by Lynda Renham
I don’t think I’ve ever showered so fast in my life. By the time I reach the bedroom Sylvie is dressed in her pink satin bridesmaid dress.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Don’t get carried away. I’m not the bride. I’ll blow dry your hair while you do your make-up.’
‘Won’t that be awkward?’ I say.
‘We’ve got forty-five minutes, have you got any better ideas?’
‘Darren’s gone to see the Arsenal,’ I say fighting back tears. ‘He forgot about the wedding.’
I rummage in my bag for my phone.
‘And my texts haven’t been delivered.’
‘Bastard,’ she snarls, blow drying my hair wildly while I struggle to squeeze my eyelashes between the eyelash curlers.
‘I’m making a brew,’ calls Felix.
‘Throw some whisky in it,’ yells Sylvie.
‘Drunken bridesmaids are not the done thing darling,’ he calls back.’
‘Just do it,’ she screams.
‘You’re getting tense,’ I say, spitting out bits of hair.
Felix bursts in with the tea and whisky and Sylvie takes a gulp from the bottle. I stroke Vaseline onto my lashes and curl them again. I step into my dress and Sylvie pulls the back together.
‘Breathe in,’ she says.
‘I am breathing in.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘She’s turning a purple colour, so I think she’s telling the truth,’ says Felix, standing in front of me, high heels dangling from his hand. He looks quite appealing in a dinner jacket and bow tie.
‘Christ, it won’t zip up,’ she says.
‘What do you mean it won’t zip up?’ I shriek. ‘It’s got to zip up.’
‘When did you last try it on?’ she asks, pulling it so tight I’m beginning to sympathise with Victorian women.
‘If you pull much tighter I won’t be able to breathe at all.’
‘Her tits are looking a bit squashed,’ says Felix, taking a swig of whisky.
I grab the bottle out of his hand and take a swig myself.
‘Shit,’ says Sylvie pulling so hard I have to grab Felix to stay upright.
‘Right, there’s nothing for it. Felix you’ll have to pull it together while I zip.’
‘Jesus peanuts.’
‘And can you stop saying Jesus peanuts, it drives me insane.’
‘She’s stressed,’ I say.
I take a deep breath as Felix pulls and Sylvie tries again. I feel my bra pinch my nipples and Sylvie sighs.
‘It’s done. God knows how you won’t burst out of it.’
‘The taxi is here,’ says Felix, throwing my shoes at me.
Sylvie chucks our evening bags, presents and cards into a carrier bag.
‘Let’s go,’ she says, pushing a diamante slide into my hair and shoving a bouquet into my hands.
‘I’m never getting married,’ I say. Not to Darren anyway. That’s now a certainty.
Chapter Fourteen
‘I don’t believe it,’ says Sylvie. ‘It’s Sunday, why aren’t people enjoying their sodding gardens instead of clogging up the roads?’
‘The Queen is passing through,’ says the driver. ‘It’s on the news.’
‘Did somebody mention me?’ pipes up Felix.
‘Christ,’ mumbles Sylvie between gritted teeth, ‘Why did she have to choose today of all days?’
‘We’ve only got five minutes,’ I say.
‘Bloody royalists,’ Sylvie snaps. ‘Stop the taxi.’
‘You’re not suggesting we walk from here?’ blubbers Felix. ‘I look like a prize penguin.’
‘You always look like a prize penguin, why should today be any different?’ she scoffs.
‘Ouch,’ says the taxi driver.
Felix fumbles in his wallet to pay, and then we’re left stranded in the middle of Swiss Cottage looking for all the world like spare parts that haven’t made it to the wedding.
‘Which way do we go?’ asks Sylvie.
‘You don’t know?’ I say.
I lift my dress and follow Sylvie down the street, trying to ignore the looks from passers-by.
‘Excellent Sylvie, bloody excellent,’ groans Felix as a group of Chinese tourists take a picture of us. ‘It will be on twitter in a few seconds. We’ll most likely be viral by tonight.’
We turn the corner and stop as we see Hal’s car approaching.
‘Shit,’ says Felix, pointing to a side door in the church.
‘This is your fault,’ says Sylvie, nudging me.
Darren’s bloody fault more like.
‘Through here,’ says Felix leading us into the vestry.
We stop and stare. The vicar is donning his cassock and a dubious looking wig.
‘Oh,’ he says, quickly adjusting it. ‘Welcome. The wedding party usually come through the main door.’
The wig is askew and I wonder if I should say something. I wouldn’t want him going out there looking like a half-pissed vicar.
‘Yes, we did think about it,’ says Felix with a smile. ‘Personally, I’m used to entering by the rear.’
‘Jesus wept,’ says Sylvie. ‘I mean, heavens, oh shit.’
‘Maybe best not to speak at all,’ I whisper. ‘Is it okay if we go through, we’d like to make it before the bride?’
We dash through the vestry door and into the church.
‘Bloody hell, I really cocked that up didn’t I?’ groans Sylvie as we hurry to the entrance. We watch as Hal approaches in her flowing white dress.
‘She looks beautiful,’ I sigh.
‘She looks frumpy if you ask me,’ says Sylvie. ‘I’m sure that dress looked better on her at the last fitting.’
Hal smiles at us with tears forming in her eyes.
‘I’m so happy,’ she says, hugging us and squashing her bouquet.
I feel myself come over all tearful. I doubt if I’m ever going walk down the aisle, apart from now of course, but you know what I mean.
‘Don’t start,’ says Sylvie, dabbing her eyes. ‘I bloody hate weddings.’
God, this dress is killing me. I can’t feel my breasts any more. I’m terrified to do anything more than take a shallow breath in case something pops at the back. Air on a G String begins to play and Sylvie and I lift the train and follow Hal into the church. Hal said she wanted to walk down the aisle to Air on a G String because that’s all she would be wearing under the dress. I look for Darren. There’s no sign of him. We reach the vicar and lower the train. I take Hal’s bouquet and for the rest of the ceremony try not to sneeze. Everything goes smoothly aside from an awful moment when Tony fumbled in his pockets for the rings. Then it is all over and we’re heading back outside for the photos, confetti and hugs. There is still no sign of Darren. I only hope he turns up for the reception. Then again maybe it would be best if he didn’t. I really don’t want to stab him with the cake knife. How can I tell Hal that Darren forgot about their wedding and went to the Arsenal instead?
Chapter Fifteen
I must look like the jilted bridesmaid. I’m on my fourth glass of champagne and my dress popped during the speeches. I must have finally taken a breath to avoid collapsing with asphyxia. Fortunately someone lent me a safety pin. I’m at that point where I couldn’t care less if I’ve gained weight. If a man can’t love you for who you are then they’re not worth having are they? On that note I decide to get another bowl of profiteroles when I spot her, redheaded Angie. I really do see red and I don’t just mean her hair. She’s one of those late guests, the ones who aren’t good enough for the reception but get an invite to the party. And right behind her is the bloody unfaithful dipshit Darren. He sees me, waves and sheepishly trots over. I exhale and finish the champagne. It’s most probably best if I stop knocking back the booze now he is here. At least he turned up. Better late than never I suppose.
‘Ooh the wanderer doth return,’ says Felix, strolling to our table with a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches.
&nbs
p; ‘What’s she doing here?’ I say nodding to Angie.
‘That’s Kev’s cousin isn’t it?’ says Felix.
‘That’s bloody Angie,’ I say, fighting back my anger, ‘shagging Angie from Eastlea Towers.’
‘I’m so sorry Babe, I totally forgot and signal was crap and …’ says Darren in a pathetic voice as he reaches me. He leans down to kiss me and I quickly lift my glass to my lips.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve coped without you,’ says Felix, offering him a sandwich.
‘They’re a bit curled around the edges I’m afraid.’
‘You should apologise to Hal,’ I say, struggling to control my anger. I let my eyes stray to Angie on the other side of the hall.
‘I’ll catch her now,’ he says.
I glare at Angie and she struggles to avoid my eyes. The music is turned up and Hal and Kev slide onto the dance floor to lead Gangnam Style. Darren slopes to the bar. That’s about right.
‘Come on love, let’s have a dance,’ says Felix, pulling me up. ‘Let’s show Ginger Spice what we’re made of.’
‘She’s a redhead,’ I say miserably.
‘If she’s a real redhead, I’ll eat my arse.’
I laugh and let him lead me onto the dance floor.
‘Hey,’ shouts Sylvie as we join her, Hal and Kev, ‘Let’s do it.’
And we do. At one point it is the five of us leading the dancing. Darren looks on dejectedly, working his way through his pint while Angie looks decidedly uncomfortable every time I glare at her.
‘Enjoy yourself,’ shouts Felix. ‘Have it out with the toerag later, but for now let him see you can have a good time without him.’
‘He’s right, and I don’t often say that about Felix,’ laughs Sylvie.
‘Charming,’ smiles Felix.
Two Gangnam Styles and fifteen minutes later and I can barely breathe. I join Darren and his pint at the table.
‘Another drink darling?’ asks Felix.
‘I’ll have another beer,’ says Darren.
‘I think these are on Darren. Isn’t that right, Darren?’ asks Sylvie.
‘Well …’ mumbles Darren.
‘I’ll have a white wine spritzer love,’ says Felix. ‘I’m parched, how about you Sylve?’
‘I’ll have a spritzer too.’
‘A shame you weren’t here earlier,’ says Felix. ‘The bar was free up until eight.’
‘Are you buying a round?’ says Lisa as she joins us.
‘Well …’ repeats Darren.
‘What are you having Sylvie?’ she asks.
‘We’re all having white wine spritzers. How about you Roxie, love?’ says Felix with a wide grin.
‘I’ll have the same,’ I say.
That will teach the two-timing little sod. He hates spending money on others.
‘Martine, do you want a spritzer?’ Lisa yells.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Darren whispers, leaning across to me.
‘Do you have any money?’
Oh yes, plenty but you’re not getting any of it.
‘I didn’t bring any Darren,’ I say, biting into a sandwich and not feeling in the least bit guilty for lying. He fishes his wallet from his suit pocket with a groan.
‘Well, I can’t carry that lot back on my own,’ he grumbles.
‘Just give us a wave and I’ll come over,’ winks Felix.
Darren fiddles with his shirt collar before heading to the bar.
‘I can manage,’ he mumbles.
‘What’s going on?’ asks Lisa.
I shake my head. I don’t want a scene at Hal’s wedding. It’s her big day after all.
‘He’s in Roxie’s bad books,’ says Felix.
‘Oh, Single Ladies,’ squeals Lisa as Beyoncé belts from the speakers. She grabs Martine and they disappear to the dance floor with Sylvie.
‘I’m going to chat up that gorgeous bloke. He’s been giving me the eye all evening,’ says Felix.
I watch Darren weave his way back from the bar with the tray of drinks to an empty table.
‘That’s bloody great. That lot cost me an arm and a leg and now everyone has buggered off.’
‘They’ll be back,’ I say, feeling Angie’s eyes on me. How could I have not known about her? I’m too trusting that’s my problem.
‘Christ, that disco is loud. I can’t hear myself think. You’re in a funny mood,’ he says downing another beer. I notice he got himself two. God forbid Darren should go thirsty.
I sip my spritzer and ignore him. I’m not going to have it out with him here, it wouldn’t be right, not at Hal’s wedding reception
‘You’ll never believe this but Joey only went and won the bloody lottery.’
‘No, really?’ I say, widening my eyes.
‘Thirty quid, he got four numbers. I told you when Joey gets that tingle it means something’s up.’
Something’s up all right. The DJ lowers the volume.
‘In a few moments the gorgeous bride and her groom will be cutting the cake,’ he yells excitedly. ‘What a cake it is too. Then we’ll be waving goodbye to Hal and Kev as they head off into the sunset.’
‘Or Devon more like,’ says Sylvie, joining us. ‘Thanks for the drink Darren.’
‘I got you more profiteroles,’ she says, handing me a bowl.
‘That’s why you keep gaining weight,’ Darren mutters.
‘Oh piss off Darren,’ says Sylvie drunkenly. ‘You can talk. Looked in the mirror lately, you’ve got a nice little paunch there?’
‘Sylvie,’ I say firmly.
‘You’re a bad influence on her,’ says Darren.
‘I’m a damn sight better for her than you are,’ she says before burping in his face.
Oh dear.
‘Ooh drinkies,’ says Felix, joining us. ‘All right our Sylvie?’ He looks at her questioningly and then to me. I just raise my eyebrows in response.
‘Shall we get a bit of air?’ he asks delicately.
Thankfully she allows him to lead her outside. Darren and I sit silently watching the dancing. I sip my spritzer and pretend not to hear him over the music. Meanwhile he downs his beer and struggles not to look at Angie. It’s all I can do not to tip the beer over his head. There is a drum roll and a distorted Frank Sinatra’s Love and Marriage is played too loudly as Hal and Kev cut their three-tiered cake.
‘I’m getting another beer,’ says Darren.
I help myself to a large slice of cake. How dare Darren say I’m fat? He strolls to the bar while I wander outside to wave Hal and Kev off in their old battered Peugeot. An hour later I shove a very pissed Darren into a cab.
‘Will you be okay?’ asks Felix, kissing me on the cheek.
‘Yes, thanks Felix.’
I hug Sylvie and hold her up until she regains her balance.
‘She’ll regret this tomorrow when she drags herself out of bed for work,’ smiles Felix.
I climb into the cab beside Darren who is slumped in his seat. I somehow think tonight isn’t the time to talk about Angie.
Chapter Sixteen
I spend the night snivelling and mumbling while Darren snores as usual. I’m sure he’s got a nasal problem. I bet Justin Theroux doesn’t have a nasal problem. I finally got up, swore at the bloody telescope, drank half a bottle of wine and polished off a pack of trifle fingers with a jar of Nutella. At one point, I called a live radio phone in, and asked, what was the point of winning seventy-five thousand pounds if you have no one to share it with? I think the phone lines got jammed after that with people offering to share with me. Christ, I hope I didn’t give my name. I’m almost afraid to look out of the window in case there’s a posse of people wishing to share. I know sharing is caring but there are limits. A quick peep behind the curtain tells me all is safe. I feel like crap. My head thumps. I should never have had the wine, not after all the booze I drank at the wedding. My eyes feel like they’ve got sawdust in them and my shoulders ache from the tension of searching the flat yesterday. I run a hot bath
and throw in some lavender oil. I’ll make a cup of tea and relax in the water.
‘This bloody toaster’s had it,’ shouts Darren as the smell of charcoaled toast wafts into the bathroom.
‘You always set it too high,’ I shout.
I bet Jennifer Aniston’s mansion doesn’t stink of burnt toast.
‘It doesn’t bloody toast otherwise,’ he says in a whiny voice, popping his head round the bathroom door. ‘Aren’t you going to work?’
‘I don’t feel great.’
He’s good looking is my Darren. Women notice him and I know he looks at them but just because we’re not married doesn’t mean he can touch does it? He brushes back his hair and grins at me.
‘That was a bloody boring wedding wasn’t it? Christ, I’ve had more laughs at a funeral.’
‘You were late.’
‘I’m never going to forget it either am I? Talking of which, I’d better get going.’
‘Darren, are you shagging that busty redhead in Eastlea Towers?’
Someone more posh than me would ask ‘Are you having an affair?’ Frankly I haven’t got time for that tosh. He chokes on his burnt toast and coughs. I suppose I should thump him on the back but I’m afraid if I do I may not be able to stop. He points to my tea with watery eyes and I reluctantly hand it to him. He gulps it down before wiping his eyes.
‘Are you?’ I repeat.
His mouth opens and closes and his shoulders jerk nervously like a goldfish that has leapt from its bowl.
‘I read your text messages, so there’s no point in denying it.’
His face turns red.
‘You read my text messages?’ he says hoarsely. ‘That’s an invasion of privacy.’
‘Are you shagging her?’ I ask, more loudly this time.
Darren opens his mouth and then his shoulders sag.
‘Well, you’re never up for it are you? Either you’re too tired or too busy reading that erotic rubbish. You’re always knackered these days and …’
‘I’ve got a job Darren. I never stop. Then I come home and clean up after you. I’m exhausted by nine …’
I sound like that woman on the Jerry Springer show.
‘If you gave me as much attention as you give those bloody books it would be a start.’
