Читать книгу Bridesmaids - Zara Stoneley, Zara Stoneley - Страница 12

I need to pack for Brighton, and right now I’m thinking a rucksack with spare jeans and a few T-shirts is all I need.

This is partly because, 1. it is probably all I need, and, 2. I don’t want to have to unzip my flaming suitcase and face all my lovely US-bound clobber, which I still haven’t unpacked.

I’m not quite ready for a reminder that I should soon be heading to the airport for a long flight, and bubbly, and hilarity and jetlag and the promise of NEW YORK (yes, I know I’ve gone shouty) and cocktails and, well, New York.

‘Jane, door for you!’

Freddie’s yell stops me giving my innocent suitcase the evil eye. Sugar, I’m not supposed to be here! I’m supposed to have jetted off. Why is anybody at the door for me? Unless Coral actually has realised not even she can be that evil, and has sent a taxi?

I realise I’m flapping round, spinning in a circle. Trying to decide if I should dive in the wardrobe or under the bed, or if Freddie will come in after me and I’ll look even more foolish than I already feel.

I stop.

Stop panicking. That’s tomorrow. I am supposed to be here today. I am here.

‘Surprise!’ I spin round and it’s Rachel.

‘Rach! What the hell are you doing here?’ Rachel is never here. Rachel doesn’t live anywhere near me.

‘Crappy work conference, so I thought I’d see if I could catch you before you went!’ She throws herself on the bed, dramatically. ‘You’ve got to save me from my earnest colleagues.’ She rolls her eyes, then spots the case. ‘Wow, are you sure that case is big enough? I’d be taking one double that size if it was me. You are just so cool about all this.’

‘No, I’m not.’ I shove the suitcase off the bed and flop down beside her. ‘I’m not being cool.’

‘God, you are. I am so envious of your jet set lifestyle.’

‘Don’t be.’ I close my eyes, then open them and peep at her. Lying on the bed next to me. ‘Can you keep a secret, Rach?’

She props herself up on one elbow.

‘Course I can! We can do swapsies. You first.’

‘I’m not going to New York.’ I avoid her eye as I say it.

‘Really?’ She sits up a bit higher and I can feel her staring at me. ‘But, you’ve packed, and …’

‘You don’t need to tell me.’ I groan and put my hands over my eyes. ‘I’ve packed, spent up and told the whole world about it. What will everybody say?’

‘Fuck everybody else. It’s you I care about!’ She drags my hands away and looks into my eyes, which have gone a bit blurry.

Saying it out loud has made me feel sorry for myself.

‘Aww, hell, Jane, you were so looking forward to it.’ She wraps me in a hug and I try not to sniffle. ‘What happened?’

‘Coral happened.’ Freddie’s deep voice rumbles unexpectedly into the room. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘Bugger off.’ We both shout at the same time, then Rachel levers herself up.

‘She’s not sacked her? She’s not sacked you?’

‘No, she’s not sacked me. She just decided she doesn’t need me.’

‘Oh, Jane, what a cow.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not.’

‘It was just a shock. I will be fine.’

‘She’ll be fine once she gets to Brighton!’ Freddie is still lounging in the doorway, a safe distance away from the girlie fray.

‘Wow, you’re going to Brighton?’ Rachel’s eyes have gone all big and wide, and I can practically see her brain going into overdrive. ‘Together? Have I missed something?’

‘You’ve not missed anything.’ I sigh and dig her in the ribs to cover my embarrassment. ‘Freddie’s got to check his parents’ place and I’m going with him.’ I shrug. ‘That’s all. No big deal!’

‘What do you mean, no big deal?’ Freddie acts hurt, but winks to show he doesn’t mean it. ‘And we’re going to pretend we’re in Ibiza!’

Rachel chuckles. She’s got one of those deep, rolling infectious laughs which makes you smile. ‘That’ll take a special kind of filter, won’t it?’

‘I’m going to post old pics. I can’t admit to Coral that I’ve not gone.’

‘Ahh.’

‘But you mustn’t tell.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Nobody, not a single person. If it gets out she will crucify me.’

‘Promise. I guess I owe you a secret then?’ Her eyes are twinkling, and she’s gone a bit pink and bashful looking, which isn’t my normal Rachel.

‘Tell!’

‘Well …’ She takes a deep breath, then glances at Freddie, and back at me. ‘That’s why I came round. I’m so crap, I just can’t keep secrets, I can’t wait until you get back, I can’t not tell you!’

We’re all holding our breath. The suspense is killing me. The silence goes on, and on, and she’s glancing from me to Freddie and back again.

‘I’m getting married!’ It comes out in a whoosh.

‘Shit, you’re not?’ I realise the second the words explode from my big mouth that this is not the right thing to say. I give a ‘Help me’ glance over her shoulder at Freddie.

‘Oh, God, I knew you’d take this badly. I’m so, so sorry, Jane. I mean, I know you’ve had such a shitty time, that’s why I needed to tell you in person.’ She glances at Freddie again and I realise now, she hasn’t just come here because of a boring conference, she’s come here to tell me because she knew Freddie would be here. The guy who helped her pick up the pieces after my wedding-that-wasn’t. ‘Weddings can work out, Jane. I’m as sure as I can be, I just know he’s the One for—’

‘Stop it, you two! I know exactly what you’re both thinking.’ Rachel colours up, but Freddie brazens it out. ‘I’m not anti-wedding.’ They both avoid my gaze. ‘I’m not! I’m so over Andy. This is nothing to do with me, it’s you I’m worried about. You hardly know him, Rach!’ I feel weak at the knees, good job I’m sat on the bed. ‘I know not every man is like Andy. But he could be an axe murderer, or a swindler, or, or, a bigamist!’ I know I’m clutching at straws here, and the duvet actually, but I’m in shock.

My bestie can’t be allowed to plight her troth to smooth-talking Jed, who’s persuaded her he’s the One. As far as I know, she’s only had a chat on Facebook, two dates and a shag with him. That does not a relationship make.

I don’t want to be a damp squib, but there’s rushing and there’s going at the speed only required after far too many drinks when you need a bucket, or an extremely spicy curry that’s turned your tummy to molten lava and is demanding a quick exit.

And this is indecent haste, and the stunning blonde-haired, blue-eyed, bubbly Rachel is not a girl who needs to grab the first guy who offers. Not that anybody should, but Rachel has always had them queuing up.

‘What?’ She frowns at me, looking puzzled. ‘Of course, I know him! I’ve known him ages. What are you on about?’

I take a deep breath of my own and put my hands calmly on her shoulders. ‘Rach, you’ve only just met Jed.’

‘Oh!’ Relief settles on her face as she puts her hand over her mouth, and giggles. ‘It’s not Jed, you idiot!’

Phew.

‘It’s Michael!’

This is the point where I should sigh with relief and say, ‘silly me’. But I do not. Instead my stomach bottoms out. ‘You are kidding?’

Her face says it all, this is no joke.

So, I do it, I tell that whopping great lie.

‘Oh my God! Wow!’ I pause for breath and lean forward to hug her. ‘That is absolutely fantastic. I am so pleased for you!’

She tilts her head back, looking worried.

‘Honest?’

‘Really. Sorry, it was just a shock, I thought you guys had split for good. That’s what I meant by kidding, ha-ha. Wow, that’s amazing! Fab! Ace! I’m so pleased for you.’ A glance at Freddie confirms that I might be overcompensating here, his eyebrows are raised so high they’ve gone past his fringe and merged into his hairline.

I mentally reel myself in and zip my mouth.

But my head can’t stop thinking this is wrong. A mistake. Someone tell me I’m dreaming.

Michael? How can she be marrying Michael? Bastard two-timing Michael who I caught doing the dirty with luscious Lexie (I only know her name because he happened to be chanting it at the time) and made him swear he’d never do it again or I’d tell Rach everything, just before I tore him limb from limb.

We had never had any secrets and I’d hated not telling her, but I hated more the thought that if I told her the truth it could wreck our friendship. I mean, who would she believe, the smooth-talker she loved and planned to spend the rest of her life with – or her friend? I didn’t want to put her in that position.

And he did say it was just one stupid impulsive action that he’d regret forever and had promised it would never happen again. But he’d also called it ‘a minor transgression’ – yes, he really does talk like that.

And I’d umm-ed and ahh-ed but, I have to be totally honest, it all happened just before my hen party and I was so caught up in all my wedding stuff, that I kind of didn’t give it the thought I should have.

Daft thing is, drunk on vodka and love on my hen night, I’d decided to come clean with Rachel and was on the verge of spilling. She was my best friend and I’d felt secure in the knowledge (ha-ha) that I’d found true love, and I wanted to make sure she’d be as happy as me. I wanted everybody to be in the same state of bliss as I was!

Can you believe it? Talk about rubbish timing.

I never got to tell her. The Andy bombshell hit and it went right out of my head, it just didn’t seem as important as my own broken heart. Nothing was as important as my car-crash of a life. Which obviously makes me a pretty shitty friend.

How could I not have told her?

We spent so many hours together, on the phone, FaceTime-ing, texting, while she was doing the good-friend bit and looking after me. And I just felt sorry for myself and let her do the propping up.

And now I’d left it far too late. Telling her just after it happened would have been one thing, but telling her so long after? How could I find the right time to explain? And I didn’t want to lose her. I’d been totally selfish. How pathetic am I? I was scared sick of losing her, the very thought brought me out in a cold sweat.

Without her and Freddie looking after me in the aftermath, who knows what I would have done? I mean, I’ve never thought of myself as the suicidal type, but without somebody to kick me out of my wallowing in the mornings I would have lost my job, and without somebody to tell me when I was very close to the line between enough and too much drink life would have been seriously blurred.

Instead, it had just been normal pissed blurred and hazy.

And so, I’d decided to believe Michael when he said that he’d ever never hurt her, rather than doing what a good friend should. What she’d do for me.

And then Rach and Michael had split over some girl he’d snogged at an office party. So, it had all been fine. Over. Finished. I could breathe again, no need to sweat about whether I should tell her.

I mean, I did still hate myself for not having the guts to tell her, but I convinced myself that what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her now.

Michael was history.

Or not, it would seem.

I stop talking, hug her hard, and bury my head in her shoulder, which gives me chance to compose myself and plaster a bright smile on my face, rather than burst into noisy tears. Which is what my face wants to do.

Michael is back. Forever.

I hate Michael. There, I’ve said it. I’m not the jealous type, but I am the protective type. And lovely, generous, and it must be said slightly too trusting Rachel, needs somebody to watch her back. I used to do it at school, and I can’t seem to break the habit.

I need to stop her marrying a douchebag.

He’s just not good enough for her, and there’s just something about him that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And made me punch the air and inwardly whoop when she’d told me they’d split. Though I did of course make all the right sympathetic noises and say things like ‘for the best’ and ‘there’s somebody better out there for you.’.

‘Oh, Jane, I’m so pleased you’re happy for me.’ Rachel hugs me stronger. ‘I know it’s been hard for you since Andy …’ She lets his name hang in the air between us. We both know that he left a rather sour taste in my mouth, and a slight (mega) distrust of the whole ‘love you ’til the day I die’ thing.

‘This isn’t about me and Andy, it’s about you!’ The pressure is definitely on to make sure that she doesn’t think any of this is sour grapes on my side. That my bad experience hasn’t poisoned me against the whole marriage idea.

And it hasn’t. I’m happy for her if she really has found ‘the One’ and wants to tie the knot. Just not happy about it being Michael.

Though who knows what affect her hen night is going to have on me – but I’ll tackle that one when I get to it. I’m sure there are enough legal highs, combined with gin, to get me through one evening without tears.

‘But what about Jed?’ I’ve disentangled myself, and am now thinking that Jed might have been a good option after all. ‘He seemed really nice.’

‘Oh.’ She giggles again. ‘He was just to show Michael what he was missing and make him jealous, and it worked! Jed knew it wasn’t serious, we never actually slept together, you know.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Oh, God, no. Well, we slept, but we had all our clothes on.’ Seems like I’m not the only one who tells little white lies. ‘He totally knew all about Michael, and how I was still mad about him. Me and Jed were just mates!’

Is it wrong that I am feeling deflated? I’d inwardly cheered when I’d thought she’d engaged on a moving-on night of frantic passion.

‘Oh, God, Jane, Michael was so sweet. He said it was a complete wake-up call and he’d realised he never wanted to risk losing me again, and, well …’ She glances at me, her eyes bright and shiny with emotion. She’s genuinely about-to-cry happy.

The rush of emotion catches me unawares, and I find myself blinking back the tears then hugging her again.

A manly cough interrupts our love-in. ‘Well, there’s no bubbly, but I can do a mean mini glass of beer if you want to celebrate?’

I look at Freddie. ‘Mini?’

‘We’re going to have to share a bottle. Last one, I was saving it for …’

‘A special occasion?’

‘The footie.’

‘I appreciate the sacrifice.’

‘So do I.’ Rachel is nodding furiously.

He grins and we toast the bride to be with a tot of lager in shot glasses.

‘I suppose I better get back to the hotel and,’ she does little quote signs with her fingers, ‘get networking.’

‘I suppose I better get back to my unpacking and packing.’

We hug on the doorstep, Freddie yells a goodbye from his position where he’s hunkered down on the sofa.

‘Have a great time in Brighton.’ She winks. ‘You never know!’

‘Rachel, don’t be disgusting, that would be like shagging your brother!’

She shrugs. ‘Well, you never know, and he is kinda cute now he’s grown up.’

I do an eye roll. ‘So are kittens.’

‘Well, get one of those!’

‘No!’

‘Shit is that the time? I’m going to get crucified if I don’t make it before the bar shuts. I better run.’

We hug again and she half steps out, then turns and grasps my hands in hers.

‘Christ, I nearly forgot! You will be my bridesmaid, won’t you? I just kind of assumed, but say, yes, please say, yes!’ She’s crushing my fingers and jiggling about.

‘You betcha.’ She finally let’s go, so I high-five her. ‘I’d have been gutted if you hadn’t asked!’

‘Girlie night when you get back, so you can meet the others! That’s what I was planning at Jax. You are going to get such a shock when you see who they are!’

‘Really? So, I’m not your one and only.’ I do a pretend pout. ‘Who?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see, but you will be totes gobsmacked!’ She shakes her head, then suddenly whoops and claps. ‘Oh my God! Wow! I know!’ She’s got a crazy grin on her face, which is a bit scary. ‘Why didn’t I think of it earlier? Scrub Jax bar, we’ll all come to Brighton! It’ll be way more fun.’

‘Brighton?’ I stare at her blankly.

‘Brighton! Next week! Oh my God, it’ll be ace, we can all get the late train back or stay over. I’m sure they will be up for it. You are going to be so amazed!’

‘But …’

‘Oh, no, I’m ruining your love fest, aren’t I?’

‘It’s not a love fest!’

‘You’ve gone red!’

‘I always go red when I’m embarrassed.’

‘Because you’d planned a shagathon!’

‘No.’ I clamp my hand over her mouth. ‘Shhh, he’ll hear.’

‘You do fancy him though.’ She’s all muffled, but I know exactly what she’s saying. She might as well be shouting it through a loud hailer.

‘I bloody don’t. He’s just Freddie.’ I am embarrassed, I am as hot as a hot tin roof that a cat can’t stand on. ‘He’s he’s …’ Has she been in my head, seen all those rude visions of Freddie licking cream off my nipples and kissing my neck? I mean, all that doesn’t mean I fancy him in real life, nobody would ever accuse me of thinking I could have a relationship with Bradley Cooper just because I can totally see him throwing me naked onto the lid of a grand piano, are they? See.

‘You’ve gone really bright red now! I knew it!’

‘You don’t know anything! I was thinking about Bradley Cooper actually. Freddie is a friend. I don’t think of him like that!’ Which is partly true, I don’t actually think of him being like that in real life, it’s just a weird fantasy that keeps me happy. It also saves me spending hours on Tinder trying to find somebody I want to swipe right.

‘Ha!’

‘He’s not sexy!’ I might have shouted that bit. Partly to cover up the fact that the in-my-head Freddie is sexier than any man I’ve ever known. But that is because he’s the fantasy Freddie. Not the real Freddie.

‘Whatever.’ She shakes herself free. But she’s grinning. ‘So, are we on, then? Can we all come to Brighton?’

‘You can come to Brighton!’

‘That is so cool.’ She has a broad smile on her face and looks very pleased with herself. ‘Brighton rocks!’ She gives me the thumbs up and squeals.

‘How many is all?’

I don’t get an answer. She is off down the steps and slamming the front door behind her before I can object.

I stand, catching flies, then close my mouth.

There are two big issues here: 1. Michael. Michael is a very big issue. If she’s actually going to marry him, do I tell her now about his ‘transgression’, before it’s too late? I mean, what if he was lying and he’s had ‘transgressions’ before? What if she thinks I’m trying to fuck up her wedding on purpose? Or just un-asks me to be a bridesmaid, and un-friends me. In real life, not just on Facebook. And issue number 2. The (as yet unnamed) bridesmaids. Pretending I’m partay-ing in Ibiza when I’m pounding the prom in Brighton had at least a remote chance of success when only me and Freddie were in on it, but is the week really going to be leak free if there’s a big girls’ night out involved?

I turn round and Freddie is there, a strange half-smile on his face.

‘Shit, did you hear that?’

‘Some of it.’

‘Sorry, she’s mad. She’s just desperate to hook me up with another guy, God she’s so embarrassing.’ My voice tails off. Which bit did he hear? I was pretty loud when I said he wasn’t sexy. And he is. Not that I want him to know I think that, of course, but I’d be gutted if even Ron, the beer-bellied, bum hanging-out, belching builder from number 27 bellowed that down the street about me. And if I heard Freddie say it I’d be mortified.

Devastated.

‘You are, er, sexy. Very.’ I think I’m digging a hole here. ‘Lots of people think so.’

‘But not you?’ He’s smiling, but it’s tinged with something I don’t quite understand.

‘Oh, I do, too. Definitely. I just didn’t want Rach to jump to any kind of, you know, she’s about to get married and she’s all loved and thinks everybody else should be.’

‘And you don’t want to be?’

‘Not, er, right now.’ I flap the bottom of my T-shirt, hoping the fresh air will go all the way up to my face. ‘You know I don’t.’

I look at Freddie. Freddie looks at me. ‘And not with me?’

‘Well, er, if I was looking, I mean, I wouldn’t, er, put you in the “no-way” category.’ He’s frowning. ‘You’d be much higher than “no-way”. Definitely. I think maybe I should stop now before I embarrass myself. You. Both of us.’

‘I’m cool, not embarrassed at all. In fact, I’m quite intrigued about this no-way category and where I fit. Feel free to carry on.’ He grins. A proper Freddie grin.

Right now, I could just jump him, give him a smacker and tell him exactly where he sits on the sexy scale. But he’s my bloody friend, and one kiss would ruin everything for ever. On an embarrassment scale if nothing else. And, I mean, let’s face it, I’m totally in love with him as a friend, but I already know he’s not ready to settle down, don’t I? We’d be doomed. I’d be in a worse mess than post-Andy. Because at least then I had Freddie.

‘I’ll shut up. Safer.’ I need to change the conversation here, I glance round, desperate for inspiration. Then spot my case. Ha-ha! ‘We need to talk about Brighton, what the hell are we going to do about Brighton? They’re all coming!’

He shrugs, takes the one and half strides it takes to reach the sofa, and switches the TV on. Then he pats the sofa, inviting me to join him. ‘We need Mission Impossible – Tom would know what to do!’

We’re cool.