Amanda's Wedding (16 page)

‘Maybe,' I said. ‘Maybe on my dog's life.'

‘Be serious. You don't have a dog.'

‘OK, no, I promise.'

He looked away. ‘I overheard her. On her stupid minuscule mobile phone. When she came up to visit our mum a few weeks ago and behave patronizingly towards her. She had to lean out of the window to get a signal, and I was in the next room.'

‘With a glass up against the wall?'

‘With the window open. Look, do you want me to tell you or not?'

‘Yes please,' I said meekly.

‘Anyway, she was talking to
Hello!
magazine.'

He paused dramatically. I looked at him like he was crazy.

‘
Hello!
magazine? That's it? You're trying to wreck their marriage before it even starts because of
Hello!
and its … its inane pictures of unhappy celebrities??'

He ignored me and went on.

‘She was offering them the rights for the wedding. I heard her. She promised them she could “get Tara”. You know, they love all that minor aristocracy bullshit. “Aren't Posh People Lovely? Here's a picture of one standing next to a horse.” That kind of thing. Bitch!'

He grumbled into his pint.

‘I don't understand,' I said. ‘She was just trying to get her picture in the paper.'

‘No,' he said slowly, as if I was an idiot. ‘She asked them for £15,000 to let them take photos and have an –' he imitated her shrill tones – ‘“in-depth interview with me about the new castle … not much point talking to the aristo, darling – you know what they've got between the ears, hee hee.”'

‘Jesus. Did she get the money?'

He looked at me grimly.

‘I don't know. Fraser certainly hasn't heard anything about it if she did.'

‘No. You don't think she half-inched it do you?'

‘You're talking about …' he turned away. ‘You're talking about the woman who turned up, entirely by coincidence, in my brother's life a month after our dad dies, we're all completely fucking shell-shocked – still are – and guess what? He's blinking in the daylight and they're engaged. So she can get on the cover of fucking
Hello!
magazine. She's probably been through every Right Hon in the country. I think she's capable of it, don't you?'

‘I'm sure that's not true,' I said, not sure at all. ‘I'm sure she loves him.'

‘Why? What, honestly, do you think someone like her sees in someone like him, apart from that stupid falling down piece of medieval crap in Kirkudbrightshire?'

I looked over. Fraser looked sweaty and dishevelled, and his curly hair was falling in his eyes. One arm was round his big pal Nash, the other round Amanda the
blow-up doll, and they were all (the doll was faking it) singing ‘Danny Boy' very very badly and making up the words.

‘I think losing one member of her family's enough for my mum this year, don't you? That fucking title. Just because you're all modern women who can do anything, you think that kind of thing doesn't happen any more. But it does.'

He reverted to staring at his drink. His face was red. I stared hard at the table.

‘I think we need another drink,' I said.

‘I'll get them!' shouted the bloke at our table, jumping up and rushing across the pub. We both looked after him, startled. As we turned round, Fraser and Nash made a bravura attempt at the high note at the end of ‘Danny Boy' then immediately fell away as, silhouetted in the doorway, stood the very wan, very dirty Johnny McLachlan, looking for all the world as though he had, indeed, just been mauled by a lioness.

A roar went up, as Johnny dazedly walked back amongst the tables with his eyes wide open. There was no sign of Fran behind him. He sat down, heavily at the bar, his eyes red.

‘A large one, please.'

There was a crash as Nash and the doll fell over laughing. Everyone in the room was guffawing and clapping Johnny on the shoulder. I suddenly felt very much the lone female.

I picked up my drink and headed off to the loo, and to look for Fran. It was like one of those Agatha
Christie books, where the party gets picked off one by one. Everyone was extremely drunk now, and the whole scene was becoming confusing. I sat in the bathroom for a long time, fully dressed and staring intently at the dirty floor tiles while trying not to fall off the toilet.

I had no idea how long I'd been there when I heard someone get into the cubicle next to me.

‘Fran!' I whispered urgently.

There was a long pause.

‘Err … no. It's me.'

It was one of the brothers, but I couldn't tell which one. It sounded like Angus.

‘What are you doing in here, you twat?'

‘Oh, the boys loos are looking … pretty revolting. There's blood in them. Mixed with –'

‘Oh, OK, I don't want to think about that right at the moment.'

‘Sorry.'

‘It's all right. Is that Angus?'

There was another pause.

‘Erm … yes.'

‘Oh. Look, I'm sorry about what I said. I'm really sorry. I didn't realize …'

‘That's OK. I get a bit grumpy sometimes. I suppose it's because everyone thinks my brother's so great.'

I heard what sounded like a strangulated giggle, but chose to ignore it.

‘Look, really I agree with you,' I said. ‘I think Amanda's a cow, and you think Amanda's a cow,
but your mate's right: there's no point in interfering, is there? People simply do things, whether you want them to or not. Tough. Who knows: maybe she's different with him than she is with everyone else on the planet.'

Suddenly the toilet next door flushed and the door banged. I gradually sat upright and let the blood flow back down from my head. Shakily, I opened the cubicle door. Shit.

‘You lying fucker!' I yelled at him. I was furious.

Fraser was bright red. ‘I just wanted to hear what you were going to say. What were you sorry about?'

‘It's none of your fucking business was what I was going to say! I was talking to Angus, not you! What a stupid thing to do.'

‘Right, just because you're too pissed to tell one voice from another.'

I stared at him. ‘Oh, so it's my fault. What? I don't know. I don't know why I'm even having this conversation. I do NOT give a toss.' I headed out the door. He caught me.

‘Look, I'm sorry. Please don't go.' There was a note of urgency in his voice.

‘Fine!' I was on my high horse now. ‘I can stay, go … I do NOT give a toss, remember?'

‘Shush a minute. Please. I'm sorry.'

We stood there for a bit in silence. Then he set his lanky frame on the hand basins, his long legs kicking out in front. He got his arse wet, but didn't seem to notice.

‘Is it true …?' he faltered. ‘I mean, do you … does everyone …? Oh, fuck it.'

He took a deep breath and started again.

‘Look, with Amanda and everything … I thought her and Angus just didn't hit it off. She point-blank refused to let him be my best man after he asked her why she was inviting all these people she barely knew just because they were famous.'

‘Not Sean Connery's son?'

‘Yes, people like that. Well, it's her job, isn't it?'

That sounded familiar.

‘Ah mean,' he said quietly, ‘you're practically her best friend. Don't you like her, either?'

His voice was so soft and sad I couldn't bear to hurt him.

‘Sweetheart, she's not my best friend. I hardly see her. I hardly know her these days …'

I could tell by his face that that tack wasn't working. ‘I mean, she's fine. Really, I've known her for ever … Look, do you remember at college, when I wanted to go out with Flattypuss Malloy? And you couldn't bear him because he had a lump on his neck?'

‘It was gross! Really – especially from where I was standing.'

There was at least a foot's difference in height between us.

‘And he was really nice after all?' I pursued.

‘He was a lumpy bastard.'

‘Well, sometimes people dislike other people without us understanding the reasons for it.'

‘What happened to him, anyway?'

‘I heard he painted a second face on it and rents himself out at parties.'

‘Wow.'

We pondered that for a second. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Either a mouse had walked across my face or I was having a seriously bad mascara attack.

I decided to make one last attempt.

‘Look, when Amanda wants something,' I said, truthfully, ‘she goes for it. She's completely single-minded and nothing holds her back.'

Quite unlike myself. I touched him gently on the face. His eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheek.

‘So, therefore, she must really, really want you.'

He looked down at me with a wounded look in his eye.

‘Do you really think so?'

‘Yes, I do.'

He sighed.

‘Do you love her terribly much?' I asked, suddenly longing for a bit of highly dramatic romance in my life.

‘She's … you know, pretty and confident and, well, she knows lots of people and … stuff …' Fraser looked down. ‘And, you know, she really wanted to marry me!'

‘Was that so difficult to believe?'

He grinned. ‘I don't know.'

We got a few limp ‘Woah hos!' when we emerged from the ladies toilets together, but the single-entendre brigade was getting pretty tired, and the room was definitely a bleary party ready to go home. Fran was still nowhere to be seen, so I decided to brave it home alone …

I waved cheerily to Nash and found Angus in a corner, finishing a whisky contemplatively.

‘I'm off,' I announced.

‘Bye then.'

‘Look, I'm sorry,' I said, for the second time that evening.

‘What for?' he smiled wearily. ‘We just had a discussion, that's all.'

‘Yes, I suppose so.' I wasn't going to tell him about what happened in the loo …

‘You never told me about …'

‘What?'

‘You never told me about Alex.'

‘It's a long story.'

‘So you said before. I've got lots of time.'

‘Some other time then. Umm, when there's lots of it. And not tonight, when I have twenty-eight minutes and counting before I pass out wherever I am.'

I leaned in to kiss him good night. Unexpectedly, he put his arms round me and gave me a hug.

‘Do you want me to come and find you a cab?'

‘I'll be fine,' I said gratefully. ‘This is Holborn, for God's sake – what are they going to do, sue me to death?'

‘Goodnight then.'

I grinned, turned and left, before I could do something clumsy and spoil the moment.

Outside I spotted a cab and was just putting up my arm when I heard my name being called, weakly, from an alley.

Discounting the obvious, I assumed it was an evil spirit coming to reclaim me for the night, and jumped six feet in the air. When I saw the arm coming out of the alley, I discerned it was at least semi-human … I hoped.

I wandered over and crouched down beside the sorry specimen.

‘Wooooooah, Alex! I came looking for you earlier – I thought you'd gone.'

‘I wasn't feeling too well.'

‘What on earth happened to you?'

‘Um, he hit me. Then I felt a bit tired and had a sleep. Then I woke up and didn't know what to do. And then you came.'

‘That's because I am in fact an angel from God,' I said severely. ‘Can you stand up?'

I wanted to work out how bad a state he was in. Still pissed, he had a gorgeous black eye coming up, but his nice patrician nose remained in a nice patrician state, and I didn't think he'd broken anything too major. I hoisted him to his feet.

‘And also, I was sick.'

‘Aha, so you were!' I said, noticing suddenly, but managing not to drop him like a stone.

‘Charlie?'

‘Dunno.'

‘Fran?'

‘Dunno.'

I sighed.

‘Come on, you.'

I hailed the cab. The driver slowed down, saw me half-carrying a bloody, vomity war victim and speeded up again.

‘Bastard!' I yelled after it. ‘Poxy poxy bastard.'

One freezing November hour later, all my pleasant, muddled, drunken feelings had evaporated and I was cursing London, cursing parties, cursing cab drivers, and especially cursing the enormous stinky sack of potatoes I had been delegated to haul around just because I was in love with it.