Next up is Will, who receives a rapturous applause before he’s even said a word. He stands there, basking, like he’s just won an award.
‘Thank you, Mike, for those kind words. On behalf of my wife and me –’ the room cheers – ‘I want to say how thrilled we are that you could be here to share our special day. I would also recommend that you keep your glasses charged as I intend to toast a lot of people in the next few minutes. Starting with my parents, Diana and Hunter . . .’
Hunter? Is his dad a gladiator?
Will keeps to his word, pretty much raising a glass to everyone who is here, who couldn’t be here, who works here and even family members who died before being here was even an option.
‘And finally, to my beautiful partner in crime, Greta.’ He takes her hand and she gazes into his eyes, like there’s no one else in the room.
‘Thank you for choosing to take the tube on that rainy morning five years ago. Thank you for taking a chance on the man who offered you his umbrella on the way out. Thank you for being the first face I see in the morning and the last I see at night . . . and most of all, thank you for agreeing to be by my side as we navigate this crazy, beautiful little thing called life. You are the skip in my step, the light in my eyes and the song stuck in my head. Thank you.’
As everyone puts their hands together, I see Sarah purse her lips, desperately trying to stop the corners of her mouth from shooting upwards.
‘Well, that was truly beautiful, wasn’t it?’ I say to her, grinning. ‘The emotion . . . the poetry of it all . . .’
‘Stop it.’
‘I mean, what new bride doesn’t want to be compared to a stuck record during a wedding speech?’
She breaks, promptly pulling a napkin to her face to hide her laughter. ‘Oh God, we are terrible people. Crazy, beautiful, terrible people.’
Shondra glances over at Sarah who’s almost hiding under the table. ‘Is she OK?’
‘Overwhelmed,’ I reply, rubbing Sarah’s back as she shakes with laughter. ‘She’ll be fine.’
Sarah finally regains her composure as the next of the speeches continues. Five speeches later, it’s time to cut the cake, which is served with even more coffee. With an hour to freshen up before the dancing begins and the evening guests arrive, those who are staying in the hotel retreat to their rooms, while Sarah and I take a breath of fresh air in the hotel garden.
‘God, I feel so bad for laughing,’ Sarah says, as we take a little walk. ‘I feel like such a jaded old bastard these days.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ I respond. ‘You’re human. That level of cheese is hard not to smirk at.’
‘You dated Greta, right?’
I nod. ‘Years ago.’
‘Interesting. So that could have been you up there, almost plagiarising Queen.’
‘Doubtful,’ I reply, chuckling. ‘Our relationship was very brief and very uneventful, which is probably the reason we’ve remained friends.’
‘No broken hearts?’
‘Exactly.’
Sarah gives my answer some thought. ‘So, when did you know that something was . . . well, missing? I mean, not all love is like BAM! It can grow over time.’
‘True,’ I reply. ‘But who wants to spend the next sixty years getting there? Or worse, just settling because it’s better than being alone. You saw the way she looks at Will . . . she never looked at me that way.’
‘Well, you deserve that too,’ Sarah says softly. ‘You deserve to be looked at that way.’ She unfortunately is studying the ground as she says this.
‘You’re right,’ I reply. ‘And one day, when I least expect it . . . I will find my very own Will.’
She grins. ‘I have no doubt. Let’s get back in; that Dom Pérignon isn’t going to drink itself.’
Greta and Will’s first dance is a surprising one. Knowing Greta as long as I have, I didn’t expect some cringey, choreographed dance routine, but neither did I expect her to choose ‘You Make My Dreams Come True’ by Hall and Oates.
‘Why are you laughing?’ Sarah asks as I snort unexpectedly.
‘It’s just . . . Greta is a ballad kind of girl. I was expecting Etta James or some grand romantic number. This is, well . . . fun!’
She grins, watching Will eighties-bop his new wife around the floor. They are radiating happiness as he twirls her round.
‘We had “Annie’s Song”. My middle name is Annie so . . . actually seems a bit weird now, having a first dance solely dedicated to the bride. It should really be a team song.’
‘Nice, though,’ I reply. ‘Though you can’t dance like that to “Annie’s Song”.’
I gesture towards Greta who is gleefully stomping her expensive shoes into the equally expensive floor. God, she’s like a different woman with Will. He obviously brings out a side in her that I never could.
‘What would you choose?’ Sarah asks me. ‘For a first dance? I reckon you’d go for . . . something super cool like Bowie or The White Stripes. I’ve seen your Spotify playlists.’
I laugh. ‘No, actually. It would be something simple. Like “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by The Clash.’
She frowns and socks my arm. ‘I should hope you aren’t even considering going anywhere the day you get married. I see now why you’re single.’
‘. . . or maybe “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys. Not that I’ve ever given it much thought.’
She looks surprised. ‘Well, you’ve managed to redeem yourself just in time; that’s romantic as fuck.’
‘I can be romantic.’ I smirk. ‘I’m like the Barry White of the legal world. I can make a woman feel like she’s walking on clouds.’
‘Unless you have a beanstalk in your trousers, I’m calling bullshit.’
I laugh a little too loudly, drawing daggers from Shondra, who’s living her best life via Greta’s dress. Thankfully, Greta’s mum and dad have now joined them on the dance floor, and everyone is gearing themselves up to do the same.
‘I think I need more booze before I hit the floor,’ I confess. ‘You up for another?’
‘Definitely,’ she replies. ‘Something with a double in it. This dress only works when I don’t give a fuck.’
I walk towards the bar, trying to remain upbeat. While I might already be having the best time with Sarah, deep down I know that this is as far as it goes. No matter how funny she is or how beautiful she looks, I’m here on a purely platonic basis.
‘Nick! At least one of my good friends made the effort to be here!’
‘You look beautiful,’ I reply, smiling at the bride, ‘and you know they’d be here if they could. But unless you want Harriet throwing up on your dress . . .’
Greta, now slightly tipsy on wine and adrenaline, and also without shoes, pulls me in for a hug before grabbing a seat at our table. ‘I’ve been dying to grab a chat with you all day! Did you get some cake? You must try the cake.’
Sarah holds up her slice, wrapped in a napkin for confirmation. ‘I’ll share it with Alfie.’
‘Oh, take more for him!!’ she replies. ‘There’re four tiers, we’re not on rations. I’m so glad you came with Nick; he’s the more fun one, anyway, Sarah.’ Greta winks.
‘So, Mrs Howard, where to on the honeymoon?’ I ask, also feeling slyly glad that Sarah is here with me.
‘Howard-Lang,’ she corrects, ‘and we’re off to the Maldives tomorrow night. Two weeks of sun, sex and drinks with umbrellas. So excited.’
‘Sounds amazing, Greta. You deserve it,’ I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m so happy for you.’
She hugs me back. ‘Thanks, Nick. You’re such a lovely man. Whoever you choose is a lucky woman.’ She breaks away, smiling at me. ‘Oh, Shondra, take a pic of us, will you?’
Greta motions for me to hand over my phone as we all huddle together and say cheese for the ca
mera, me in the middle and Sarah’s arm wrapped around my back.
‘Aww, that’s lovely,’ Greta remarks as we look at our photograph. ‘You look so pretty, Sarah, Matt will be kicking himself when he sees this.’
‘Thanks,’ she replies, ‘but there’s only one beauty in this photograph.’
‘Nice of you to say,’ I respond. ‘It’s about time my magnificence was recognised.’
Greta laughs before announcing that she needs to pee.
‘I’ve been holding it forever. These Spanx are too much hassle to whip up and down willy-nilly.’
‘Ugh, just go,’ I reply, scrunching my face up. ‘I really don’t want to hear about your willy-nilly.’
‘Have fun, guys. Remember, grab some more cake and find me before you leave, OK?’
We nod as she legs it to the bathrooms. I forward the photo to Greta, Matt and Harriet.
‘Will you send me that pic too?’ Sarah asks. ‘It’s great. I need more pictures of my friends.’
Yuck. Friends. Fuck the friend-zone, I want to be in the sex-zone. Or even the fully clothed-spooning-zone. Anything but the friend-zone.
Sarah suddenly springs to her feet. ‘I love this song. Get your arse on the dance floor immediately.’
I happily follow her to the sound of ‘Crazy in Love’, prepared to spend the rest of the evening sweating it up on the dance floor with the rest of the well-dressed drunkards. We dance for a solid two hours, only stopping to make emergency trips to the bar for water and another tequila shot.
‘I had fun tonight,’ she yells into my ear, as I bite into my lime. ‘A really great time. Thank you.’
‘We still have two hours left!’ I laugh, dragging her back to the dance floor.
‘I know,’ she replies. ‘I just wanted to let you know. I’m sorry you got stuck with me and couldn’t bring someone special.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I reply, grinning. She’s doing the robot. I can’t keep a straight face.
Fuck. The urge to tell her that I did bring someone special is almost overwhelming. That I’m here with the only woman in the world that I want.
‘We’re mates. I’m very happy you’re here.’
Three songs down and we take a seat. Sarah bypasses the champagne in favour of water.
‘I hear it’s your birthday in a couple of weeks,’ she says, fanning herself with a napkin. ‘Any plans?’
‘Matt’s trying to get me to have a party, but to be honest, I’m a bit done with crowds at the moment. I’d like to do something fun. Something silly. It’s not every year you turn thirty-one.’
‘Theme parks will be open again for the summer soon,’ she suggests. ‘They’re so much fun. An entire day screaming and eating food you’ll see again ten minutes later . . . Silly enough?’
‘I haven’t been to a theme park in years. That’s not a bad idea. Think Alfie would be up for that?’
‘Um, yes, but it’s your birthday, don’t feel obliged to—’
‘Perfect then. I’ll let Matt know.’
She grins broadly. ‘You sure you want us tagging along?’
‘You’ll need to. Matt’s not the best on wild rides. I’ll need a coaster companion. He can go on the kids’ rides with Alfie.’
She agrees immediately, clapping her hands excitedly like a five-year-old. I just hope Matt is as keen as we are.
Several shots later, the DJ announces the final song of the evening. Sarah drags herself to her feet again, kicking off her shoes, while I wince in exhaustion.
She frowns, one hand on her hip, the other stretched out towards me. ‘I’m not doing the last dance alone – on your feet, soldier!’
I begrudgingly agree and she hauls me up, just as ‘Knocks Me Off My Feet’ by Stevie Wonder starts playing. Sarah looks faintly embarrassed – clearly, she wasn’t betting on a slower number. I smile, hoping it reaches my eyes, and take her hand, pulling her in close for the obligatory rock back and forth of untrained dancers. After a moment of awkwardness, her head eventually settles against my chest and I feel myself struggling to swallow, hoping she can’t hear me gulp. Why does her hair smell so goddamn amazing? It takes all of my self-restraint to resist burying my face in her curls. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating. Just then, as I’m gazing at the top of her head, she looks up at me and, suddenly, our lips are just centimetres apart. When she meets my eyes, I spring back like I’ve been scalded, afraid that if I stay touching her for a second longer that I won’t be able to resist kissing her.
I cough uncomfortably. ‘Sorry, just gotta go to the men’s room. Grab your shoes, yeah? I’ll call us an Uber when I get back.’ I literally flee.
Having retreated to the men’s room to gather my composure again, I let my face fall against the cold wall tiles, gross bathroom germs be damned. I cannot keep getting myself into these situations with Sarah. It’s physically fucking painful.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘I hate you,’ Matt says, his hands gripping the overhead restraint of the roller-coaster. ‘I absolutely fucking hate you.’
Matt’s initial enthusiasm about spending my birthday at Thorpe Park seems to have dissipated somewhat.
‘You don’t have to go on anything too wild,’ I’d informed him. ‘Just fancied doing something a bit different this year, you know. Instead of just getting another hangover.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he’d replied, looking distinctly green. ‘I’ll go on anything. Faster the better.’
‘But when we went to Blackpool, you almost cried when—’
‘Mate, that was six years ago. I had food poisoning. I was just feeling emotional that I’d been coaxed into going to bloody Blackpool. Nothing to do with the rides.’
On the train ride here, he’d excitedly told an eager Alfie about the attractions the little man would be tall enough to go on, along with tales from yonder years of when his own dad would take him to the rides at the local cattle show fair.
‘High on the big wheel, wellies on, great view of the countryside. Good times.’
Sometimes I think Matt missed his calling as a farmer.
‘I thought you said he hated rides?’ Sarah had whispered, while Matt and Alfie watched YouTube videos from previous theme park visitors. ‘He seems totally up for it.’
‘Maybe I misjudged him,’ I replied, knowing full well that I hadn’t. Ninety per cent of this was bravado for Sarah and Alfie’s benefit and probably ten per cent was amnesia from the trauma suffered on the Big One at Blackpool Pleasure Beach.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ I inform him, albeit redundantly, since we’re now locked in and ready to go. ‘I said I’d go on by myself.’
‘What, and look like a pussy in front of Alfie and Sarah? No chance.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘I blame you for this. Actually, not just for this . . .’
I tell Matt to relax and try to enjoy it as the last safety checks are done, giving Sarah and Alfie a quick wave as they look on. Alfie looks irritated that he hasn’t quite reached the four-foot-three minimum height requirement but watches keenly as the ride hisses into action.
The initial force by which the coaster rockets off surprises even me, but Matt’s loud yelp makes me laugh more than it should. The momentum carries us past greenery and through a small tunnel before facing a steep hill which we slowly climb, giving me a chance to glance over at Matt, who now has his eyes firmly closed and is either cursing or praying under his breath.
‘Dude, you’re missing the view.’
‘Shut the hell up.’
‘I thought you liked views?’
‘I swear if I die, I will haunt the fuck out of you.’
As we finally reach the top, a fearless few in front raise their arms and we hurtle down, arses leaving seats and stomachs dropping, eventually culminating
in a particularly impressive high-pitched scream from Matt. After several loops and corkscrews, we come to a halt and Matt finally opens his eyes.
‘You still with us?’ I ask. His face isn’t even a colour anymore; it’s practically transparent.
He shakes his head. ‘I’m expected to walk after this, yeah?’
He wobbles off and we exit, where Sarah and Alfie stand waiting, ready for post-match analysis.
‘That was soooo fast!’ Alfie declares. ‘Was it scary?’
Matt nods sheepishly. ‘Well—’
‘He didn’t even scream! I don’t know how anyone can be that brave, but he was. I was terrified!’
‘Wow!’ Sarah declares. ‘Impressive! I’d need a general anaesthetic to get me on that ride. What a champion!’
Alfie beams at Matt like he’s just saved the planet. It’s the least I can do; after facing his coaster fears for my benefit, Matt’s practically a hero anyway.
‘Matt . . . can you come on the little roller-coaster with me? That looks a bit scary too.’
‘Sure, buddy,’ he says, taking Alfie’s hand. ‘Love to.’
As we walk past the merchandise stall, Sarah laughs and stops me, gesturing towards the screens on the wall.
‘He didn’t even scream, you say?’
It takes me a second to find it, but there, in glorious HD, is a petrified, open-mouthed, shrieking Matt.
‘Woman, keep walking,’ I say, moving along. ‘He’ll freak if he sees that.’
‘What, like this?’
Sarah tries to replicate his photo face and I howl with laughter. Fortunately, Alfie has managed to drag Matt far enough away that he doesn’t see me clutching my sides.
‘He’s having a ball,’ Sarah informs me as we watch Alfie skip alongside Matt. ‘Thanks for inviting us, birthday boy.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I reply. ‘You’ve made an old man very happy. Probably not what most adults would choose for their thirty-first, but I’m having the best time.’
‘Pfft, I painted my kitchen for my thirty-first,’ Sarah retorts. ‘This is the kind of adulting I’d rather be doing. Though I had a baby at home. You just have a Matt.’
All I Want for Christmas: a hilarious and heart-warming romance Page 15
