Bridesmaids

We’re cool.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_9856aafc-b0eb-5600-a29d-ae563ecca01c)

I am in shock. The whole ‘no New York’ thing rattled my cage, and after that wedding announcement I feel like Rach has dropped a bloody big boulder on me and left me feeling totally flattened. I can’t get my head round everything.

I feel like my best friend is heading for a car crash and 1 can’t do anything about it. Feeling helpless and out of control is so not my thing.

I should have told her, I know I should have. Ages ago. When it happened.

But if I sow the evil seed of doubt in her mind now, then everything could be off – our friendship, and her wedding. I know what that feels like. I went to pieces and I’ve always thought of myself as a strong person, so what would it do to Rach?

And I could be wrong. Saint Michael might have cast off his sins and been reborn. Now all I can think about is St Michael’s mount, and it’s the word mount that is bouncing around in my head. Eek, bounce was so the wrong word.

This could all go horribly wrong and I could let her down. Andy is bound to be there, because he knows Michael, and so will lots of other people who were supposed to be coming to our wedding. And she’s asked me to be her bridesmaid! I think I’m fine, I think I’m totally over it, but what if the whole walking down the aisle in a pretty dress brings me out in hives and makes me puke? Or yell blue murder at an inappropriate point, such as when the vicar asks if anybody sees any reasons why they can’t be married. Or bump the bride out of the way and yell ‘it should have been me’? Or (and let’s face it, this is most likely), just look glum and tearful on what is supposed to be the happiest day of Rachel’s life.

Note to self: not only do I not make an appealing enough bride, I also do not make a good best friend.

I need her to get married on a desert island with only a monkey and coconut tree in attendance.

Or I need to develop some kind of lurgy that is non-life-threatening but highly contagious. I could say I’ve caught ringworm off the kittens (sorry kittens). Nobody likes a fungal infection, do they?

I spend the first couple of days in Brighton licking my wounds, and many slices of pizza, and quite a lot of fish and chips with Freddie and then I realise that I really do need a kick up the arse. This is because, 1. It isn’t fair on him that I’m such a miserable git, 2. My jeans will burst if I don’t quit eating so much crap, 3. The girls will arrive soon and I have to put on a happy face for Rach and, 4. being here is actually fun. Though I am very sad that I can’t post my hilarious photos of us on Insta.

The one I got of him with a seagull hovering six inches above his head is a classic. And our selfie with the top of the Royal Pavilion looking like it’s a crown on my head is pretty good, even if I say so myself. And so is the sunset, and the one of Freddie snogging the giant terrapin in Sea Life – honestly, you’d really think they were puckering up for real.

Okay, the sunset wasn’t hilarious, or even funny, but it was beautiful. We’d sat side by side in silence, in awe, and I’d really wanted to reach out for a hand to hold.

But that was fantasy Freddie. The version of him that somehow manages to occupy my brain every now and then (and sometimes brings on a hot flush).

Real Freddie is different.

There is no hand-holding involved. He is a friend. Just a friend, who turned to look at me just as I’d turned to look at him. For a second, we’d shared a look, then we’d both glanced away, back out to sea and been disproportionality interested in the waves.

‘Thanks for this.’

‘The ice cream?’ Freddie grins.

‘No, you idiot, for everything. Bringing me here, cheering me up.’

‘That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?’

I smile. I’ve never had a male friend like Freddie before. He’s currently nearly on a par with fantasy Freddie, the one who (in my head) is currently walking with me barefoot on the sand, rubbing that spot between my thumb and forefinger that makes me go all tingly.

I mean, we all need dreams, don’t we? And dreams are a safe option – no disappointments, no ugly reality, just pure unadulterated pleasure and total control.

‘Cockle?’ He dips his cocktail stick into the tiny tub and lifts the ugly little mollusc into the air. My tingles stop.

I grin and shake my head, thinking of my gran’s old saying about ‘warming the cockles of your heart’. Freddie warms mine. At least I think it’s my cockles. ‘Yeah, but it’s kind of going above and beyond …’

He shrugs. ‘I was due some holiday anyway, and I like coming here.’ He stares at me, and for a moment his gaze locks with mine. I’d never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before, how intense and dark. I feel a brief shiver of some feeling I can’t pin down, then he glances away and points at the seagulls. ‘Hurry up and eat that or they’ll be dive bombing you.’

I am about to hurry up, when my phone pings. ‘It’s Rach!’

Freddie nods, waits, as I look at the text.

‘How’s Brighton?’

‘Great.’

‘How’s Freddie?’

‘Rach! Will you stop it?’

‘Ha-ha just wondering. We’re all set for the bridesmaids booze up – see you Friday!’

‘Aren’t you going to tell me who’s coming?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh, come on, can’t you give me at least a hint? I’ve spent all my spare time scouring your Facebook and Insta feeds for clues!’

‘No way, I want to see your face!’

This is a teensy bit worrying. I have, in between ice cream eating with Freddie, been wondering why my best friend cannot tell me who am I going to be walking down the aisle with.

There are several worrying scenarios: 1. One or more of the girls were supposed to be my bridesmaids. This thought makes me a bit queasy; 2. Some of Rachel’s gang are girls that really didn’t like me at all at school; and 3. A combination of both.

‘See you Friday, can’t wait! Love you Rx’

I know they say that your school days are the best days of your life, but how often is that true? I spent a huge proportion of mine worrying about not being liked, not being kissed and not wearing the right gear.

And, as far as friends go, well, I trusted Rach … but the rest? Girls can be bitchy, cliquey and spiteful, as well as supportive, lovely and generous. And there’s often a fine line …

I frown at Freddie, well, not at him. Past him. ‘At least I know it won’t be Andy!’

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Sorry, Rach was talking about the bridesmaids.’

‘True, he’d look rubbish in a dress, not got the legs.’

We grin at each other, mine a bit strained, his soft at the edges. ‘Stop worrying.’

‘I can’t help it. What if they’re people I hate?’

‘Is that really what you’re worried about?’

‘Yes. Well, no. Gawd, it’s the whole wedding thing, Freddie.’ I bury my head in my hands for a moment, which is better than in the sand I guess. ‘Why does all the crap stuff come at once?’