Bridesmaids (15 page)

The reception is in a huge room packed with the sort of wedding paraphernalia you wouldn’t usually find outside a twenty-page
Hello!
magazine spread. There are four-foot table centrepieces made from white roses and feathers, an eight-tier cake covered in white chocolate and berries, and an enormous net above us filled with balloons.

‘Aren’t the feathers fun?’ says my mother, approaching me with two glasses in her hand. ‘I must ask Georgia where she got them from.’

‘Given that your reception is being held
in a field
, Mum, I’m not sure the Full Length and Fabulous look would quite work,’ I reply, taking a glass from her.

‘Oh, I wasn’t thinking about them for the reception,’ she says. ‘I thought I could get a head-dress made. You know, something a bit
Moulin Rouge
. Of course, they’d need to be in a colour to match my dress. I told you I’ve settled on green, didn’t I?’

Whether the Isles of Scilly were ready for my mother’s dress sense, I’m not entirely sure, but her unique style is unleashed on them to full effect today. She has chosen a
purple poncho, a floppy sixties-style hat and a skirt so short that it should be illegal for a woman her age.

The only positive thing I could possibly say about this ensemble is that she has at least got half-decent legs. It’s just a shame they’re currently sporting a pair of orange paisley tights that make her look as if she is suffering from the early stages of gangrene.

‘Hello,’ says a voice, and I whirl around, my pulse racing. It’s Jack. ‘I thought you must have been swept out to sea, you were all outside with that photographer for so long.’

‘Tell me about it,’ I say, gazing into his eyes.

He looks back at me as if he’s trying to tell me something. I just can’t quite work out what.

‘I’m Jack,’ he says eventually, extending his hand for my mother to shake.

Oh God,
my mother
. For some reason I’d had momentary amnesia about her being present. In her mad hat. And hideous tights. And…
oh Mum, please behave yourself.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she says, smiling. ‘I’m Sarah–Evie’s mum. You’re one of my daughter’s ex-boyfriends, I presume?’

The woman is a liability.

‘No, Mum,’ I leap in. ‘Jack is—’

‘Oh, sorry. It’s just that she seems to have amassed so many of them these days,’ she adds, for good measure. ‘Everywhere I go, I bump into someone she’s been out with.’

‘
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
’ I blurt out, wanting to throttle her. ‘That’s a good one, Mum. Anyway, er, right…er…’

I’m trying to steer the conversation around to a subject that won’t let my mother embarrass me. But somehow it’s very difficult to think of one.

‘Well, it’s great to meet you, Sarah,’ says Jack. ‘Although
I’d already guessed you were mother and daughter. You look very alike.’

God help me! I hope he doesn’t think I’ve got a similar wardrobe.

‘Ooh, just excuse me for a second,’ says my mum. ‘I’m absolutely starved.’

I’m hoping she’s going to disappear to try to find something to eat, but sadly not. Instead, she almost rugby tackles a waitress passing with a tray of canapés right in front of us.

‘You don’t know whether any of these are organic, do you?’ she asks.

The waitress, who looks like she’s barely old enough to have left school, shakes her head. ‘I don’t. Sorry.’

‘Anything with gelatine in?’

The girl shakes her head again. ‘Not sure,’ she says.

‘Anything vegan?’

‘Er, I think maybe that’s a spinach one,’ she says, pointing at something vaguely green perched on top of a square of puff pastry.

‘And the pastry hasn’t got any animal fat in?’

‘I’m not really sure.’

‘Mum,’ I interrupt. ‘Do you really have to ask all this?’

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘And you should too, young lady, with your allergies.’

My allergies consist of one–to shellfish–and even then I haven’t had a reaction to that in years.

‘Now, where was I,’ says my mother. ‘How about the eggs–are they free-range?’

The waitress looks as though, if she’s asked another question, her head might explode.

‘I can go and ask Chef, if you’d like,’ she offers.

My mother shrugs. ‘Tell you what, I’ll take my chances, shall I?’ she says, and proceeds to load up a napkin with enough canapés for a small family to survive on for two days.

I try to think of something to say to Jack to distract him from this bizarre interlude, but again, I’m struggling to find anything appropriate.

‘Is your bedroom nice?’ I enquire, and immediately realise he might think I’m looking for an invitation to a private view.

‘Not because I want to see it,’ I add hastily. ‘Well, I mean, I wouldn’t
mind
seeing it. But, not because I want to–well, you know.’ Oh God.

‘Er, mine’s got a veranda,’ I offer. You prat, Evie. Even my mother has paused from wolfing down her canapés and is wondering what I’m going on about.

‘Yes, it is,’ says Jack.

‘It is what?’ I ask. ‘I mean, what is? I mean…
what
?’

‘Yes, my bedroom is nice,’ he says calmly. ‘And it’s got a veranda overlooking the bay. Actually, it’s spectacular. I’ve never been to the Scillies before and I’m starting to wonder why. It’d be nice to come back for a bit longer, some time.’

‘Hmm, it is a lovely place, isn’t it?’ says my mum. ‘And all this luxury is such a treat. I’m not used to it. My holidays are usually very different.’

Oh no. Don’t mention the week clearing up pollution in Egypt. Don’t mention the week clearing up pollution in Egypt. Please don’t mention the week clearing up pollution in Egypt.

‘I’ve just spent a week clearing up pollution in Egypt,’ Mum announces.

‘Funnily enough, a girl I work with did something similar,’
says Jack. ‘She loved it. And she actually made it sound enjoyable.’

‘You see?’ says my mother to me. She then turns back to Jack. ‘Evie thinks I’m mad.’

‘I know you’re mad,’ I mutter.

‘Well, I can see why it wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea,’ says Jack. ‘But I’d choose it over a week in Benidorm any day.’

‘You see?’ Mum repeats to me. ‘That’s what I think. Evie, you should listen to your friends more.’

I do not like the way this conversation is going.

‘Well, yes,’ I say, ‘I’d choose it over a week in Benidorm too,’ which isn’t actually true, ‘but there are lots of other places I’d rather go to instead. I’m not one of these people whose idea of foreign travel doesn’t extend beyond an 18-30s brochure, as you know.’

‘Well, no,’ says my mum. ‘Plus, you’ll soon be too old anyway.’

The table plan may have been hand-crafted from crystals and white gold leaf, but there is one thing I don’t like about it. Jack and I are not sitting together.

Worse still, he has been put next to another bridesmaid, Georgia’s Cousin Beth. Not only is she years younger than me, but with her sultry brunette looks she is effortlessly glamorous.

Still, it’s not all bad. I am at least sitting next to Jim, which will give me the opportunity to find out whether he likes Charlotte’s new look.

‘What do you think of Charlotte’s transformation?’ I ask as the starter arrives.

‘She looks incredible,’ says Jim. ‘Really different. Although I thought she looked nice before too.’

I grin.

‘Every time I see you, you ask me about Charlotte,’ he adds. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to set us up.’

‘Me?’ I say. ‘Nothing could have been further from my mind.’

I pause for a second while he raises a sceptical eyebrow.

‘All right, if I were,’ I continue, ‘and I mean
if
–you could do far worse than Charlotte. She’s an absolute angel.’

Jim laughs. ‘Very subtle,’ he says. ‘But look, I know. I don’t need any persuasion.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No. I told you last time,’ he says. ‘I think she’s lovely.’

I’m waiting for the ‘but’ as in, ‘I think she’s lovely
but
I just don’t fancy her.’

‘And I really like her,’ he concludes.

‘But?’ I say.

‘There’s no but,’ he tells me. ‘I like her. Really like her. There, you happy now?’

‘When you say you
like
her,’ I persist, taking another mouthful of my smoked salmon and lime crème fraiche, ‘
really
like her, do you mean you’re interested in her, you know,
romantically
?’

Even I think this sounds ridiculously twee, but I can’t think of any other way of putting it.

‘Yes,’ he grins. ‘God, what more do I have to say? Yes, I think she’s lovely. Yes, I’m interested in her. Yes, I fancy her. You satisfied now?’

‘You
fancy
her?’ I echo, nearly leaping out of my seat. ‘Really? That’s fantastic! That’s bloody fantastic. God, you’re made for each other.’

‘Hmm. I’m not so sure,’ he says.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ he says, ‘I don’t think the feeling’s mutual.’

I can’t believe this guy.

‘But it is!’ I tell him. ‘I promise you it is.’

‘Hmm,’ he says again, clearly unconvinced. ‘I just never got that impression.’

‘Oh, that’s just Charlotte,’ I say. ‘She’s hopeless. What I mean is, she can be a bit shy. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘And you think that’s all it is?’

‘Definitely. Leave it with me,’ I say.

I can’t wait to tell Charlotte the news.

I don’t actually need to go to the loo. But heading to the ladies after dessert at least allows me to make a long and completely unnecessary diversion past Jack’s table. I straighten my dress and breathe in as I head in his direction, trying to conceal the alarming and immediate effect a large piece of cheesecake with wild berry compote has had on the shape of my stomach.

As I approach, I see Beth leaning on the table towards Jack, laughing, twirling a piece of hair round her finger and pouting so much she’d make Angelina Jolie look as if she needed lip implants. She, I notice guiltily, has declined her dessert. I attempt to breathe in even further and start to walk past, hoping Jack might catch my eye.

But he doesn’t–and I bet I know why. If there were such a thing as a flirting contest, Beth would be going for a record-breaking gold medal. She’s gazing into his eyes so deeply, he must have as intimate a knowledge of her corneas as an optician by now.

From the angle I’m at right now, I can’t see Jack’s face–despite my straining to see what his reaction is to this full-on flirtation. But from behind, I can’t help thinking he doesn’t
look overly worried about the fact that his personal space is being invaded with all the determination of a crack military squad. I feel a stab of jealousy. And I don’t like it one bit.

I force myself to snap out of it by doing a U-turn and taking another route to the loo, grabbing Charlotte on the way. It may as well not be a completely wasted journey.

‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ I say, linking her arm with mine.

‘What?’ she says.

‘Jim fancies you.’

‘So you keep saying,’ she says, rolling her eyes.

‘No, but this time I’m not speculating about it,’ I tell her enthusiastically. ‘He actually said it.’

‘Oh,’ she says.

It’s not exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. I can only think that she doesn’t believe me.

‘Charlotte, honestly, I’m not making this up, or embellishing it, or anything. He
said he fancied you
,’ I say. ‘As clear as a bell.’

‘Okay,’ she says, deadpan.

‘Well, aren’t you happy?’ I ask, incredulous. ‘I thought you liked him.’

‘I do like him,
as a friend
,’ she tells me.

I think about this for a second.

‘You’re not telling me that you actually don’t fancy him? As in, you
really
don’t fancy him?’ I ask, scarcely believing this is a plausible explanation.

‘Really,’ she says. ‘I am saying exactly that.’

I frown. ‘But he really, really fancies you, Charlotte, and he’s absolutely gorgeous.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, Evie, but the feeling isn’t mutual,’ she
says, starting to get uncharacteristically exasperated. ‘I don’t know what else to say about it.’

I’m struggling to know how to react to this.

‘Well, I’m not going to flog a dead horse, Charlotte, but I have to say I’m surprised,’ I tell her. ‘He’s good-looking, he’s intelligent, he’s really nice, and now he’s admitted publicly that he fancies you. Christ, what more do you want?’

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she sighs. Then off she goes into a cubicle, with a piece of loo roll stuck to her heel. Before I’ve even had a chance to defend myself.

I decide I may as well use the loo after all, and go into the cubicle next to her. Just as I am about to come out, I recognise a voice coming from outside. It’s Beth, talking to her fellow sickeningly slim and gorgeous bridesmaid, Gina.

‘He’s actually given you his phone number?’ Gina is asking.

I take my hand off the lock and decide I’d quite like to overhear this conversation.

‘I’ve got it right here,’ says Beth, giggling. ‘Hasn’t he got lovely writing? Who am I kidding, hasn’t he got lovely everything?’

Gina laughs now.

I put the lid down on the loo seat and sit on it to contemplate the situation. Why do I have a horrible feeling I know who they’re talking about?

‘So when are you going to phone him?’ asks Gina.

‘Depends,’ replies Beth, ‘on whether or not I manage to shag him tonight!’

They both collapse into giggles and, for some reason, I start to feel a bit queasy. That extra dollop of wild-berry compote was definitely a mistake. I’m dying to stay and listen in
on more of this but am concerned that if I don’t come out soon, someone will think I’ve collapsed in here and try to break the door down. I turn the lock and walk over to the sink.

Charlotte, it appears, has already gone.

‘Hi!’ I say brightly to Gina and Beth.

‘Hi!’ they reply in unison.

‘You two enjoying yourselves?’ I ask cheerily.

‘
She
certainly is,’ says Gina, nodding over to Beth, and they both start laughing.

‘Oh?’ I say, a picture of innocence. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ says Beth. ‘I just hit the jackpot on the seating plan, that’s all. Actually, the guy I’m next to, Jack–I think he said he knows you, Evie. Vaguely, anyway.’

‘Yeah, he does,’ I reply, throwing my towel into the bin. ‘He does know me. Vaguely.’