‘Why, has something happened, sweetheart?’
‘No!’ That came out louder and more forceful than I meant it to. I’m probably very red. ‘Nothing has happened. Nothing will ever happen. Peter is a great guy. I know this because he’s my friend, and yes, he is a boy, but that doesn’t automatically mean I want to go out with him.’ Even though I do, despite trying really, really hard not to. OK. Maybe medium hard. ‘And I don’t need to go out with him, or anyone else for that matter, to be happy.’ I lose a lot of steam as I say this next sentence. ‘I’m happy that Peter and I are just friends.’
Later that night, in bed and alone, and this time also feeling lonely, I look at my phone. He still hasn’t messaged me. Even in the quiet years we would text each other a ‘Merry Christmas’ message.
There are a lot of things to look forward to at Christmas, but when it’s all over there are so many emotions, even if it’s been a great day. Especially if it’s been a great day.
It’s too easy to look back at the year. And it has been quite a big year for me.
I feel like I’ve finally woken up. I’ve found out that my vagina can still feel things. I have two new and exciting jobs to look forward to. I have forward momentum. It could be argued that I’m actually a pretty OK human. You could even say I’m happy.
But then there’s Peter. I keep coming back to Peter.
Maybe Mum is right. Maybe he did like me. Maybe I simply didn’t see it.
But whatever he might have felt doesn’t make a difference.
What makes a difference is how he feels now. And all I know is that he pushed me away. I might have lost him as a friend for ever because of one stupid evening.
CHAPTER 43
With only five days between Christmas and Tilly’s wedding, my time has been split between various extended family reunions and last-minute wedmin. It’s been nice to have a lot to do; it’s kept my mind off Peter. At least for the most part. But he’s still in the background of everything I do. Even my family have been extra nice to me since the bombardment. It doesn’t make me feel better, it makes me miss him more. Mum didn’t even say anything when she found out I opened the New Year’s Eve nuts two days early.
The situation is hopeless. It’s already New Year’s Eve. I haven’t had any time to see him, not that I would know what to say, and I still don’t know how soon he leaves for Australia. I know I should stop being so stubborn and message him, but now I worry that I have left it too long.
My negative mood is making it hard to get in the mood for Tilly’s wedding. I said I would go early to make sure the place is looking as it should. I was meant to leave about twenty minutes ago, but I’m currently frozen in front of the mirror. I don’t like the jumpsuit I’m wearing; I had bought it hoping to channel my inner Michelle, but it makes my butt look like a pancake. I’m not in the mood to party and be a happy wedding guest.
I sigh, pick up my overnight bag and make my way downstairs. It’s only an hour’s drive away, but I will never know why an hour in the car always seems so much longer than an hour faffing around at home.
I yell through to my mum and Fred, ‘I’m leaving now, guys. I’ll be back tomorrow.’
My mum pops her head round the corner. She’s already prepping dinner. ‘Bye, honey. Drive safe. You look lovely.’ She’s lying, but I appreciate the gesture.
I pick up the car keys and see myself out.
Even though I left late, I still get to the venue in plenty of time, and it looks amazing. I don’t need to do a single thing.
Tilly must have been working all day.
The room where the canapés and drinks (and later dancing) will take place is essentially a greenhouse; a greenhouse that Tilly has filled with twinkling lights. It looks magical.
I message Tilly.
Tilly – you have done an amazing job. It looks so beautiful in here. xx
My phone pings back almost instantly. It’s Tills.
You’re here! Can you come up to my room? I’m in the bridal suite.
I take my bags and head into the adjoining hotel to find her.
When I eventually locate her room, I open the door and a sea of heads turn towards me. I recognize a couple of them from the hen party, including her maid of honour, Nicole. I smile a hello. They’re far too busy doing bridesmaid things to pay me a huge amount of attention, so I close the door behind me.
I find Tilly at the back of the room with her hair and make-up done, the dress still hanging beautifully to one side.
‘Tills, you look stunning.’ And she does. Even half dressed, she’s a vision.
She looks at me and nods. Unlike everyone else in the room, she doesn’t appear to be having a great time.
‘Tills? What’s wrong?’
She pulls me towards her and I sit next to her on the chaise.
‘Bea, thank you so much for everything that you’ve done for this wedding. I know it seems quick to you.’ I start to shake my head. ‘It seems quick to me too. And you’ve done so much. More than any of my actual bridesmaids.’ She looks at the wider room.
‘Tills, I was happy to help. I still have some cake in my freezer.’
‘I’m glad.’ She swallows. ‘You’ve done so much, and I haven’t thanked you properly at all. Today wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for you. I’ll make it up to you. I’m not too sure how, but I will.’
‘There’s nothing to make up.’
‘Well, maybe not yet, but I have one more favour to ask.’
‘Anything.’ The word is out before I really think.
I should have thought.
‘Could you do a reading for us? One of Jeroen’s sisters was going to do it, but she’s having to look after her child who appears to be a small nightmare. I wasn’t going to ask you because you’ve already done so much, but I don’t want to ask anyone else.’
Oh God. No. Why me?
I try to come up with an acceptable excuse.
‘I haven’t practised. Don’t I need to practise?’
‘I have the reading here, so you can get comfortable with it. I think the key is to go more slowly than you think you should.’
She passes me the reading and I glance at it. It doesn’t look particularly long, but I’m too panicked to see any actual words, only a puzzle of letters. I’m only OK to speak in public when I’ve had a lot of time to practise. The ceremony is in just under two hours. This does not give me enough time.
‘But I hate my outfit.’ I gesture at myself. ‘I’m wearing a really ugly sack that looks weird at the crotch.’
She looks at me. Her eyes definitely linger at the crotch.
‘I have an idea.’
Half an hour later, I’ve successfully squeezed into one of Tilly’s dresses and the make-up artist has made my face look like it’s glowing in a good, non-sweaty way.
‘Bea, that dress looks fabulous on you.’
I look in the mirror and I have to admit, I love the dress. It’s exactly the kind of dress I would choose to wear, and it makes me feel both comfortable and confident at the same time. Looking at myself in the mirror, and feeling how I currently feel, it’s undeniable that an outfit can give you extra power, kind of like armour.
‘Thank you so much for letting me borrow it. I promise to at least try not to spill anything on it.’ It’s quite a light colour – spilling would be bad.
‘Bea, it’s yours. Keep the dress. Spill on it as much as you like. I’ve had it for years and never worn it because it doesn’t suit me, I kept it because I always wanted it to. But it turns out it was made for you. Take it as a thank-you for today – not the full thank-you, but a mini one.’
Refusing her feels like the natural thing to do. But then I wonder about how I would feel if our roles were reversed. I would want Tilly to take the dress. I would be happy that she loved it.
‘Thank you, Tills.’
For once in my life I might be appropriately dressed for the occasion.
The formal part of the ceremony doesn�
��t take very long, and I’m distracted throughout. I want it to go more quickly – so I can get my reading over and done with – but I also want it to go more slowly, so I can have more time to practise.
When it’s my turn, I get up and stand at the front where all the other speakers have been standing. I assume this is the right spot. When I finally look up, I lock eyes with Tilly and there’s a brief moment where I think I might cry before I’ve even started.
Then I remember I am wearing The Dress. My collarbones have been dusted with shimmer powder, and I know I can do this.
Regardless, my eyes start to water as I read.
‘“Love”, by Roy Croft.’
I swallow and try to slow down my words.
‘I love you,
Not only for who you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.’
I close my eyes, very briefly, and suddenly all I can see is Peter. I open them back up but he’s still there.
‘I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out.’
He’s sitting cross-legged on my floor, passing me Post-its.
‘I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.’
He’s telling me I am beautiful.
‘I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern, but a temple.’
He’s walking through my door, bringing me spring rolls.
‘Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.’
He’s dancing with me, only occasionally stepping on my toes.
‘I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good,
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.’
He’s laughing, and I smile back.
‘You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.’
As I reach the last lines, I struggle to read them through the tears.
‘Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.’
When the poem is over, I don’t quite know what to do. There is no clapping or anything to signal that I’m done, so I look up. It seems strange to see that nobody else appears to have been quite so affected. Until I spot Tilly. She’s crying too.
I hover for a while on the spot before walking back to my seat, accidentally taking the long way round.
How is everyone remaining so still? I can barely stop trembling. I need to move.
I sneak a glance at Tilly. She’s looking right back at me.
She’s mouthing something to me … Are you OK?
Yes. I nod back.
But I need to leave.
I sit up straighter. Beyond straight. My butt is poking out behind me and my chest is forward, ready to go.
Tilly is still looking at me. I gesture towards the door, and try to mouth back. I have to go. I’m sorry.
She nods and waves me off with her hand and smiles. I know that she knows it must be important.
And it is important.
I leave as quietly as I can, fully aware that this is not very quiet at all.
I have a flashback to Tilly’s hen party and breaking free from the line for the loo.
I need to tell Peter how I feel.
But this time I’ll find the words.
CHAPTER 44
Armed with a message from Mia telling me Peter is at his mum’s house, I run up to my room, collect my bag and check out as quickly as possible.
I feel guilty leaving, but if there is one person who would understand, it’s Tilly.
I stall the car twice before I’m able to pull away. Calm down, Bea.
The drive to Peter’s mum’s house is two hours long. It doesn’t give me enough time to memorize a long speech, but it should give me time to come up with my key points. This is good. Fewer words will have more impact and be easier to remember. I’ve boiled it down to two. Two key points.
I make the final turn into the unnecessarily long driveway that really deserves a road name of its own. The outside lights turn on as I park. There’s no turning back now.
I barely have time to knock before his mum opens the door. This wasn’t quite the scenario I imagined, but I don’t know why – after all, this is her house, not his. Maybe I haven’t thought this through enough.
‘Oh, hi!’ Does she remember me? If not, I shall remind her. ‘Sorry, I realize this is very random. I’m Bea, Peter’s … friend from university. Well, one of them. He has many friends. Peter is very friendly.’ That sounded dodgy. She’s staring at me, expecting more words. I swallow. ‘I was actually looking for Peter. Is he here?’ I wish I didn’t sound so rambling and desperate, apologizing yet again, seemingly for my very existence.
‘Bea, hello. Of course I remember you.’ She smiles at me, and I’m relieved that she’s giving me a friendly face. ‘Unfortunately he isn’t here – he left about an hour ago. I don’t know where he’s gone – he left in something of a hurry and I haven’t been able to get hold of him. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? He might come back.’
As kind as her face appears to be, I can’t go in. That is a level of intensity I don’t think I can currently handle. Plus, my palms are so sweaty I don’t think I could hold a cup of tea without dropping and breaking it. And I bet they only have nice cups.
This is all very anti-climactic.
‘Oh, that’s so kind, but no, no thank you. I shall head back out. I was passing through and wondered if he would be in.’
‘Of course.’ I know she doesn’t believe me. Nobody passes through remote countryside.
‘Cool, right, well. It was lovely to see you again, even if very briefly. I’ll go now. Happy New Year!’ I walk away, and turn back before she shuts the door. ‘Maybe don’t tell Peter I stopped by – I don’t want him to feel guilty that he wasn’t in.’
I don’t particularly care whether or not she’s bought my pathetic excuse. I feel totally deflated. His lack of presence makes me feel as if fate is preventing us from being together, that there is a reason why we have never been more than friends. Great friends, but still, just friends.
I can’t face going back to the wedding, and instead head for home, even though I know it will lead to my family being even nicer to me.
CHAPTER 45
Midnight comes as I pull into home. It feels fitting to bring in the new year alone and not quite at my destination.
Fireworks start going off in the distance when I open the front door. Hugo greets me, as if he’s been waiting for me to return ever since I left.
I hear voices in the kitchen, so I yell through, ‘Hey, guys. I’m sorry, I’m back. I left the wedding early to go on a stupid errand and decided to come home instead. I hope that’s OK.’ I walk towards the kitchen.
I can tell that they’ve had a nice evening. The dishes aren’t yet in the dishwasher, they’re part-way through a jigsaw puzzle, and Mum has had at least two glasses of wine. She’s going to start giggling soon.
‘Hi, honey.’ Mum smiles at me. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, but I would like a glass of
wine.’ And to drown my sorrows and forget I ever got my hopes up.
‘Was the wedding nice?’
‘Yes, it was beautiful.’ It really was.
‘Is that a new dress? I thought you left wearing a different outfit.’
I look down and almost start to cry. I’ve forgotten about the dress. The perfect dress will now for ever be the dress of broken dreams. I need to take it off. I feel so stupid for letting a poem get to me so much.
‘Tilly let me borrow it.’ I will definitely be giving it back to her. I don’t want to see it again, let alone own it. I put my hands on my hips to emphasize how it’s slightly on the small side. ‘It’s quite constricting actually, I’m going to run upstairs and change.’ I head out of the room before they can argue. Not that they would. From the look of things they also feel the need to be comfortable. They’re all wearing trousers akin to, well, lounge pants.
Retreating upstairs feels nice. Away from all the eyes.
Once in the safety of my own room, I take the dress off and reach for my favourite set of pyjamas, and, in a moment of peak wallowing, I also decide to put on the jumper I purloined from Peter. It’s become something of a security blanket.
As I’m pulling it over my head, Hugo barks downstairs. He never barks, so I hurry up to make sure everyone is OK and stumble on the last step as I take in the scene.
Peter is talking to my mum in the entryway, whilst Hugo stares lovingly up at him.
I know how he feels.
‘Peter.’ I need to say more words, but I don’t know if I know any more words.
‘Bea.’ He smiles at me, but his smile fades quickly. Is he remembering our kiss? ‘How was the wedding?’
‘Huh?’ I still can’t seem to say anything more than vague sounds.
‘Tilly’s wedding?’
‘Ehh.’ I nod my head slightly, hoping that the nod will convey what my words would normally help describe.
He looks at me and I remember that I’m wearing his jumper. All I can do is hope he hasn’t noticed. I’m painfully aware that the last time we spoke I was begging him to kiss me. I wonder what shade of red my face is.
Just Friends Page 21
