I Heart London (30 page)

Jenny held up her hand and gestured to Alex for one more minute before letting go of Craig’s tie with the look of the cat who had got the canary. I suspected it was more likely she’d got something transmittable by bodily fluids. Mono, maybe. Strep. Who knew? She clambered upright and took a little bow to a huge round of applause and wandered over to the edge of the stage. Craig didn’t take his eyes off her once.

‘So this is our last song,’ Alex declared to a chorus of boos. ‘See you again soon, London.’

Craig shouted a countdown and all three guys crashed into their final song as everyone in the club started dancing. The lights above us spun and the last shot of tequila warmed my blood. I raised my arms high above my head and sang along, still perched on the edge of the bar. Or at least I was until I felt two strong hands on my lower back.

‘I told you to get off my fucking bar,’ the bartender barked, giving me a firm shove.

I heard Alex shouting goodnight and saw the lights come up overhead as I crashed to the floor, high heels first, face second. And that’s when I blacked out.

‘The NHS is just so freaking awesome,’ Jenny enthused, wrapped in Craig’s parka as we waited for a taxi outside the hospital at four a.m. ‘You just walked in and now you’re rolling out for, like, nothing?’

‘I didn’t walk in so much as get carried in,’ I corrected from my wheelchair. ‘But yes, socialized medicine is a wonderful thing.’

‘I love working for Erin,’ she said, letting Craig rest his arm around her shoulders. ‘But her health insurance is for shit.’

‘How are you feeling?’ Alex squatted down beside me, holding a bag full of different painkillers and creams for my cuts and bruises. ‘Does it still hurt?’

I shook my head like a brave little soldier but couldn’t help wincing when Graham turfed me out of my wheelchair and onto my crutches.

‘This has to go back,’ he declared, turning round and shoving it back towards the double doors. ‘There. It’s back.’

Graham was not amused at having his first night in London hijacked by my unscheduled trip to A&E. Graham was not amused by Jenny hooking up with his drummer on stage. Graham was not amused by the fact he was not asleep. It was safe to say that Graham was, in general, not amused.

I couldn’t remember much after being rudely removed from my seat on the bar, but Jenny assured me Alex had been quite the knight in shining armour. Someone towards the back of the crowd had recognized my disco-dolly description and passed a quick Chinese whisper down to the stage that I was out for the count. With that, Alex had leapt into the slowly dispersing crowd, gathered me up in his arms and carried me out to the exit, where about half a dozen people were already calling ambulances. Meanwhile, Jenny and Craig were dry-humping backstage, leaving Graham to question the bartender in the most aggressive manner he could muster. He’d apologized. And given him a bottle of tequila. A bottle I was now clinging to for dear life. I wasn’t sure what painkillers they’d given me in the hospital, but if they didn’t kick in soon, I was terrified I would lose all my willpower and go the full Heath Ledger in the back of the cab on whatever was in Alex’s little white paper bag and this bottle of Jose Cuervo. My ankle killed. The doctor assured me it wasn’t broken, but every second the gang spent staring at X-rays, all I could think about were my poor, unworn heels. If I had to be superglued into them, I was still wearing them on Saturday.

A black people-carrier pulled up and my phone buzzed into life, confirming it was for us. Jenny and Craig leapt into the back and continued their incredibly disturbing heavy-petting session. Graham let himself into the front passenger seat, ignoring the protestations of the driver, leaving me and Alex stuck in the two individual seats in the middle of the car. My ankle throbbed, my head ached, and I felt sick, but the doctor said that was as much to do with my raised blood alcohol level as my concussion. Of course I had concussion. I’d also had to have a very awkward closed-door conversation with a nurse regarding my black eye and subsequent injuries to reassure her that I was an incredibly clumsy cow who drank far too much and not the victim of domestic abuse. I tried to explain that, if anything, it was in my nature to be the abuser rather than the abused, but she didn’t seem to find that funny. Which was fair.

We rode home to the smooth tunes of Magic FM, my eyes closing whenever the pain abated long enough for me to fall asleep; but every time they fluttered open, I saw Alex turned towards me, eyes open, face full of concern.

‘I’m OK,’ I whispered over the plaintive cries of Roxette. ‘Really.’

‘I know,’ he said, reaching out and touching his fingertips to mine. ‘But I really want to beat the shit out of that asshole behind the bar.’

‘That is very sweet.’ I gave him a hazy, drug-induced smile. ‘But I don’t want you in prison on Saturday.’

‘I could do it after the wedding?’ he suggested. ‘I’m in no rush.’

‘Maybe.’ I brushed his calloused fingertips with my soft skin and felt the warm shiver of codeine and love trickle down my spine. ‘We’ll see.’

The next thing I knew, we were all huddled around my mum’s front door. Alex was carrying me with considerably more care than James had shown the night before, and Jenny was negotiating the sleeping arrangements.

‘You and Angie should take our room,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘The bed is bigger − she needs the space. Graham, uh, you want to take Alex’s bed?’

‘And where are you going to sleep?’ Alex asked as Graham fiddled with the three different keys it took to open the front door.

‘I, um, the sofa?’ Jenny suggested innocently. ‘And Craig can sleep on the sofa in the conservatory.’

‘Or we could all accept we’re adults making terrible decisions and you two can take the spare bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ Graham said, pushing his glasses up his nose and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. ‘I’m really fucking tired, guys − no games.’

‘Awesome.’ Craig grinned at Jenny and I tried not to puke. In the morning, I would not be defending her. In the morning I would be kicking her arse.

We crept in like naughty teenagers, Graham finding the sofa like a homing pigeon and passing out almost immediately. Jenny and Craig crept up the stairs and shut the bedroom door behind them before the sound of shoes and bags dropping to the floor was followed by the telltale give of mattress springs.

‘You don’t want me to share with Craig?’ Alex asked somewhat reluctantly.

‘No.’ I shook my head sadly. ‘Let her fuck up tonight. She’ll feel bad enough about this in the morning. It’s the only way she’ll learn.’

‘At least I know he doesn’t have anything gross.’ Alex laid me down on the bed, pulling his leather jacket from around my shoulders. I raised an eyebrow, too tired to ask why. ‘I went to the clinic with him last week when he thought he had VD,’ he explained. I immediately wished he hadn’t. ‘He’s all clear.’

‘Brilliant.’ I raised my arms for Alex to remove my sparkly dress. As brilliant as it looked in the shop, it was bloody uncomfortable to lie down in. He replaced it with a super soft T-shirt before stripping off his own shirt and jeans. Pale moonlight leaked around the curtains, casting grey shadows over his lithe body, highlighting the tight muscles in his arms and back as he climbed into the bed beside me. His skin was warm and his hair was still damp from the gig. Usually he jumped in the shower as soon as we got home after a show, but it was too late and he was too tired. It made me so happy. I breathed in deeply, smiling with my eyes closed.

‘I stink,’ he said, slipping his body around mine, being careful to avoid my ankle, and kissing the back of my neck. ‘I know.’

‘You do,’ I replied, pulling his arm around my body and lacing his fingers through mine. I’d missed his body next to me in bed. ‘It’s nice.’

‘Your mom isn’t going to agree with you.’ He moved closer and I wriggled into him. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to explain all of this in the morning.’

‘That’s the morning,’ I said, dismissing his concerns, and felt a deep sweep of sleep pass over me. ‘Tired now.’

‘I love you.’ He pressed his full lips to the side of my neck and my slow and steady heartbeat picked up, just for a moment. And just before I gave in to sleep, I heard him whisper the same three words again and nothing else mattered.

Coward that I was, I stayed hidden in the bedroom on Thursday morning and accepted Alex’s offer to go downstairs and fill my parents in on the night’s activities. I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling, at the tiny holes left by the staples that had held my cherished Mark Owen posters in place for so many years. I could hear lots of muffled voices talking over each other, and many more American accents than English ones. My dad didn’t seem to be making much of an impact, but my mum definitely sounded like she was keeping up the British end of the bargain.

I rolled my head from side to side without too much trouble and tried pointing my toes down towards the floor. Ow. That was painful. My fingers traced the grazes on my elbows and the tender patches on my cheek. In fairness to me, these injuries were not caused by my clumsiness. They were possibly exacerbated by my inability to land gracefully in four-inch platforms, but I hadn’t fallen, I’d been pushed. And I would wear that on a T-shirt over my wedding dress if need be.

The bedroom door creaked open on hinges my dad had refused to oil for fear of me hiding boys up here fifteen years before, and Graham slipped his long, lanky frame inside and stretched out on the edge of my bed, holding a glass of water. Out of everyone in the house, I hadn’t been expecting him to walk through the door. I’d have put money on Craig trying to steal a pair of my knickers while I was asleep first.

‘Morning,’ I croaked, trying to push my hair into some sort of shape and rub last night’s make-up from underneath my eyes. I may have been engaged to his best friend, and he might have been as gay as the wind, but I was still incredibly conscious of just how terrible I must look.

‘Hi there.’ Graham peered out at me from behind his heavy black glasses. He wore them every day, although Alex had let slip that they were a total affectation. He’d had laser surgery two years ago. What a hipster. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Ankle hurts, face hurts, pride stings,’ I smiled ruefully and heaved myself into a sitting position. ‘Nothing’s too bad, though. What’s happening downstairs?’

‘Aside from the world’s greatest love story playing out all over your mom’s couch?’

I knew he didn’t mean my mum and dad, so I wrinkled my nose and motioned for him to skip over that part.

‘Your mom is cooking breakfast for the five thousand, your dad is out with Alex, and I excused myself to bring you your pills,’ he said, pulling a strip of tablets out of his pocket and handing me the water. ‘Anything you don’t take, I want them.’

‘Still no health insurance?’ I asked, popping two pills and swallowing them quickly. I hated taking tablets.

‘Still no health insurance,’ he confirmed. ‘But also for recreational purposes. These look awesome.’

‘Sorry I ruined your night.’ I glugged down the rest of the water, only realizing how furry my mouth was when I took the first sip. ‘But as I remember it, the show was good?’

‘The show was great.’ Graham’s eyes wandered around my teenage bedroom and he smiled with distraction. ‘The trip to the ER not so much, but hey, what’s a wedding without a little drama?’

‘I keep forgetting there’s actually supposed to be a wedding at the end of all of this,’ I said, trying another toe-wiggle. Slightly better. ‘I’m not used to a solid objective, you know? Usually I’m just trying to keep myself out of trouble. Or Jenny out of trouble. Or me and Jenny out of trouble.’

‘Oh, you still need to keep Jenny out of trouble,’ he said. ‘Or possibly take her to the clinic to remove the trouble she’s already in. I don’t know what’s in the water over here, but those two are sitting downstairs making goo-goo eyes at each other over poached eggs. As if the jet lag wasn’t turning my stomach enough already.’

‘But she hates Craig.’ I couldn’t process what I was being told. Sure, Jenny had been upset the day before, but anyone would think she was the one who had hit her head. ‘I distinctly remember her saying she “wouldn’t touch it with mine because he’d put it in more hos than Russell Brand”.’

‘And even though you’re the writer,’ Graham clucked, ‘she’s got a hell of a way with words. But I gotta tell you, she’s changed her mind. If you decide not to go through with the wedding, I don’t think we’d have to cancel the ceremony.’

‘Don’t.’ I closed my eyes and an image of Jenny flouncing around in my wedding dress popped into my mind. I popped it right back out again. ‘I’ll have to go through with it now just to stop her pulling a Britney again.’

‘Again?’

‘Long story.’ I wasn’t getting into that. ‘Where did you say Alex is?’

‘Left early with your dad,’ he shrugged. ‘He didn’t tell you?’

‘I didn’t even hear him get out of bed.’ I rejoiced in the power of the painkillers. ‘Is he coming back?’

‘You’re the missus.’ He climbed back off the bed and stretched his arms up, almost touching the ceiling. ‘You should know. I’m gonna bounce − things to do, people to see. I haven’t been in London for the longest time.’

‘Well, I know it means a lot to Alex that you came,’ I said, trying my best to look solemn, but that was hard with a black eye. ‘And to me too.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he said, leaning down to give me a gentle hug. ‘The live bed show downstairs? That I could stand to miss.’

‘Me and you both,’ I muttered as he closed the door behind him.

Getting showered, blow-dried and dressed took far too long, but I really didn’t want to call for help. I was too old for my mum to help me, and Jenny’s hands had been God knows where on Craig, so that option didn’t really appeal either. After some time, the painkillers kicked in and I was able to get through my basic routine without too much trouble, just very, very slowly. An aqua-blue Splendid T-shirt dress and my leather sandals helped make dressing decisions easier, and I was applying the eighteenth coat of Touche Éclat to my shiner when I heard the front door go, announcing the return of Alex and my dad. I frowned into the mirror and hoped Jenny would be able to do a better job of my make-up on Saturday, otherwise the Photoshop bill on our wedding photos was going to be astronomical.