‘No,’ she finally said.
He continued. ‘There’s probably loads we don’t know about each other yet. Both of us. It’s early days, isn’t it? It was early days.’ Was. Sal knew what that meant; it was over. ‘And, well, as I said, I’m a bloke who’s always taken things really slowly – ridiculously slowly, really. I’ve generally been so laid-back that by the time I’ve realised I’ve liked a girl she’s got fed up and moved on.’ Sal nodded. She could understand that. She’d got fed up and moved on dozens of times, and for all sorts of reasons . . . usually silly and often shallow reasons. ‘Until I met you.’
He grabbed her hand again. He squeezed it tight. He looked into her eyes until she had to look away. She had to look away until she knew exactly what he was saying to her. ‘Until I met you and you turned my world upside down,’ he said.
‘In a bad way?’ ventured Sal, not daring to ask. What was he saying to her, and why was her heart beating so fast she thought it might burst out of her chest and sprint away down the nearest path?
‘No!’ said Niall. ‘In a good, brilliant, scary, utterly exhilarating way. For the first time I didn’t want to go slow, I wanted to pelt full steam ahead, to tell you how I felt, to go with the whole thing at breakneck speed. That’s why I called you, on the hen weekend. To tell you. You said you really liked me too – in your own, brilliantly reluctant way – and you came home and everything was damn near perfect . . . and then . . . then you told me you were having a baby. Our baby,’ he added softly.
‘And?’ He’d said ‘our baby’! He’d said it softly. That was something, wasn’t it? Did she dare hope he was coming round to the idea? Did she dare hope he was happy? She looked at him. He was smiling, just a little bit, and her heart dared to do a small leap.
‘And it scared the shit out of me,’ Niall continued. ‘I missed slow, suddenly. That laid-back guy made a reappearance and he was totally terrified. That everything was going so fast, so fast that I felt out of control and needed to slam some sort of brakes on, and the way I slammed the brakes was to do the opposite and run. Run! What a coward! I’m so sorry. But I needed to think . . . and now . . . I have thought, Sal. I’ve thought of nothing else.’
‘And what do you think?’ asked Sal, searching his face for an answer.
‘Open it,’ said Niall. ‘Open what I gave you.’
Sal unfolded the green jersey square of fabric on her lap and gasped with surprise. It was a tiny green T-shirt. A tiny green t-shirt with ‘Metallica’ in silver writing on the front. She held it up in front of her and placed it against her heart.
‘Girl or boy, the kid’s going to have to get used to a bit of metal.’ Niall shrugged, grinning widely. ‘It’s for our baby. Our baby, Sal, yours and mine. Can you forgive me for running? I’ll never run again, I promise. I’m so, so sorry. I want to make this work. I love you, Sal, and I will love this baby. With all my heart.’
Sal’s heart, pounding so furiously all this time, nearly exploded with joy. Niall had travelled all the way to Norfolk in his clapped-out old car, with a tiny baby’s Metallica t-shirt in his pocket, to come and tell her he loved her and their baby. He loved her!
‘You love me?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I do. Bloody hell, woman, I’ve been hinting at it long enough and I don’t know what the hell it is you’ve done to me, but yes, I love you. I’ve loved you since you opened the kitchen door to me.’ Sal grinned, her smile reaching the whole of her being. He’d loved her since he’d first seen her, how about that? ‘How do you feel about me, Sal?’ he asked, taking her hand again. ‘Really? It’s important, what with us bringing a baby into the world and everything.’ That cheeky grin again. How she loved that cheeky grin.
Could she say it, could she say the words out loud – to him – that would admit there was nothing wrong with him whatsoever, that he was, at this moment, utterly perfect?
‘Well . . .’ she said.
‘Well?’
‘I love you, Niall.’ And finally saying the words to him made it all seem so very simple and so very, very clear. She loved him, she loved him; that was all there was to it.
‘Woohoo!’ Niall stood up, spun and punched the air with a loud ‘Whoop!’ One of Frederick’s posh elderly uncles, roving outside the marquee for some air – probably – dropped his pipe and a pouch of tobacco in surprise.
‘Calm down!’ urged Sal, laughing, as Niall ran to help him pick them up. ‘People are looking at you!’
‘I don’t care!’ cried Niall. He pressed the pipe and the tobacco back into the old man’s hands and looked earnestly into his somewhat bewildered face. ‘I’m in love and I’m having a baby! I couldn’t be happier!’ he told him.
‘Well, jolly good for you,’ said the gentleman stiffly. ‘Now, if you excuse me, I’ve come out for an illicit smoke.’
Sal giggled as the old man meandered off, shaking his head; they couldn’t expect the whole world to be as happy for them as they were, and it really didn’t matter. The world for her, right now, consisted of her, Niall and the baby.
‘Come here,’ said Niall, bounding over to her. He pulled Sal to her feet and enveloped her in a gentle hug. He smelled delicious.
‘You can put your arms round me a bit tighter,’ she said. ‘I’m not fragile. I won’t break.’ She had felt fragile, she’d felt fragile all of ten minutes ago – now, she felt strong and like she could conquer the world.
‘I’m clueless about all this pregnancy stuff,’ admitted Niall, holding her close and whispering in her ear. ‘I’ve never even met any babies, apart from myself. You’ll have to buy me What to Expect When You Haven’t a Bloody Clue, or whatever it’s called.’
‘Make that two copies – I’m clueless too,’ said Sal, ‘apart from what I’ve seen of my friends’ kids . . . but we can find out together, can’t we? If that isn’t as corny as hell.’
‘It is corny,’ agreed Niall, ‘but that’s OK. Corny is good, my little bumblebee . . . the light of my life, the mother of my child . . .’
‘Stop it!’ Sal was giggling now; they both were.
‘Hey, there’s one thing I haven’t asked. You haven’t sacked me, have you?’ he suddenly said, pulling his face from her neck and looking at her mock-earnestly, a grin creeping onto his face. ‘We need both wages coming in. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you did, and I’m sure I could get a job down at the George and Dragon, serving up pork scratchings or whatever passes for Sunday lunch down there.’
‘I was going to,’ said Sal, teasing him. ‘Martina had to stand in for you last night and I was already thinking of lining up that chef, Tim, from The Bell, who’s been sniffing around for a while, the one who boasts about his pea puree, but I need you. I mean you’re the best fit, for us, for the pub. I mean you make the best pies . . .’
‘I do make a bloody good pie.’ Niall nodded. ‘That’s true. Hey, where are these friends of yours? Shall we go and tell them the good news – which hopefully they’ll be happy about, after they’ve punched me in the nose and told me what a good-for-nothing loser I am for running off like that!’
‘They’re all too loved-up to punch anyone anywhere,’ said Sal, ‘but let’s go and find them anyway.’ And this time she took Niall by the hand and they headed back towards the marquee, the tiny t-shirt safely folded and returned to Niall’s pocket.
*
‘Hey, Sal.’ It was JoJo. She was hovering near the bar as they came back in, waiting to be served. ‘There you are. Wendy’s been on the mike asking for all her friends to join her for some group dance or something. God knows what, but we all have to be there apparently.’
‘Is she drunk?’ asked Sal.
‘Off her face.’
‘This should be interesting then.’
‘Well, she’s already done Steps’ “Tragedy” and that clapping bit to “Radio Ga Ga” all by herself so God knows what she wants us all to do . . . Everything all right?’ JoJo asked Sal, pulling her to one sid
e. ‘Dare I ask if that’s Niall?’ Niall had stepped up to the bar to order himself a quick pint.
‘Yes, it’s Niall.’ Sal grinned. ‘And everything is fabulous. Niall loves me, he wants the baby. We’re all going to be together.’
‘Oh, wonderful!’ exclaimed JoJo, giving her a hug. ‘That’s brilliant news! I’m so happy for you.’
‘Thank you! I’m completely over the moon,’ said Sal. ‘I’m so excited Niall turned up for me, in more ways than one. I mean, I never believed in knights in shining armour, but now I guess I do. It’s amazing. So, where’s your man?’ she asked, looking round her excitedly. ‘The silver fox whose table you were at. The pair of you looked very interested in each other.’
‘Silver Fox had to go,’ said JoJo, a beaming smile breaking onto her face. ‘He’s a doctor, and he’s had to go back to London, but we’re having dinner next week.’
‘Ooh, JoJo, a date!’
‘I know! It’s been a long time, but I’m up for it. For the first time in a long time, I’m up for it. We’re going to the Kensington Roof Gardens.’
‘Ooh, swanky!’
‘I know!’ JoJo was now grinning madly. She’d had a different look on her face in general since the hen weekend and her one-night stand with Luke, noted Sal. Something had happened to her and it was more than just a quick bonk. She’d come alive.
‘Oh, here’s Rose and Jason . . . honestly, how sickening are these two?’ Sal said, loud enough for them to hear. ‘It’s been quite nauseating, all the canoodling.’
Rose grinned and shrugged. ‘We’ve got it all going on,’ she said. ‘What can I say?’
‘I’m going to the bar,’ said Jason.
‘Quite right,’ said Rose. ‘Don’t drink too much, lover,’ she called over him, and Sal and JoJo laughed. ‘You look happy,’ she said accusingly to Sal. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Niall’s here,’ said Sal. ‘And everything’s brilliant. It couldn’t be more brilliant.’
‘He’s OK about the baby?’
‘Yes! We’re going to be a little family living in a pub. He’ll cook, I’ll wash up and the baby will pull pints, when he or she is old enough. It’s all sorted.’
‘Oh, Sal!’ Rose drew her near for an enormous hug. ‘I’m so, so pleased.’
There was a sudden screech of microphone feedback behind them and a high-pitched voice rang out across the marquee. ‘Calling my friends! Earth calling friends! Can you hear me, friends?’
‘Oh my Lord,’ said Sal, letting go of Rose and turning round.
Wendy was on the mike, her hair prettily coming down in all sorts of places and her cheeks flushed. She looked quite, quite drunk and wonderfully happy. ‘Requesting all my friends to come to the dance floor immediately,’ she said, talking too close to the mike and causing more horrific feedback. ‘The Macarena is about to begin.’
Somebody cheered and half a dozen side-parted scientists ran onto the dance floor.
‘The bloody Macarena?’ said Sal. ‘How the hell does that go? I can’t remember!’
‘I think you’re about to find out,’ said JoJo. ‘There’s no way any of us are getting out of this.’ JoJo put down her glass and took Sal’s hand. ‘And you, Rose! Prise yourself away from your husband for a couple of minutes, you’ve got some formation dancing to do.’ Rose was in Jason’s arms, having a bit of a cuddle. She left him, with a laugh, and slipped her arm through JoJo’s. ‘Oi! Tamsin!’ JoJo called to the fourth bridesmaid, as they walked past a table where she was chatting to some of her relatives. ‘On your feet, missy; you’re needed on the dance floor!’
When they arrived in the middle of the floor, Wendy squealed and ran over and hugged them all. ‘My friends! And my gorgeous sister-in-law! Are you ready?’
‘We’re ready.’ And the chirpy little opening bars of the Macarena started and Wendy hitched up the skirt of her wedding dress, ready for action and grinning her head off. They all started to dance and it was hilarious: Frederick was suddenly there, his hands on his hips and swaying to the beat; several scientists were giving it the whole nine yards and a few extra, for luck; quite a few of Frederick’s family were already moving like Jagger. Frederick’s dad, his sleeves rolled up, was the first to start the famous Macerana group moves when the chorus kicked in. Frederick’s mum, behind him, was storming it, a vision in peach. And around them, boys were skidding on their knees across the dance floor, girls were standing on their uncles’ shoes and waltzing to the music and no one in that marquee was doing the right actions, but even less of them seemed to care. What even were they anyway? Had anyone ever really known?
Wendy let her dress sweep to the floor and came to engulf all four bridesmaids in an enormous hug. ‘All of you,’ she said, ‘all of you are the best bridesmaids ever. The best friends ever. Listen, when we get back from our honeymoon, come over for dinner, all of you and bring your men, your children, your baby bumps, your whatever. I can’t wait to see you! It’s going to be lovely!’
‘You haven’t even gone yet!’ said Sal.
‘And for God’s sake don’t think about us on your honeymoon,’ said Rose. ‘Forget all about us!’
‘How could I forget you!’ Wendy pouted. ‘Promise you’ll all come over for dinner when we come back!’ she insisted.
‘We promise,’ said JoJo, sharing a smile with the other bridesmaids. ‘And we’ll all very much look forward to it.’
‘Sorted!’ declared Wendy. ‘Now, here comes the chorus again – get in a line and do your stuff! This is going on the video!’
The bridesmaids laughed, and did as they were told, and around them the disco lights shimmered and the beat of the music pounded, and, as they danced and forgot whether they should be putting their hands on their elbow, or the back of their neck, or their bottoms – and did it really matter anyway? – the night was full of the rich promise of fun and friendship and love.
INVITATION
Hatched, Re-hitched and Betrothed!
Date: Friday June 4th
Venue: Ballroom, The Curtis Hotel, Leicester Square, London
Live band, free bar
Please join Sal, Rose and JoJo for their triple celebration and a night of food and partying…
Sal, as she celebrates motherhood & the arrival of her daughter, Emma Louise Walsh
Rose, to celebrate the renewal of her vows to her husband, Jason
And JoJo, in celebration of her engagement to Dr Christopher Hampton
Dress code: as glam as you like
Carriages: at midnight
No presents, please, these ladies have everything they need!
Turn the page for an exclusive extract from A Year of Being Single, the bestselling feel-good romantic comedy from Fiona Collins!
Prologue
They had a charter. An unofficial one. It wasn’t written on parchment scroll in swirly feather quill or drawn up on foolscap by a portly, provincial solicitor or even scrawled in biro on the back of a magazine. It wasn’t written down anywhere. But it was a charter, nonetheless, and it went something like this:
They were independent women – self-sufficient, autonomous. They could change their own light bulbs and the batteries in their smoke alarms, refill their own windscreen wash bottles in their cars, put out their own bins, carry their own suitcases, take their own cars through the carwash and unscrew the lids on their own jars. If they didn’t know how to do something they would ask each other, as one of them probably would. Or they would ask Google and work it out.
They would provide each other with emotional support and babysit each other’s children. If one needed another, they would come over.
They had freedom, they had power; they could please themselves and would make sure they did.
None of them had a man. None of them wanted a man. None of them needed a man.
And they would be single for one year to prove it.
Chapter One
Imogen
If Im
ogen had screamed out loud, no one would have heard her. If she’d screamed, it would have been swallowed by the unconcerned Paris traffic roaring below. If she’d screamed, nobody would have given a monkey’s. Least of all, the giant male ape inside her sumptuous hotel room.
She was standing on the tiny balcony of a massive hotel room, on the top floor of an enormous hotel. A room that she was paying for. The Ape’s contribution was zilch. He thought it enough to enjoy the room and the balcony and the whole posh Paris hotel experience as fully and as enthusiastically as possible. Especially the bar, the breakfast buffet, the three gorgeous restaurants and the extensive room-service menu. He’d enjoyed the whole trip. He’d larked about photo-bombing people at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, stuffed his face with madeleines at Blé Sucré – whilst attempting a French accent that made him sound like a crumb-spitting Pepé le Pew – and danced up the escalator to the Louvre with a silly grin on his face… Oh, he’d had a great time.
He was enjoying himself at this very moment. As Imogen grabbed the balcony’s railing and flung her head up to the heavens and the grey Paris sky – to ask, Why? Why another bloody loser? – he was stuffed into a Chesterfield armchair and tucking into another sodding triple-deck club sandwich, irritatingly picking up each triangular section by the cocktail stick that held it together, and nibbling round the stick like an appreciative beaver. It was his fifth that weekend.
When he was done, he’d probably sniff, scratch his balls, burp and top it all off with a long and loud fart. This man couldn’t possibly be The One! He shouldn’t even have been a vague someone in her life.
He was a waste of space; he was lazy, greedy and quite repulsive. She’d been really stupid with this one. She wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. Their train home couldn’t come quick enough.
Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year! Page 27
