It Had to Be You (29 page)

‘
Mel, hi it’s Binki.’

‘
Hey Binki, how are you …? Oh God, hold on. Ben, no, you can’t pe-pe there. Shit. Bloody three-year-old has just pissed on the new rug. I don’t know why the fuck we have a potty. It might as well be the dog’s drinking bowl. How you doing? Wedding plans coming on well?’

‘
Yeah great, I just want a bit of advice really,’ I say with a false laugh.

‘
Christ, not sure I’m up to that but fire away.’

‘
How did you feel six weeks before your wedding? I mean, did you have doubts?’

She laughs.

‘Doubts, bloody hell, I was planning the great escape for weeks before. Mind you, if I’d known what I know now I’d have taken that escape tunnel.’

‘
Oh really.’

‘
Ben, put that back. It’s not a toy. He’s got the sodding vibrator now,’ she says wearily. ‘Mind you, it’s the most it’s been used all year. Look honey, don’t listen to me. It’s a bad day. It’ll be great.’

‘
Right,’ I say.

‘
Better go, before he throws the thing down the loo or something. We’re looking forward to the big day by the way. We bought the Buddha painting on your list, nice, different.’

Ah, that was one of Oliver
’s. I was rather hoping no one would bother.

‘
Great, thanks.’

I scroll down quickly to Francesca. She answers immediately.

‘What? I’m really not interested in what you have to say.’

‘
Fran, it’s Binki,’ I say hesitantly.

‘
Oh Binki, I’m sorry I thought it was Ted. I didn’t bother to look at the screen. We’ve just had this huge row. Can you believe he called me fat?’

Yes, I can actually.

‘I’m premenstrual so of course I’m bloody fat aren’t I?’

‘
Yes, I mean …’

‘
Oh look, can I call you back? That’s him trying to get through. I’m not having the bugger call me fat …’

‘
Erm, yeah, of course.’

The phone goes dead and I drop it back into my bag. I
’d get better advice from the loo. I leave the cubicle and again check my reflection. I open the door and peek outside to check all is safe. I sound like a wanted woman. The coast is clear and I walk with head held high back to the table and squeeze back into my corner seat.

‘
Your skirt is tucked in your knickers,’ sighs Oliver. ‘The whole world just saw your black panties.’

Shit. Well not the whole world exactly, that
’s a slight exaggeration. You couldn’t get a bus load of people in here let alone the whole world.

‘
Let’s not draw attention to it,’ whispers Sylvia.

‘
I don’t think many people noticed,’ adds Robert.

They don
’t have to make it sound like I moon shined the whole restaurant. It’s a small
skirt in knickers
catastrophe, not the
News at Ten
headlines.

My salad arrives and I look enviously at Oliver
’s sirloin and Robert’s sea bass. Sylvia has opted for a chicken and mushroom dish and I covet her roast potatoes like I’ve never coveted anything in my life. I’m about to put a forkful of salad to my mouth when I see William approaching and drop the lot down the front of my cardigan
.

‘
What’s wrong with you tonight?’ asks Oliver.

I quickly brush the bits of lettuce off my cashmere cardigan, and lift my red face to William.
‘I thought it rude not to come over and say hello,’ says William in that soft gorgeous voice of his. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed it until now.

‘
Hi,’ I say shakily. ‘This is Oliver, and this is William.’

Oliver gives William a long stare before extending his hand.

‘Oh right, nice to meet you. Congratulations on your engagement by the way.’

I feel a tomato slide down my cleavage as William looks at me.

‘Thank you and congratulations to you too,’ he says, looking into my eyes.

‘
Hello, I’m Sylvia, and my husband Robert.’

Sylvia leans across, almost knocking my wine glass
over. That will be the next thing, what with salad down my cleavage and my knickers on the outside of my skirt I must look a right mess. William shakes hands with Robert, and Oliver says,

‘
This is William, Binki’s previous boss,’ with a look that dares me to mention he is the same guy I shared a house with.

‘
Nice to meet you and good to see you Binki. Did you get transferred from
The Manor
too?’ he smiles.

‘
Oh no, we were already booked,’ says Oliver.

I snap my head round to look at him. How can he lie like that?

‘I’d better get back,’ William says.

I want to say so much but all that comes out of my mouth is,

‘It is nice to see you.’

‘
You too,’ he responds.

And then he has gone. I wonder what the going rate is to hire a hit man to knock off Andrea. I need to talk to Muffy, or maybe I should
pop back to the ladies, the restaurant loo is a good listener. I pull the tomato from my cleavage and knock back some wine as I remind myself of the facts: William is marrying Andrea and I’m marrying Oliver, and the truth is, if we’re looking at the evidence your honour, I wouldn’t be marrying Oliver if I thought I had a chance with William, but I don’t have a chance because: (a) He is engaged to Andrea. (b) According to Piers Roche, he is not the marrying type and (c) According to Nathan, I’m not William’s type. So there you have it. The whole thing is out of the question and I can’t hanker after someone I’ll never be able to have.

‘
Here, have some of my sirloin,’ says Oliver, wrapping an arm around me. ‘I know what you fancy.’

Actually, I think he doesn
’t know at all.

‘Good luck.’ Oliver kisses me on the cheek, grabs his briefcase and flies out the door of our flat, tripping over my shoes as he does so.

‘
Oh Oliver, can you phone Douglas today and check he’s got the flowers organised?’ I ask, placing the breakfast dishes into the sink.

‘
What flowers?’

God, men, they should be drowned at birth.

‘For the buttonholes, he’s supposed to be organising that. Get him to phone my dad if he’s unsure.’

I don
’t want to be thinking about carnations and buttonholes. Today is my final dress fitting and if the dress doesn’t fit I’m in real shit street. Muffy’s dress is organised and Fran’s little boy’s outfit is sorted. My mum is finally happy with her hat and the car is booked, and the honeymoon arranged. Two weeks in Tuscany. It’s all we could afford with the new house and everything, but I’m happy. Everyone seems to think we should be flying to the Caribbean or something. I mean why? Isn’t that where all the other newly-weds will be? A touch overcrowded with hand-in-hand doe-eyed lovers don’t you think? The Dorchester has everything perfectly organised and all I’ve got to do is pray the dress fits. I’ve not been near the chocolate teapot. In fact Muffy has taken it away and hidden it somewhere. She promises to return it after the wedding. I’m attending the fitting alone and I am quite relieved to be honest. The thought of hearing everyone’s groans if the zip doesn’t do up is too much to bear. Muffy couldn’t make it as she has an important meeting and I purposely didn’t tell Mum it was today. So Amanda the fitter, who fortunately prefers to be called Mandy, and I will have to groan together and come up with a Plan B, which we probably should have come up with months ago but hey ho. I feel sure I’ve lost tons of weight. I feel lighter. Of course it could just be wishful thinking. God, I feel sick. I’ve got no idea what I will do if it doesn’t fit. I walk into the bathroom and see Oliver’s towel folded neatly over the rail. His shaving gel sits
on the shelf with the lid on, and his toothbrush stands erect alongside his special sensitive gum toothpaste. I brush my teeth, forcing myself not to think of the untidy bathroom back at Driftwood, but of course you do don’t you? It’s impossible not to think of something when you tell yourself not to think of it. I wrap my scarf around my neck and throw on my woollen poncho. The weather is milder today so I leave my hat and pull my hair into a messy bun. I head out of the flat to face the dreaded fitting and
walk along the streets of Notting Hill enjoying the busyness. Turning into Portobello Road I spot a market stand with a load of beautiful teapots. The temptation to buy one is overwhelming. I could have one for M&Ms and another for
chocolate buttons.

‘
Three quid darling and they’re real china. No rubbish ‘ere. I’m practically giving them away,’ says the stallholder.

The thought of chocolate sends a craving through me and I hurry past. I
’m determined to overdose when on my honeymoon, on chocolate, I mean, in case you thought I was talking suicide. Marrying Oliver isn’t that terrible. I take the bus to Knightsbridge. The closer I get to the shop the more my stomach churns. I stop at Starbucks and order a latte and then quickly change it to a skinny latte. Honestly, as if what I drink now is going to make any difference. My phone bleeps with a text as I leave Starbucks and I fumble in my bag for it. I pull my phone out as I turn the corner and bang, my latte and phone are knocked out of my hand, and my handbag slips from my shoulder as I collide with a hard firm body. I feel myself lurch backwards as I try to recover the handbag. The latte splashes over my hand, down my poncho and onto my boots. Déjà vu or what?

‘
Can I call you back Andy,’ says a familiar voice.

God, I don
’t believe this. I look up into William’s eyes.

‘
Perhaps if you hadn’t have been chatting to
Andy
in the first place this wouldn’t have happened,’ I say, rubbing my poncho with a tissue. ‘Don’t you have an office to go to?’ I smile.

‘
I
think you walked into me. You’re making a terrible mess of your poncho,’ he responds.

I can
’t stop my heart from thumping and I feel sure he must be able to see it pounding away through my clothes. I dust off the bits of tissue and lift my head to look at him. His grey eyes are twinkling and he is grinning. His appealing cupid’s bow affects me the way it did the first time we met. He is wearing a dark blue suit, again, and carrying a rucksack and I feel like I’ve travelled back in time. He scoops up my phone and the bottle of aspirin.

‘
I
think you’ve lost a few of these.’

‘
Well that’s the suicide
cancelled then isn’t it,’ I laugh. ‘I was
looking forward to that too.’

‘
I’m sure things aren’t that bad,’ he says, his hand touching mine softly as he hands the bottle to me.

‘
To be frank it is. I’m on my way to my final dress fitting at
Victoria’s Bridal
and last time it wouldn’t zip up. I’ve done everything apart from having my flesh surgically removed. If the thing doesn’t fit this time I don’t know what I’ll do.’

He pulls a face.

‘Oh dear, sounds nerve-wracking,’ he says, rolling his eyes.

‘
It’s all right for you men. You just buy a better suit don’t you?’

I drop my mobile into my bag and hesitate. I
’m running late but I don’t want to say goodbye.

‘
Are you off to a meeting?’ I ask.

He shakes his head.

‘Just left one, was going for a coffee actually. Maybe I can get you another?’

He looks at me hopefully.

‘I’m late for the fitting but … Well you could come to the fitting with me. They do great coffee there actually, and chocolate biscuits,’ I say boldly, feeling my shoulders tense in anticipation of him saying no.

He looks thoughtful.

‘Unless you have somewhere else you should be,’ I add quickly, making it easier for him to say no.

He bites his lip and feelings I really shouldn
’t have run through me.

‘
No, I haven’t. Isn’t Muffy meeting you there?’

I shake my head.

‘She had a meeting.’

‘
Okay, let’s do it,’ he smiles.

He tucks my arm through his.

‘Lead the way.’

Sophie
doesn’t bat an eyelid when I walk into
Victoria’s Bridal
with William. She settles us on her cosy white couches and gets us coffee.

‘
So, we’ll let you get your breath and then we will try the dress, and I feel certain it will fit. I can see you have lost weight,’ says Sophie.

I feel a bit more confident. William removes his jacket and takes off his tie, reminding
me of when he had done that in the kitchen at Driftwood.

‘
How is Driftwood?’ I ask

‘
Quieter now you’re not there,’ he smiles.

‘
I wasn’t that noisy.’

Sophie hands a plate of biscuits to him.

‘For you only,’ she says to William. ‘Now, let’s get this fitting done before us girls both collapse from
anxiety.’

Oh God, any confidence I may have felt left me with that one sentence. I follow her to the fitting room.

‘You won’t leave will you?’ I call over my shoulder.

‘
I’m going to enjoy my biscuits and while I’m at it I’ll eat your share.’

‘
Bastard.’

He laughs and my heart beats even faster. My whole body is a tremble. I can
’t believe he is marrying that beauty-tweeting bitch bloody Andrea.

‘
God Binki, you’re shaking all over. It will be fine. If it doesn’t fit we’ll do something. There are always ways around these things,’ consoles Mandy.

I
’m barely thinking about the dress now if I’m honest. I look at it hanging on the stand and check my reflection in the dressing room mirror. I look radiant and it’s not often I think that about myself I can tell you. Tendrils of hair have escaped the messy bun and hang loosely around my neck. My cheeks are flushed and I do look a bit slimmer, not loads but hopefully, please God, enough to get into the dress. I slide out of my clothes and exhale as Mandy
takes the dress from the stand.

‘
Ready?’ she asks.

I feel like I
’m being led out to a firing squad instead of going to try my wedding dress for the most important day of my life. I nod nervously and step into the dress. She gently pulls it up and I slide my arms into the cool fabric and slip it over my shoulders. It fits snugly on my hips and I take a deep breath.

‘
Right,’ says Mandy, and I feel her yank the zipper. I will myself not to hold my breath. It has to fit without that. The dress gets tighter as she pulls up the zip and then …

‘
It fits,’ she cries.

I fight the desire to literally cry myself.

‘Oh Binki, it’s beautiful and it fits a treat. Look,’ says Sophie.

She twirls me around and I come face to face with myself in my wedding dress. It hangs perfectly and I really do look like a fairy-tale princess. Before I realise what she is doing she has whisked open the curtains and is saying to William,

‘So what do you think?’

William slowly puts his coffee cup down without taking his eyes off me. He opens his mouth to speak and
closes it again.

‘
You don’t like it?’ I say. ‘It’s supposed to give me a
Grace Kelly
look, you know, before she died remember,’ I say.

He swallows.

‘You look sensational, and a hundred times more stunning than Grace Kelly,’ he says finally.

I smile.

‘Really, you’re not just saying that?’

‘
I never lie, remember?’

‘
Once you did,’ I say softly.

‘
It wasn’t strictly a lie I just held back the truth,’ he smiles.

Our eyes lock and I think we would have stayed that way had Sophie
not pulled me back to the dressing room.

‘
Right, let’s get this off and do a final veil check and then you can have a chocolate biscuit if your brother has left any.’

I don
’t correct her and neither does William.

‘
I’ve put two to one side,’ he calls.

I see my phone flashing in my bag and remember the text from earlier. It is from Muffy.

‘Sweetie
,
can you phone when you get out of the fitting. I feel like shit and had to go home, gone down with some bug. Do you think Oliver will go with you to Ronnie Scott’s tonight? God, I’m so sorry.’

Shit. I was so looking forward to that too. Oliver sitting through an evening of jazz music is almost unthinkable
.
God it’s like asking him to sit through
Strictly Come Dancing
. I tap in her number.

‘
Hello,’ she says croakily.

‘
Just checking you’re really sick,’ I say.

‘
God, I’m not sick, I’m dying. I think you should make arrangements for a stand-in maid of honour,’ she groans.

‘
You’ll survive,’ I laugh.

‘
I’ve never puked so much in my life. Do you think Oliver will go?’ she asks anxiously.

‘
Yes, of course he will. If not my mum would love to, so don’t worry and at least I have the tickets,’ I lie, knowing that Oliver hates jazz and that my mum probably would come but under sufferance.

‘
Dare I ask, did the dress …’

‘
Yes,’ I say excitedly, and am about to tell her about William when she breaks in with,

‘
God, I’m going to puke again. Phone me later.’

The phone goes dead. I toss it back into my bag and throw on the rest of my clothes before joining William.

‘I’ll get the veil and we’ll have a fiddle,’ says Mandy.

‘
Sounds delightful,’ I say.

‘
You have everything else, the something borrowed, and the something blue?’ Sophie asks.

‘
I see what you mean about it being easier for us men,’ laughs William.

I
reach across him for a chocolate biscuit, expecting him to move back slightly but he doesn’t, and my face comes close to his. He smiles at me shyly. I grab the biscuit and lean back feeling my legs tremble.

‘
Mum is giving me the something borrowed but I have still to get the something blue.’

‘
Ah,’ says William, ‘that’s on me then. What’s the usual blue thing women have for their wedding?’