‘I was stuck and I couldn’t get out and Steve saved me–’ Wendy pouted ‘–and I’ll thank him if I like.’
Steve was still in the water. ‘You’re welcome!’ he called over his shoulder. He swam a few feet, like an otter, then started wading to the edge of the lake. As he stepped out, water cascading off his body, his soaked shirt clinging to his muscly back and his well-defined biceps, Sal despaired. He was bloody Darcy, wasn’t he? Darcy coming out of the bloody lake! Actually, it was worse than that; with the whole rescuing thing he was Austen heroes Darcy and Willoughby rolled into one! Damn him! thought Sal. Wendy didn’t stand a chance! They all watched her watching him. Yep, she was a goner. Her wet face was all flushed and longing. Didn’t she care that they could all see how much she fancied him? Didn’t she care that her sister-in-law-to-be was quite openly witnessing her lusting over another man? Tamsin’s face was hard to read but she had seen enough; that was obvious.
Wendy needed some serious intervention tonight, or there’d be no wedding next Saturday, no wedding at all, decided Sal. Something had to be done.
*
‘Is she ready yet?’
‘No, she’s still faffing with her hair. Come on in.’
JoJo let Sal and Rose into her and Wendy’s room. Wendy was nowhere to be seen, but they could hear a hairdryer frantically going in the bathroom.
‘You look lovely, JoJo,’ said Rose. JoJo was over at the dressing table putting a couple of last-minute items in her clutch bag. She was wearing a cream shift dress with a beaded collar and a pair of impossibly high cream sandals, with ribbons that tied at the back of the ankles. ‘I love your shoes.’
‘Thank you,’ said JoJo. ‘And you both look fantastic, too.’
Rose did. She was in a coral, jersey wrap dress (another new purchase she’d never worn, she said) and black strappy sandals. She’d done her hair up in a loose chignon with one of those updo gadget things from Accessorize and had spent ages on her make-up, including some subtle contouring and highlighting – she’d learnt it from her girls, she said, although she’d had to tone it down a bit from how they usually slapped it on.
‘No one wants to look like the bride of Dracula,’ she’d remarked, and she looked far from it. She looked gorgeous, and Sal wondered how much of it was for Paul’s benefit, if he was on the guest list tonight.
Sal wasn’t sure how fantastic she looked. Nothing seemed to have gone quite right. She felt lumpy in her dress – the only one she hadn’t worn yet. It was an over-clingy sheath dress in dark plum that made her feel huge tonight. Her hair had gone all wrong, too – she’d tried to sleek it back with some gel, like she sometimes did, but it didn’t want to play sleek, shiny ball tonight. Instead, it wanted to morph into a clump of stodgy straw which she had to comb out and try again with. It now looked OK – if a little overworked. Then she did that horrible reflex blink thing when she was doing her mascara, with the wand in her hand, landing a row of lash-shaped smatterings half a centimetre below her left eye and making her a doppelgänger of Liza Minnelli in Cabaret, which she had to scrub off with one of Rose’s baby wipes. And finally, her shoes – the only semi-high ones she had: 90s-style buckle sandals with a block heel – felt all tight and uncomfortable and she hadn’t even walked anywhere in them yet.
She didn’t look fantastic, but she’d do. At least she felt a lot better than she had this afternoon and at least there was no one she was up for impressing tonight, unlike Rose, probably, and Wendy, definitely, who was finally emerging from the bathroom.
‘Wow,’ said JoJo.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Sal.
‘Amazing,’ whispered Rose.
Wendy had had the serum out as well as all the stops. Her wild, red curls, always glorious but sometimes uncontained and slightly on the frizzy side, were lubricated and twirled to perfection; they spiralled out from her head in perfect ringlets and lay softly on her shoulders like those of a pre-Raphaelite beauty. Her make-up was all pinky golden perfection, her eyebrows arched and filled in, her lips subtly glossed with a pale coral. And her dress – good God! She looked like she was going to a premiere. It was show-stopping matt gold with a plunging cowl front and a waist that draped over itself into a slight blouson. Sal guessed there was a belt under there somewhere . . . was this a longer dress that Wendy had hitched up? It was currently thigh high.
‘A lot of effort,’ said Sal, pointedly. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘Of course I do,’ replied Wendy breezily. ‘I’m going to a party.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Sal. ‘Just watch yourself. And we’ll be watching you. Remember you’re getting married next Saturday, and who to.’
‘I remember,’ said Wendy. ‘I love Frederick.’ Oh God, she was saying it almost mechanically now, noted Sal, like she didn’t mean it at all. Were all her thoughts on Steve, the rescuer with the wet shirt and bulging biceps?
‘Let’s go,’ said JoJo, shaking her head with a ‘God help us!’ gesture behind Wendy’s back and heading to open the door. ‘How are you feeling now, Sal?’
‘Better,’ replied Sal with a smile. And Niall had sent her a text just before she’d left the room that had made her feel better still.
Looking forward to tomorrow. Remember what I said, lover!
How could she forget!
I won’t, she’d replied. And me too. And that was as good as it got from her. She would never return the feeling in a text. She still wasn’t quite sure what the feeling was. Was she a little bit in love with him too? She didn’t know for definite, but she suspected she was and it made her nervous. She would have to see how she felt when she saw him tomorrow, face to face. Then she’d know for sure.
‘Are you drinking tonight?’ asked JoJo, looking at her curiously. ‘Might be a good idea not to, if you’ve been feeling a bit rough.’
‘I’ll see how I go,’ said Sal. She could take it or leave it, tonight, she thought. She didn’t really fancy it much, or the hangover in the morning when she wanted to look at least half decent for Niall. She would maybe follow JoJo’s advice and be sensible for once.
They waited for Tamsin, who appeared looking very glamorous in a red column dress with cap sleeves to much sincere ooh-ing and aah-ing – she did look great – then they went down in the lift, across the lobby and out of the grand front entrance. Rose wanted to take some pictures of them in front of The Retreat, in all their finery.
‘Show Jason what he’s missing,’ she said sardonically, as they posed for Heidi who they’d prised out from behind the Reception desk to take the photos. She’d made a big effort tonight, too, Sal noticed. She was wearing a tight, white broderie anglaise strapless dress and her hair was un-braided and down over her shoulders. Was Heidi going to the party too? wondered Sal. Rose told Heidi to hold the camera up higher, so they’d all look better, and gave her skirt a little swish as they posed for another shot. ‘Jason probably won’t ever get to see me in this dress otherwise.’
‘You can take it with you to Phuket,’ said Sal pointedly.
‘Ha, very funny,’ said Rose, ‘considering I won’t be going.’
Sal rolled her eyes. She still wasn’t sure she believed all this stuff about Jason having an affair. Just because he was away a lot – virtually living away – and there was someone called Susie who he talked about loads and kept answering his phone, didn’t mean he was having it away with her and taking her to Thailand for a romantic break . . . Ah. Put like that, it did sound a bit worrying. Perhaps Rose was right. She had said it was ‘pretty much over,’ but Sal hoped not. She had always believed in Rose and Jason. She had never thought Jason had only married Rose because of Darcie, like Rose always said. Sal really hoped they could sort things out whenever Jason did get home.
They walked to the back of the house and then down the Cotswold stone path to the lake. It was far from dusk yet, but the fairy lights strung around the lake house were already twinkling, and music – some old Stevie Wonder t
rack – was pulsing through the open door. The lake itself was a calm and beautiful mirror: the perfect backdrop. A party. Sal felt quite excited suddenly. She didn’t go to many parties as all her nights were spent behind the bar, in her pub. She felt drawn to the open door like a magnet.
The others were equally giddy – Wendy and Rose especially so. They were gripping each other’s hands and giggling. Sal really hoped they weren’t egging each other on; Lord knows neither of them needed any encouragement.
As they walked into the lake house, hard-to-impress Sal almost gasped. It was stunning! All the walls were draped in shimmering, gossamer silver fabric. Round tables, under white linen, circled the room. A wide oak-beamed floor gleamed underfoot. And a thousand more fairy lights were interlaced on the ceiling so it resembled a canopy of stars. Amazing. Sal suddenly thought she would love to be here with someone she loved.
She’d like to be here with Niall.
What? Where had that come from? Sal stood still and let this new feeling, this revelation, wash over her. She’d like to be here with someone she loved and that person was Niall . . . Good Lord . . .it was all so elementary, so logical, so bloody unbelievable . . . Oh God, she loved him, didn’t she? She loved Niall. The realisation made her feel faint; she had to grab hold of JoJo’s arm.
‘Are you all right?’ asked JoJo, steadying her.
‘Yes, fine. I’ll be all right,’ replied Sal. Would she? Would she be all right? Would she risk telling Niall tomorrow how she felt? She took a deep breath. She’d have to. He’d already told her his feelings; it was only fair she was equally honest with him.
Holding on to JoJo’s arm and standing under the canopy of lights, a slow smile gradually dawned on Sal’s face. She was in love with Niall, and it felt quite, quite marvellous. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
*
One and a half fruity mocktails later, Sal still felt pretty fantastic. She was standing on her own, near the doorway, watching proceedings and thinking about tomorrow, as guests laughed and chattered and waiters and waitresses milled around with champagne and various drinks, on held-aloft trays. Sal felt quite smug about switching from her initial glass of champagne to alcohol-free refreshment. She definitely didn’t need alcohol tonight, she’d decided, she was on such a high from realising how she felt about Niall – although she may happily fake a hangover tomorrow, anyway, so she could spend the afternoon in bed with him. He didn’t start his shift until six on a Monday. And, she’d reasoned, it may be best to keep a clear head tonight, in case things kicked off with the whole Wendy and Steve situation and she was required . . . especially since she’d been abandoned by everyone.
When they’d first arrived, Sal had made sure everyone stuck together like glue: her mission being to keep everyone together and out of trouble. They’d remained close to the entrance and had sipped at their small glass of champagne each, chatting about nothing in particular. Vanessa and her blonde cronies were there; they had waved facetiously from the other side of the room before collapsing into giggles, at God knows what – the audacity of forty-something women to dress up and go partying possibly? So far, so uneventful. And then in had sauntered Steve Marsden, hands in pockets, with that infuriatingly cheeky smile plastered to his lips. Sal had wanted to slap that gorgeous face of his, and even more so when he’d bowled straight over and asked Wendy if she wanted to come and have a look at his ‘state of the art’ music decks.
‘Wendy?’ Sal had warned, but Wendy had ignored all warnings and trotted off after him, like a lamb. It was embarrassing, and short of the three of them physically holding her back, and bringing far too much attention to the situation – what with Tamsin standing right there – what could they do?
Paul had then wandered in, looking like a blond Greek god, and after going to the bar and spending a couple of minutes chatting to various adoring-looking women, had made a beeline for Rose. She’d been watching him since he entered the lake house; she looked delighted to be made a beeline for and spirited away into a corner for drinks and furtive conversation. Sal could see her laughing now, her face all lit up like Christmas; it was hopeless.
Tamsin had bumped into a friend of the birthday girl’s, who she knew from university, and she followed her to the bar. And, finally, some man in his fifties, wearing a too-tight dinner suit, had approached to chat up JoJo, and, voila!, Sal was standing on her own.
So much for keeping everyone together! Sal thought, as she stood and took another sip of her mocktail. Should she go round with a metaphorical lasso, rounding them up, reading them the Riot Act and telling them all to behave themselves (as Wendy had promised!), or stand down from her vigilante mission for now and worry about it later?
Sal decided on the latter. She would take the rest of her drink outside for a little stroll around the lake. JoJo was in the lake house; she could surely be trusted to keep her eye out for any misdemeanours for a while, and if Wendy and Steve made a run for it, Sal would see them, wouldn’t she? For now, she would enjoy her delicious, entirely virtuous cocktail, and the lovely evening, and think about only herself.
She walked out of the lake house and turned right. There was a bench a little way up the path; she abandoned her stroll to sit on it, raise her glass to the sun, which was already lowering in the sky, and toast how she was feeling. She was in love, she was in love, she was in love – and it was quite wonderful. She wouldn’t allow herself to ponder on the scary elements of that feeling – not yet. For now, she would just enjoy it.
She sat there for quite a long time, longer than she had planned. Eventually, as the sun disappeared behind the lake house and the lake became shrouded in night, she walked back into the party.
‘How many of those have you had?’ asked JoJo, appearing at her side and peering suspiciously at Sal’s empty glass with its straw and its pineapple and its cherry. The party had really livened up; the place was heaving, quite a few people were on the dance floor and you could no longer hear chatter above music. ‘And where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for ages!’
‘Out by the lake,’ replied Sal, back on duty and scouring the room. She couldn’t see Rose and Paul in their corner now – where had they gone? – but Steve and Wendy were still by the DJ, standing close to each other and chatting like the decades they’d missed had never existed.
‘I’ve been keeping an eye on them, I promise,’ said JoJo, ‘but I couldn’t get away from that bloke! He was very persistent and, boy, could he talk! I could enter Mastermind on what I currently know about his Lord of the Rings memorabilia, his line manager’s halitosis problem and his big, beautiful ingrowing toenail.’
‘How delightful!’ laughed Sal. ‘You weren’t interested then?’
‘Ha – no! Hardly!’
‘You never are, are you, my friend?’ teased Sal, poking her friend in the side. ‘When are you going to be interested in a man again?’
‘That’s a very blunt question,’ said JoJo, smiling and taking the empty glass out of Sal’s hand. ‘Now, I’ll ask you mine again. How many of those have you had?’
‘Two,’ said Sal lightly. ‘And there’s zero alcohol in them. Who’s counting anyway?’
‘I think you should be,’ said JoJo.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you should be counting a lot of things,’ continued JoJo. ‘And one of them is how many weeks along you are.’
‘What!’ Had JoJo gone crazy? ‘What are you going on about?’
‘No more drinks for you, of any description, young lady,’ said JoJo, taking an astonished Sal’s arm and leading her into the throng. ‘We’re going to find the others and you’re going to do a pregnancy test.’
Chapter Thirteen
Rose
The drinks were so pretty and so delicious. As well as the glass of champagne she’d had on arrival, Rose had already had a mojito, a Manhattan and was now sipping a bright coral Singapore Sling, filled with loads of crushed ice and topped with an or
ange segment and a cherry, through a stripy straw. Lovely. Paul had gone up to the bar and had it mixed for her specially. It was fruity and wonderful and she knew it was very, very strong, but she didn’t much care. As Rose sipped it she looked up at Paul, standing next to her and gazing over the packed dance floor with a lilting smile on his face, and thought again just how spectacularly good-looking he was. In profile he looked like a Greek god or a Roman emperor; either would do. Men who looked like that simply weren’t interested in frumpy mothers of three like her and if they were then it was nothing short of a miracle, so she better thoroughly enjoy it while she could. Other people had done – were doing – worse things, after all.
‘How’s the Sling?’ asked Paul, turning to her.
‘Delicious, thank you,’ she replied.
When Paul had walked into the lake house, her heart had jumped into her mouth and taken residence there and something else – a rapt feeling of pure, heady excitement – had started jumping in her knickers and turning somersaults. Wow. It was lovely to get that feeling, after all these years, just lovely. He’d walked past her and given her that look – a slight raise of both eyebrows, a slight turning up of the corner of the lips – that she hoped said he liked how she looked tonight, and that she really hoped meant he fancied the pants off her. She certainly fancied him – how could she not? Just look at the man! He was so tall, so handsome. He was wearing a light-coloured suit with a white, open-necked shirt underneath, showing a very attractive cleft of chest. His hair was perfect; his eyes were shining in his tanned, beautiful face. The man was sublime.
He’d briefly gone to the bar, after that walk past and that look. She’d tried to make it look casual, that she was staring at him. She’d sipped at her champagne, enjoying the feeling of the cold bubbles dancing in her throat, and had gazed at Paul from under her fringe – as he’d ordered a beer, as he’d laughed and joked with the barman. She knew Sal and the others could see her looking but she couldn’t help herself; her eyes were drawn to him, he was magnificent! She wondered if he’d come over to her, and when. What if he didn’t? What if he didn’t talk to her all night, or was with some woman? She wasn’t sure she could bear it. She wanted him next to her, talking to her.
Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year! Page 17
