The Bridesmaid Pact (5 page)

‘What a hoot,’ I said. I nudged Charlie. ‘We should do it.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Charlie.

‘Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’ I said.

‘I think marriage should be a bit more serious than that,’ said Charlie.

‘Oh, don’t be so boring,’ I said. ‘Think what fun we’ve had tonight. I like you, you like me, we’re made for each other. We should get married tonight and go home and make a little Las Vegas baby.’

I didn’t know what I was saying. I hated babies. I certainly didn’t want one now. But somehow, I felt certain of one thing. Charlie and I had connected tonight, in a way I’d never connected with anyone. We
should
be together.

‘You’re mad,’ said Charlie. He gave me a quizzical look, as if weighing something up. ‘Did you mean all that?’

‘Course I did,’ I said. ‘I think you’re gorgeous.’

‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ said Charlie, ‘but it’s hardly a basis for getting married.’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight?’ I said teasingly.

‘Why, is that what you think’s happening?’

‘Don’t you?’ I said. Charlie didn’t reply. ‘I know. If you win this game, then we get married?’

‘All right, if I win, I promise to marry you,’ said Charlie, ‘which is absolutely fine, because I’m not going to win.’

One by one everyone stuck except Charlie. The tension was mounting. He had eighteen in his hand; the croupier asked him what he was going to do.

‘Twist,’ said Charlie. I held my breath as he turned over his hand.

‘Oh my god,’ I said. He’d turned over the three of clubs.

Twenty-one.

‘I won,’ said Charlie in a dazed voice. ‘I’ve just won over two hundred dollars.’

He turned to me and hugged me tight.

‘Waahahaay!’ he said. ‘The night is young.’

‘Go on,’ I said with more bravado than I was feeling. ‘Now you have to do it. A deal’s a deal.’

I honestly thought he’d say no. Charlie was a sweetheart, but I didn’t think he was as reckless as me, but as he counted off his winnings, he seemed to suddenly shift up a gear.

‘Well why the hell not?’ he said. ‘You only live once, and we are in Vegas.’

‘Great,’ I said, and grabbed his arm and dragged him off with me. I tried to ignore the shadow of doubt which was telling me I was only doing this to spite Steve. Which is how just an hour later, we found ourselves in front of the Love Me Tender chapel, giggling. The door was heart shaped and the outside of the chapel was a sickly pink which reminded me of the terrible blancmanges Auntie Nora used to make when I was little and Mum was having one of her funny ‘turns’. We’d come armed with our marriage licence, which, bizarrely, in Las Vegas you could buy at any time of the night or day over the weekend, and the sun was just rising above the city, which seemed just as busy now as it had done when we’d embarked on our drinking spree all those hours earlier.

I had a moment of panic then. This wasn’t how I’d planned my wedding day. I’d always pretended I didn’t want to get married, but now I was here, I could admit to myself I wanted the real deal, not this ghastly parody with a boy I barely knew. I thought of Doris with a pang. She’d be furious with me for not fulfilling her silly pact.

‘Come on then,’ Charlie grabbed my hand, and pulled me through the door. We were met by an Elvis impersonator who was apparently the official who was going to marry us. It also transpired that he was going to give me away. So
I walked down the aisle to the tender strains of ‘Love Me Do’ and then in a few easily spoken words we were hitched. It felt surreal.

‘Let’s go and see the sunrise,’ said Charlie impulsively. Finding out from Elvis that the best spot for this was out of town, we took a cab out to the desert, and sat holding hands as we watched a deep, pink sunrise in a pale, turquoise sky. The rising sun cast long shadows across the desert, which glowed pink and orange as the day slowly dawned. The morning air was slightly chilly, and Charlie popped his jacket over my shoulders – in my impulsiveness, I’d come without one. Instinctively, I leant my head against his shoulder, it felt natural and right in a way I’d never felt before. It was the perfect end to a bizarre and weird evening. Charlie kissed me gently on the lips and then said, ‘Happy Wedding Day, Mrs Cosgrove. Come on, let’s go home.’

We got back to the hotel, and then shyly, I followed him up to his room. It was strange. We’d been behaving so recklessly all evening, and now I felt like a fool. I could legitimately sleep with the guy and suddenly, now I was here, it felt all wrong. In the end, we just stumbled into the room, and collapsed cuddling on the bed from exhaustion and overconsumption of alcohol.

I woke at midday. The sun was streaming through the window, and Charlie was still snoring next to me.
Charlie
. I sat bolt upright and looked down at him, the events from the previous night flooding back with sudden and vivid clarity. Oh my god. I’d got married to a guy I barely knew. What on earth had I been thinking? How could I have been so stupid?

I sat on the edge of the bed looking at him sleeping so
peacefully. He truly was lovely to look at. And he was a really nice guy. But I barely knew him. And he wasn’t Steve. How the hell was I going to get out of this? We couldn’t really be married could we? The only thing I could think to do was to blag my way out of it.

‘Good morning Mrs Cosgrove,’ Charlie’s voice cut into my thoughts.

‘Oh my god,’ my voice was pure fake Hollywood. ‘I can’t believe we acted so crazy last night.’

‘I thought it was rather fun actually,’ said Charlie.

‘But come on,’ I said. ‘Getting married was a bit way out, wasn’t it?’

‘It doesn’t have to be, does it?’ Charlie took my hand.

I felt lousy then. Maybe he actually liked me. I’d led him on atrociously. All my pent-up feelings of bitterness against Steve had led me here; this wasn’t fair on him. Best to brazen it out and pretend I couldn’t see the way he really felt.

‘Well it was an adventure, that’s for sure,’ I laughed. ‘Not many people can say they came to Las Vegas and got married and divorced in a day, can they?’

‘You want to get divorced?’ Charlie said, angrily. ‘Make your bloody mind up.’

‘Well don’t you?’ I said.

‘I don’t know,’ said Charlie. ‘I know it was a bit wild, but we could try and give it a go, couldn’t we?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, trying not to look at him.

‘What about us being meant for each other?’ said Charlie. ‘You were the one who seemed to think it was such a good idea last night.’

‘That was the drink talking,’ I said, trying to joke my way out of things.

‘Gee, thanks,’ said Charlie.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But come on,’ I said. ‘Us staying married would be terrible. We hardly know each other. It’s never going to work.’

‘You really think so?’ said Charlie.

‘I do,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I was really drunk last night, and things got out of hand. Believe me, I’m really bad news for you, you’ll be grateful to me in the end.’

I couldn’t look at him. I felt so guilty, and he looked so forlorn I couldn’t believe he was taking it so seriously. I’d had him taped last night as being as wild as I was. Surely he could see this was just a prank that had gone badly wrong?

‘You mean it, don’t you?’

‘Yes I do. Us staying married is a really, really bad idea,’ I said.

‘The worst,’ said Charlie tonelessly.

‘So that’s it,’ I said brightly. ‘If it’s that easy to get married here, I bet it’s a cinch to get divorced.’

I didn’t look at him when I said this. I pretended it was all OK. But not for the first time, I felt really lousy. The nicest bloke I’d met in ages, and I’d stuffed it up big time.

Beth

‘Nervous?’ Matt held my hand as we sat in the waiting room, on a
warm spring day in the middle of April, at the fertility clinic we’d been
referred to by our GP, Dr McGrath. My hand felt clammy and sweaty, and my heart was
thumping like a railway train. I knew it was my fault we hadn’t conceived.
Matt’s tests had come back all clear, and mine were inconclusive. I
couldn’t help the nagging feeling that it was my body telling me it was my
fault that we couldn’t have babies.

Luckily, I’d explained the situation to Dr McGrath. She’d been very understanding, and said that I still might have a chance, and I shouldn’t beat myself up about it. But I
knew
. I was being punished for what I’d done, all those years ago. And Matt didn’t know. I’d never told him, because when we met it didn’t seem important, and now I didn’t know how to.

‘Mr and Mrs Davies?’ A smiling nurse ushered us into the consultant’s office.

I sat in silent terror waiting for him to tell us that I had destroyed our chances, thanks to a careless moment with someone unworthy to tie Matt’s shoelace. In my panic I zoned out what he was saying, concentrating on the lines in the
floor, trying to ignore the pounding in my head which was saying over and over again,
This is when you get found out, this is when you get found out.
I felt sick and hot and dizzy, I wanted so much to be somewhere else.

‘Beth, are you OK?’ Matt’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.

‘Fine,’ I said, and blinked. ‘It’s a bit hot in here. Sorry, what were you saying?’

‘I was just explaining that looking at your test results, I think you two have a really good chance of getting pregnant if we go down the IVF route,’ said Mr O’Brian, an avuncular kind of man who seemed to be almost as desperate as we were for us to conceive.

‘You do?’ I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Was it that easy? No mention
at all
of my previous gynaecological history and how it might impact on my chances? Just an explanation that I’d need to take fertility drugs, and then come back and have some eggs taken? I thanked the stars for Dr McGrath’s discretion.

‘Of course, it might not work,’ he added. ‘You do have to be prepared for that.’

‘Of course,’ we agreed, but hope is such a bloody awful little emotion, I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
It’s not hopeless. We’re not hopeless. We
can
still do this.
And for the first time I allowed myself an extra little thought:
Maybe my past doesn’t matter after all
.

‘Coffee to celebrate?’ Matt said to me as we left the hospital. We were both so excited we were practically flying. I was too dizzy to hear all the facts and figures, but the consultant felt we had a better chance than most of conceiving – everything was in good working order according to him. We just needed a little help.

‘I shouldn’t be drinking coffee now, should I?’ I said. ‘But I’ll have a juice with you.’

We found our way to a little coffee bar on the High Street and sat back, enjoying the feelings of elation washing over us. We’d had so much disappointment over the last few years, and even though I knew the road ahead was going to be tough, and there were no guarantees, I wanted to enjoy this feeling. It had been a long time since I’d felt this hopeful about anything.

‘To us,’ said Matt, raising his cup of coffee against my orange juice.

‘To us,’ I said, ‘and to Foetus.’

We hardly dared to talk about the possibility of a real baby any more.

Matt leant over, and gently touched my stomach.

‘To Foetus,’ he said. ‘You know, I’ve got a really good feeling about this.’

I arrived at my desk a couple of hours later. I’d booked the morning off, claiming the dentist. I hadn’t told anyone at work about Plan Foetus as we’d taken to calling it. Hell, I hadn’t even told Doris and Sarah, though I’m sure they’d both guessed. They’d seen how broody I was when they were both pregnant. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy, particularly when Sarah had had her second baby. Although I knew she’d had problems with sickness and things, she made it look so easy. Sarah seemed to be able to conceive at the drop of a hat, it didn’t seem fair. I couldn’t bear to let Sarah know how jealous I was, so I pretended to be nonchalant about having children. I’d been making out for ages that my career came first.

To be honest, that was true for a while. When I first met
Matt, babies didn’t come into the picture. We were just so happy to be together, and I kept pinching myself that after kissing all those toads, I’d finally found my handsome prince. I didn’t want to spoil it with the patter of tiny feet. I assumed, you see, that Matt would be like all the other guys, and run at the first mention of babies. And having finally lost weight after years of dieting, I wasn’t too keen to put it all back on again. There was always the nagging doubt that Matt would only fancy me slim. I should have known better of course: he was the one who brought the subject of babies up, and when I mentioned my weight, he just laughed me to scorn and said he’d love me however fat I got.

Today, for the first time in a long time, I felt the same dizzying intoxication that I’d felt when we’d started to plan our family. A crack of light was shining in the dark – it wasn’t much, but it was something to hold on to.

‘You seem very happy today,’ Mel our receptionist said as I sailed jauntily past her, whistling. I never ever whistle.

‘Well, spring is in the air, and all that jazz,’ I said, which is uncharacteristically chatty of me. Usually I barely say anything to Mel or anyone else at work unless I have to. It’s the only way I can keep a tight lid on the things threatening to explode out of my head.

I breezed to my desk and sat down and started ploughing through my invoice tray. I love my work in credit control. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I enjoy the balancing act of chasing down debtors and holding off creditors, thereby ensuring that no one ever owes us money, but we invariably owe other people money.

I was so engrossed in my work, I tuned out the sound of my mobile ringing in my handbag for a minute. I don’t
often get personal phone calls at work. Matt’s generally the only person to ring me during the day.

I rooted around in my bag and eventually found the phone, which had inevitably wormed its way to the bottom of my bag. As I picked it up, the phone went dead. Typical. I flicked onto missed calls. It wasn’t a number I recognized. I rang it back.

‘Hi,’ I said tentatively, ‘I think you just called me?’

‘Beth?’ I was shocked to hear Caz’s voice. I hadn’t seen her since Doris’s hen weekend, over a fortnight earlier. I didn’t even know she had my number. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I cadged your number off Doris.’

Caz sounded different. Uncertain. Awkward. Most un-Cazlike.

‘Only, I was wondering – if you’d – well, would you mind meeting up for a drink sometime?’

I was stunned. OK, we’d had a nice time when we were away, but still. I hadn’t spent any time alone with Caz for at least five years. Why would she suddenly want to talk to me now?

‘Look, I’ll understand if you say no,’ Caz continued. ‘It’s just that it was so nice meeting you again in Paris. I’d like to catch up properly if you’d like.’

She sounded so tentative and unsure, something crumbled inside me. I had a sudden flashback to the way she was at primary school, just when we’d all started to be friends. Caz was always angry and spoiling for a fight, but we grew to realize that that aggression hid a vulnerability that wasn’t on public display. But now she’d been defensive with us all for so long, I’d forgotten how vulnerable she was underneath.

I took a deep breath.

‘Of course, that would be great,’ I said. ‘When are you free?’

‘This feels…odd,’ Caz said as she faced me over a glass of spritzer in a bar in Soho. Caz always went drinking in Soho, I remembered. I never did. If I drank anywhere it was in a pub round the corner from work in Camden High Street before taking the Northern Line home. I rarely ventured into the West End these days.

‘You’re not drinking?’ Caz said, glancing significantly at my orange juice.

‘I always leave my car at the station,’ I fibbed. There was never anywhere to park at the station, but I was relying on Caz’s ignorance about life in the suburbs for her not to have guessed that. I was hazarding a guess that Caz still lived as close to town as she could. She always was a bright-lights, big-city kind of girl, unlike stay-at-home small-town me. Last I’d heard, she had a flat Islington way, which always seemed glamorous to me.

‘So, how are things?’ Caz said. ‘I mean, I know we chatted that weekend, but it wasn’t like we did much one to one stuff. Tell me about yourself.’

‘Not much to tell,’ I said. ‘I like my job. Matt and I are happy. We live a quiet life. You know me. Never one for a wild time.’

‘Matt well?’

‘He’s great.’ I felt myself relax as I got onto my favourite topic, the general wonderfulness of my gorgeous husband, and my extraordinary luck in catching him. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s kind and he’s witty and he’s caring’ – and he’s never once made me feel bad about not getting pregnant – ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him.
He’s my best friend and husband and lover all rolled into one.’ I paused. ‘Sorry, I do go on about him. Pathetic really. But I still feel like a love-struck teenager.’

‘No, I think it’s great,’ said Caz. ‘I’ve made such a mess with all that stuff. I’m glad one of us has had a happy ending.’

‘Two of us,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t get more loved up than Daz and Dorrie.’

‘I’m so glad,’ said Caz. ‘I can’t think why it’s taken them so long to get hitched. I’d have had Dorrie down for becoming Mrs Maitland years ago.’

‘She hasn’t said much about it, but I think it was because of her dad,’ I said. ‘She always wanted him to walk her down the aisle, and when he couldn’t, I don’t think she could bear it. Then when he died she went into a bit of a decline really. She seemed very low and her mum is worse. We were all really worried about her for a while. I think the only thing that pulled her out of it has been Woody.’

‘I feel so bad about Dorrie’s dad,’ said Caz. ‘I wish I’d known how bad it was. It’s not just my relationships with men that I’ve cocked up. I’ve made a mess of everything.’

She looked incredibly sad and I felt an unusual feeling of pity for her. I can’t remember ever feeling that about Caz before: frustration, fury, anger, yes. Pity? No. Caz wasn’t someone you pitied.

‘It’s never too late to make amends,’ I said, leaning over and touching her hand. ‘I mean, we’ve met up, and Dorrie did invite you to her hen weekend. You know what she’s like. I’m sure she doesn’t hold it against you.’

‘That’s another reason I called, actually,’ said Caz. ‘I had an ulterior motive. I felt terrible hearing Doris say she didn’t want any bridesmaids. Things didn’t work out the way we
planned when we were kids, and I’m sure she’d still love them to.’

‘Knowing Doris, I’m sure you’re right,’ I agreed. I had felt Doris had been pretty sad about the bridesmaid thing from the minute she’d announced her engagement.

‘So, how do you fancy trying to sort it out?’ Caz leaned forward, eyes shining. ‘I mean, I know there’s the slight difficulty of Sarah to contend with – I mean she hates me, right?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘hate’s a pretty strong word, but yup, you could say you’re not her favourite person.’

‘But, how about we try to sort out our differences enough for us to give Doris the wedding she deserves?’

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘Eighteen years ago we made a vow. And we’ve failed dismally to keep it so far,’ said Caz. ‘So I think for Doris’s sake, it’s time we actually fulfilled the Bridesmaid Pact.’