Seductive Viennese Whirl (35 page)

Although I haven't taken in a word these last few minutes, her voice has gone up at the end, so it's safe to assume she's just asked a question.

I murmur, "Yes, sure," hoping it's the right answer. And apparently it is, because Sparky's beaming from ear to ear. I soon realize I've just agreed to a plan involving Demetrios driving us both up to Glynverstowe for the wedding. I'm squirming about, wondering how I'm going to get out of it. But before I can think of a good excuse she's telling me they'll pick me up at five thirty.

Five thirty! The last time I was up that early it was because I hadn't been to sleep the night before after a long session at The Blue Room.

The next morning I climb, bleary eyed, into the back of Sparky's Morris Minor. Demetrios looks like he could have spent his life in England. His cardigan is beige and threadbare, his moustache grey, his head bald and his eyes too close together. Funny that she had to go all the way to Mykanos to find such a perfect specimen of middle England. Having sated my curiosity at seeing him at last I try to fall asleep despite the ear splitting levels of noise. Demetrios is constantly waving his fist and shouting obscenities at the other drivers. That part of him is very un-English. At the same time Sparky's shouting directions over his shouting. Despite this, I'm so weary that I manage to get a good two hours sleep. When I poke my head up again Sparky's saying, "I'm sure we've passed that church before. And we seem to be heading towards London rather than away from it." She turns back to me and gives me a smile. "Demetrios isn't used to driving on the left side of the road, are you love?" She gives his knee a tweak.

"Maybe I should drive?" I suggest, because I'm beginning to fear that Sparky and Demetrios don't have a clue where they're headed.

So we switch places and after about ten minutes I'm bitterly regretting my decision. The odd couple are cuddled up in the back, slobbering over each other and I've got a crook in my neck from constantly looking sideways to read the map. This is hell on wheels.

"Do you want a mint?" Sandra says, ungluing herself from Demetrios' mouth to offer me a pack of Murray Mints.

"Thanks." I take one and bite into it, shattering it into a hundred tiny shards. Rain has started to blur the windscreen and I switch on the wipers.

"Surely you must miss the weather in Mykanos?" I venture.

"I would not care if I never saw a ray of sun again because now my Sandina is my ray of sunshine." Oh God, I think I'm going to hurl. "My Sandina's eyes are like the burning sun, they penetrate deep into my soul.

"One day I'm walking on the beach when I see a lady coming towards me. I think, this beautiful lady, she look a lot like my Sandina, a woman I meet many years ago and who I lose touch with. And when I get near her it is like I am struck by a lightening. When I see her eyes, they are like I remember, like a burning fires going deep into my soul. It is the most wonderful moment of my life, you know? Like God, he is giving me a second chance."

And on an on it went in this vein. You'd go mad having to listen to it. I know I did. The only saving grace was that he left out the erotic interludes, but the rest of it was about as interesting as watching a drafts tournament. There was a great deal of walking barefoot as waves caressed the soles of their feet. There was lots of looking up at the brightest star in the sky, their star, which from now on he will forever call Sandina, his very special name for Sparky. There was a shit load of feeding each other calamari while a musician tugged at the strings of his guitar, just as Sandina had tugged at Demetrios' heart strings, the first time he saw her burning eyes.

I'm practically sobbing with relief when, at six, we finally arrive at the two stone lions that flank the entrance to Glynverstowe. After presenting our invitations to the security guards we're whisked onwards, up the long long drive, up to the pale yellow stone edifice of McManus' estate. We all get out and as I open the trunk I find that the lid of a can of petrol has come off and leaked all over my overnight bag. As I pull my dress out of the bag, I scream.

Alerted by the scream Eva hurries out, followed by a rail thin woman with bright red hair and a bluntly cut fringe. It's designer Paula Pilot who I recognise her from her photo in Hello!

"What are you screaming about?" says Eva, hugging me.

I hold up the dress, splotched with brown oilstains.

"I don't know how it happened," Sparky says. "I screwed the lid on tight."

"You stupid cow, you've, you've ruined everything, everything! Do you know how long my team worked on that dress. Well do you?" shouts Paula.

"That's a bit strong," says Eva, inserting a cigarette between Paula's crimson lips and lighting it for her. "Deep breaths." Paula inhales and blows out a plume of smoke.

"Hey," says Demetrios. "I not like the way you talk to my Sandina. Anyway, what it matter? It only a bloody dress. Why you not buy another one?"

"Only a dress! It took two months to sew on all these mirrors and to embroider it, not to mention the fact that the dye for the cloth comes from a plant which only blooms in the Himalayas for one week of the year."

"It doesn't matter," says Eva quickly. "It was an accident, and it can't be helped."

We leave Paula and Demetrios shouting at each other and Eva takes me inside. We go down a dark panelled wood corridor, hung with ancestral portraits, and up several flights of stairs, until she throws open the door to my room. She rushes in and bounces on the bed, a four poster, swathed in acres of plum and blue brocade, and piled with dozens of tasselled pillows. I bounce next to her, but all I can think of is that this bed is far too big for just one person.

"Is something wrong?" she says, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out a carafe of whiskey. "This should sort you out." She pours me a glass, which I quickly swallow.

"Oh shit, Eva, I really wanted to be your bridesmaid."

"And you will be. Do you really think I give a damn if you're wearing a sheet or a two thousand pound dress?"

I go and put my arm around her. "I don't think you'd be bothered, but all the guests would, and, more to the point, I would. I'll just sit and watch from the front row if that's all right."

"Well okay, if you like." She glances out the window. "I don't know what's going on between Paula and Demetrios, but it looks as if they're about to kill each other. I'm going down to sort it out. Most of the guests are coming tomorrow but do come down for dinner at seven."

I don't feel too good, really I don't. It's disorientating. Your best friend's getting married, I tell myself. You should be happy.

I try and wish myself happy, but it's an uphill battle. For one thing, there's that horrible bag full of stained clothes to deal with. My hand reaches into my handbag for the emergency Mars Bar I always carry with me. I haven't eaten a Mars Bar in months, but I feel like I'm having a crisis, and the only way to stop it escalating is to cram the chocolate tranquilliser into my mouth as fast as I can. I don't understand why I'm feeling so apprehensive. Maybe it's the thought of losing Eva forever. Maybe it's the prospect of seeing the Weasel who's coming up on the overnight train with Lola. Maybe it's because I won't get the opportunity to wear the blue dress and hear all the single guys whisper, "What a stunner. Who is she?" as I walk up the aisle behind Eva. Or maybe it's a combination of all the above.

Half way through the Mars Bar I hear giggling from the next room. Demetrios and Sparky. Engaged in God only knows what. I let the Mars Bar fall to the ground. I've suddenly lost my appetite. As grotesque images of their love making crowd my brain I press my fingers deep into my ears.

The wedding's due to start at four, it's just gone three and we're all in a hot breathless room at the estate listening to Paula scream at the stylists and makeup artists to get a bloody move on. She's pacing back and forth while she lights one cigarette after another, swearing she'll never design another wedding as long as she lives. I'm crammed in a corner beside Eva, along with six bridesmaids, all of which, at Paula's insistence, must have identical makeup. A four year old with bouncy red curls squeals as a make up artist struggles to hold her down long enough to kohl her eyes and stick a bindi on her forehead. While her mouth is being painted into a red cupid's bow the girl spies herself in the mirror. Paula watches aghast as the kid's moth becomes a big red O and she starts to bawl, tears and snot mussing up her makeup.

"I look like Ronald McDonald. I want to be a prinnncccesss!" she whines, rubbing her fists into her eyes while Paula drags deeply on her fag in frustration. Remembering that I have an ancient bag of Skittles in my handbag, I fish it out and proffer it to the girl before she can wreck her face further. I crouch down and stroke her hair.

"Don't be so silly," I say softly. "You do look like a princess. You are the most beautiful princess I've ever seen."

"Really?" she says, grabbing a hand full of sweets and putting them in her mouth.

"Sure. Only very few people are lucky enough to have hair like yours. Because red hair signals you have magic powers. Did you know that?"

She shakes her head.

"Well it's true. When you're older you'll have power over boys. You'll be able to make them fall in love with you as soon as they see your red hair."

Her lower lip starts to quiver again. "But I don't like boys. They're big and smelly and just awful."

"Not boys like the ones you go to school with silly. Beautiful handsome princes who will be so charmed by you, they'll buy you anything you ask them for."

"Really? You mean like maybe a pair of Barbie trainers with flashing lights?"

"Oh, most definitely."

Satisfied with this answer she sits quietly while her makeup is redone. You'd think that Paula would have thanked me for saving the day but of course she doesn't.

I duck back down into my seat beside Eva, aware that Lola, who's one of the bridesmaids (one of McManus' more dubious decisions) is giving me dirty looks, as if I don't have any right to be here, ever since my bridesmaid's dress got ruined and I was banished myself from the official line up. While I'm pointedly ignoring her and pouring out a glass of champagne for Eva I catch a glimpse of a foxy chick in the mirror, who turns out to be me. Not bad. Not bad at all.

"Give me that champagne," says Eva. "I'm gasping." I hand it over and she glugs it down. "And stop ogling yourself in the mirror. You look fabulous."

I'm in a cream Dolce & Gabbana number of Eva's, one with a perilously low neckline, which is gorgeous, apart from the fact that every time I bend over I think my breasts are going to come loose from their moorings. The other downside is that despite my recent weight loss it's also a smidgeon too tight around the waist, so that when I'm sitting down, I can only breathe in short shallow gulps.

Just when I'm beginning to feel light-headed, what with all the shallow breathing I'm doing, Paula finally deems the wedding party ready and propels them out the door. Jumping up, I frantically wave away Paula's cigarette smoke, take a deep breath of oxygen free air and give Eva my full attention.

She looks so beautiful I want to cry. Her hair is in an elaborate top knot, held together with sparkling golden threads. Two enormous gold hoops dangle from her ears, studded with turquoise stones and tiny bells, which tinkle as she moves. The nude plane of her stomach is the focus of her wedding outfit, or rather, her perfect belly button, which anchors a sparkling fake diamond. Above the diamond she's wrapped in a close fitting gold tunic, while below she's draped in silk, a long piece of shimmery pale blue, encrusted with pearls. With ten minutes to go she throws the end piece of the material over her shoulder and reaches for the champagne bottle.

I slap her fingers.

"Stop it! I think you've had enough, don't you? Any more and you'll be staggering up the aisle."

Eva pouts and pensively starts to chew the side of her finger.

"Oh come now," I say, putting my arm around her. "Don't look so anxious. You've nothing to be worried about."

"Oh, but I have," she says, fiddling nervously with her earring and making it jangle. "He dumped me once for God's sake, why shouldn't he do it again?"

I put my hand over hers. "He won't dump you. He loves you, anyone can see that."

"I'm not so sure."

"You'll be fine. You've just got pre-wedding jitters," I say, kissing her cheek and trying to hide my surprise at all this. I had thought that since Eva and McManus reunited, everything in the garden was rosy.

"The limo's waiting to take you to church," says Lola briskly, after barging in the door without bothering to knock.

"Oh right," says Eva getting up. "Did you speak to McManus today? I haven't seen him since he set off for his stag night yesterday."

"No, can't say I have. But I'm sure he'll show up." She gives a big, false grin. "Are you coming?"

"In a minute," says Eva, and Lola scurries off.

"Come on, quit stalling," I say brusquely. "You've got three hundred guests waiting out there."

She clutches my hands. "I'm terrified McManus isn't going to show."

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Well." She bites her lip. "I swore I wouldn't tell a soul but, shortly after we first got together he started going to a sex therapist, to try and find out why he could only last such a short time. It had never happened to him before, apparently. And she told him he couldn't perform because he was intimidated by me."

"Bollocks to that."

"Anyway, she advised him to either start couples' therapy or to finish with me."

"Is there a point to all this, because at this rate he's going to think you're standing
him
up," I say, tugging her towards the door.

"Wait." She clutches my arm and won't budge. "He was on the verge of suggesting we go to counselling when he overheard you. You called him Five Minutes McManus. Knowing I'd told you all about his problem kind of tipped him over the edge. The next day he dumped me."