There’s champagne at every turn, wine awaiting us on the Lilac Room tables and two well-stocked bars set up in the corners for when the room becomes a disco. But I guide May to ye olde bar behind the main staircase. It’s a dimly lit cavern, seemingly burrowed into the wall and inlaid with dark wood. The ideal place for covert activity.
With just five minutes before we have to pose for the pictures, I want to have a last shot at persuading her to be happy for Charlotte. And speaking of shots . . .
‘Two Patrón, please.’
May knocks hers back in one. ‘I kept telling myself she wouldn’t go through with it. I never thought she’d be the type to marry for money.’
‘May, sshhhhh! Someone might hear and get the wrong impression.’
‘I’m just telling it as I see it.’
‘No you’re not, you’re distorting the facts and that’s not fair. They love each other. You’ve got to at least grant them their wedding day. Surely you don’t want to spoil it for her?’
‘It’s just . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘We’re not going to be able to keep up now. He’s so megabucks she’s going to be in a different league with a whole different lifestyle. She might even give up work!’
‘Do you really begrudge her a bit of financial ease knowing where she came from?’
May looks sheepish.
‘Let her have her fun,’ I implore.
She huffs and then summons the barman. ‘Can we get two more, please?’
‘Will you at least smile for the pictures?’
‘You know there’s one thing I don’t do in life and that’s mess up photography.’
I soften my tone. ‘I saw the vintage camera you gave her.’
May flushes pink, embarrassed to be caught in an act of kindness.
‘I thought that was a lovely gift,’ I tell her. ‘We want to be able to look back on today’s memories with fondness, don’t we?’
She concedes a nod. And then her face transforms with mischief. ‘I tell you what – I’ll behave myself on one condition . . .’
‘What’s that?’
‘You misbehave. With at least three men.’
‘What?’ I hoot.
‘Come on, we spoke about it earlier. I’m serious about not letting this opportunity pass.’ She then clasps her hands either side of my head, eyes boring into mine.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m using a Jedi mind trick to convince you to be open to offers.’
‘You’re denting my hair vine.’
She releases me testily. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’
I weigh my options. What is worse, May spoiling Charlotte’s wedding or me having to endure three more awful premonitions? I suppose if I drink enough, I won’t remember them anyway.
I reach for our refilled glasses.
‘Deal!’
We clink, slug them back and slam them down.
*
I have quite the buzz going for the pictures. May is completely in her element – having originally said she wanted to step down from the day’s photography duties, she takes to bossing the unsuspecting replacement snapper around like she’s art-directing the annual Hollywood cover for Vanity Fair magazine. She bids some guests sit, some stand, some cluster while others are wistful and set apart.
Charlotte is thrilled. Her mother-in-law is less convinced, until May says she needs a solo portrait of her because she looks exactly like Catherine Deneuve.
‘You aced it!’ I high five her as we head through for dinner. And then I stop in my tracks.
Charlotte said Gareth had gone above and beyond with his floral arrangements but I didn’t know she meant literally – we stare wide-eyed at the clusters of purple blooms seemingly cascading down from the ceiling. A slight breeze moves their confetti-light strands and creates a feminine wonderland of fragrance.
‘It’s so beautiful!’ I gasp, looking around for Gareth to congratulate him but Jay tells me he’s gone on ahead, in search of a bread roll. ‘It reminds me of the pictures of Marcus proposing in that tunnel of wisteria in Florence.’
‘That was the inspiration,’ Jay confirms. ‘Oh, for f-oxgloves’ sake!’ He quickly adapts his swearing as a child passes by, switching between rapture and frustration as he tries to solve the conundrum of wanting to photograph his face from above but needing to hold the camera low to showcase the ceiling.
‘How sturdy do you think that chandelier is?’
‘No,’ I tell him firmly.
En route to our table I notice that no one is having to decipher tiny calligraphy name cards because each place setting has a Polaroid-sized photograph of the invitee – in uniform black and white with a subtle lavender tint.
‘Who thought of this genius idea?’ I ask as we take our places.
‘You didn’t really think I’d let our girl down, did you?’ May smirks.
My heart plumps in delight. ‘I love it!’
‘Good. I’ve done my bit. Now it’s your turn.’
She motions to the ridiculously handsome man sat three place settings to the left of me – honey blond with a golden complexion and a defined chin dimple.
‘Talk about a wedding gift.’
‘May!’ I hush her. ‘Don’t make it so obvious. He’s way out of my league.’
‘Nonsense!’ she tuts. ‘Who else is he going to go for – Miss Moneypenny from Marcus’s office or the flower fairy that’s all but got Gareth’s name embroidered on her cape?’
‘Who is that?’ I ask, taking in the auburn-haired vision perched beside him.
‘I believe her name is Peony. I saw her eyeing him during the photos. I’m just trying to pick my moment to tell her he’s out of bounds because of course Gareth won’t even notice that she’s into him. I mean, look at her body language!’
She’s touching her hair a lot, studying him when he glances away, reigniting the conversation when he lets it subside.
‘Apparently she’s some kind of Ayurvedic masseuse,’ May adds.
‘Really?’ I say, glancing at her dainty hands, each finger adorned with raw crystal in a pastel hue. There’s some potential healing right there.
‘I’m going to go over there now, before they start serving the food.’
‘No, no, no.’ I yank her back down.
‘No? Why not?’
‘I’d just leave it.’
She cocks her head. ‘I’m not just looking out for Freya; better she knows now that he’s not available.’
‘You don’t know the full story.’
‘What story?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I can’t say because if I do, your face will give the game away.’
‘No it won’t.’
‘Yes it will.’
‘Meet me under the table.’
‘What?’
‘No one can see my face under the table.’
I hesitate for a second and then knock my fork onto the floor. ‘Oops!’
‘Here, I’ll get it!’
‘No, I will!’ I say, and we both disappear under the folds of fabric.
‘Oohh, look at the hand-stitching on Mr Chin Dimple’s Italian leather.’
‘You and your shoe fixation!’
‘You can tell a lot about a person from their shoes. And which way their shoes are pointing,’ she says, looking accusingly at Peony’s laced sandals.
‘This is not a bad thing,’ I begin.
‘What do you know that I don’t?’
I shuffle closer. Gareth told me in confidence but really only with a view to keeping this from Charlotte. May is already disillusioned about love so it can’t hurt, can it?
‘Gareth and Freya split up.’
‘What?’ she squeaks.
‘And this is why I shouldn’t have told you.’
‘This can’t be right!’ She bombards me with questions, none of which I have an answer for.
‘Well, that’s it. The world has gone crazy – Gareth and Freya split up, Marcus and Charlotte marry.’
‘Sshhhhh!’ I despair.
‘I might just stay down here until Cupid comes to his senses. I mean, who would ever put a man in charge of love?’
‘Come on!’ I say, dragging her out from under the table. ‘What about you and Jay? Have you seen anyone you like?’
‘There’s nothing here for me and you know Jay, he’ll just sit back and let them come to him – moths to a flame.’
‘Okay, well, let’s just try and have some fun.’
As I settle into my chair I catch sight of the photo of the man due to sit between us and gulp. It’s the guy who called Jay a freak as we were headed up the aisle.
‘What?’ May frowns at his card. ‘You’ve had worse.’
‘Have I?’ I take a look around the room, wondering what’s holding him up, only to spy the man in question wedging himself onto the main bankers’ table. Ha! He obviously couldn’t face sitting next to me. I feel oddly satisfied as I reach for my glass of iced water. I may not be able to attract men on a whim but it’s good to know I can repel them when needed.
I go to tell May he got a better offer but instead almost clink my tooth on a proffered bottle of wine.
‘Oh, sorry!’ The waiter jumps back. ‘I was just going to ask whether you wanted red or white?’
‘Red, please.’ May moves her wine glass towards him.
‘And you?’
For a second I’m thrown by how much he looks like Timothée Chalamet.
‘Red or white?’ His dark eyes hold my gaze.
‘Um, sorry, is it at all possible to order something from the bar? If not, I can go myself but—’
‘I can get whatever you like.’
Something about his tone sounds so wish-granting, my heart gives a little pang.
‘Kraken and ginger ale?’ I venture.
‘A woman after my own heart,’ he beams broadly.
I watch him as he moves away. He’s so tall, I wonder if he gets a bad back stooping to serve everyone.
‘Are we looking at number two?’ May raises an eyebrow.
‘I wouldn’t mind . . .’ I say, surprised to find hope creeping back so soon after swearing off men for all eternity. But that’s all it takes, isn’t it? A tingle of desire with someone your body responds to . . . I’m just reaching for my compact to check my reflection when I see one of the other female guests beckoning him over. She’s younger and prettier than me with long black hair and the densest of lashes. I watch as she places her hand on his arm and, as he leans down to speak to her, my stomach does a sickening swoop. What am I doing? Could I be any more of a cliché – tipsy girl at wedding flirting with the waiter! I look around at all my paired-up schoolfriends. They’ve been with their people for years. Clancy just celebrated her tenth wedding anniversary and they were together five years before that. I feel my eyes prickle and suddenly feel in urgent need of some air.
‘Where are you going?’ May halts me as I get to my feet.
‘Just running to the loo!’ I say, picking up the pace as I weave through the tables.
‘Look! A runaway bridesmaid!’ Charlotte’s cousin Elliot quips as I pass.
The rain prevents me from running outside and I swerve away from the ladies’, seeing how busy it is – I can’t do peppy small talk with former schoolmates right now.
Out of desperation, I tuck myself into the nook under the stairs, knowing no one will find me there.
It smells woodsy and a tiny bit musty. I take in the low wooden bench, an empty tweed dog bed and a pair of Wellington boots. How I’d like to slip them on and go striding across the grounds, my trusty pal by my side. I kneel beside the plush cushion to see if I can deduce the breed from the traces of dog hair – I’m picturing a wire fox terrier; they go so well with tweed. And then I see a decidedly modern pair of shoes beside me – black, embellished with a fan of playing cards.
‘Your rum.’
I bump my head on the low slant of the alcove as I rise up to greet the waiter.
‘Ouch!’ His hand instinctively goes to my head. ‘Are you okay?’
The sensation of his touch is so welcome I forget to speak for a second. But then I remember I’m just one of many admirers and focus on the booze. ‘Gosh, that’s good service! How did you know I was here?’
‘I saw you as I came out of the bar – lucky I caught you before you curled up for the night.’
I give a little snuffle as I look back at the dog bed. ‘It does look tempting . . .’
He glances around then asks, ‘Are you trying to avoid someone?’
I sigh. ‘Someone, something, maybe even myself . . .’
‘How cryptic . . .’
I give a shrug. ‘Nothing more mysterious than heartache and bad choices. Or the other way around – bad choices and heartache.’
Did I really say that out loud? Apparently booze acts like truth serum when combined with his soulful eyes.
He goes to speak but a whistle from a fellow waiter chivvies him on his way.
‘To be continued . . .’ he smiles.
‘Keep ’em coming!’ I say, raising my glass.
Well. That’s interesting. I thought I was on a non-stop train to Tear Town but I seem to have changed track. I take a sip of my drink, getting an extra kick knowing that this is his beverage of choice. It’s funny – I’ve been wanting to feel noticed and this guy saw me even when I was hiding. Maybe tonight will be different. I mean, the odds seem to be greater at a wedding, even with so many couples present. Why not go all in?
