Thirteen Weddings (27 page)

‘Come on, Polly,’ Lachie says calmly, his hand on her back. ‘We’re all going home now anyway.’

‘What?’

‘It’s late,’ he says.

‘It’s early!’ she screeches. ‘You’re all a bunch of wusses!’

By now, we’re outside the pub. I flag down a passing black cab. The driver regards Polly warily as Grant tells him their address and I almost think he’s going to reconsider, but
Lachie opens the back door and ushers Polly inside.

‘You okay, mate?’ he asks Grant, who nods tersely and makes to climb into the car. But Lachie puts his hand on his chest to hold him back. ‘Do you need some help getting her
home?’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Grant replies curtly, while I fight back tears.

‘Maybe you two should speak tomorrow?’ Lachie suggests to both of us.

Grant hesitates, not meeting my eyes as he nods again. Lachie lets him go and he climbs into the cab.

Alex comes out of the pub doors, just as the car is pulling away from the kerb. ‘Are you alright?’ he asks me with concern.

I nod quickly, but there’s a lump in my throat now. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter, looking away. I really,
really
need to cry. ‘I’m going to go home.’ I see a
cab’s yellow light through blurry vision and impulsively flag it down.

‘Hey,’ Alex says gently, his hand on my forearm. ‘Don’t go yet.’

I shake my head quickly. He shouldn’t be touching me. He should be keeping his distance, not being kind and making me like him too much. Lachie crosses his arms over his chest, but keeps a
safe distance. ‘I have to,’ I say in a croaky voice. ‘Will you tell Bridget I’m sorry I missed her when she arrives? Chalk Farm, please,’ I say to the cab driver
through his open window. I open the door and climb in, pulling it shut behind me. I scoot across the seat and look out of the opposite window as tears start to roll down my face. I can’t bear
to look at either of the men standing on the pavement as I hurriedly brush them away.

As the driver sets off around the corner towards the tall, concrete and glass office building that is Centre Point, anger mixes with my grief. At that very moment, I despise Polly. She never
makes me feel good about myself. She’s a taker, never a giver. I feel bound to her because she’s one of a very few links to my childhood. Sometimes I wish I could smash those links with
a sledgehammer and set myself free. My anger dissolves as my bottom lip wobbles dangerously.

Then someone pounds on the window on the opposite side of the car and I nearly jump out of my skin. I whip my head around and stare in shock at Lachie. He holds my bag up and I suddenly realise
I have no money on me whatsoever.

‘Is he with you?’ the cab driver asks acerbically. We’re waiting at the traffic lights near Centre Point.

‘Yes!’ I exclaim, leaning across the car to open the door. ‘Thank you!’ I try to take the bag from him, but he slides into the car beside me and shuts the door.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Hitching a ride,’ he says, out of breath. He must have run like Usain Bolt to catch up with me. ‘Can we go via Camden, mate?’ he says to the cab driver.

‘Thank you,’ I say quietly, taking the bag from him, but not meeting his eyes as the cab sets off again.

He hesitates before speaking. ‘Alex wanted to come.’

My heart soars, but the feeling is short-lived.

‘Did he?’ I ask with a wavering voice.

‘Yeah.’

‘Why... didn’t he?’ I ask.

‘I didn’t think it would be a very good idea,’ he says in a monotone.

I stare down at my hands. ‘No, probably not.’ Lachie knows that I have feelings for Alex. I told him myself. He swivels to face me, but I can’t meet his eyes. ‘I
don’t know what I’m going to do about her,’ I murmur, steering the conversation towards Polly.

‘You need to host an intervention,’ he says matter-of-factly.

I look at him with a frown. I’m not sure I know what he means.

‘You need to get Polly’s friends and Grant together to convince her that she’s got a drink problem. She needs professional help.’ He shrugs. ‘A mate of mine back in
Oz was the same. Binge-drinking, laying into everyone, never remembering it in the morning.’

‘She doesn’t remember anything in the morning, either,’ I say. ‘But whenever I say anything to her, she shoots me down.’

‘That’s why you do it with others. Bridgie, Grant, anyone else she’s close to.’

‘Michelle,’ I say aloud, thinking of her bridesmaid. I wonder if she and Polly are still close? I could call the hotel and ask her. The thought makes me feel exhausted.

‘She’ll be okay,’ Lachie assures me. ‘I’m not saying she’ll be instantly cured. In fact, she’s almost certain to carry on drinking, but it’s the
first step to convincing her she’s got a problem. She’ll probably start to recognise the signs in herself.’

I sigh heavily. I don’t feel like I’ve got the energy for Polly after what she said tonight.

Lachie slips his arm behind my shoulders. ‘Come here.’

I shuffle against him and rest my head on his shoulder as his arm encircles me, but I don’t find the gesture as comforting as I have done in the past. I think of Alex putting his hand on
my back and the look in his eyes when he asked me if he was a rebound thing. The thought makes my heart flutter. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory intensifies. I sit up straight again, not
wanting to be consoled by Lachie. I bite my lip and stare out of the window. Lachie doesn’t seem to know what to say so we ride the rest of the journey to Camden in silence.

‘Just up at the traffic lights, mate,’ Lachie says to the cab driver, getting a note out of his wallet. He looks at me. ‘Come for a drink with me?’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’

‘If you want help, I can help you,’ he says. ‘I’ll even call Grant for you if you like.’

I smile downheartedly at him. He is beyond nice. ‘Thanks,’ I say quietly. ‘But I just can’t deal with Polly right now. I know that’s wrong.’ My throat closes
and my eyes well up. ‘I’m her friend and I should be there for her. But I just can’t right now.’ I quickly brush my tears away.

‘Come for a drink with me,’ he urges again as the cab driver pulls over.

I shake my head. ‘I should go home.’

Home? Nowhere feels like home.

He sighs heavily and pats my leg, then gets out of the car and pays the driver. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he says through the open door.

‘Thanks for bringing me my bag,’ I tell him.

‘No worries.’ He shuts the door and my heart feels heavier than ever.

That night, I get a text message as I’m drifting off to sleep. Curiosity getting the better of me, I wearily unplug my phone from its charger and peer at the screen in
the darkness. My heart jumps when I see it’s from Alex.

I am. Instantly. I sit up in bed. What’s he doing texting me late at night? Does Zara know he’s texting me? Has he told her what happened with Polly and me earlier? It occurs to me
that I should ignore him, but my fingers are already typing out a reply.

I stare at the screen, feeling on edge as I wait to see if he replies. He does.

My head buzzes as I reply.

I want him to know this. I also know that I shouldn’t want him to know this.

I hear the front door open and shut. Bridget is home. She clatters about in the hallway for a bit before opening my door.

‘Bronte?’ she whispers into the darkness.

‘Hi,’ I reply, reaching over to switch on my bedside light.

‘Hey,’ she says sympathetically. She comes in and sits on the edge of my bed. ‘I heard about tonight.’

I groan inwardly. ‘Did you?’ And then my phone starts to vibrate. I snatch it up and freeze. Alex is calling me. ‘I’ve got to get this,’ I tell Bridget with
startled urgency. ‘Hello?’ I say into the receiver, willing Bridget to leave.

‘It’s Alex.’

‘I know,’ I breathe.

‘Can you talk?’ he asks. He sounds different and I wonder how much he’s had to drink.

‘I’m with Bridget,’ I tell him. ‘Alex,’ I mouth at her.

‘Do you need to go?’ he asks.

‘No. Hang on.’ I look up at Bridget. ‘I’ll come and talk to you in a sec,’ I promise.

She gives me an odd look before getting up to leave, shutting the door firmly behind her.

‘I’m here,’ I say into the receiver. My pulse has sped up. ‘Where are you?’ I ask.

‘At home,’ he replies.

‘Is Zara with you?’ I almost choke on her name.

‘No, she’s out tonight,’ he replies thickly.

So she doesn’t know he texted, let alone called. There’s an awkward pause as I contemplate this.

‘I just wanted to check you got home alright,’ he says gruffly. But he already knows that I did. He texted me.

‘I’m here. I’m fine.’

‘I was worried about you,’ he says. I think he’s pretty wasted.

‘I’m okay,’ I reply, wondering where this conversation is going. ‘A bit embarrassed.’ I switch the light off and slide down in bed, pulling the covers up to my
chin. ‘What did the others say after I left?’

‘Not much. Bridget was concerned about you when she turned up and you’d gone.’

‘She’s just arrived home.’

‘Oh, right. Yeah. She didn’t stay that long.’ Pause. ‘Do you know what you’re going to do about Polly?’ he asks.

‘Lachie thinks we need to host an intervention. He had a friend in Australia with a similar problem,’ I add. ‘I guess I’ll give Grant a call this weekend.’ The
thought fills me with dread. I barely have the mental strength to deal with myself, let alone Polly.

‘What Polly said about your mum. You never talk about your parents.’

Maybe it’s the darkness, but I find myself opening up to him. I sigh heavily. ‘I didn’t have a very good childhood.’

‘Why not?’ His deep voice is comforting.

‘My parents weren’t happy. They shouldn’t have been together, but they were too stubborn to split up. At least, my mum was. I think my dad would have got divorced if
she’d let him. He was too weak.’ My voice is almost a whisper.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Are your parents happily married?’

‘Er, yeah, they are.’ He sounds reluctant to admit it.

‘That’s good. You have good role models.’

He says nothing for a while. But it’s true what I’ve said. Zara is lucky. The thought hurts and it suddenly feels surreal that we’re having this late-night conversation at
all.

‘Are they why you don’t believe in marriage?’ he interrupts my thoughts.

I bite my lip. ‘I guess so,’ I admit.

‘That’s sad.’

I don’t want to talk about this any more. ‘What about you?’ I shift under the covers, suddenly feeling cold. ‘I’ve been worried about you lately.

‘I’m okay,’ he says quietly.

‘Is everything alright with—’ I can’t believe I’m asking this question. ‘–Zara?’

He sucks in a sharp breath and exhales loud enough for me to hear. ‘Yeah,’ he emits the word halfway through his exhalation. ‘We’re alright.’

That sounds completely ominous. To my distress, a spark of hope ignites inside me. I finally find my voice. ‘Has anything... happened?’

He groans softly. ‘Uh, we had a bit of a scare a week or so ago.’

‘What sort of scare?’

‘She thought she was pregnant.’

A dark feeling settles over me.

‘She wasn’t,’ he says quickly. ‘But, I don’t know, it sort of threw us.’

I feel sick. ‘In what way?’

‘She wanted to bring the wedding forward. I thought we should postpone it.’

His words take a moment to sink in. He thought about postponing their wedding? The nausea turns into jittery nerves.

‘What did you decide?’ I’m almost too scared to ask.

‘We didn’t have to. She wasn’t pregnant.’

‘So the wedding is still on?’

His reply doesn’t immediately come. ‘Yeah,’ he says, halfheartedly, and my eyes inadvertently shut. With real effort, I steel myself.

‘I can’t believe it about Russ and Maria,’ I force brightness into my tone.

‘Yeah. Pretty nuts.’ He still sounds flat.

‘Listen, I’d better go and speak to Bridget, but thank you for calling,’ I effuse unnaturally.

‘Okay,’ he says slowly.

‘See you Monday.’

‘Sure.’ He seems averse to ending the call.

‘Bye.’ I almost throw my phone at the wall. Instead I throw it onto the bed, which is not nearly as satisfying. I rub my hands over my face in frustration. What was all that about?
Was I just drunk-dialled by an almost married man? I wrench back the covers and get out of bed, too worked up to sleep. I go and knock on Bridget’s door.

‘Everything alright?’ she asks wryly. She’s in bed, reading a book.

‘No.’

She looks surprised. ‘What’s up?’ She puts her book down. ‘What was Alex doing calling you at this hour?’

‘That’s a very good question,’ I say sarcastically.

She shakes her head. ‘He still likes you, doesn’t he?’

I collapse onto her bed. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like there’s still something between us.’

‘And you still like him?’

‘I’ll get over it,’ I mutter. ‘It’ll help when he gets married. He thought he’d got Zara pregnant.’ I fight back tears as I look up at the ceiling.

‘Really?’ Bridget says.

‘That would have put me off him,’ I laugh bitterly.

‘I could never fall for a married man,’ she says.

‘No, me neither,’ I’m quick to point out.

‘There’s nothing more off-putting than a man who’s deeply in love with another woman.’

‘I couldn’t agree with you more. But that’s the thing. Alex doesn’t seem to be deeply in love with Zara.’

Bridget looks worried at my revelation.

I explain. ‘He just told me that Zara wanted to bring the wedding forward when she thought she was pregnant. But he wanted to postpone it. Why wouldn’t he agree to her request if he
was sure about them?’

‘Maybe he’s not sure about them.’

‘Then what’s he doing?’ The lump in my throat is back.

‘God knows,’ Bridget mutters. ‘I still don’t know why you don’t just hook up with Lachie. That would take your mind off Alex.’