The First Last Kiss (34 page)

And we obey her. If it’s what she needs to feel like herself again, to claw back that confidence she once had, no matter what anyone thought, then I will laugh till my throat aches and my stomach hurts.

Casey begins to play up, dancing around, making jokes, and I know she’s really making the effort for me. I want her to know that I love her and that I’d do anything for her. I might have neglected her a bit over the past few years but if I could have taken those kicks and punches for her, saved her from them like I did when we were teenagers, I would. I’ll just have to make sure, as I swore to myself on the night she turned up on my doorstep, that I’m always there to take them from now on.

The morning after the night before, after we’d taken her to A&E, she and I and Ryan went for a walk along the Southbank. I think she hoped that the blustery gales coming in from the river would blow away the memory of the incident. But even as I told her how terrible I felt that she’d been alone and how I wished I’d been there to stop the girls, it occurred to me how horribly self-obsessed it was that in hearing her talk about that moment of horror, I’d been thinking about how it affected
me
. I told her that too, and then apologized profusely.

‘Molly,’ she’d said quietly, her brown eyes glassy with sadness that was reflected in the mulchy Thames beyond. ‘You’ve done so much for me, you are the least selfish person I know. You both have,’ she’d added. She smiled first at me then at Ryan and slipped her arms around us both, clearly still in pain, inside and out.

‘You know you can stay with us as long as you need too, right?’ I said as we’d walked across Waterloo Bridge, not asking Ryan first but knowing he’d agree.

‘But, the wedding . . . you don’t want me . . . ’ she’d begun, her fingers hovering over her poor face.

‘Ah ah ah,’ I’d stopped and interrupted her by popping my hand over her mouth, but she’d instinctively jolted back and I’d put it up to my own mouth in horror as I realized that this is what
they
must’ve done to her last night when she was screaming out in pain.

‘Case, I’m sorry!’ I’d sobbed then. I’d pulled her into my arms and we’d stood hugging on the bridge as Ryan had looked on. I desperately wished that a tornado would sweep us up and away, back to the past, before this had happened to her.

It’s been a slow rehabilitation for her over the past five weeks. On day four she’d turned on the TV. On day ten she’d smiled at an old episode of
Friends
. On day thirteen she’d gone home to her mum’s for a couple of days. She’d returned to us and told us that she’d quit her job – and the drink.

‘I want to take control. I don’t want to be fun-time Casey any more. I’m twenty-eight years old, babe. I need to grow up. I want to start making good decisions for me. And the first one is to stop drinking. Even if it’s just for a while, to help me sort out my head. I’m trying to find a positive out of all this, Molly, please, will you help me?’

‘Of course, I will,’ I’d cried. ‘I’ll do anything you like, just tell me.’

‘Thank you. I just hope I can repay you one day,’ she’d said, adding whimsically, ‘but your life is perfect. It always has been . . . ’

A sad ghost of a smile had wafted over her face, illuminating her now-fragile features even more. ‘You got your happy-ever-after,’ she’d finished plaintively.

‘I’m not sure such a thing exists,’ I’d replied, feeling a momentary flash of my inner cynical Harry returning. ‘After all,’ I’d said, ‘who ever really knows what’s in their future?’

And she’d nodded sadly in agreement, and rested her head on my shoulder as she’d continued watching
Friends
.

Since then she’d agreed to be my bridesmaid and I’d shown her the dress I’d bought her from a designer sample sale when we weren’t in contact, just in case she’d had some drastic change of heart. We never did discuss her reaction to my engagement. I knew she was jealous, and after what happened to her, it felt completely reason able that she would resent the wedding. But strangely, it had done the opposite.

We bundle out of the Lab Bar in Soho, feeling deliciously relaxed. I have no idea what has been planned for the day. Mia has done it all.

‘Where are we going now?’ I ask, grasping the overnight bag I was instructed to pack.

‘You’ll see,’ Mia smiles, stepping confidently into the street and hailing two black cabs, ushering me and Casey into one, and the rest of the girls into the other. She steps in after me and sits behind the driver.

‘Knightsbridge please, mate.’

‘Ma
iiii
te,’ Casey and I echo Mia’s affected Aussie accent and follow it with a burst of laughter.

‘What?’ she says innocently, taking out a Bobbi Brown compact and reapplying her lip gloss.

‘You,’ I say. ‘No,’ I look at Casey and we chorus in an Australian accent, ‘Youiie! You’re quite the Aussie these days; you’ve gone native, Mi.’

Mia raises an eyebrow. ‘Do I look native to you?’ she says imperiously, gesturing at her Havaianas, faded jeans and vest top.

‘Yep,’ I say cheerfully.

‘Yeah, well, I’m on holiday.’

‘You dress like this for work, too. I saw you,’ I point out.

‘Oh yeah, well, I LOIKE it. I
loike
not having to make a constant effort. I
loike
that I don’t have to waste time blow-drying my hair to perfection or obsessing over what handbag I should be carrying. I still
loike
to dress up, but I’m too busy having fucking
fun
to worry about what I’m wearing. Even at work. Ooh, look, we’re here!’

‘Oh my GOD, this is AM.AZ.ING, Mia!?’

‘Yep,’ she’d grinned. ‘And don’t worry – I got it for free by doing a review for the magazine. Although you have to do one too for
Viva
. I figured your boss wouldn’t mind!’

I look around our classy penthouse suite at The Berkeley hotel as we all burst through the door, chattering excitedly at the prospect of spending a night in the two-bedroom apartment that Mia has blagged. The room is an oasis of class and calm, white drapes fall from the windows, and everywhere is a sea of mushroom, taupe, beige and ecru – the exact opposite of what you’d expect on a hen night. I love it.

After we’d got dressed and had in-room manicures, Mia had taken us down to the cinema room at the hotel where we’d watched
Cocktail
. Then she’d played some messages she’d recorded from people who couldn’t be here. There was one from Jo, my first ever picture editor, who now works with Mia in Sydney. Then my mum said a few stilted but sweet words from the comfort of her lace doily-topped chair; telling me to be good and to not get into any trouble because ‘what will people think?’. Everyone had laughed at that, especially Case. Even Jackie popped up on screen in all her vivid-pink tracksuited glory, patting her hair and trying to check her reflection in the camera lens. ‘Do I look alright, darlin’?’ I could hear her ask Lydia, who was clearly behind the camera for this one. We were in hysterics by the end of Jackie’s gloriously irreverent speech where she gave me first-night sex tips and offered me a box of her Ann Summers products. And then, just as our sides had stopped aching and we’d wiped away the last tears of mirth, darling Nanny Door had stood directly in front of the camera and screeched, ‘Big Brother house, this is Nanny Door, do not swear, ha haaaa!’ Then she’d cackled so much she’d nearly missed Jackie’s throne she was trying to sit on. She’d composed herself, swatted Dave, who was trying to help her, out of the way and with her blue eyes twinkling with memory and love and wisdom, she’d smoothed down her hair, glanced momentarily off camera and said something that had made my throat ache and my heart swell and then dip, wishing that Ryan were here right now to see this.

‘My only advice to you, Molly dear, is what I learned from the thirty-five wonderful years I spent with my Arthur – and the eighteen years I’ve spent without him. Savour every single moment, every word, every kiss.’

Then the video had gone fuzzy and the smiling face of my fiancé had appeared. This one had been Casey’s doing, apparently.

‘You were doing this when you kicked me out of the flat the other evening!’ I’d exclaimed and hugged her. She’d just nodded.

‘Hello, Harry,’ Ryan said, his grin lighting up the entire screen. ‘So this time next week you will be Mrs Molly Cooper, you’ll have promised to love, honour and of course, the most important of all – obey me forever!’

‘Never!’ I yell, and we all laugh as Ryan rolls his eyes.

‘Did you just shout “never”?’ he asks into the camera. ‘Well, don’t you worry, I’m happy for you to promise never to obey me as long as you promise to never obey me as long as we both shall live.’ He’d winked and grinned. ‘I love you Molly Carter-almost-Cooper, have fun at your hen, don’t let those girls lead you astray, and I’ll see you next week, back in the place where it all began. I can’t wait, babe!’ Then he signed off with a kiss.

Ever since I’d seen him up on that screen I’ve missed him more than ever. I want to speak to him, but don’t want the other girls to know. They’ve banned me from any contact, but now all I want is to let him know how much I love him. And so I activate the camera on my new phone, turn it to face me and I blow my kiss back at him and then attach it to my message:

I can’t wait to be Mrs Cooper. Love you forever xxx

And I hit send.

2.07 p.m.

The missed call flashing up on screen is from Mia. There’s no voicemail but she’s sent a text:
You’re HOT! M x

I smile as I deftly type my response:
Not as hot as you . . . x

Another text comes back immediately:
You will be. Soon!

My phone rings almost seconds after I hit send.

‘Mia!’ I squeal as I begin walking down the stairs.

‘Hel
loi
, darling,’ I’m used to her Aussie inflections now. ‘Can you believe today’s the big day?!’

‘I know!’ I exclaim. I sit on the bottom step, smiling at the sound of my best friend’s voice. ‘I’m amazed you remembered!’

‘Hey, I may be in an ent
i
rely different time zone but I do
sometimes
manage to recall major events in my best friend’s life, you know!’ she replies huffily.

‘My birthday?’ I tease.

‘OK, maybe not
that
,’ she concedes, ‘but if you’d let me finish, I was
going
to add – especially when the major events involve me. And re your birthday, Molly, we’re practically in our mid-thirties now and I thought we had an unspoken agreement to pretend
that
particularly depressing event doesn’t happen any more . . . ’

‘Fair enough,’ I laugh.

‘But this – this is more exciting than Christmas! It’s going to be so brilliant Molly! Me and you back together again. Like when we were at uni. Do you remember those disgusting cocktails we concocted? What did we call them again? You know the ones that inexplicably tasted of fish.’

‘Moll Flangers,’ I reply, and we both crack up laughing.

‘Just think, we can go out all the time!’

‘I can’t wait to see you,’ she says more quietly. ‘I’ve felt so bloody useless for so long.’

‘You’ve helped more than you know.’ Not for the first time I give thanks for my friends. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without them. I just wish Casey . . . I stop myself before I start getting emotional again.
Pull yourself together, Molly,
I tell myself
. It’s not like you’ll be on your own . . .

The Celebratory Kiss

Think about how often we kiss to celebrate the new: new job, new baby, new house, a newly married couple. So many kisses to revel in, so many ‘new’ things. But shouldn’t
every
kiss be a celebration? Old or new, snatched or savoured. We should be throwing a party for every one.

<

I squint sleepily without opening my eyes, the custard-yellow sunlight is pouring through the curtains and spreading itself over our bed, covering us with its warmth.

‘Morning!’ murmurs Ryan. As ever, his naked body is curled around mine – even after nearly a year together we still sleep like we are locked in post-coital combat, with our limbs so inextricably tangled that I don’t know where his end and mine begin. I turn my head and we kiss; a long, lazy affair that turns quickly into something more. I roll over towards him and we find our natural positions without word or conscious direction. Ryan’s mouth tastes musty – a mixture of morning and lust – and I plunge into its warmth like a happy hippo in a muddy swamp, clinging onto his shoulders as we wallow in pleasure together. Afterwards, we emerge breathless and hot, throwing our sticky limbs across the entire bed as we pant, laughing with delight.

Ryan turns his head to look at me. ‘Happy anniversary, babe,’ he grins, and I roll up onto one shoulder, running my finger around the moles on his chest and wriggling in closer to him.

‘But it’s not our anniversary yet, Ry.’

‘It’s a year to the day of our real first kiss,’ Ryan says, kissing my forehead and stroking my damp hair. ‘Ibiza, remember?’

I look at the date display on the alarm clock and realize he’s right. I shouldn’t be surprised; Ryan has an uncanny ability to remember emotional events in great detail. He can recall our conversation in the café when we were teenagers in word-for-word detail, or what I was wearing when he saw me on the
Bembridge
. Ask him to remember to pick up some shopping, however, or to pay a gas bill, and he’s floored.

‘So how shall we celebrate?’ I say, stroking his chest and burying my face in his neck.

‘We just did, didn’t we?’ Ryan says, and I smack him playfully. ‘OK,’ he pulls himself up in bed, drawing me up with him. ‘How about I take you out for dinner tonight after you finish work. My treat. I’ll sort it out.’

‘I know just the place we could try—’ I say to Ryan, thinking about this new restaurant in London that I read about in
Time Out
but he interrupts me.

‘Leave it to me, Moll. I said I’d arrange it.’