‘I hate him, Maddie,’ Sarah said, abandoning our photo and dropping her phone on the floor. ‘I hate him so much. I can’t believe he’s gone. I still wake up every day and expect him to be in bed, and he isn’t, and he’s a shit, and I feel sick.’
‘Do you want some water?’ I asked, retrieving her phone from the very sticky floor. Sarah nodded.
‘He’s a bastard,’ she mouthed.
‘Such a bastard,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll be back with your water − don’t go anywhere.’
By the time I had battled my way to the bar and returned to our booth with two bottles of overpriced Evian, Sarah was nowhere to be seen.
‘If she’s throwing up, I’ll kill her,’ I muttered, leaving the water in the ‘VIP’ booth and venturing off to find the toilets. ‘It’s another hundred quid if we’re sick in the limo.’
Walking into the ladies was like being transported into another world. It was amazing how quickly you forgot what these things were like. One £12-a-pop cocktail bar and your brain erased any memory of queuing for the loo in a lurid red lav with mirrors screwed into the wall and covered in teenage graffiti. Je ne regrette rien. It smelled of hairspray and cheap bodyspray and one too many alcopops. One whiff and I was seventeen again.
‘Excuse me,’ I called, almost drowned out by aggressive spritzing of dry shampoo. ‘I’m looking for someone. She’s about this tall and has blonde hair in a topknot and—’
‘Maddie?’
Someone called my name in a low, choked American accent from inside one of the toilet cubicles.
‘Maddie, I need you.’
‘Lauren?’ I shouted. ‘Where are you?’
‘In here,’ she replied. ‘I need you.’
I excused myself as I cut through the queue and gently pushed on all the toilet doors until one gave way and I found her. Slumped in the corner of the loo, sequinned skirt up round her waist and lipstick smeared across her left cheek.
‘Oh Lauren.’ I couldn’t work out how much I’d need to have drunk to think sitting on the floor and propping myself up on the lav could possibly be a good idea. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I was sick,’ she said, pointing into the toilet. ‘But now I feel awesome. Do I look OK?’
‘You look brilliant,’ I told her. ‘Fantastic, actually.’
‘You’re so pretty.’ She reached out for my hair but I pulled away before she could make contact. ‘Your hair is all long and nice and your eyes are like crazy green. You know that? They’re so green. Like, the greenest.’
‘Thank you.’ I let out a loud sigh and tried to remember how to do this. ‘Shall we get you out of the toilets?’
Lauren shook her head. ‘I think maybe I might be sick again,’ she whispered loudly, punctuating each word with a flap of her hand. ‘We should stay here.’
With the greatest reluctance, I lowered myself onto the toilet floor, accepting that I would have to throw these jeans away in the morning.
‘Are you having a nice time?’ I asked. ‘Are you enjoying your bachelorette?’
‘Yes,’ Lauren replied before promptly bursting into tears.
Oh, bloody hell.
‘What’s the matter?’ I scooted closer, stroking her hair back from her sticky face. ‘Do you want to go back to the hotel?’
‘It’s not the bachelorette.’ She wiped a hand across her face, smearing her mascara as she went. I quickly grabbed a piece of loo paper to clean up her mucky paws. ‘It’s everything.’
And here we go.
‘It’s too quick,’ she said with a hiccup. Lauren always hiccupped when she cried. If it weren’t so frustrating waiting for her to finish a sentence, it would be adorable. ‘Way too quick. And all that stuff with Michael’s grandmother being ill, it’s, like, so much.’
‘But you want to marry him, don’t you?’ I asked.
Lauren didn’t answer nearly as quickly as I might have liked. ‘I love him,’ she replied. ‘But I’m really, really scared.’
I took her hand and smiled. ‘That’s natural,’ I said. ‘Everyone gets nervous before they get married.’
‘But what if I mess it up like my mom and dad?’ she whimpered. ‘What if I have to get divorced like Sarah?’
‘Not everyone gets divorced,’ I reminded her. Just most people, I said to myself. ‘You and Michael love each other − that’s all that matters. You can’t ask for more than that.’
‘We’ve only been together for a year,’ she said, tracing a lipstick-smeared love heart on the tiles. I wondered whether Gav and Caz were still together. ‘What if that’s not long enough? It’s not long, Mads.’
‘That’s true,’ I said, my mind running over everything that had already been arranged and paid for while trying to wipe away my best friend’s tears. ‘But you know, you’ve been around the block a couple of times. It’s not like you don’t know the difference between something real and something, well, not.’
‘But I’m not sure,’ she said, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. ‘I should be sure and I’m not.’
‘Do you want to marry Michael?’ I asked. ‘And you’re allowed to say no.’
‘I love him,’ she replied. ‘But it doesn’t feel the way I thought it would feel.’
There wasn’t a lot to say about that. I have no idea how it’s supposed to feel; I’ve always assumed I’ll know. Fuck, what do you do if someone asks you to marry them and you don’t know? I can’t even turn down a cup of tea if someone offers but I’m not in the mood.
‘How do you feel?’ I asked softly.
‘I love him,’ Lauren slurred again. ‘He’s handsome and clever and he always remembers what kind of cereal I like when he goes shopping and he gets on well with children and he has a huge—’
‘They’re all good reasons,’ I interrupted before she could go any further. I really didn’t want to know. ‘Does he make you laugh?’
‘Oh yeah,’ she replied, dilated eyes wide. ‘He’s so funny. He’s the funniest person I know.’
I cocked my head to one side. ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Because I have not seen that side of him.’
‘You haven’t seen what’s in his pants, either,’ she pointed out, hitting me in the nose with her index finger. ‘He’s a keeper.’
‘I think you’ve got your answer,’ I said, slapping her hand away from my face. ‘You love him, you think he’s funny, and apparently he’s packing. It’s just cold feet, Lauren. It’s going to be fine.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, her head lolling back and hitting the cistern. ‘That hurt.’
‘I’m going to find Sarah,’ I said, rubbing the back of her head. ‘Can you meet me outside in a few minutes?’
She gave me a blissful smile and blew me a kiss with an outstretched hand. ‘I love you,’ she shouted as I opened the door to let myself out.
‘I love you too,’ I called back, blocking an angry-looking girl with dyed black hair from going into the cubicle. ‘There’s someone still in there,’ I explained. ‘And even if there wasn’t, you wouldn’t want to go in.’
Outside the toilet, the club had filled up quickly and I couldn’t see Sarah anywhere. Pausing on the balcony, I took out my phone to text Todd the driver, asking if he could come and pick us up early. How was it possible that it was only one a.m.? After a fruitless five-minute double lap of the club, I gave up and headed back to the table. Where Sarah was snogging someone’s face off.
‘Um, hello?’ I said, poking her in the shoulder. She pulled away and looked up at me, confused. The man she was sitting on top of gave me a filthy look. And when I say man, he couldn’t possibly have been more than nineteen.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Is something the matter, like?’
‘Yes,’ I said, wrenching my jacket out from underneath him. ‘That’s my friend.’
‘And?’ he replied.
And I didn’t have anything else.
‘Sarah, Lauren’s ill, so we’re leaving.’ I decided to ignore the rude child my best friend was stradd
ling. ‘Can you please meet us outside in a minute?’
‘Who shoved a stick up your arse?’ he asked. ‘We’re having a conversation.’
‘No you’re not, actually,’ I replied. ‘You might be getting off with my thirty-one-year-old friend, but you’re definitely not having a conversation.’
‘You’re thirty-one?’ he said to Sarah. ‘Wicked. Cougar life, man.’
The smile fell from Sarah’s face. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, gracelessly clambering off his lap, kneeling on his nads as she disembarked. ‘Where’s Lauren?’
‘She’ll be outside,’ I said as my phone started ringing. ‘That’ll be the driver.’
But when I looked down at my phone, it wasn’t my driver.
‘What’s wrong?’ Lauren asked, ignoring the noisy writhing of her manchild as she tried and failed to get her arms into her leather jacket. I held out my phone and showed her the name flashing on the screen.
Tom Wheeler.
‘Wait, that’s the usher?’ she said, grabbing one of the unopened bottles of water from the table. ‘He’s calling you? At one a.m. on a Saturday? What’s wrong with him?’
‘What do I do?’ I panicked.
‘Answer the fucking phone?’ the boy in the booth suggested.
‘Clearly you can’t do that,’ Sarah said, rolling her eyes. ‘Let it go to voicemail. It might be a butt dial.’
‘It must be a butt dial!’ I agreed, full of hope. ‘Thank God. Can you go to the lav and get madam? I’ll go out and find the car.’
‘And listen to three minutes of the hot usher heavy-breathing and groping his hot fiancée in the back of a cab?’ she asked. ‘Whatever. I need to puke before we leave anyway.’
Sarah had always been a pro drinker. Hammered one minute, fingers down her throat and back on the shots the next. It was disgusting. And probably why she worked in PR.
The limo hadn’t arrived yet when I exited the club, ecstatic to be told that there was no re-entry. Fizzing with curiosity, I pressed the voicemail button, preparing myself for the drunken worst.
‘Maddie, it’s Tom.’ It was not a butt dial. He didn’t sound drunk, he sounded panicked. ‘I got your text. Where are you? Are you OK? Let me know where you are and I’ll come and get you.’
He’d come and get me? With a horrible, horrible, career-destroying realization, I pulled my phone away from my ear and swiped through my texts. I had not asked Todd the driver to collect us from Lauren’s hen do, I had sent Tom the Usher a text message saying ‘so sorry, pls could you come and get us right now?’
Oh, Maddie Fraser, what a cockmonkey you are.
My finger hovered over the screen, ready to reply, but I didn’t know what to say. Just as I was about to send my very best apologetic emoji, his name lit up the screen again. Gritting my teeth, I answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Maddie, it’s Tom, are you OK? Where are you?’ He sounded so genuinely concerned, I couldn’t help but be a little bit touched.
‘Tom, I’m fine,’ I said quickly, trying to get the mortification out of the way as quickly and as painlessly as possible. ‘I’m so sorry, I texted the wrong number. I’m on a hen night and our driver is called Todd and I messaged the wrong person and, you know … eek. So, so sorry.’
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. I grimaced, waiting for a response while I watched a man throw up round the back of a kebab van.
‘I see,’ he said. Awfully calm for someone who was ready to get in the car and collect a girl he barely knew from an undisclosed location at one in the morning. ‘I was a bit worried.’
‘Well, I can see why you would be,’ I replied, awkward laughter in my voice. ‘But I’m fine. Honest. We’re all fine. But thank you.’
‘Not at all,’ he said, his voice crisp and stiff again. ‘Have a lovely evening.’
‘You doing anything nice?’ I asked, immediately slapping my palm against my forehead.
‘Sleeping,’ he said. ‘Or at least I was.’
‘I’ll let you get back to that then,’ I said, shaking my head at myself. ‘Sorry about the text. And the call. And waking you up. Just, generally, sorry.’
‘Noted,’ Tom replied. ‘Goodnight, Maddie.’
Brilliant, I thought to myself as Lauren and Sarah staggered out of the club in each other’s arms. Maybe I should call Matilda while I was at it and have her add embarrassing late-night text messages to clients to my CV.
That would definitely help my case with Mr Colton.
17
The next morning, according to Sarah’s itinerary, we were supposed to be up at nine for breakfast and then take a brisk walk around the grounds. When neither of my friends had pulled their heads out from underneath their pillows at ten, I took myself down for breakfast and then embarked on a very steady, hungover wander to the nearest bench, right outside the breakfast room.
The hotel grounds were lovely, all rolling hills and green fields. I just wished I could get the throbbing pain in my right eye to go away. Alcopops were made for those with high metabolisms and the devil; I hadn’t had a hangover like this in years.
Because nothing went with a hangover quite so well as personal shame, I took out my phone and swiped through last night’s messages. I couldn’t believe I had texted Tom. I couldn’t believe I had spoken to Tom. I desperately wanted to text him again and beg him not to tell my bosses about it, but he wouldn’t, would he? Will might have him pegged as some sort of uber wanker, but he’d only been polite to me. Bloody hell, he was prepared to get in his car at one in the morning when he thought I was in trouble; that went well beyond the duty of a Nice Man.
Distracting myself with some Instagram shots of the beautiful Somerset scenery worked for about three minutes, but soon enough I was panicking again. And with both my best friends unconscious, I did the only sensible thing I could think to do.
I called Will.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me,’ I said, awkwardly realizing this was the first time I’d ever called him on the phone. ‘Maddie.’
‘That’s what it said on my phone,’ he replied. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I lied. ‘Just thought I’d call, say hello.’
‘Aren’t you on your girls’ weekend?’ Will asked. I could hear a lot of manly shouting in the background. ‘Isn’t it no blokes allowed?’
‘I’m on Lauren’s hen weekend,’ I said. ‘The others are still in bed. Last night was a rough one.’
‘Ouch,’ Will laughed. ‘It’s nearly eleven. You must have been caning it.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘What did you do last night?’
‘I can’t chat right now, Mads,’ he said, the shouting getting louder. ‘I’m at rugby, we’re going on in a minute. Can I call you back later?’
‘I’ll be home tonight if you want to come round?’ I suggested. ‘About seven or something?’
‘I’m busy tonight,’ he said. ‘But tomorrow could work?’
‘Sounds good,’ I replied, not at all wondering what he was doing. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘All right, see you then—’
‘Will.’ I had to say it, I needed reassurance that this wasn’t a firing offence or I’d be feeling like shite all day. ‘Last night, I accidentally sent a text to Tom.’
‘Tom Wheeler?’ he asked, the rush gone out of his voice. ‘Why have you got his number in your phone?’
‘I’m doing that party for him, remember?’ I know it’s childish to enjoy your boyfriend being jealous, but fuck it, I hadn’t had the pleasure for such a long time
‘I thought you weren’t doing that,’ Will said. ‘I thought you said no.’
‘I never said that,’ I replied. ‘You don’t need to worry about it. I was trying to text Todd, our driver, but I texted him by mistake and I think he’s a bit mad about it. You don’t think he’ll call my boss or anything, do you?’
Will sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t think so. Do you want me to call him? I’ll call him
.’
My knight in tiny rugby shorts.
‘No, not if you don’t think he’ll do anything,’ I said, relief taking the edge off my headache. ‘It was my fault anyway. I did text him at one in the morning.’
‘Nothing salacious, I hope,’ he replied. ‘Those texts are only meant to be coming to me.’
‘Hardly.’ I smiled to myself. ‘He thought I was asking him to come and pick us up from somewhere. And he was going to come! Isn’t that mental?’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth I felt weird about them and about what it might have meant that Tom was prepared to get out of bed and come find me, wherever I was, without even asking why.
Will did not seem to think it was mental. ‘Just be careful around him, Mads,’ he said, an edge to his voice. ‘I don’t like him hanging around you. He’s a snake.’
‘I know you’re busy,’ I said. ‘But sooner or later you’re going to have to tell me what went on with you two.’
‘Just be careful,’ he warned gently. ‘I’m only thinking about you. He’s had it in for me since college − he needs to grow up and get over himself. We’re not eighteen any more, but he’s still got a chip on his shoulder. I wouldn’t trust a word he says.’
‘Right.’ I thought back to the dance, the party for his mum, the awkward charm. It was all so lovely. Was it just an act all calculated to look like charm when really it was nothing but sneakiness? ‘I’ll be careful.’
‘You should tell him where to stick his party,’ Will advised. ‘I’ve got to go, Mads. I’ll call you tonight, yeah?’
‘Tonight,’ I confirmed. ‘Talk to you later.’
Sticking my phone into my jacket pocket, I stared off into the blue sky. Thank God I’d found Will, I thought, allowing myself a five-second fantasy of our wedding on these beautiful lawns, the rolling hills behind us.
Thank God I had someone looking out for me for a change.
‘Hey, Maddie, smile.’ Lauren clicked a picture of me staring blindly into her camera. ‘Hmm, not your best.’
‘So, this is nice,’ I said, sitting back as a waiter in a starched white shirt poured me a cup of freshly brewed Earl Grey from a silver teapot so shiny I could see every single one of my burgeoning wrinkles in its reflection. I wondered how many had been caused by Lauren’s wedding.