It Had to Be You (30 page)

Sophie
laughs.

‘
That is such a
man thing
to say, but usually a garter unless you have one already Binki?’

I shake my head. God, I can
’t let William buy me a blue garter for my wedding day, Oliver would have a thousand canary fits, no two thousand more like if he knew. She brings a tray of garters for him to look at, and he rolls his eyes.

‘
Not what I imagined I would be doing when I woke up this morning,’ he says, fingering the lacy garters and affecting my loins in a way they haven’t been affected in years.

‘
It seems fitting that I of all people should buy you something blue,’ he laughs holding up a particularly pretty garter. ‘Just remember not to wash it with your white jumper. How about this one? Do you want to try it?’ he asks.

I shake my head, thinking it is perfect and exactly what I would have chosen myself.

‘Your brother has good taste. I’ll put it with the rest of your things,’ says Sophie.

I sip
my coffee. I’m finding it hard to know what to say to him. I want to ask him about beauty-tweeting bitch Andrea but I can’t.

‘
I’ve been demoted from husband to brother it seems,’ he laughs. ‘I can’t imagine what Andy would make of that one.’

His phone rings and he excuses himself to take the call. It
’s obviously Andrea. I wonder if he will tell her he is with me.

‘
Right, let’s try this veil,’ says Sophie.

I follow her over to the dressing room again as two women enter the shop. I slip into the dress again and she settles the veil on my head and fiddles with it for a bit while I wonder if I should ask Oliver to come with me to Ronnie Scott
’s but I know he will hate it.

‘
I’ll come if you can’t find anyone else. Have you asked your mum?’ he says.

‘
I’ll do that now. How is your day?’ I ask, slipping on the garter to see how it looks.

‘
Bloody manic actually. I probably wouldn’t be able to get away in time anyway. How is the fitting, was it okay?’

‘
Yes, everything fits.’

‘
Phew,’ he laughs. ‘Just a few more days and we’ll be relaxing in Tuscany.’

The garter looks lovely and I stare
at it for several seconds before saying,

‘
I’d better go, we’re adjusting the veil.’

‘
Okay Hun, see you later, text me what you’re doing.’

I spot William wander back into the shop and the two women turn to look at him. One nudges the other and giggles. He smiles at them and looks around for me.

‘Trying on the garter,’ I say.

‘
Come and see,’ says Sophie.

No!
I really should tell her he isn’t my brother. This is getting out of hand. Nicely out of hand I admit, but out of hand all the same. He pops his head around the curtain and I lift the dress timidly, and give him a glimpse of the garter. He nods approvingly.

‘
I hope Oliver appreciates it,’ he says, pulling the curtain.

Ten minutes later and I
’m finished. I tidy my hair, apply some lipstick and hug Sophie warmly. The whole time my thoughts have been on William. He has been with me for nearly two hours, surely he will have to leave soon. He is sitting relaxed on the couch when I come out, chatting about work on his phone. He gives me the thumbs up and finishes the call.

‘
Is that it? Your wedding officially sorted?’

I nod.

‘Yep.’

I
’m struggling to think of ways to keep him here but bloody nothing is coming to mind. Aside from having a sudden fainting spell I’m totally buggered, and in a few minutes I’ll be saying goodbye and who knows when I’ll see him again. We leave the shop and step outside and I shiver. It was so warm in the shop that I had forgotten how chilly it was outside. I wrap my scarf around me and push my hands into my poncho pocket.

‘
Well,’ says William, looking down the street.

‘
It was nice seeing you and thanks so much for being a support,’ I say.

‘
It was fun,’ he says hailing down a cab.

Oh no, think of something Binki
, but nothing remotely sensible comes to mind. The cab pulls up beside us.

‘
Can I drop you somewhere?’ William asks.

Yes, off Tower Bridge sounds a good idea. He moves towards me and I put my arms around him with the intention of giving him a goodbye hug. His arms pull me closer and his lips nuzzle my neck.

‘Have a great wedding,’ he says into my ear and then steps into the cab. My hand reaches out to the door before he can pull it closed and I lean in and hear myself say,

‘
I don’t suppose you’re free a bit later. I’ve got tickets for Ronnie Scott’s. It’s Muffy’s birthday present to me, but she’s gone down with a stomach bug and Oliver hates jazz and …’

‘
Get in,’ he says.

‘
What?’ I say.

‘
Get in the cab.’

‘
Right,’ I mumble, throwing in my bag.

So here I am again in yet another restaurant talking to the loo. I’m beginning to think that restaurant loos are not given anywhere near the credit they deserve. They are not mentioned at all in any self-help book. I should write my own self-help book called
Loo Therapy,
or words to that effect. I find it is a great place to be really mindful, and no one interrupts you. You can sit on your little toilet seat safe in the knowledge that no one will disturb you and you can have your own little meltdown in your own little public loo, which is precisely what I’m doing now. Have I gone totally insane? What am I doing? I’m having dinner with another man, who I’m not only deeply attracted to but am beginning to think in love with too. I’m getting married in five days and what is worse, I’ve not told Oliver the truth. When he’d texted and asked if I was okay for Ronnie Scott’s,
I simply said
yes,
and when he presumed I was going with my mum I didn’t correct him. I’m being unfaithful to my husband
and I haven’t married him yet. Not that William and I have done anything apart from have dinner but I swear if he swept everything off the table and sprawled me on it, I’d be his for the taking. He can have me with the soup of the day any time. This is awful. What’s worse is that I’m sure he was seeing Andrea this evening. Of course I can’t be sure. He had assured me that he had nothing important on this evening.

‘
Nothing I can’t get out of,’ he had said, but on returning from my second loo therapy session I overheard him finish a conversation with her,

‘
Apologise for me will you Andrea? And we’ll do dinner with them together next week. I couldn’t say no to this proposition, Phil will understand. I’ll see you later.’

He had hung up quickly on seeing me. I
’ve now left him to pay the bill and order a taxi where we will drive to my flat so I can change for Ronnie Scott’s. I’m praying Oliver hasn’t come home
or I might have trouble explaining who is in the waiting taxi outside the flat. I keep trying to tell myself that everything about the evening is completely innocent, but I know that just about everything is far from innocent. Admittedly we’ve kept our dinner conversation to basics like work, the offices at Driftwood and how they are finally finished, but we’re both acutely aware that we have been dishonest with our prospective spouses and there is only one reason you would do that, right? Which means this whole evening isn’t completely innocent is it? I reluctantly leave the loo and my little private therapy session and walk back to our table where he is waiting for me.

‘
Ready?’ he asks.

‘
I should pay my half of the bill,’ I say, putting on my poncho.

‘
No way, I’m getting a free ticket to Ronnie Scott’s. The cab is outside.’

He takes my hand like it is the most natural thing in the world
. He tips the waiter and says,

‘
Thanks Louis, see you next time.’

‘
I hope so Mr Ellis. Good evening madam.’

I smile and feel William
’s arm slide around my waist as he directs me to the cab. The drive to the flat is short, and thankfully Oliver isn’t home. I pull my best evening dress from the wardrobe. You know the one, the little black dress that always comes out for weddings, christenings, bar mitzvahs and of course, jazz evenings. I tie a silk white scarf around my neck to complement the dress, and pop some pearl studs into my ears before redoing my make-up and hair. I slip my feet into a pair of black heels and finally throw my coat over the whole lot while a little voice in my head whispers
It’s not right you know
. Why is it these little voices try to put a damper on everything? It’s a night at a jazz club not a night in a Travelodge, although I am wondering which would be preferable, and that’s a first because I have never craved a night at a Travelodge before, even more so after my exploits in them with Oliver. As usual William is on the phone when I step into the cab, and continues to stay on it the whole journey to Ronnie Scott’s. He finishes as we pull up and pays the driver before I have a chance to reach into my bag. When I complain he smiles.

‘
If I remember you always were a bit slow getting that purse out,’ he says.

‘
That’s not true,’ I protest as he takes my arm.

‘
You look nice by the way.’

I
’m glad it’s dark and he cannot see my blushes. We enter the club and I’m immediately swept along by the atmosphere. A prettily dressed woman is offering around a tray of
Baileys
.

‘
Ben Bailey is our artist tonight. A little treat,’ she says. William goes to take two glasses but I shake my head. Just a taste of anything that looks like chocolate will tip me over the edge.

‘
I’ve got to get into that dress in five days’ time,’ I say, fighting the temptation.

For us addicts
anything that reminds us of the smooth melt-in-the-mouth creaminess of chocolate is an absolute nightmare. Seriously, I could snort a whole tin of cocoa powder right now, I feel that desperate.

‘
I was trying hard not to remember that?’ he says quietly.

I turn expecting to see his usual smile but there isn
’t one. He guides me to the bar and orders a Bacardi Breezer and a whisky. We don’t speak for a time and just sip at the drinks.

‘
Sorry,’ he says finally, ‘I should have asked if you wanted a wine or something?’

‘
This is perfect,’ I say.

He turns on his stool to face me.

‘When is your wedding?’ I say quickly.

Why the sodding hell I
said that I do not know. He looks a bit taken aback and shakes his head.

‘
I don’t know. We’re not organised like you. I guess we’ll just do it one weekend when we’ve got nothing else on,’ he replies gesturing to the barman for another whisky.

‘
I would have invited you. It’s Oliver and …’

He
rests his hand on mine.

‘
It’s fine. I’m happy to know you’ll be wearing my garter,’ he smiles.

Right Binki, chapter one of
Loo Therapy
should be titled
Don’t fall in love with your best friend,
and should follow with
Never go to a jazz club with your best friend
, especially if he is a man, and more importantly, do not let said best friend buy your wedding garter. But most of all make sure you drink only one Bacardi Breezer even if he drinks two glasses of whisky. But of course, I haven’t written the book yet so I can’t follow its advice can I? I have a second Bacardi Breezer. Second chapter should be titled
Jazz music is a No No
. Unless you hate it of course, because the artist may ask for requests and your best friend requests your favourite song
It had to be You
and you feel so sodding sad and fumble around in your handbag pulling out everything from a lipstick with the top off to a pair of frilly knickers which you end up blowing your nose on because you can’t find a tissue until finally your best friend will hand you a tissue which you take and your hands that touch will somehow stay together for the rest of the evening. His hand is warm and I feel I should move it but somehow I can’t. As the club empties he turns towards me, unclasping his hand from mine as he does so.

‘
Do you come to Ronnie Scott’s a lot?’ he asks simply.

‘
Oliver doesn’t like jazz, so no not really.’

‘
But you do?’

‘
Yes I do,’ I smile.

‘
Me too,’ he says. ‘We both like jazz don’t we?’

He pulls his phone from his pocket and turns it on. It bleeps immediately.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘
I think we missed something of an opportunity somewhere along the line,’ he says adding softly, ‘C’est la vie.’

Before I can respond his phone rings and lights up with Andrea
’s name, and he shrugs apologetically. I turn my Blackberry on which also rings with a voicemail message. Before I can check it, my phone rings again and Oliver’s name flashes onto the screen and I also find myself thinking
c’est la vie
.

I ask the cab driver to stop the cab
at the end of my street. I know it’s stupid, I’m sure Oliver isn’t looking out of the window but if he is, and sees me saying goodnight to William, well let’s be honest, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I fumble in my bag to William’s chuckling.

‘
Don’t start. I’m paying,’ he says, putting his hand on mine.

I sigh.

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that,’ I say before I can stop myself.

‘
Paying for cabs? I’ve been doing it for years. I can’t be bothered to drive around town …’

‘
Putting your hand on mine,’ I say softly.

I won
’t see him again I’m sure. I really can’t imagine Oliver and me having dinner with Mr and Mrs Ellis, aka William and Andrea, or out for an evening bowling with Andrea and William can you?

‘
Right,’ he says quietly, removing his hand.

The cab driver clears his throat.

‘I should go,’ I say lifting the door handle. ‘Thanks for a wonderful evening.’

I
’m about to open the taxi door when I feel his arms around me and his lips crushing mine. My body melts and I just drown in the kiss which feels so perfect that it can’t possibly be right. I can’t think and my body arches towards him. He releases me and I open my eyes to find myself looking straight into his.

‘
C’est la vie,’ he whispers. ‘I always leave things too late.’

He opens the door for me and I sit feeling like
Kate Winslet on the life raft, calling to Jack in the film
Titanic
and
wanting to scream
come back, come back
.

‘
Maybe one day we’ll have a coffee for old time’s sake,’ he says.

I nod
. For the first time in my life I can’t speak. If I attempt to I am sure it will not be anything coherent. I climb from the cab and before I can say goodbye the door has closed and the cab is pulling away. I watch it until it disappears around the corner and make my way slowly to the entrance of our flat.