That shut Rory up for a moment. Trina closed her eyes and scrunched up her face. She shouldn’t have let that slip. She and Aidan had agreed to forget all about their almost dalliance long ago, deciding their friendship was too important. Aidan may not have wanted Trina in the romantic sense, but he wanted her as a friend, and she was willing to accept that. Friendship was better than nothing, although she may have put a spanner in the works just now with her big gob.
‘You slept with him?’ Rory’s voice was a mix of disbelief and outrage. He’d been convinced Aidan had been checking him out every time they met, but had he been checking out his wife instead? The sneaky little bastard!
‘No, it didn’t get that far. We kissed, that’s all.’ But what a kiss! Trina had been harbouring feelings for Aidan for quite a while but was afraid of making the first step, so it was a blissful moment when Aidan had kissed her. It had been the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. More romantic than Rory’s very public proposal, more romantic than their flash wedding (which neither of them had had much input in). When Aidan had kissed her, it had been unexpected but real, full of passion and promise. Or so Trina had thought at the time.
‘You hypocrite!’ Rory couldn’t believe his ears. ‘You’ve been whinging about Ginny being here – when absolutely nothing has happened between us – and yet you’re friends with him.’ Rory felt like such a fool! Had people been laughing at him behind his back? There he was, allowing the friendship to continue, blithely unaware of what was really happening under his nose. ‘How dare you humiliate me like this?’
‘Humiliate you? I haven’t done anything wrong. It was just one kiss and then I met you.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘It’s the truth.’ Trina had been gutted when Aidan had failed to show up for their first date. She’d been crushed when she realised he must have changed his mind about her, but then Rory had arrived and somehow put a smile back on her face. He’d been charming and attentive, which was exactly what Trina needed after her rejection. Deep down, she’d still hoped Aidan would have a valid excuse for not turning up, but none had been forthcoming when they saw each other afterwards. In fact, he’d agreed that they should forget about the kiss in order to keep their friendship intact, and Trina was more than happy to bury the whole thing and claw back a little dignity. She’d gushed about Rory at every opportunity to prove she didn’t have any romantic feelings for Aidan, but then Rory deserved to be gushed about. At least he had back then.
‘Truth or not, you can’t be friends with him any more.’
Trina laughed, because Rory was kidding, right? Aidan was a massive part of her life. He was her best friend and she couldn’t just toss him aside on her husband’s say-so.
‘I mean it, Trina.’ Rory’s voice was low and controlled, but Trina could still detect his anger from across the Atlantic. ‘It’s him or me.’
Thirty-Three
Erin
The coach trundled along the motorway, its occupants jubilant as they drank champagne, excited about the fun weekend ahead. But if you looked closely enough, you would notice one passenger who wasn’t having as jolly a time as the others. This passenger was slumped by the window, her small suitcase resting on the seat beside her to prevent anybody trying to buddy up with her. Her knees were drawn up, resting on the back of the seat in front, and anybody could see she would rather be anywhere else than right there, on that coach of joy.
‘Hey, you. Where’s your hat?’ Lindsay had been working her way up the aisle of the coach, topping up the glasses of her hyped-up bridesmaids with champagne while tooting on the pink whistle attached to a ribbon around her neck. She wore a pink, glittery cowgirl hat at a jaunty angle, which she now patted as she stood next to Erin. All members of the party had matching hats and whistles, which they tooted in response every time Lindsay blew hers. Erin wanted to shove the bloody whistles – all sixteen of them – up Lindsay’s arse.
‘I must have left it behind.’ Erin gave an apologetic shrug as she delivered the great big lie. The hat was currently sitting underneath her suitcase, crushed beyond redemption.
‘Never mind.’ Lindsay waved her hand before giving three sharp toots of her whistle. A chorus of toots responded. ‘Hey, Annie! Pass down one of the spare hats.’ Lindsay grinned down at Erin. ‘I knew they’d come in handy!’
The hat was passed down the coach like a crowd surfer moving along a mosh pit until it reached Lindsay’s gleeful hands. ‘There you go.’ She plonked the hat on Erin’s head with a little more force than was necessary. ‘Now you fit in.’
Great. Just what Erin had always wanted – to fit in with a bunch of airheads.
‘Do you need a spare whistle too?’ Lindsay gave a toot of her own and the coach was filled with the ear-piercing response.
‘No. Thanks.’ Erin grabbed the beribboned whistle from under her bag and dutifully looped it around her neck. So that was seventeen whistles to shove up Lindsay’s arse then.
Lindsay brandished a bottle of champagne. ‘Top-up?’
God, yes. Alcohol was Erin’s only hope of getting through this weekend. Because Lindsay wasn’t content with torturing Erin for one night. Oh no! Lindsay wanted a whole flipping weekend for her hen night. Greedy cow.
Lindsay moved along after filling Erin’s glass, tooting on the whistle. ‘Who wants a little sing-song?’
Erin groaned as Lindsay’s suggestion was met with enthusiasm and the coach was filled with drunken warbling. Erin gave serious thought to suggesting to the driver that they find a ginormous tree and plough into it at top speed. She was pretty certain he’d agree to it.
Finally, after a medley of Abba, Madonna, Kylie and Girls Aloud, they reached their destination and the coach pulled up beside the hotel and spa that they’d be spending the next two nights at (all paid for by Frank, of course). Erin, with her second hat ‘accidentally’ left behind, trudged off the coach. She paused when she caught sight of the driver. He looked as traumatised as she felt.
‘Were you grey before we set off?’ She indicated his head of grey hair and the driver managed a small smile.
‘No.’
‘Sorry.’
The driver gave a shrug. ‘No problem, love. At least I get to rest my ears until Sunday evening when I pick you lot up again.’
‘Lucky you. Do you think I could sneak a ride back home now?’
The driver chuckled. ‘Curl up under one of the seats. I’ll let you know when they’re out of sight.’
It sounded like a marvellous idea to Erin, but Lindsay had other plans. Seeing that she was missing a bridesmaid, she marched to the coach’s open door and bellowed at Erin to hurry up.
‘Come on. We have to get booked in.’ She practically wrestled Erin off the coach, smiling sweetly at the driver over her shoulder and giving a cheery little wave as he pulled away. ‘Do you really have to flirt with every man? He had to be at least sixty.’
‘What? He was cute.’ Erin waited until Lindsay turned and marched away before she stuck her tongue out at her back.
‘Come on, girls!’ Lindsay marched into the hotel but luckily she refrained from blowing her whistle. The others followed, oohing and aahing as they made their way into the reception hall. It was a nice place, and Erin would love it if she were here with anybody but Lindsay and her band of merry women.
‘This is well posh, isn’t it?’ fellow bridesmaid Lillian gasped as she ran a hand along a leather wingback chair. ‘Come on, everybody. Let’s take a selfie!’ She took out her phone, ensuring everyone – including a cringing Erin – was squeezed on or around the chair before she captured the image. Erin knew that it would be plastered all over Facebook and Instagram within seconds.
Once they were booked in, the women made their way to their rooms, with instructions to meet back at reception in fifteen minutes. Erin was sharing with Rita, Frank’s cousin and fellow bridesmaid. Erin wished she was there with Richard instead. They could have pushed the twin beds together and made this week
end worthwhile. She wondered what he would be doing as she sat miserably on one of the beds. Probably cooking for the kids. She hoped he’d remembered the project LuLu was working on that was due in on Monday. Erin had printed off a load of info for her, but she’d left it by the printer in Richard’s study. What if he didn’t find it?
‘We should get going,’ Rita said as Erin pulled her phone out and started to tap out Richard’s number.
‘I won’t be a minute. I’ll meet you down there.’ Erin waved a reluctant Rita away, her phone pressed against her ear. Richard didn’t answer. She was about to try again when there was a knock at the door.
‘Erin!’ It was Lindsay, barking like a Rottweiler from the hallway. ‘Everyone is waiting in the bar. We’re having welcome cocktails.’
A cocktail would be more than welcome after that coach trip, thought Erin.
After the cocktails, Erin returned to the sanctuary of her room to unpack. According to Lindsay’s itinerary, she had twenty minutes to unpack and freshen up before the group was to meet back in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. The party of bridesmaids would be staying at the hotel and spa for two nights and it seemed that every single minute was allocated to an activity. There were only two spots marked as ‘free time’, but Erin was going to need much more than that just to get over the headache the coach journey had caused.
Kicking off her shoes, Erin sank onto the bed she had claimed earlier. Her unpacking could wait. She had more important things to take care of first. This time Richard answered quickly and Erin felt herself sinking further into the mattress, her body relaxing with the relief of hearing his voice. What the hell had happened to her? Not so long ago Erin had prided herself on her inability to commit, and now she was pining for her boyfriend after being parted for a couple of hours!
‘How is it?’ Richard asked and Erin choked down the urge to burst into tears. It was awful and she missed Richard already.
She really did have it bad.
What a loser!
‘It’s fine.’ She couldn’t tell Richard the pathetic truth, could she? ‘What are you up to?’
‘We’re just about to sit down to dinner and then we’re going to watch a film.’
‘Frozen again?’ Erin asked and Richard laughed.
‘What else? I’ve promised Ralph he can pick next time.’
‘LuLu always gets to pick,’ Erin heard Ralph whine in the background. Erin smiled, picturing the scene that would shortly unfold: Ralph would squeeze himself into the corner of the sofa, arms folded stubbornly across his chest and his eyes narrowed slits. This act of defiance would last around thirty seconds before he was singing about building a snowman.
God, Erin missed them.
‘Don’t forget LuLu’s project. I’ve printed some stuff out for her. It’s in your study.’
‘What would we do without you?’ Richard asked, but this time it was Erin questioning what she would do without them. It was a scary question, and not one she had ever expected to be asking. Everything was changing and Erin wasn’t sure how she should be reacting. Did she go with it or fight it? First her mother – who had sworn off men indefinitely – was loved up with Alistair, and now Erin was turning into one of those ghastly, needy women she’d always looked down on.
‘Hello!’ Rita came bounding into the room, the pink cowgirl hat still planted on her head. ‘Isn’t this place amazing? I’ve just been to Becca and Megan’s room and it has a balcony overlooking the lake. It’s stunning.’ Rita flopped – uninvited – onto Erin’s bed. ‘Did you see the barman downstairs? Hot or what? I hope he’s still there when we go for pre-dinner drinks.’
Erin just hoped they were going to be extremely large pre-dinner drinks.
‘Oh, gosh.’ Rita slapped a hand over her mouth. ‘You’re on the phone. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you in peace.’ Clambering off the bed, Rita skipped into the en suite, humming a Girls Aloud song. Erin experienced an unwelcome flashback from the coach ride.
‘Sorry about that,’ Erin said once she was alone again.
‘No worries. I have to go now anyway. I think the pasta’s about ready. Have fun!’
Erin doubted she would, but she added some pretty convincing false cheer to her voice. ‘I will. You have fun with the kids. Give them a big kiss from me.’
Once she’d hung up, Erin flopped back onto the bed with a groan. What the hell was happening to her?
Thirty-Four
Ruth
I sat cross-legged on the carpet, a pile of sealed, addressed envelopes to my right and a list of crossed-out names in front of me. Just one name remained, and I was loath to carry out the job.
‘Do we really have to invite Aunty Pat?’ I asked, picking up a blank invitation. Most of the wedding plans were now in place. I’d confirmed the menus with Cosmo, booked the DJ and karaoke host, and made arrangements with the florist. The rings had been ordered and we’d picked hymns and verified the order of service with Father Edmund. After several rather lengthy discussions, Jared and I had agreed on a song for our first dance as a married couple. I’d put my (substantial) weight behind ‘2 Become 1’ by the Spice Girls, which Jared had argued against vehemently.
‘Isn’t that a song about having sex?’
‘Safe sex. It has a positive message.’
‘But it’s still a song about sex, safe or otherwise.’
‘Don’t be such a prude!’
We’d argued back and forth, but Jared had refused to budge and in the end we’d settled on Etta James’s ‘At Last’. It was a lovely song and everything, but it wasn’t the Spice Girls, was it?
Jared and I had scoured the wedding blogs for favours and had settled on some pretty handmade boxes filled with the Love Hearts sweets I’d bought for my failed cupcakes. Over a couple of nights we made the matchbox-style containers out of lime green card with white polka dots and printed each guest’s name on a pink heart, which we’d stick to the top of the boxes and finish off with ribbon once we had the RSVPs back.
Most things had now been arranged. The only thing lagging was the invitations, which we still hadn’t sent out. It should have been a task nearer the top of the list, underneath booking venues, but it had somehow ended up being a last-minute job. At this rate we’d be getting married without any guests at all.
Looking down at Aunty Pat’s name, that wasn’t such an unappealing option …
‘I’m afraid we have to invite her,’ Jared said. ‘She’s family, and all that.’
Pulling a face, I scribbled ‘Raymond and Patsy Lynch and Family’ (yes, we had to invite my horror cousins too, it seemed) on the envelope and shoved an invitation inside. Copying out the address Mum had provided me with, I added the envelope to the pile to be posted.
‘That’s that, then. She’s invited.’
Jared gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘You never know, she may be busy.’
‘Fingers crossed.’ I gathered the envelopes and placed them on the coffee table so I wouldn’t forget to post them later. First, we had a meeting with the photographer, who had arranged to meet with us at home so she could get a proper feel for us.
Sadie Alexander looked like she’d just stepped out of a celebrity magazine, with her waist-length blonde hair and clear complexion. She looked effortlessly glamorous in skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and a floral scarf resting against her collarbones.
‘It’s so lovely to see you again.’ Sadie shook our hands before she settled into a chair. Her glamour was at odds with our worn furniture, but Sadie didn’t seem to mind and seemed perfectly at home. ‘Not long until the big day! You must be so excited.’
‘We are.’ I couldn’t help grinning as I replied. I still had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
‘I have a few questions I’d like to ask, just to get a sense of who you are and the feel of the photos you’d like.’ Sadie pulled a notepad from her bag and rested it on her lap before reaching out to take a jammy dodger from the plate on the table. Good girl! I awarded the photog
rapher three million Brownie points and took a biscuit myself.
The questions didn’t take very long at all, but by the end I felt like I knew myself and Jared better than I had before Sadie’s arrival. She showed us her portfolio again, which we could take our time over away from the bustle of the wedding fair. Sadie’s photos were beautiful, but also very real, and I couldn’t wait to see the results of our own wedding.
‘I’m really looking forward to working with you,’ Sadie said as she returned the portfolio to her bag, and I believed her. She wasn’t just spouting superficial crap to score a booking.
The intercom buzzed and Jared went to answer it. Bizarrely, it was Theo, who had only visited the flat once in the whole time I had lived there, and that was only because I’d blackmailed him into helping me move in.
‘Quinn asked me to drop this off—’ Theo stopped mid-sentence, the bag he’d been waving at me suspended in mid-air. I hoped he hadn’t peeped inside – it was my wedding lingerie, which I’d accidentally left in the boot of Quinn’s car.
Theo’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as he spotted Sadie. Yes, I wanted to tell him. There is a beautiful woman sitting in my flat. And no, you cannot touch her.
I plucked the bag from Theo’s fingers. ‘Since when do you run errands for Quinn?’ Since when did he run errands for anyone? And what had Quinn been doing with Theo? As if I couldn’t guess!
‘I was just passing this way.’ Theo gave me a cursory glance before he sauntered towards an unsuspecting Sadie. ‘Hi, I’m Ruth’s very good friend, Theo.’
Very good friend? Pah!
‘Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sadie, Ruth and Jared’s wedding photographer.’ Sadie rose from her seat and stretched out a hand towards Theo. Poor, naïve woman. I felt like I had to act, and jumped between the pair before contact could be made.
‘Thanks for bringing this over.’ I patted Theo on the back before turning him away from the beautiful Sadie and propelling him towards the door. ‘I’ll see you soon, okay?’
A Beginner's Guide To Saying I Do: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 19
