If anyone doesn’t want their cake, I’ll have it!’
She sat back down to a smattering of applause, and as Jed slid his barely touched plate across the table towards her, Rachel smiled.
‘Well, that disproves that.’
‘Huh?’
‘You can have your cake and eat it,’ she said.
Livia picked up her fork, speared a piece of icing and popped it into her mouth, then she picked up her glass and clinked it against Rachel’s.
‘Here’s to not being the only one,’ she said.
‘Guys and gals, the groom!’
Jed breathed a silent sigh of relief. Liam had just finished his speech – though ‘speech’ would suggest it had some sort of structure. In reality, it had been little more than a ramble: an attempted joke about incest, followed by a comment about Jed having been ‘groomed’, which had fallen rather flat, even though Liam had gone on to insist he hadn’t meant in the paedophile sense. To his credit, he had soldiered on regardless, even getting quite emotional towards the end – though that was possibly a result of the double tequila he’d downed at the bar beforehand to steady his nerves (or, to use Liam’s delightful phrase, because he didn’t want to cack himself in front of everyone).
There was a smattering of applause, along with a loud ‘Hear hear’ from Patrick (followed by an even-louder wolf whistle from Izzy), and Jed sat there, wondering what was supposed to be happening, until (and ironically, only thanks to Liam’s joke) he remembered ‘the groom’ actually meant him. He gave a sheepish wave, adjusted his tie and hauled himself to his feet.
‘Yes, so, ladies, gentlemen . . . and Liam.’ He paused to peer around the table, taking in the familiar faces, his nervousness evaporating when he realised whatever he said, it couldn’t be worse than his brother’s performance. ‘I didn’t know I had to give a speech. But then again, I didn’t know I was getting married, so I guess that’s not surprising. Anyway, thank you all for coming. You complete and utter bastards!’ He paused for the ripple of laughter to die down, took a quick swig from his wine glass and soldiered on.
‘I say “bastards”, but I’d like you all to know that as bastards go, you’re a pretty special lot. Liam, Rachel, Patrick and Izzy . . .’ – Jed toasted them as he mentioned their names – ‘I couldn’t think of a nicer bunch of people to be sharing this evening with. And I want all of you to know that I will have my revenge.
‘Anyway, now it’s time to introduce a serious note, like Liam’s “jokes”’ – Jed made the air quotes gesture – ‘did earlier. So, you’re all possibly wondering why Livia proposed to me. I’m sure there were times today when she felt that way too. And you’re probably asking yourselves why I didn’t ever get down on one knee in front of her. She’s amazing, and funny, and clever, and sexy, and kind, and . . . I could go on.’
‘Please do!’ interrupted Livia.
‘And the answer is – I don’t know, really. But I have been thinking about it today. A lot.’ He reached down and took Livia’s hand. ‘Livia. Back when I first saw you, ten years ago – in fact, right about . . .’ He looked at his watch, mouthed a brief countdown, then added . . . ‘Now, do you remember what you were doing?’
‘No. Though only because I was very, very drunk.’
‘Well, I do. As if it was yesterday. You were dancing, on a table, in a bar not that far from here, and I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were . . .’
‘That’s because he was very, very drunk,’ said Livia in a stage whisper, to another round of guffawing from the table.
‘True,’ said Patrick.
‘Anyway, I thought to myself, “There’s no way a girl like that would ever go out with me,” but I asked you if I could buy you a drink anyway – and do you remember what you said to me?’
Livia frowned. ‘“Get lost, creep”?’
Jed waited until the laughter had died down, which took a while. ‘That’s not quite how I remember . . .’ Livia was shaking her head, so he smiled. ‘You said, “I thought you’d never ask.” And how prophetic that turned out to be. Because I never asked. But that’s the problem with us men. Sometimes we’re so stupid, or so blind to what’s
right in front of us, that we simply don’t give any of it a second thought. Equally, we’re so afraid of rocking the boat, of upsetting the status quo, that we don’t dare change anything. Back then, it took me ages to pluck up the courage to walk the ten metres across that bar to speak to you, because I was convinced you would tell me to get lost. And while I think you might have been more of a safe bet this time round . . .’
‘Given that she’s up the duff?’ suggested Liam, and Jed paused for a moment, wondering whether he should give the chivalrous answer, then deciding to play the comedy card.
‘Well, yes. Anyway, people change. Circumstances change. But the fact is this: Livia, I love you. The moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, and while I kind of thought that’s what I was doing, after tonight I’m finally sure that’s what’s going to happen, and it makes me so, so happy. And while I might not have done the best job so far today of giving that precise impression, I want you to know that this’ – Jed gestured around the courtyard – ‘is quite possibly the nicest, most thoughtful, best, most incredibly wonderful thing that anyone’s done to me.’ He winked at Livia. ‘Sorry, for me. Ever.’
Jed gave Livia’s hand another squeeze, found the bottle of cava he’d been guarding for this precise moment and circled the table, making sure everyone had a full glass, then he picked up his own drink and motioned for everyone else to do the same. ‘A toast, please, on this most fabulous of occasions, in the most perfect of settings, with the best friends – and brother – anyone could hope to have. To Livia. My wife.’
‘To Livia,’ the table chorused.
And when Jed turned and smiled down at her, for the briefest of moments, and for the first time since they’d met, he’d swear Livia was wiping away a tear.
‘You coming?’
Livia had just finished another of the rather large pieces of wedding cake from the plate she’d been balancing on her stomach, and her nudge startled Rachel.
‘Coming where?’
‘To catch the bouquet!’ said Livia, excitedly. ‘I’m about to throw it.’ She stifled a burp. ‘Or possibly throw up, if I try and move too quickly.’
‘And, um, who are you going to throw it to? Because by my estimation, there’s only me and Izzy here to catch it.’
‘Nonsense!’ Livia waved her hand in the general direction of the other tables by the pool, where a number of hotel guests were sitting, enjoying an al fresco dinner. ‘I’ll get Liam to go and round up the women from over there. Make it a bit more of an event.’
‘Good idea.’ Rachel sighed. ‘But perhaps I’ll just sit this one out.’
‘This isn’t that “I’ll never meet someone so what’s the point” stuff again?’
Rachel gave her a look. ‘No, it’s just . . . forgetting for one moment that catching it is supposed to signify who gets married next, don’t you think it’s a bit . . .’
‘A bit what?’
‘Well, to be honest, a bit “I’m a smug married now, so all you single losers go and stand over there, and I’ll lob some second-hand flowers at you”?’
Livia laughed. ‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it. Come on. It’ll be fun.’
‘I’ll tell you what’ll be fun. Seeing the look on Patrick’s face if Izzy catches it!’
‘What do you mean, “if”?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing,’ said Livia, mischievously. ‘It’s just that Izzy’s younger, fitter, taller and probably a lot springier than you. And when you factor in any random last-minute entries that Liam manages to coerce into joining in . . .’
She reached for the nearest bottle of cava to top up Rachel’s glass, but Rachel stopped her mid-pour, surprised to find her competitive streak bubbling up. While everything Livia had said was true, why couldn’t she catch the bouquet? She’d managed to ‘catch’ Jay earlier. Dumping Rich the way she had today had felt incredibly empowering. So wresting a bunch of peonies from a tipsy twenty-two-year-old should be a piece of cake.
‘Fine,’ she said, then she lowered her voice. ‘You couldn’t perhaps aim it at me, could you?’
‘Don’t you think I’ve got enough on my plate,’ Livia said, glancing down at her stomach.
‘Oh, you mean because of the baby.’ Rachel grinned. ‘And not those two slices of cake.’
‘One’s Jed’s,’ said Livia. ‘I’m saving it for him. And even if it wasn’t, I am eating for two, remember?’
‘You’re sure you’re not expecting triplets?’
‘Cheeky b—’
Rachel fixed a smile on her face and hauled herself out of her chair. ‘Just off to the ladies’,’ she said.
‘I’ll get Liam to do the same,’ said Livia, nodding towards the hotel’s other guests.
‘No throwing while I’m gone.’
‘I haven’t had that much cake!’
Rachel nipped off to the toilets and composed herself in front of the mirror, and by the time she returned, a crowd of a dozen or so women had gathered in front of the pool. She helped Livia up, escorted her to the front of the terrace and – following the clamour of excitement at Liam’s on-cue announcement of ‘It’s time to throw the bouquet!’ – hurried over to join the group.
With a sly glance to either side, Rachel sussed out her competition. The ladies next to her shouldn’t present much of a problem – that they were still trying to catch bouquets at their age suggested they weren’t much good at it. The two red-faced (and from what she could see, red-everything’d) English women chattering excitedly to each other (and who Liam seemed keen to avoid) were so drunk that Rachel didn’t think their hand-eye coordination would be up to the job – if, indeed, they could move in the towering heels they were tottering about on. A couple of teen girls were there too, vacantly staring at each other, their mother – camera at the ready – egging them on from the sidelines, and Rachel considered pointing out that they shouldn’t be allowed to take part, seeing as they were too young to get married, but she stopped herself. That would seem desperate. And besides, that was more of an incentive to win – if catching the bouquet did, in fact, signify the next person to get married, and either of these two teenagers caught it, then Rachel’s chances were well and truly scuppered.
No – Patrick’s girlfriend Izzy was probably her main rival: she looked like she exercised a lot, and that she had a point to prove. But she also looked like she’d drunk a lot too, plus she might be exhausted from the shag-fest she and Patrick had been involved in this afternoon, according to Livia. In any case, Patrick looked like he was desperate to put her off, and to be honest, would Izzy really want to catch it in front of him knowing his feelings about marriage? These things were all about desire, weren’t they? And right now, Rachel wanted this more than she’d wanted anything in a long time. Besides, she’d played a lot of netball at school. Had been quite good at it. And had sharp elbows.
She narrowed her eyes in concentration as she watched Livia walk towards the far side of the deck area, mentally pictured the arc the flowers might take through the air, and tried to work out whereabouts in the group was the best place for her to stand. In the middle would be playing the law of averages, but then again, she might get blocked in, and she didn’t think she’d be able to barge past the larger ladies if it came to it. She could pick a side – but which side? Livia’s stomach was too large to allow her to throw with both hands, and she was left-handed, which would suggest – assuming she threw with her back to everyone – the bouquet would land somewhere in the right of the group. But that would assume Livia would throw left-handed, and if she didn’t, and Rachel was stuck on the left of the group, then she’d be in even more trouble.
At the front might work, particularly if Livia underthrew – Rachel would be nearest, and could simply pounce on the bouquet like a rugby player going after a loose ball and claim her prize. But Livia was a powerful girl – Rachel had been to Boxercise with her once, and had seen the way she’d rattled the
punchbag – and was therefore more likely to give it more of a heave. Plus, how much did a bridal bouquet weigh?
The thought that she didn’t know only reminded Rachel she’d never been in a position to find out, and made her even more determined. For a moment, she considered nipping across to where Livia was standing to ask if she could suss it out, but that would open up a whole new calculation involving mass, surface area and aerodynamics, and even with her maths degree, Rachel suspected she was too tipsy to work that one out.
In any case, maybe behind everyone else was the better option. That way, she’d be well placed for any overthrow – or, if she saw it landing mid-crowd, she could swoop in from behind, take the other girls by surprise, elbow them aside and get there first. And if it landed in front of everyone, someone else might get their hands on it first, but it didn’t mean Rachel couldn’t snatch it off her.
Decision made, she pushed her way to the back of the group, wondering whether she should remove her heels, though the extra manoeuvrability that might give her could be negated by the loss of height. She was already an inch or two shorter than Izzy, and Rachel didn’t want to give her any more of an advantage. No, she’d keep them on. She might need them as a weapon, too, if things got nasty.
Surreptitiously, she bent over and did a couple of stretches, under the pretence of adjusting her shoe straps, though she didn’t really care if anyone noticed – this bouquet was going to be hers, and if she had to utilise some pre-Olympic-hundred-metre-final-psych-out tactics, then so be it.
As a giggling Livia took up position in front of them, Rachel considered sticking one arm up in the air, like she’d seen footballers do to signal their desire to be passed the ball, but that might be a bit too obvious. Besides, this was a competition. A trial. She needed to win on merit. By catching the bouquet, Rachel would prove to all these other women that she was the alpha female, and show any men watching that she was the catch. If Livia simply lobbed the bouquet to her on some prearranged signal, it would look like a fix. A set-up. No, she’d have to be prepared to jump, fight, elbow, push . . . whatever it took to get her hands on the thing.
