Because not only have I forgotten about Nora while she’s been staying down in London and feeling poorly, I’ve also forgotten about Olly.
‘Shit. I was supposed to go over to the restaurant yesterday and help with that!’
‘Ah.’ Nora reaches for the bread basket and delves for a chunk of focaccia. ‘That might be why Olly seemed in a bit of a mood this morning.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘Well, he’s been a bit stressed about the whole opening thing for the past couple of days, so maybe it was just that.’
‘He’s been stressed?’ I stare at her. ‘I thought he was taking it all in his stride.’
‘Lib, come on. You know Olly. He isn’t going to admit if he’s stressed. You just have to sort of … work it out.’
‘But I told him he should call me if he needed any moral support at all …’
‘OK. But maybe,’ Nora says, lightly but pointedly, ‘he thought it was best not to bother you. If you were doing something so important you’d forgotten to go round there when you’d promised to, that is.’
Guilt, white-hot, sears through me.
‘I wasn’t doing anything important,’ I mumble. ‘I mean, I was, in a way – it was a business plan for this possible investor – but it could have waited a day.’
‘Oooh, that sounds exciting! But you should probably tell Olly, just so that he knows why you’ve been a bit … unreliable …’
This stings.
‘I’m not unreliable! I’m always there for people if they need me! My sister … you … OK, admittedly I’ve let Olly down a bit, recently … and of course I should have called you when I knew you were ill …’ I tail off, then gaze across the table at Nora, feeling a bit stricken. ‘Is he OK? Is everything ready at the restaurant? Do you think,’ I add, anxiously, ‘he’ll forgive me?’
‘I’m sure he will. You know how he feels about you, Libby.’ Nora busies herself with the bread basket and grabs another chunk of focaccia. ‘Hey, that reminds me. I never found out how it went with Adam the other night.’
Why talking about mine and Olly’s friendship should remind her of Adam, I don’t know.
‘Was he completely stunned when he saw you?’ she goes on.
‘Er … yes, in a way …’
This isn’t quite the same thing as the little fib about her looking great, when in fact she looks pale and tired. I mean, I can’t sit here with my best friend and not mention, in the course of updating her on my relationship statues with Adam, that I might accidentally have started having feelings for Dillon O’Hara again.
Dillon O’Hara who, incidentally, has just texted another one-word message to my phone.
Enjoy D
This time there’s no x
Has he forgotten the x?
Or deliberately left it off, because … why? He’s pissed off that I can’t make lunch or dinner?
Well, that would be childish of him. Even more childish than this silly, one-word text game we’ve been playing together, which suddenly seems silly, now, in the wrong way.
‘Libby?’ Nora looks irritated. ‘You’re miles away again!’
‘Sorry …’
But Nora’s own attention is suddenly diverted from our conversation as she starts waving over my shoulder. ‘Tash!’ she calls out. ‘Tash, over here!’
Because Tash has arrived, looking smart-but-summery in knee-length navy shorts, a crisp shirt and some gorgeous espadrille wedges, her swingy blonde hair twisted up at the back of her head.
‘Girls!’ she says, giving each of us a kiss on both cheeks as she reaches the table. ‘How are we all this fine day?’
How, how does she manage to be so upbeat all the time? It’s almost as if she has literally no worries in her life; no gnawing anxieties about relationships, or friendships, or letting people down … Which is probably because she doesn’t let people down, to be fair. I don’t imagine that Tash is at all the sort of person to promise someone she’ll do something and then fail to do it. Let’s face it, she’s helped out Olly more this week than I have, and she’s not even one of his oldest friends.
‘Nora?’ she adds. ‘You feeling OK?’
‘Yes. How was the conference this morning?’
‘Oh, God.’ Tash sits down, heavily, in the chair beside mine. ‘Callum Sutherland insisted on sitting next to me.’
‘No.’ Nora lets out a groan. ‘You poor, poor thing. Did he say anything gross?’
‘No, but he did sit uncomfortably close, and kept accidentally-on-purpose shifting in his seat so our knees were touching. I suddenly realized what it must have been like for you that time he cornered you at the Christmas party. And I couldn’t even flash an engagement ring at him, surreptitiously, or drop ‘my fiancé’ into the conversation every now and then, just to remind him to back off a bit.’
‘Callum Sutherland is one of the senior consultants in Tash’s department,’ Nora tells me, in case I’m feeling left out of the conversation, I suppose. ‘And a total pervert.’
‘With a thing for blondes,’ Tash sighs, before adding, ‘oh, my God! I’ve only just noticed you’ve gone blonde, Lib!’
‘Doesn’t it look fab?’ Nora says.
‘It does! Wow! What made you suddenly decide to do it? Oh, no …’ Tash glances across the table, theatrically, at Nora. ‘It wasn’t Bridezilla over there, was it? Laying down a decree that all her bridesmaids have to have the same hair colour?’
Nora laughs.
‘It’s pretty different from your shade, though,’ I say to Tash.
‘Actually, I think it looks pretty similar.’ Tash peers at me, more closely. ‘Don’t you, Nor?’
‘Well, yes, now you mention it, it’s actually pretty identical. Good call, Lib. Thanks for fulfilling my secret Bridezilla wish to have matching bridesmaids.’
‘Oh, now, talking of matching bridesmaids,’ Tash says, leaning down and reaching into her handbag, ‘I’ve seen a couple of Reiss dresses I really like the look of in this magazine, so it might make sense to head straight to that section of the store after we’ve had lunch …’
The two of them start leafing through the copy of Grazia she’s just pulled out, which gives me a moment to ponder what they’ve both just said about my hair.
I mean, it isn’t identical to Tash’s.
And, if it is, that’s obviously a coincidence. I don’t want to copy Tash. Yes, she’s really pretty, and, as I keep saying, she’s obviously really nice, so you could do far worse than to copy her, if that’s what you were doing … But I wasn’t. I have no reason to copy Tash. The fact that I now have very similar hair is merely a quirk of the colourist’s brush. I mean, really, how many different shades of blonde are there, at the end of the day? You’re basically a sophisticated dark blonde, like Jennifer Aniston, a sexy platinum blonde, like my own dear Marilyn, or a pleasant, everyday, butter-and-honey blonde like Tash.
And now, well, me.
‘I really like the look of this blue one,’ Nora is saying, pointing at a picture in the magazine. ‘You’d look great in it, Tash.’
‘Really? You’re sure it’s not a bit too sexy, with that split in the skirt? For a bridesmaid’s dress, I mean?’
‘Who says I don’t want sexy bridesmaids?’ Nora says with a grin. ‘I’ve already got newly hot blonde Libby over here, who I’m fairly sure Mark is going to ditch me for at some point during the course of the evening. I might as well persuade you to rock up in a thigh-split frock, so you can end up with one of the ushers. I’m just going to nip to the loo,’ she adds, in a non sequitur, getting up with sudden haste that makes me think she’s not quite as over her stomach trouble as she’s claimed. ‘Order some sparkling water, would you, and I’ll be back in just a minute.’
Tash, in typically organized fashion, summons a waitress, orders a bottle of sparkling water, ‘and a glass of champagne for you and me, Libby, yeah?’ and then turns to me, as soon as the waitress has gone, to say, ‘Well, if we’re bagsying ushers already, you have to let
me have first dibs on Nora’s big brother.’
‘Olly?’
‘That’s the one!’
I blink at her. ‘Sorry … you fancy … Olly?’
‘God, yes. He’s gorgeous. Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?’
‘Er … I suppose so …’
‘I fancied him the first time I met him, to be honest with you. It’s partly why I jumped at the chance to stay at his and help him out this week, when I knew I’d be down here at the same time for the conference.’ Her eyes go a bit dreamy for a moment. ‘I mean, he’s so tall, and so handsome … and he can cook! My mum’s always said to me: make sure you choose a man who can cook. My dad can’t boil an egg – I mean, he literally can’t boil an egg; the only time he ever tried, he put them in the kettle, and an empty kettle, at that … Which reminds me,’ she goes on, reaching for the bread basket that Nora’s pretty much decimated, ‘talking of food, you and I should start talking about where to go for Nora’s hen-night dinner.’
‘Oh!’ I’m still a bit too dazed by the fact she’s set her sights on Olly. ‘Er …’ I try to gather myself. ‘I had a few ideas already about the hen do, actually …’
And what I’d been thinking about the hen do – she fancies Olly? Seriously? – was something along the lines of this: a lovely picnic lunch in Kensington Gardens, where Nora and Mark went for a walk on their first official date ten years ago; over to Nora’s mum and dad’s house in Chiswick, for a homemade afternoon tea with lashings of champagne, in the garden where Mark asked her to marry him; everyone getting ready together in Nora’s old bedroom with cheesy pop blasting out from her beloved old CD-player, and then a fleet of taxis over to Clapham for a big, boozy, chilled-out dinner at a huge table at Olly’s mystery-name restaurant, before hitting one of the bars on Clapham High Street. A bar at which, I decided in a moment of inspiration a few weeks ago, I’ll have prearranged with the staff to bring over round after round of a brand-new cocktail called ‘The Flaming Nora’, in honour of the nights Nora and I once spent on a holiday in Greece, drinking dodgy, on-fire cocktails and getting chatted up by the locals in an otherwise sedate fishing village.
Olly?
‘Great!’ Tash beams at me. ‘Because I’d been thinking that I could put together a shortlist of a few options and email you all the details so you can see what you think. Nora was hoping for the third Saturday in July, if you think that’s enough notice to get everyone together? Most of her friends are up in Glasgow, obviously, but you’ll need to book a flight up from London, and then there are her sisters, too … OK, Nor?’ she suddenly asks, as Nora reappears at our table and sinks into her seat.
‘Yes. Fine. Don’t tell me – you two were discussing the hen do.’
I wouldn’t call it so much a discussion as a monologue, I think, but don’t say.
Which I know is mean-spirited to even think, let alone blurt out over a pre-wedding girlie lunch with our mutual friend, the bride.
But I’ll admit it: my nose is feeling quite seriously out of joint now. Because OK, maybe it’s a more practical (albeit less personal and romantic) solution to have the hen do up in Scotland rather than down here in London. But wouldn’t it have been nice to have come to this conclusion at the end of an actual conversation? Or, more to the point, for Nora to have mentioned to me, at some point, that she’d asked Tash to get in on the hen-do planning with me?
And it’s not even like Nora has the excuse that she thinks I’m too disorganized and faffy to do a decent job. The surprise twenty-first that Olly and I threw for her at her parents’ house was a triumph … Then there was the graduation celebration Olly and I put together for her at last-minute notice, the evening of the day she found out she’d got a first, at her then-favourite bar in Soho … Not to mention the super-elegant engagement dinner that (again) Olly and I co-hosted for her and Mark at his flat …
Olly who – sorry, but I still can’t quite digest this – Tash is saying she fancies?
It’s all just … well, it’s a bit much.
Which, it’s suddenly occurring to me, is the problem I have with Tash: that she’s just a bit much.
Because I’ll admit it: I suppose I do have a little bit of a problem with her. One that I’m not having quite so much trouble admitting to, in the light of these latest developments. Yes, she’s lovely, and fun, and pretty, and smart, and all the bloody things that fairy godmothers bless their godchildren with in fairy tales. But all this hen-do-appropriating, and chief-bridesmaids-jobs-usurping and … and Olly-fancying … it’s a bit much. A bit overwhelming.
And it all makes me feel like the third wheel. On a regular two-wheel bike.
I’m used to feeling like this in my romantic life. But it isn’t something I’m accustomed to experiencing with Nora.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tash is telling Nora now. ‘We’ll keep it calm and very low-key.’
‘Sure, but we don’t want to go too low-key,’ I say. ‘I mean, several of your sisters are going to feel seriously short-changed if we don’t end up face down in the gutter at some point in the evening, aren’t they?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Lib. I’d rather not do anything too rowdy. Not so close to the wedding.’
‘Well, sure. I mean, I’m not suggesting we all fly to Prague, drink our body weight in beer and end up getting arrested for weeing all over a statue of some great revolutionary leader.’ (This springs to mind because of a stag do that Dillon went on, during the course of our relationship.) ‘I just think it’d be nice to let our hair down a bit.’
‘Hair!’ Nora suddenly stares across the table at Tash. ‘Shit, that reminds me! I’ve got to change my flight to tomorrow morning!’
‘I thought you weren’t leaving until Saturday afternoon,’ I say.
‘I wasn’t, but I’ve had to move my wedding-hair trial appointment to tomorrow evening instead of next Friday. I need a three-hour appointment instead of two hours now that the hairdresser has to work in the veil as well, and tomorrow is the only time she has that block available.’
‘Veil?’ I’m confused. ‘I thought you’d decided against a veil ages ago, because you thought it’d swamp the dress?’
‘Yes. But … well, I’ve bought a different dress now, Lib. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve already managed to return the original one. Luckily I hadn’t had the hem taken up yet, or the sleeves shortened …’
‘But that dress was stunning on you!’ I stare at her. ‘Why did you change your mind?’
‘The new dress is stunning, too, though,’ Tash says.
‘You’ve seen it?’ I say, more sharply than I intended.
‘Well, yes, I mean, I helped her choose it.’ Tash pauses for a second, because the waitress has just brought over the drinks she ordered. ‘It’s just as gorgeous as that first one you helped her choose, honestly, Libby … ivory lace, and a lovely Empire waist …’
‘Empire waist? But you wanted bias cut,’ I say to Nora. ‘All the dresses you tried on in the first place were bias cut! I even tried to get you to try on an Empire waist one, and you wouldn’t, because you said people might think you were …’
I stop talking.
Nora is turning pink.
‘You’re not,’ I say.
Nora is turning more pink. She clears her throat.
‘Nine weeks,’ she says.
‘Almost ten,’ Tash says, ‘isn’t it?’
Hold on: Tash knew? And I didn’t?
No, no, no, Libby. No. That’s not – not remotely – what’s important right now.
‘Nora! That’s amazing!’
I get up, go round to her, and pull her in for a tight, rather fierce hug.
‘How are you? I mean, how are you feeling? And, oh my God, that’s why you’re only drinking sparkling water, isn’t it? And you haven’t had a stomach bug all week …’
‘I’m quite tired, mostly, is all. But I’m fine. As long as I’m not getting myself in a panic a
bout it all, that is.’
I pull back and stare at her. ‘You’re not happy about it?’
‘No. I mean, yes, I am happy! Really happy. It’s just lousy timing, is the trouble … I mean, work is even more mental than usual, and … well, we haven’t told either of our families yet, actually, but you know how traditional Mark’s family is. I mean, I’m going to be fifteen weeks pregnant at the actual wedding!’
‘You’ll barely show,’ Tash says. ‘Especially now you’ve ditched the clingy dress.’
‘And swathed myself in whatever massive veil I can find,’ Nora adds. ‘In fact, maybe when we’ve finished with your dress, Tash, we could pop along to some of the bridal shops on Chiltern Street and see if they’ve got any reasonably cheap veils for sale that I can take back home with me tomorrow.’
‘You could borrow Grandmother’s veil,’ I blurt.
Nora blinks at me. ‘Your Granny Judith?’
‘No. Grandmother. Dad’s mum. She’s given me her wedding veil, for me to use one day …’ When I marry Olly, I almost add, just because I’m feeling so thoroughly fed up with Tash now, after this secret pregnancy revelation that wasn’t a secret to her. But I don’t say this, because it would sound weird, and potentially freak out Nora, and I don’t want to freak her out. ‘It’s stunning,’ I go on, ‘and absolutely massive, so it’d do a great job covering anything you want covered.’
‘Oh, wow, Lib, that would be amazing … but if it’s a family heirloom …’
‘You’re family,’ I say, more awkwardly than I’d normally say this. ‘Besides, it can be your Something Borrowed. Unless –’ I glance over at Tash as I ask this – ‘you’ve already got your Something Borrowed all sorted out and ready to roll, of course.’
‘Of course I haven’t. Libby, that sounds fantastic!’ Nora reaches up to give me a return hug.
‘I can bring it to the party tonight,’ I say, ‘or you could drop round tomorrow to collect it, depending on what time your flight home is.’
‘God, no, Lib, don’t bring it to the party. There’ll be red wine and fruity cocktails all over the place! I’ll come and collect it tomorrow, first thing. I can’t wait to see it! I bet it’s beautiful, if it’s your grandmother’s. Libby’s grandmother is so stylish,’ she tells Tash. ‘We went to stay with her for a week when we’d both just finished our GCSEs, and she’s just the most incredible woman …’
A Night In With Marilyn Monroe Page 21
