Bridesmaids

by Jane Costello

  Which is bloody careless, I know.

  ‘You don’t get away that easily,’ says a voice behind me, prompting a small somersault in my stomach.

  I spin around eagerly, but realise it’s only Seb.

  ‘Pull up a chair,’ I say, trying for the sake of common decency not to look as disappointed as I feel. ‘Have you enjoyed the party?’

  ‘It’s been spectacular,’ he says.

  ‘Not missing your pool table?’ I enquire.

  ‘Oh, I can manage without that for a night,’ he says. ‘Anyway, listen. Your office isn’t far from where I work. We should really hook up some time for a drink after hours. Or lunch maybe.’

  I hesitate.

  ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ve never known a journalist to turn down the offer of a free lunch yet.’

  ‘Oh, you’re paying, are you?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course.’

  I smile. I don’t want a romance with Seb again–I’m pretty sure of that much–but being friends with one of my ex-boyfriends might be just the sort of novelty I could do with at the moment.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘We’ll definitely do that.’

  As I take a sip of my drink I spot Charlotte sitting by herself at the side of the dance floor.

  ‘Would you excuse me a minute, Seb?’ I ask. ‘I just need to catch up with someone.’

  ‘I Just Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ is playing and Valentina is, predictably, in the centre of the dance floor, jerking backwards and forwards in as close an approximation of Kylie’s video routine as someone who is five foot nine can manage.

  ‘Valentina appears to be having some sort of convulsions,’ I say to Charlotte as I sit down next to her. ‘Do you think we ought to find a paramedic or just shoot her now to put her out of her misery?’

  Charlotte giggles.

  ‘You don’t feel like dancing then?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head and smiles. ‘Even if I lost ten stones I don’t think you’d ever get me dancing like that,’ she says.

  ‘I should hope not,’ I say. ‘There wouldn’t be room for two people doing those moves. You’d end up taking somebody’s eye out.’

  ‘I just mean I wouldn’t have the confidence of some people,’ she says, looking now at my mum and Bob, both flailing their arms about like a pair of manic Morris dancers.

  ‘You’ve got everything to be confident about now,’ I say. ‘You look amazing. You’ve lost so much weight already.’

  ‘I’ve got a long way to go before I’m a Gold Member at WeightWatchers,’ she sighs.

  ‘But you’ll do it, won’t ask?’ I say. ‘You’ll more than do it, I’m sure.’

  She nods decisively. ‘Oh, I’ll do it all right,’ she says, grinning. ‘I’ve not given up my smoothies and replaced them with this blinking Diet Coke for nothing.’

  Suddenly, Valentina bounds over looking like a member of Legs and Co, and dramatically plonks herself down next to us.

  ‘Okay, I give up,’ she says. ‘If there is a single goddamn eligible man here, I’ll be goddamn damned if I can find him.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ asks Charlotte.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m taking it easy after Grace’s wedding. Strictly between the three of us, I didn’t feel so good the next day, although that was probably more down to the beef, which I bet wasn’t organic. And I’d had a mouthful of Frisée with my starter which wouldn’t have done my enzymes any good. I’ve told you I’ve got a lettuce intolerance, haven’t I?’

  Charlotte nods, then says, ‘Well, it’s certainly not like you to struggle on the man-front, that’s for sure.’

  Valentina pulls a face. ‘You’re not suggesting I’m easy, are you?’ she asks.

  ‘No–God, no!’ says Charlotte quickly. ‘All I mean, is that you usually have them swarming around you.’

  This is apparently the right thing to say.

  ‘I know,’ replies Valentina, smiling. ‘Although, can I let you both into a secret?’

  ‘Go on,’ I say. It goes without saying that Charlotte would never betray her confidence.

  Valentina beams. ‘I’m getting married,’ she tells us.

  Chapter 60

  I would try not to look surprised, but it is difficult when you’ve just nearly choked on your ice cube in shock.

  ‘Did I hear you right?’ I ask Valentina. ‘You’re getting married?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, Evie,’ she says. ‘There simply comes a time in a girl’s life when being a bridesmaid isn’t enough. And I’m there.’

  ‘Well, bloody hell, Valentina, that’s wonderful,’ I say.

  ‘It is,’ adds Charlotte, leaning over to give her a congratulatory kiss on the cheek. ‘It really is wonderful. But who are you getting married to? And when is the big day?’

  ‘Well,’ she says, ‘it’ll definitely be before the end of next year, although I’m a bit short on some of the detail at this point. It’s early days in the planning process really.’

  ‘Okay, but like Charlotte says–who to?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s the detail I’m short on,’ she says.

  Charlotte and I both frown.

  ‘So you haven’t actually found anyone yet?’ asks Charlotte.

  ‘Well, no, I haven’t, but I’m not overly concerned about that part,’ says Valentina. ‘I mean, how hard can getting married be? Fat, ugly women everywhere seem to be at it these days. I just can’t believe that with a little application it should be anything other than a breeze for me.’

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve met who manages to make getting married sound like taking a maths exam,’ I say.

  ‘Besides,’ she continues, ignoring me, ‘self-confidence is everything. That, and setting yourself clear targets. I’m a firm believer that once you decide you want something, you should go out and get it. That’s all I’m doing. You should take a leaf out of my book, Charlotte.’

  ‘Charlotte,’ I say, ‘please don’t. For all our sakes, please don’t.’

  Suddenly, Valentina gasps.

  ‘What now?’ I ask.

  ‘Him over there,’ she says, pointing to the table next to the door. ‘Wasn’t he Grace and Patrick’s best man?’

  Edmund, who was indeed Grace and Patrick’s best man, catches us looking over and waves at me. I wave back, conscious that Valentina’s man-radar is going into overdrive.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, with a sinking feeling.

  ‘I knew it,’ she says, grinning and opening up her handbag.

  I flash a look at Charlotte and she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Edmund may be softly spoken, unassuming and nothing more than a solid average in the looks department. But, as someone who is also due to inherit half of Cheshire, he couldn’t be more sought-after if he held the secret to eternal life. Now that I think about it, I am amazed it’s taken Valentina this long to spot him.

  ‘Do you know, I’ve just realised–he was looking at my legs when I did the reading,’ she tells Charlotte. ‘And that can only mean one thing.’

  ‘You had a ladder in your tights?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ says Valentina, flashing me a look. ‘It means he’s a man with taste. Now, what else do you know about him?’

  Charlotte and I don’t reply.

  ‘Well, come on,’ she says. ‘Spit it out. Charlotte?’

  ‘He’s a doctor–a surgeon,’ Charlotte blusters, buckling under the pressure.

  ‘Really?’ purrs Valentina. ‘That’s such a coincidence.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘I thought about going into the medical profession at one point,’ she says, ‘but then I realised how much of it involved wiping octogenarians’ bottoms. Anything else? Come on now, Charlotte.’

  ‘Well,’ says our friend reluctantly, ‘I think his father is some sort of…lord.’

  ‘What?!’ says Valentina, breathless. ‘And nobody told me? Nobody ever tells me anything.’

  Her hand is now in her bag, rooting around it frantically and prod
ucing such a large and random collection of belongings that its previous owner could have been Mary Poppins.

  First is the hand cream, then the eye cream, face cream, spot cream and nail cream. Then comes the make-up, which emerges in the sort of quantities that a contestant in the Glamorous Tranny contest might consider a bit OTT. She opens her mirror and quickly touches up her face, giving poor Charlotte’s cheekbones a prod with her blusher brush, and commenting on how much better her appearance would be if she bothered to accentuate them more.

  ‘Right,’ she says, pushing the clasp on her bag tightly shut and winking at the two of us. ‘I’ll see you later. Or hopefully not!’

  Chapter 61

  Here’s what I don’t get. Charlotte was determined that she didn’t fancy Jim.

  Yet at the moment, she’s at the bar, sipping her seventeenth Diet Coke of the day, and chatting away to him as if he’s the last man on the planet.

  Valentina, meanwhile, has spent the last hour trying to convince Edmund that she’s a country girl at heart–having spent one weekend in the Lake District as a Girl Guide in 1987–and asking him to give his medical opinion of her hamstring injury. Which obviously involves her lifting her skirt up so she can put his hand on her backside.

  Still, part of me admires her. Because here I am, with Jack again, and apparently totally incapable of engineering a situation where he might even think about kissing me.

  ‘Have the bride and groom left?’ he asks.

  ‘I think so,’ I say. ‘Ages ago.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says.

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ I sigh.

  ‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘It has. A very long day.’

  Quite frankly, I’m starting to get a little concerned. I think the moment has gone. Which is bad news for any number of reasons–not least because my blotches have near enough disappeared and if I don’t look worthy of a snog now, I never will.

  The final bars of Jack Johnson are played out and it can only mean one thing. It’s the end of the night. Most of the guests have already left. There’s a small but hardcore group settling down in the lobby for what they clearly hope will be a marathon drinking session.

  But there is no doubt that the event is on its last legs and, although the staff are still smiling, they also look weary enough for it to be clear that they can’t wait for us all to bugger off and let them get to bed.

  ‘Looks like we’re about to be evicted,’ says Jack.

  ‘I guess so,’ I reply. I may be smiling, but I’m feeling a bit anxious. Our almost-kiss on the beach wasn’t our only chance, was it?

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose the crime rate is very high around here, but can I walk you back to your room?’ he asks.

  ‘That’d be great,’ I say. ‘You never know, I might risk getting mugged by a passing seal.’

  As we head out of the main section of the hotel and along one of the moonlit paths, the night is filled with a bizarre combination of sounds: waves against the rocks and revellers in varying states of inebriation staggering to bed.

  ‘It’s been lovely seeing you again today,’ he says.

  I can’t help noticing that he hasn’t tried to hold my hand again, like he did earlier. I move closer to him so he can if he wants to. But he doesn’t.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You too.’

  I briefly consider being bold enough to hold his hand, but surprise myself by deciding against it. I’m obviously not as liberated as I like to think. Mum would be appalled. It is a frustratingly short distance between the main hotel and my suite, and when we reach the door, Jack turns towards me.

  ‘Good night then,’ he says softly.

  ‘Good night to you too.’ To you too? What, have I turned into Bruce Forsyth now?

  ‘See you in the morning,’ he adds.

  ‘Yep,’ I say. ‘See you.’

  It suddenly becomes painfully clear that he is about to leave without kissing me. I root around in my bag for my key card and when I produce it, unkissed, I have never felt such a sense of utter disappointment. It must show on my face.

  ‘What’s up?’ he says.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ I reply, looking away and now just feeling embarrassed.

  But he puts his hand on my chin and turns me back to him. Then he moves his hand to the nape of my neck, where his fingers caress my hairline; our eyes are locked, and my breathing is quickening even more.

  He pulls me towards him, and as I close my eyes, our lips meet. His mouth is full and soft, and I discover that his taste is even more luscious than I could possibly have imagined. Our tongues slowly begin to explore each other’s mouths. But soon the initial gentleness is replaced by something else, a hunger that’s as clear in him as it is in me. Our kissing becomes more passionate, and as he pulls me in tighter, his body presses against mine.

  With his hand firmly against the small of my back, he moves his mouth to the side of my neck, and the sensation of his lips against my skin sends shockwaves through my body.

  Breathless, tingling, I look up into the star-filled night.

  This may just be the sexiest kiss of my entire life.

  Chapter 62

  I wake up with a smile on my face. I’m not quite sure why at first, but I just know that yesterday was a good day, that today is going to be a good day, and as for tomorrow–well, I’m feeling pretty damn optimistic about that too.

  Rolling onto my back, I pull the sheet up to my chest the way Joan Collins used to in Dynasty. As I open my eyes, the blinds are all shut but I can already see the sun streaming through and casting patterns on the walls. I close my eyes again and picture Jack’s face, which I’ve seen up close now. I’ve seen the pores of his skin, the flecks on those brown eyes, and the tiny scar next to his cheekbone.

  I start to picture him undressing me. Taking off my clothes, one by one. Then kissing my neck, my breasts, my belly, my thighs.

  None of that happened last night, I hasten to add. Instead, I’m here, alone. And I would like to say I feel quite angelic about that, except ‘angelic’ is the least appropriate description of how I feel when it comes to Jack.

  Suddenly, I realise that the phone is ringing. It can’t be so late that they want me out of the room, can it? I scrabble around on my bedside table, and after managing to knock everything off, including a previously untouched glass of water and the Gideon Bible I decided to read last night after I couldn’t find my paperback, I finally locate the alarm clock and peer at its display.

  9.30 a.m. I distinctly remember reading that check-out was at 11 a.m.

  I pull a pillow over my head, but the ringing rattles through my ears like a freight train and I finally resign myself to answering the phone.

  ‘Hhhr?’ I say, clearing my throat. ‘Sorry, hello?’

  ‘Evie, it’s Mum.’

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I say, realising that my voice sounds as if I’ve spent the entire night gargling with white spirit.

  ‘Ooh,’ she says. ‘Are you hungover?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ I say, and am almost telling the truth. Okay, so my mouth feels a bit like a bear’s armpit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

  ‘I just wondered whether you were coming on the walk this morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, remembering that Jack and I had agreed last night that we’d join everyone else after breakfast for the walk Georgia has organised around the island.

  ‘Well, we’re all waiting for you,’ she says.

  ‘What?’ I sit bolt upright. ‘I thought we weren’t going until ten-thirty?’

  ‘That’s the time it is now,’ she says.

  I suddenly remember that I’d attempted to set the alarm last night, but had given up on it and told myself I’d be sure to wake up in time anyway. My technical skills are never at their best in the early hours of the morning and I’d obviously managed to alter the time on it too.

  ‘Don’t worry about breakfast,’ she continues. ‘I put together a little doggy bag from the buffet, so you can have some of that. I’ve go
t twelve hard-boiled eggs in my rucksack here.’

  Putting the phone down, I leap out of bed with the speed of a Grand National winner before running into the bathroom to splash my face with some water, scrape off the last crusty bits of mascara from last night and brush my teeth so vigorously, you’d think I was scrubbing a doorstep.

  By the time I’m dressed and out of the door–in less than three minutes–I do wonder whether I should have taken more care over my appearance. Problem is, there’s nothing I can do about it now.

  When I arrive at the main terrace, which was where we’d arranged to rendezvous, everyone has gone. Everyone, that is, apart from Jack and Edmund, who are chatting and drinking coffee. Jack looks over in my direction and my stomach does that strange lurching thing it’s been doing constantly for the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘Fresh as a daisy, are we?’ he asks, grinning.

  ‘I’m raring to go, I promise you!’ I say. ‘I just had a little bit of alarm-clock trouble. Hi, Edmund. How are you this morning?’

  ‘Marvellous,’ he replies, and I can’t help wondering whether some of his enthusiasm is connected to the way in which Valentina was becoming acquainted with his upper thigh last night.

  ‘So, are we all ready to go?’ I ask.

  ‘Just waiting for Valentina,’ says Jack.

  ‘Well, good morning everyone!’

  We all turn around.

  Valentina is striding along in a pair of pink and white high-heeled mules, a Juicy T-shirt, and a pair of hot pants straight out of The Dukes of Hazzard. She is also fully made-up and looks like she’s spent two hours tonging her hair.

  ‘You’re not coming for a walk like that, are you?’ I ask.

  She frowns. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’ll break your neck in those shoes, for a start.’

  ‘Thank you, Mum,’ she tells me. ‘If you must know, I have a change of shoes in my backpack if it becomes necessary.’