Always the Bridesmaid

Why was he touching me? How could I make him keep touching me? And then how could I turn that into him marrying me and making a baby so I could put it on Facebook for Seb to see?

Thomas the usher didn’t look nearly as happy about my current situation as I was. He gave me one last warning look before turning back towards the party.

‘Bye, Thomas,’ I called.

‘Yeah, bye, Thomas,’ Will echoed, laughing as he turned towards me. ‘You’re funny.’

‘Am I?’

I certainly didn’t feel funny. At least not funny ha-ha.

‘Yeah.’ He peeled his arm away and leaned back on his elbows to take a better look at me. I knew that after a long day at work and several hours in a steamy kitchen I didn’t look my best, but there was nothing I could do now, so I kept my eyes trained on his right ear and hoped for the best. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Maddie,’ I said, a horrible squawk of a laugh bubbling from my lips, as though my name was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. ‘Are you having a good time?’

‘Maddie,’ he repeated, ignoring my question. ‘What did Thomas want?’

‘We were just talking.’ I waved my hands around aimlessly. ‘About nothing. He wasn’t being a knobhead.’

‘Makes a change,’ he drawled. ‘Doesn’t matter though, does it? At least he’s gone. You’re safe now.’

‘Am I?’ I asked. Isn’t that what murderers say right before they kill you?

We were completely alone, no one around but random shadows thrown across the lawn by the party going on inside and a Kanye West soundtrack that I would not have chosen for this moment.

Will was still staring at me, a big smile on his face. It was most disconcerting.

‘I liked your toast,’ I said, smiling back, possibly looking a bit like a loon. ‘Very important job, best man. You were great.’

He ran his hand across his five o’clock shadow, still considering me. I surreptitiously licked my lips and combed a few loose strands of hair behind my ears.

‘Very important job,’ he agreed finally. ‘But it’s been a long day. Too much standing around for my liking. I’m knackered.’

‘It has been a long day,’ I agreed, smoothing the back of my hands across my shiny nose. ‘At least it’s almost over.’

‘You’re done for the night?’ he asked.

I nodded. He nodded back, and then, without warning, slapped my bare thigh so hard I let out a yelp and bit my lip.

‘Listen, Maddie, I was actually planning on sneaking out when I saw you out here,’ he said, jumping to his feet and holding out his hand. ‘Don’t suppose I can give you a lift anywhere?’

This was it. This was the moment. Or at least, it felt a lot like a moment. The kind of situation that a girl who blow-dried her hair properly and got professional manicures would know how to deal with. I glanced down at my bare, bitten-down nails and breathed in. Think of the money you’ll save on a taxi, I told myself. It’s just a lift, I told myself.

‘That would be very nice of you,’ I said, pushing my shoulders back and trying to look more confident than I felt. ‘But I don’t want to put you out. Which way are you going?’

He smiled again, and this time there was no mistaking what he meant.

‘I’ll drop you off,’ he said, helping me to my feet without asking where I lived. ‘Come on.’

‘Only if it’s on your way,’ I said, holding back a Tigger-like bounce in my walk when he did not let go of my hand. ‘Really.’

‘Maddie, I will drop you off,’ he said again, squeezing my fingers as we walked towards the car park. ‘It’s not a problem.’

And that was how, for the first time in thirty-one years, I woke up with a strange man in my bed.

5

Sunday May 17th

Today I feel: Slutty in a good way.

Today I am thankful for: Netflix, Lauren and Mini Cheddars.

I woke up first the next morning, Will still face down in his pillow, snoring and enjoying the deep, restful sleep of a man who had performed. I hadn’t slept quite so well. I don’t know how anyone can relax in bed with a complete stranger, even if they’ve just seen every last little bit of you, up close and personal. Actually sleeping with someone is a lot more intimate than sleeping with someone, as far as I’m concerned.

Rather than wake him up and have to actually converse with the man, I did the only sensible thing I could do. I snuck out of bed, locked myself in the bathroom and panicked. I’d had a one-night stand. I was fairly certain it had been a good one, but it had been a while, and despite what people might say, it was nothing like riding a bike. Or if it was, I was doing it wrong.

‘Hello, what’s wrong, are you OK? You’re still coming to the party, right?’

Lauren would know what to do. Sensible, sweet Lauren.

‘I brought a man home,’ I hissed into my phone, shoving a towel under the bathroom door to muffle the sound of my voice. ‘Last night. I did it with a man. He’s still here. What do I do?’

‘Go you!’ she replied, only sounding slightly surprised. ‘Is he hot? Do you like him? Is he coming to the party?’

‘He is hot,’ I said, examining myself for love bites and thankfully coming up clean. ‘I think I like him, and no, he isn’t coming to the party.’

‘Oh.’ She only sounded slightly disappointed. ‘I think I’ve overcatered. How did you meet him? Tinder?’

‘I deleted Tinder off my phone to make room for the Taylor Swift album.’

‘The last one?’

‘Yep.’

‘Totally worth it.’

‘Totally worth it,’ I agreed, randomly taking the lids off my various lotions and potions and wondering which one would make me look less grey. ‘He was at the wedding I worked yesterday.’

‘Nice.’ Lauren sounded genuinely impressed. ‘Good work.’

I patted a thick white moisturizer onto one cheek. ‘Thank you?’

‘Maddie, it’s not even nine a.m. on a Sunday,’ she yawned. ‘Did you want something, or did you just call to brag now I’m practically an old married woman?’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I whispered, closing the toilet lid and sitting down carefully, wiping off the cream with a tissue. ‘I’ve never done this before.’

‘You’ve never brought a guy home before?’ I could hear her racking her mental archives even as she spoke. ‘Jesus, woman. You’re two years late on your rebound.’

‘Just tell me what to do,’ I said, wondering whether or not he would stay asleep long enough for me to paint my toenails. Of course they didn’t matter last night, but they mattered this morning. If only to me.

‘Baby’s first one-night stand,’ Lauren cooed. ‘This is so awesome. I am so touched that you called me. Not that you could call Sarah right now, I guess.’

‘Yeah, I can’t imagine that call going well,’ I replied, wincing. ‘Now back to me. Please.’

‘Go easy − you want to look totally natural. Clean your teeth, wash your face, put on mascara and lip balm, maybe a little powder if you’re shiny, but that’s all,’ she instructed. ‘What are you wearing?’

‘Last night’s shirt and my not terribly attractive knickers,’ I said, sniffing myself. ‘Are you turned on?’

‘You want to look cute and comfortable,’ Lauren said. ‘Like, a loose sweater, something lived-in, like you wear it all the time. But a nice one. Do you have any cashmere?’

‘No, I don’t have a nice, baggy, post-coital cashmere jumper in my bathroom,’ I replied. As if I wasn’t stressed enough about my chipped toenails, now I had to worry about not having enough premium knitwear to flounce around the house in as well? ‘Forget what I’m wearing, what do I actually do?’

‘Honey, if I’ve got to tell you that, I’m not sure how you got him home with you in the first place.’

‘I don’t mean sexing,’ I whispered. Maybe I should have called Sarah. Or my mum. Or anyone else alive. ‘I mean, what do I do? What do I say?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lauren replied. ‘Just be cool.’

Oh. Be cool. Of course.

‘Act like it’s no big deal,’ she carried on before I could kick her arse. ‘Or just tell him you have plans and he has to leave.’

‘OK.’

‘You do want him to leave, right?’

I stared at the patchwork paint job on my toes and considered this.

On one hand, he was a handsome man who wanted to put his penis in me and owned his own car. On the other hand, he was, to all intents and purposes, a stranger who had willingly put his penis in me without so much as asking my last name. I probably did want him to leave. He probably wanted to leave.

‘It’s just a one-night thing,’ I said, convincing myself. ‘He was the best man at the wedding. Everyone wants a shag at a wedding, don’t they?’

‘He was best man?’ Lauren asked. ‘And he went home with you?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

She guffawed down the line with her throaty American laugh. Lauren has an excellent laugh. It’s big and deep and makes women clap and men’s underwear fall off. ‘I’m just saying the best man usually has the pick of the crowd. Good going, girl. You needed to get back on the horse.’

‘It’s nothing like riding a bike and it’s nothing like riding a horse,’ I grumbled. ‘Why do people say that?’

‘Maybe you’re doing it wrong?’ she suggested.

Dear God, my greatest fear come true.

‘Maddie?’

‘Lauren?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Bathroom.’

We’ve been on the phone for kind of a while − you should probably go.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, fluffing my hair and then immediately smoothing it down. ‘It’s fine, isn’t it? Totally fine.’

‘See you later,’ she said. ‘I want to hear all the gory details.’

‘A lady never tells,’ I replied. ‘And you’re disgusting. Love you.’

I hung up, stashed my phone in with the spare loo rolls and stared into the mirror. My green eyes were a bit red, but I had eye drops that could fix that. My hair was my hair and didn’t look any better up or down, so I decided to leave it down for sexy flicking-around purposes, and as for the rest of it, he’d already seen me completely naked from every angle so there wasn’t a lot I could do about any of that.

At least it was one less thing to worry about.

‘Now all I need is a baggy, lived-in, sexy jumper that’s nice,’ I told myself. ‘And the job’s done.’

‘Morning.’

When Will emerged from the bedroom, I was carefully padding around my kitchen in slouchy sports socks, a sort-of clean T-shirt and the Marks & Sparks cardigan my mum had left last time she came to visit. It was a carefully put-together outfit based on something I’d seen in a Nivea commercial slash the clothes that were in my bathroom and seemed all right for the ‘Oh hi, random man I brought home with me last night, hair toss, hair toss’ attitude I was attempting to give off.

‘Morning,’ I squeaked.

Will was standing in the middle of my flat completely stark bollock naked. Bollock being the operative word. This never happened on Nivea commercials. My mother’s cardigan was aghast.

‘I was starting to wonder where you were.’ He stretched, man parts flopping as he went, and wandered across the room to park himself on a bar stool in front of the breakfast bar. Naked. ‘I thought you’d done a runner from your own house for a minute.’

‘I was going to make coffee,’ I said, trying very hard not to look at his penis. But it was like staring into an eclipse: you knew it was bad for you and you still couldn’t help it. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Love some,’ he replied, staring out of my window. Oh dear God, the neighbours. Mrs Meakin’s heart wouldn’t be able to take something like this.

‘So, big plans today?’ I asked, shaking as I pulled out the cutlery drawer. Femme fatale I was not.

‘No,’ Will replied, still naked. ‘I’d more or less written the day off for a hangover. You know how weddings can be. Happily, not the case.’

‘Yeah,’ I nodded, trying not to spill the milk. ‘Weddings, eh?’

‘I’ve got some work to do.’ He tapped his fingers on the kitchen counter and gave my flat the once-over. Happily it was a bit cloudy out so you couldn’t quite see how incredibly filthy it was. Job number one after he left, dusting. Actually, that would be job number three after I’d Dettoxed the stool he was sitting on and had a brief lie down. ‘But, you know, nothing major.’

‘You’ve got to work?’ I asked, but in a totally cool way. ‘I don’t actually know what you do.’

‘I’m an associate at a law firm in town,’ he said, resting his elbows on the counter while I expertly boiled the kettle. ‘I went to law school with Ian.’

I was cursed only ever to be penetrated by men in the legal profession. I suppose it could be worse, but really, was a doctor or an architect too much to ask for?

‘That other man was a lawyer,’ I said, memories coming back to me. ‘From last night. The usher.’

‘Thomas?’ Will pulled a sour-milk face. ‘Yeah, he was in law school with us but he dropped out, so he didn’t qualify when we did.’

‘Why did he drop out?’ I sniffed my own pint of semi-skimmed and thanked the gods of Cravendale for lasting one day past their best-before date.

‘I don’t remember,’ he shrugged, accepting his mug of instant coffee as though it was a golden chalice full of unicorn tears. ‘Because he was shit, most likely.’

It seemed as though I shouldn’t take Thomas’s pep talk from the night before too seriously after all.

‘Do you like it?’ I asked, sipping my coffee and considering him a little more closely. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to leave. Maybe I could afford to be very slightly optimistic. ‘Being a lawyer?’

‘I don’t like the hours,’ he replied, scratching his stubble. On his face, not his neatly topiaried man parts. ‘But the money’s good. And it’s interesting. Do you like your job?’

‘Most of the time,’ I said, not wanting to go into the details. That seemed like a drunk-under-a-tree–with-a-complete-stranger conversation, not a bright Sunday morning didn’t-you-have-your-penis-in-me-a-few-hours-ago-stranger conversation. ‘Unless I have to play waitress for a lot of drunk people. I work for the company that planned the wedding, I was only waitressing yesterday to help out.’

‘Sounds fun.’ He glugged his coffee and smiled. ‘I can’t imagine spending every weekend at a wedding. It must be knackering.’

‘Well, we do all kinds of things,’ I replied, almost for one second forgetting he was naked. And then remembering again. ‘Weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. Sometimes corporate stuff. I’m working on a birthday thing and an engagement party at the moment. Keeps me on my toes.’

‘The last party I had was for my eighteenth,’ Will said. ‘My best friends got me a dodgy stripper and my mum cried. We had it in the village hall. Good times.’

‘Our events tend to be a bit more involved than that,’ I said. I wanted to be diplomatic, but I also wanted the image of a ropey middle-aged village stripper with a fag hanging out of her mouth while she rubbed her boobs on eighteen-year-old Will’s face out of my head ASAP. ‘But I’ve organized burlesque performances before.’

‘Do you fill in for the dancers if they call in sick as well?’ he asked with a shimmy that should never be performed by a naked man, no matter how handsome. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

I stood in the middle of my messy kitchen, in my carefully careless outfit, holding my ancient Garfield mug and staring at the nude stranger on the bar stool.

‘God, I was only joking,’ Will said, abandoning his stool and coming over to me. I swallowed hard and looked up at him for as long as I could stand to make eye contact. Which was about four seconds. ‘I’m not asking you to strip for me or anything. Not right now, anyway.’

‘I don’t do this,’ I said, holding my mug of hot coffee away from his body and ignoring the semi that was starting to bother my thigh. ‘I don’t usually go home with people.’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself,’ Will said, still standing in front of me, his peen properly waking up and poking me in the leg. ‘I’m not judging you.’

‘I bet everyone says that, though, don’t they?’ I tried to reach the kitchen top to put my mug down but it was too far away. ‘I bet everyone says “Ooh, I don’t usually do this”.’

‘I don’t know,’ he muttered into my ear, his hands circling my waist and resting on my bum. ‘I don’t usually do this either.’

There wasn’t enough time for me to work out whether he was making a joke, telling the truth or taking the piss, because the next thing I knew, we were awkwardly clambering down onto the floor, my mum’s cardigan was off and we were doing it on the kitchen floor.

Which is a part I will leave out when I tell the grandkids about how we met but have already texted to all my friends. Obviously.

Being a bridesmaid is a huge honour but it’s also a celebration! Tell us all about your bride and your special friendship in the spaces below:

Tell us about the day you met your bride:

We were flatmates at uni and I was very excited to meet a proper American. She bought our love with Peppermint Patties and Reese’s Pieces and Maybelline Great Lash mascara. It was a simpler time.

What were your first impressions of her?

I thought she was incredibly glamorous because she was from New York and she had really cool clothes, like proper Levis and Abercrombie & Fitch jumpers, and she said ‘sneakers’ instead of ‘trainers’. She was sweet and funny and thoughtful, and even though she was nice, she was never a drip. She just seemed so much more grown-up than us.

What were your first impressions of her husband-to-be?

Before I met him, all I knew was that Michael had bought Lauren a Swiffer sweeper for her birthday. Entirely without irony. When I met him at Lauren’s party, we had a perfectly nice conversation about dinosaur erotica and the price of Kentucky Fried Chicken. I still haven’t got over that Swiffer though.

Share a happy memory from when you met your bride-to-be:

Lauren had never had a drink until she moved to England. We changed that pretty quickly and introduced her to snakebite and black. Unfortunately she drank one too many and threw up all over the Student Union toilets and was barred for the rest of the semester. Maybe you had to be there.

What life lesson have you learned from your friendship?

She was the first person who made me look at the wider world and realize there was more out there. She also taught me how to make fajitas, and you can’t put a price on something like that.

6

Sunday May 17th, evening

Today I feel: Full.

Today I am thankful for: Food.

‘Bloody hell.’

When Lauren had sent out the e-vites for her engagement party at her dad’s house, we figured we were looking at a lovely Sunday afternoon of handmade sandwiches in the living room with a glass of Pimm’s in the garden if we were lucky.

It was ten years since we’d been to Lauren’s dad’s house. Lauren’s dad had moved.

‘How is this somewhere people actually live?’ Sarah asked, handing her coat to one of the two people clamouring over it at the front door. ‘Are they his servants? Does he have servants?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered, taking a glass of champagne from another bow-tied helper. ‘When did he get this rich?’

We knew Lauren was From Money, but the last time I checked it wasn’t Scrooge McDuck money. I half expected to open a cupboard and have bags of gold coins fall out and smother me.

‘Maybe he won the lottery and she didn’t tell us,’ Sarah suggested as we were shown through the house and out into a marquee in the back garden. ‘Maybe she thought we’d feel weird about it.’

‘She would be right,’ I replied. ‘This is insane.’

A string quartet played in the corner of the marquee and fairy lights were strung all across the ceiling, fighting the dismal British weather to create a happy atmosphere. In the middle of it all stood Lauren, happily clutching Michael her Swiffer-loving fiancé’s arm.

‘Hey!’ She broke away the moment she saw us and rushed over as fast as her four-inch heels would carry her. ‘You’re here!’

‘Nice shoes,’ I said, accepting a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

‘Thanks,’ she said, kicking up a heel as she hugged Sarah. ‘I was thinking about these for your bridesmaid shoes, actually.’

‘All the better to break an ankle in,’ I replied. ‘So, um, when did your dad become the head of an international drug cartel? Because that’s the only person I can imagine would live in this house.’

‘Oh, haha,’ she replied, taking a glass of champagne from another waiter.

Sarah grabbed a second, her first almost finished. ‘What?’ She shrugged.

‘He’s an estate agent,’ Lauren said, waving at more people as they arrived. ‘He gets good deals on houses.’

‘Especially when he has the previous owners killed,’ Sarah added. ‘I’ve always got a Mafia vibe off your dad. Is that how he ended up in America? Is that how he met your mum?’

‘He’s not in the Mafia and he doesn’t run a drug cartel,’ she replied. ‘He’s just having a good year. And since my mom got remarried, he doesn’t have to pay her alimony any more. That probably helps.’

‘Is your mum here?’ Sarah asked, checking the marquee with fear in her eyes. ‘Please tell me she couldn’t make it.’

‘She couldn’t make it,’ Lauren said, entirely unimpressed. ‘It’s a long way for her. She sent flowers. She’ll come for the wedding, obviously. I don’t know why you’re so afraid of her.’

‘Lauren, your mother is the only woman on earth who has ever knocked me out,’ Sarah replied, rubbing her jaw to nurse a ten-year-old injury. ‘And she’s thirty years older than me.’

‘You did hit on my dad,’ she pointed out. ‘It wasn’t totally undeserved.’

‘I didn’t know he was your dad,’ Sarah sulked, rubbing her jaw as though the punch had happened yesterday. ‘And looking at this place, I wish I’d tried harder.’

‘You could have been mother of the bride,’ I said, patting her on the back. ‘It would have been beautiful.’

‘If you’re going to invite drunk nineteen-year-olds to you dad’s company Christmas party, you should provide some sort of handout to tell them who they may and may not kiss under the mistletoe,’ she said. ‘Totally innocent mistake.’

‘You had your tongue so far down his throat, I nearly threw up,’ Lauren replied. ‘You’re lucky I ever spoke to you again.’

‘This is a beautiful party,’ I said loudly, watching as tray after tray after tray of food was brought out and passed around. ‘That is my official and professional opinion. Who did you use?’

‘For the party?’ Lauren asked. ‘No one. My step-mom put it together.’

I stared blankly. ‘In two days? She did all this in two days?’

She nodded.

‘God, maybe Colton-Bryers should hire her,’ I muttered. ‘At least you’ve got good help for the wedding then.’

‘But you’re going to help me with the wedding too, right?’ she said, sipping her champagne. ‘I don’t want to be an asshole since they’re throwing me this party and everything, but I don’t want my stepmother planning my wedding. Besides, you’re an actual wedding planner. And it would be way more fun if the three of us planned it together.’

Yes, I thought, saying nothing. It would be way more fun. Planning a wedding with bridezilla, a divorcée and a spinster. Sob. It seemed pointless trying to remind her I was an events organizer and not just a wedding planner so I didn’t. I just sulked about it silently, alone.

‘So where are you at?’ Sarah followed Lauren over to a plush white sofa set up in one corner of the marquee and sat down. ‘Is the whole thing planned and booked and paid for already?’

‘Oh I wish,’ she said, giving another new arrival a wave. ‘I don’t know how you do this every day, Maddie. Every time I think I’ve decided on something, there are another ten things to work out.’

‘That’s why it’s a job,’ I said. ‘It’s more work than you realize.’

‘Thank God I have you to help me,’ she beamed across the table. ‘My own personal wedding planner.’

‘Yeah, of course.’ I returned her smile, barely. One more time, not a wedding planner. ‘Have you decided on a date yet?’