by Clare Lydon
Jordan laughed. It had a deep timbre to it which made Abby smile.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” Jordan said. “And I promise to try to be almost normal.”
Chapter 5
Jordan arranged to meet Abby in Pinkies Up, a recent addition to the café culture on Balham High Street. She’d contacted her friend Sean who lived in the area, and he’d told her this was the local hotspot. He wasn’t wrong. The place was a sea of white wooden tables with matching chairs. The walls were painted a shimmering pink, adorned with ample plants in holders whose leaves fell casually everywhere her eye could see. Jordan liked the effect. Plants calmed her, made her feel at ease.
She was early, because that’s who she was. Jordan sat and let her gaze sweep the room as she sipped her Americano with hot milk. The café was busy, with the usual mix of parents and kids, along with an array of people typing furiously on their laptops. Jordan had never understood that tribe until she started her own business. Now she got it. The chance to work outside the four walls of your own home, with the hum of human interaction. Although after a long job like the one she’d just done, she craved solitude for a few days. Her business dealt with the public, and that was never an easy ride.
At bang on ten, a woman walked in, wringing her hands, her gaze darting around the café. The woman from the email. Abby.
Jordan sat up. Even if she hadn’t known what Abby looked like, she would know it was her. Jordan had done this many times before. Although normally, the brides weren’t quite as reluctant as Abby had sounded on the phone. Brides usually welcomed extra attention. So perhaps Abby was going to be more of a challenge than normal.
Jordan had told Abby she’d be wearing a yellow shirt. She knew it popped against her tanned skin; she always got comments when she wore it. She’d teamed it with some black trousers and white Grenson trainers for a casual, but put-together look. On first meetings like this, too formal made things stilted.
Jordan stood up and gave Abby a mini-wave, like she was shining a window.
She held out her hand as Abby approached. “Thanks for coming, Abby. It’s great to meet you.”
Abby gave her a firm handshake and a curt nod, before sitting in the chair opposite. She was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black top. Her hands were manicured, her nails polished red. They told Jordan she took care of herself. Her dark hair just hit her shoulders, flowing out into a wave as it did. Plus, she’d brought her killer cheekbones. No doubt about it, Abby was striking. She clutched her brown Coach handbag as she gave Jordan the once over.
Did Jordan’s blond hair, blue eyes, and winning smile pass the test? It seemed they did, as Abby’s body visibly relaxed.
“I nearly didn’t come.” Abby had a soft, lilting Scottish accent. She leaned back in her chair. “But then my etiquette got the better of me. I knew you’d come all the way from Brighton, and it would be a little rude of me to stand you up.” Her shoulders went up, then down. “So, here am I. How long I’m staying… Well, that depends.”
“On what? How tasty the coffee is? I can tell you it’s pretty good.” Jordan flagged down a passing waitress.
Abby gave her coffee order. Then she shifted in her seat again, before turning to hang her bag on the back of her chair.
She was staying. Round one to Jordan.
“I’ve got to say, you’re not what I expected.”
“Oh?” Jordan rarely was. “What did you expect?”
“Someone in a bridesmaid dress. Which is stupid, I know. You’re not at a wedding, so why would you do that? It’s just, you look like you could be one of my friends. Someone I know. I didn’t expect that.”
Jordan smiled. “That’s kind of the point. My job is to blend in to your life, and I can do that by looking however you want.” She lifted a few strands of her shoulder-length blond hair. “This is my almost natural colour, with a little help from a bottle. But I’ve dyed it auburn, red, and even black when I needed to. I can be whoever you want me to be.” Jordan let her gaze run down Abby’s tall, lithe frame. Abby was still in fight or flight mode. Jordan’s job was to keep talking, and make her feel relaxed. It was her speciality. “But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
The waitress brought the coffee.
“Do you want anything to eat?” Did Abby normally eat breakfast? Jordan would lay bets she didn’t.
Abby shook her head. “I’m good.”
“Okay. So I guess I should tell you a little bit about my business. I started it because I saw a need, and it’s grown through word of mouth. How did Marcus find out about me?”
“On a website I think.” She pursed her lips, screwing up her forehead. “Although it’s a bit weird he even knew such a service existed.”
“When he emailed, it sounded to me like he just wanted to make your wedding as easy as possible. That’s my job, and I do it well. You can speak to any of the brides I’ve worked with before and they’ll tell you that.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Abby sipped her coffee, giving Jordan a nod. “You’re right. This is good. So what do you normally talk about at these first meetings?”
Jordan cleared her throat. “What I can do to help you out. But also, it’s just a chance for us to get to know each other and see if we can work together. Because if we do, it’s pretty full-on. I don’t take on everybody who asks me, and I don’t get taken on by everyone, either. No pressure.” Jordan paused. Abby was a tricky one to work out. “Let’s start off with something easy. Tell me about your life. Your work, your family. And then of course, the most important thing: how you met Marcus.”
Abby crossed one leg over the other, before giving Jordan a nod. “Okay, high level stuff. I’m a project manager for Investwell. Fingers crossed, I’m just about to be made team lead on a project implementing a new system in our Asset Management division. My boss is nice, but dull. If I end up like him, I might shoot myself. The job isn’t sexy, but it pays well. I get stuff done, and people appreciate that.” She stared at Jordan. “If I’m not mistaken, this is what you’re doing too, right?”
She was insightful. Jordan nodded. “In part. But think of me also as your cheerleader, right-hand woman, and a shoulder to cry on.” She sometimes said ‘therapist’, but somehow thought that might make Abby bolt. Abby struck her as an independent woman who rarely asked for help. Would she employ Jordan? She had no idea.
“Plus, if you’re a project manager by day, that’s the last thing you want to be in your spare time.” Jordan paused. “Are you neat at home?”
A smile broke through on Abby’s face. It suited her. She shook her head. “Nope. Marcus wins that battle. I’ve been known to leave coffee cups on the side for days, which makes him cringe.”
“You can’t be on top of things everywhere,” Jordan replied. She’d obviously struck a nerve. “What about your family?”
“My family.” Abby’s smile got wider. “They’re a damn sight easier to deal with than Marcus’s family. My mum, Gloria, is a university professor from Glasgow, but she lives in St Albans now. My dad mends vacuum cleaners.”
That made Jordan pause. “For a living?”
“He gets that a lot. But, yes.” She grinned. “He’s not my biological dad but he might as well be. He brought me up. His name is Martin. The same first three letters as the man I’m marrying. Perhaps all men beginning with Mar are special?”
Jordan inclined her head. “Maybe they are. My dad’s called Bob, so I wouldn’t know.” She paused. “Tell me how you met Marcus, and how he asked you to marry him.”
Abby smoothed out her blue jeans unnecessarily. “What can I tell you about Marcus? He’s a sweetheart. I’m very lucky to have him.” Her mouth twitched as she spoke. “He asked me to marry him after a romantic meal at his place. He got down on one knee and popped the question.” Abby paused. “It was old-fashioned and lovely. He’d asked my parents for my hand the week before, because he’s a gentleman. I’m not so in love with that, because I’m not my parents’ property to give awa
y.” Abby’s foot jigged at speed. “Still, that’s Marcus: traditional and sweet. Plus, he makes a mean Thai green curry. My mum thinks I should marry him just on the basis that he knows his way around the kitchen.”
“I’ve heard of worse reasons,” Jordan replied.
“I’m sure you have.” Abby sipped her coffee before licking her lips, a ghost of a smile crossing her face. “So tell me why I should go ahead and hire you as my fake bridesmaid.”
“Because I can take the stress out of the whole affair and make you enjoy getting married is the short answer. The top-level package means I pose as one of your bridesmaids. If you need me to write your speech, run the hen do, or get you the right bra for your big day, I can. I can even make sure you sleep well the night before.”
Abby laughed at that. “Are you a magician, too?”
“It’s been said.” Jordan gave her a full-beam smile. “If you don’t want the full package, I can just be hired on a daily basis as your bridal PA. I’m there to make your life easier, and whatever it is you want me to do, I can do it.”
Abby nodded as she took it all in.
“But say you went for the VIP treatment, our back story is normally that I’m a long-lost friend from your childhood, who got back in touch and we’ve rekindled our friendship.” Jordan tucked her elbows into her waist, turning her palms to the ceiling. “We always promised each other we’d be the other’s maid of honour, and here I am.” She sat forward, fixing Abby with her stare. “That story works like a charm. However, you’d be surprised how little I have to trot it out.” Jordan scratched her cheek. “In the unlikely event I am quizzed on our story, I’m discreet and a good actor. Plus, I get on with anybody, which is part of the job. Marcus tells me the thorn in your side is your mother-in-law. I’m the expert on those, too.”
Abby’s foot began to jig again. “Have you got a mother-in-law?”
Jordan shuddered. “Nope. If I did, I’m sure I’d find her tricky to deal with, too.” She smiled. “But I come at this with experience and knowledge on my side. I’ve got a degree in psychology and I know how to handle people. I also dress the part, and I can be there to head off tricky encounters before they even happen. If it’s her who’s giving you the most grief, you can brief me, and you won’t have another conversation before the wedding. My job is to make problems disappear, and I’m good at it.”
Abby took that in for a few moments. “That does sound tempting. However, I already have two bridesmaids. My maid of honour is sorting the hen do. So I’m not sure of the need on that score.”
Jordan shrugged. “No problem. I can just be an additional bridesmaid who takes the pressure off everyone. I can be your maid of honour in everything but name.” She held up a hand. “Although, I don’t want to tread on any toes. If your current choice has everything in hand, that’s all good. But…” Jordan hesitated. This was always tricky to say. “To put it bluntly, does she? Is she making your life better or worse?”
Abby tensed her mouth one way, then another. Then, she let out a long sigh. “She’s a fucking nightmare, to tell you the truth.” Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Never tell her I said that, she’d kill me. Shit, that was meant to be my inside voice.”
Jordan bit down a grin. Two swear words in as many sentences. Abby was starting to loosen up. “It’s a common tale.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on Abby’s arm.
Abby flinched, staring at Jordan’s fingers, then at her.
Something shifted inside Jordan. She held Abby’s gaze for a moment, before shaking her head. “What was I saying?”
What had she been saying? Jordan wracked her brain, before she remembered.
“Oh yes. Client confidentiality. If you hire me, whatever you say is in the strictest confidence. Anything at all. So never apologise. I can help you best if I know exactly what I’m dealing with. Okay?”
Abby nodded, her cheeks flushed, her eyes not quite settling on Jordan’s face. “The truth is, my maid of honour is my best friend, Delta. Who is a very capable, very lovely woman. Only, she’s just been dumped by her girlfriend, and is currently only concerned with that. Let’s just say she’s dropped the ball somewhat since it happened, and I am freaking out a little about the hen weekend that’s coming up in Cannes.”
Jordan sat back. Abby needed her help with her mother-in-law and her maid of honour. This job was in the bag, surely?
She liked Abby. She liked her forthrightness, and she could listen to her soft, Scottish accent all day. Jordan was sure Abby would have her fair share of meltdowns — every bride did — but she got the impression she’d be reasonable, too. Plus, she had a queer maid of honour. Another tick in Abby’s column.
“If we work together, I could sort out your hen weekend, too. Take the pressure off. Deal with Delta, deal with Marcus’s mum. What’s her name?”
“Marjorie.” The name came out of Abby’s mouth with a hiss. “Marjorie starts with ‘mar’ too, doesn’t it? That blows my theory out of the water.”
“Maybe it only works with men.”
Abby’s face relaxed into a smile. Again, it transformed her. She should smile more often.
“People really have you in their wedding photos? A complete stranger?”
Jordan nodded. “They do. One woman employed me because all of her bridesmaids were squabbling, so she sacked the lot. I organised the hen, and did everything for her, including walking ahead of her down the aisle.”
“I get where she’s coming from. I didn’t really want bridesmaids either, but Delta convinced me. And now she’s crying off. My cousin Taran lives in Scotland still, so she’s no use.”
“Sounds like Marcus was right. You need help.”
“But Marjorie and Delta? Are you sure you’re prepared? Neither of them is a pushover. Delta played rugby at university.”
Jordan laughed. “I’ll watch out for any high tackles.”
“She’s from Scotland, like me. Even though we met at college in St Albans.” Abby’s face softened as she spoke. “I still can’t get over people having a stranger as their bridesmaid, though.”
It was nothing Jordan hadn’t heard before. “I’m only a stranger now. If I work with you, I won’t be a stranger for long, will I? Plus, some brides have relatives as their bridesmaids who they’ve only ever met once or twice. By the time we get to their wedding, I often know more about them than their best friends do. Weddings bring it out in people.”
“A professional bridesmaid.” Abby shook her head. “How did you even get into this as a job?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it if you hire me.”
“You could really become a human barrier between Marcus’s mother and me?”
“If I remember correctly, it’s just over five weeks until your wedding?”
Abby nodded.
“I could ensure that for the next five weeks, you have minimal contact. Apart from the wedding day and anything personal, obviously.”
“I’d say in that case, it might be worth a shot.” Abby paused, stared at Jordan, and then flopped her head backwards, letting out a long breath. “Decision made.” She sat up and held out a hand. “Let’s see if this works. You’re going to be my bridesmaid. I didn’t want any and I’ve now got three.” She raised a single styled eyebrow. “Shall we get another coffee to celebrate?”
“My treat.” Jordan signalled to the waitress, before reaching over to shake Abby’s hand.
As they connected, a warmth travelled up Jordan’s arm. Her eyes automatically turned to focus on Abby. When they did, she found Abby’s gaze locked on her, too.
“You’re an intriguing woman, Jordan. What’s your surname?”
“Cohen.” Jordan’s heartbeat picked up again.
“Jordan Cohen.” Abby tilted her head. “You’re definitely my prettiest bridesmaid. Welcome to Team Abby. I know Marcus contacted you, but it’s Team Abby, now. Does that work for you?”
For a moment, Jordan forgot where she was. But then her
environment snapped back into focus, and she remembered.
She was in a meeting with a client. One who was getting married. This was business. No matter how pretty her eyes.
“It works perfectly. I look forward to seeing you happily married in the very near future.”
Chapter 6
Delta greeted Abby with a sad smile and a limp hug. She was normally a bear hug kinda woman, but her break-up had hit her hard. Only last month, Delta had been hinting she and Nora might move in together. But then, Nora had changed her plans abruptly. Abby was sad for Delta, but not that upset the relationship had collapsed. Nora had been an unbearable know-it-all who’d struck Abby as cold on their few encounters. Whereas Delta was larger than life and wore her heart on her sleeve. Abby had told her many times to take better care of her heart. Also, to raise her taste in women, because Delta’s choices were usually atrocious.
Abby took Delta’s hand as they walked along London’s main shopping road. Oxford Street’s usual bustle rippled past her ears. Black cabs and red buses slid by, and delivery riders wove in and out of the traffic with some skill. Up above, May was still pretending to be April, white clouds covering the pale-blue sky and blocking the sunshine. Abby hoped the weather bucked up for her June wedding. That sentiment went for her best friend, too.
She steered Delta into John Lewis, one of London’s most famous department stores. As usual, their senses were assaulted as they strolled into the beauty department, all glaring lights and floral scents. Abby took a breath as they strolled past the make-up counters, the impossibly shiny sales assistants on high alert. The smell of make-up always felt like home to Abby. She used to be fascinated watching her mum put it on as a child.
They got on the escalator, their destination the second-floor swimwear department. Delta had agreed to help Abby choose a bikini for her honeymoon, as long as Abby agreed to drink alcohol with her afterwards. The rooftop bar was their final destination.
Abby brushed her friend’s arm. “How are you?”
