Thirteen Weddings (2 page)

I hand Polly and Maria their cocktails. ‘I doubt he’s single,’ I point out, humouring her, because even if he
is
single and interested, it would be too soon after
Jason.

‘She Drives Me Crazy’ by Fine Young Cannibals is playing now. As I dance, the soles of my feet begin to burn. I knew I should have worn my trusty cowboy boots, but I bought a pair of
electric-blue heels earlier and I couldn’t resist. It’s also been stupidly hot today, considering it’s September and the UK should be cooling down. I don’t know why
Polly’s always whingeing about the weather. I’m wearing a thigh-length fitted black dress and my long, light brown hair is styled in a loose fishtail plait that drapes over my left
shoulder. My eye shadow is dark green, glittery and probably smudged, and I’m guessing that my lipstick is long gone.

The Beer Can Man bumps into me and I don’t even shove him away. The alcohol thrumming through my veins must be improving my state of mind. But, uh-oh, Batman’s getting amorous ideas
again. With a cheesy, sweaty grin, he starts to sidle his blue-Lycra-clad body over. Polly reaches through the throng and rescues me.

‘I’m so glad you came!’ she squeals in my ear, wrapping her arm around my neck.

‘Me too.’ I try to sound convincing.

‘Especially considering how much you hate weddings.’ She gives me an affectionate – albeit slightly violent – shake as if to knock some sense into me.

‘I don’t mind them that much,’ I lie. At least she’s getting married in a register office. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t miss yours, could I?’

‘I would have killed you if you had!’

I don’t doubt it.

‘I can’t believe it’s been two and a half years,’ she slurs. I always could drink her under the table, I muse with affection, before belatedly remembering she can be a
really nasty drink. Hopefully not tonight. ‘About time someone came to see me,’ she adds.

Someone, not me specifically, I note.

‘It doesn’t seem that long,’ I agree, taking a swig of my vodka, cranberry and grapefruit Seabreeze. The truth is, I barely recognise her. She’s lost over two stone since
getting engaged eight months ago. I was a bit taken aback when I saw her. She didn’t look like herself.

‘How’s work?’ Polly shouts in my ear. ‘I feel like I’ve barely got to speak to you since you arrived.’

‘It’s good,’ I tell her noncommittally. I recently got promoted to deputy picture editor at a weekly women’s celebrity magazine called
Hebe,
named after the Greek
goddess of youth. I used to work at a men’s lifestyle magazine called
Marbles,
but my boss on the picture desk didn’t appear to be going anywhere, so I had to move on to move
up.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind staying at the hotel?’ Polly asks me for the umpteenth time with a worried look on her oddly slim face.

‘Definitely not,’ I reassure her.

I flew in yesterday morning at the crack of dawn. I caught up with Polly for lunch – she’s a manager at the hotel I’m staying in, which is near St Paul’s Cathedral, just
up the road. I spent yesterday afternoon sleeping off my jetlag, and then we went out for dinner last night in Soho with her fiancé, Grant, who’s a structural engineer. He’s good
fun. Seems to really love my friend and, more importantly, seems to be able to handle her sometimes overly dominant personality, so that can only be a good thing. They only recently moved in
together to a new-build one-bedroom flat near the river. Even though Polly offered to put me up on their sofa bed, I didn’t want to cramp their style, not with so much else going on right
now. So I plan to explore London for the next few days, although I wish I had longer because it’s my first time here. On Wednesday I’ll head with Polly and Grant to Grant’s
parents’ house in Brighton. Grant’s parents are hosting the wedding so I’ll be able to help with the last-minute arrangements and spend some time with my old friend. I
haven’t even told her about Jason. She’s been on at me to settle down for ages.

A few months ago my boyfriend of a year moved to Western Australia for work. He asked me to join him. He asked me a lot of things. But we weren’t meant to be. We called time on our
relationship three weeks ago.

Great. Now I’m not even in the mood for ‘Footloose’.

‘Just going to the loo,’ I tell Polly before she can sense that anything is wrong. I squeeze through the crowd on the dance floor and emerge relatively free from assault. I shoot a
quick glance at the bar, but the space in front of the pillar is bare. Oh well.

Polly and the others are by the bar taking a breather when I return, my feet stinging excruciatingly. I really need to sit down.

‘Bronte!’ Polly waves me over. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘I’ll have another Seabreeze, please.’ Hopefully alcohol will take the edge off the pain in my soles. An arm appears around my shoulders. I jerk away from the sweaty, red-faced
guy staring down at me, but he grins drunkenly and hangs on for dear life.

‘My best mate’s getting married next week,’ he tells me, slurring his words. ‘This one here.’ He puts his other arm around the guy to his left and drags him closer.
‘He’s... The best. Bloke. Ever.’

‘Wow. Congratulations,’ I say, deadpan, detaching myself from his pincer-like grip before he pulls me to the ground.

‘I’m Nigel,’ the drunk guys says, trying to sound serious and sober – and failing.

‘We’re on a hen night,’ Michelle interrupts.

Don’t encourage him, you idiot!

Nigel’s eyes widen with amazement, as though this could possibly be a surprising thing in this venue. ‘No.
Way?
Who’s the bride?’

‘Me!’ Polly answers with a giggle, passing me my drink.

‘What’s your name?’ Nigel asks her, stumbling into his pal. They’re both dressed in short-sleeve check shirts and dark trousers.

‘Polly,’ she replies happily, as Maria, Kelly and Bridget join us. I slurp at my drink and stare on resignedly as they all introduce themselves. There are four of them – the
groom is called Brian, but I switch off after that.

‘ALEX!’ Nigel suddenly shouts, right in my ear. I clap my hand over my ear and mouth, ‘OW!’ Then Alex – THE Alex – appears beside me. I watch with surprise as
Nigel wraps his arm around Alex’s neck. ‘Where did you
go,
man?’ he asks incredulously as he wobbles from left to right and then backwards and forwards. The strain of
keeping him upright is showing on Alex’s face.

‘You’re suffocating me,’ Alex tells him with some effort. Brian helps extract Nigel and I have an image in my mind of one of those small, brown koala tourist toys that cling
onto inanimate objects.

‘This is Alex.’ Brian, who appears marginally more sober than Nigel, introduces him. I notice Kelly and Michelle flash each other appreciative looks.

‘Poppy’s getting married next week,’ Nigel butts in, indicating our blushing bride-to-be.

‘POLLY!’ Michelle and Kelly laughingly correct him.

‘Oh right, cool,’ Alex says to the group, feigning interest. He slyly checks his watch while his friends fawn over Polly and the others.

‘I saw that.’ I gently elbow him in his ribs. He looks abashed. ‘The shot didn’t help?’

‘No,’ he replies with what I think is a genuine – although small – smile. ‘I think I might need about ten more of those.’

‘Your wish is her command,’ I say wryly as I see Bridget getting the barman to line up shot glasses. Alex doesn’t look convinced. ‘So why are you so behind?’ I ask
curiously. ‘Your mates are wasted.’

‘I came along late.’ Pause. ‘Had to work,’ he adds.

‘On a Saturday? What do you do?’

‘I, um, had to go to a photoshoot.’ I can see he’s reluctant to reveal this, but naturally I’m compelled to ask what it was for. ‘Er, it was for a magazine,’
he reveals, shifting from side to side.

‘Really? I work on a magazine. I’m a deputy picture editor.’

‘Are you?’ He instantly relaxes, and I understand. Some people get all manic and overeager when you tell them you work in the media.

At that point, the others interrupt because it’s ‘shot time’. I don’t need another one, but I chink my glass with Alex anyway and stealthily swap my full glass with his
empty one as soon as he’s done.

‘You don’t want it?’ he asks.

‘I’ve had more than enough,’ I reply.

He shrugs and knocks it back and then ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’ starts to blare out of the speakers.

‘LET’S DANCE!’ Michelle screams, dragging Polly and Brian away. The others are all seemingly happy to follow, but Alex and I hang back.

‘Still not drunk enough?’ I ask him.

‘No, but don’t let me stop you,’ he says.

‘I need to sit down. My feet are killing me.’

He nods to the bench seat stretched across one side of the dance floor. My mood improves considerably as I follow him, staring at the back of his head. His dark hair curls around the nape of his
neck. He’s very different to his friends. They seem so... ordinary. I wonder how he knows them. He reaches the black-velvet-cushioned bench and flops down, leaning his head back against the
wall. I take a seat beside him and cross my legs.

‘Batman’s at it again,’ I comment as the superhero wannabe gets up close and personal with a girl in a leopard-print miniskirt a few feet away. She looks very drunk, which
probably suits him just fine.

‘Christ,’ Alex murmurs, as the girl plucks an ice cube out of her glass and licks it seductively.

I watch, goggle-eyed, as Batman sticks his tongue out and the girl rubs the ice cube along it. I snigger. ‘If a guy wanted to score, this would be the place to come. The ratio must be ten
to ninety.’

‘Mmm,’ he agrees.

‘So what’s your link to Brian?’ I ask, making conversation.

‘He’s marrying my little sister.’

‘Ohh,’ I say, knowingly. ‘I
see.’

He glances at me. ‘Why do you say it like that?’

‘I wouldn’t have placed you with them,’ I tell him, belatedly realising that this could sound incredibly rude, even as I go on to say: ‘They don’t look like the
kind of blokes you’d hang out with.’ Eek. ‘Whoops, sorry, that’s the alcohol talking.’

He smirks. ‘I’m still not drunk enough.’

‘Go and get another shot, then.’

‘I don’t know how much longer I’m going to stay,’ he admits, shoving a wayward sleeve back up past his elbow.

‘Great, thanks very much,’ I snap jokily. ‘Leave me to fend for myself, why don’t you. I’ll probably have a werewolf humping my leg in a minute, but you go right
ahead. Let him at me.’

He flashes me a sideways grin as he makes to get up. ‘I’ll go to the bar.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Yay!

‘You want one?’

‘I’d love another Seabreeze. I reckon if I stick to vodka-based drinks, I’ll have less chance of passing out later.’

He looks amused and I feel a little jittery as I watch him pass through the crowd, then my attention is distracted by Batman trailing the ice cube up the inside of the girl’s miniskirt. I
look on with horror. Urgh, that’s disgusting. He puts the ice cube back up to her mouth and she sucks it between her lips.

I barely even notice Alex return a few minutes later. There have been some developments.

‘What’s up?’ he asks, giving me a quizzical look as he takes a seat next to me.

‘Them,’ I hiss. ‘Look!’

Batman is pressed up against the girl’s front and Robin is pressed up against her from behind in a superhero sandwich. She’s smiling over her shoulder at Robin in what I’m sure
she hopes is a seductive manner. She reaches around, pulls the toy gun out of his hands, puts it into her mouth, and pretends to give it a blowjob. Then I notice Batman’s hard-on.

I shoot my head around to give Alex an incredulous look. His jaw has practically hit the floor and he looks so comical, I start to laugh. He meets my eyes.

‘Fuck me,’ he says with astonishment.

‘I’m sure she would if you asked her to,’ I quip. I look back at the superheroes. The girl has detached herself and is zigzagging off the dance floor in the direction of the
toilets. Batman and Robin high-five each other and suddenly I feel sickened, not entertained.

‘I hope she’s going home,’ I say, as Batman adjusts his crotch. ‘Ew, that is so wrong...’

Repelled, Alex turns his face away towards me. I do the same, putting my hand up on the side of my face to shield us from view. He regards me with a playful smile and as I stare up into his
eyes, my heart quickens. I let my hand drop and look back at the action on the dance floor. It’s then that I spot Polly, standing stock-still and glaring at me. I tense up as she storms over.
I remember that she can be a really nasty drunk. How could I ever forget
that?

‘What are you doing?’ she demands to know.

I inwardly sigh. ‘My feet are killing me.’ I kick up one electric-blue high heel, but she’s already dragging me to my feet. ‘What about Jason?’ she barks in my ear,
scowling down at Alex.

‘We split up,’ I tell her calmly, and while she looks stricken at first, her expression swiftly transforms into one of accusation. ‘Why? For God’s sake, Bronte, I thought
he was The One? Why didn’t you
tell
me?’ Luckily I’m not looking for sympathy.

‘I was going to fill you in after tonight,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, it’s not a big deal,’ I try to chill her out. ‘But I do need a breather. These heels were a bad
idea.’

She looks down at my feet and back up at my face, and I’m not at all convinced that she’s going to let me off the hook, but then Starship’s ‘Never Gonna Stop Us
Now’ starts up and Michelle – my unwitting saviour – appears and pulls Polly back onto the dance floor. Deflated, I sit back down next to Alex.

‘What was that about?’ he asks.

I slurp my drink miserably. ‘I hadn’t told her I’d split up with my boyfriend.’

Pause. ‘Oh.’

‘I
hate
it when she’s drunk. I can’t tell you how many nights ended up with her flying off the handle in a drunken rage when we were back home in Australia,’ I
rant. ‘I thought she might have grown out of it.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ he asks.

‘Two and a half years ago, before she moved here.’

‘Oh.’