I look over my shoulder to see that Maria has arrived.
‘Hello!’ I cry, turning around to give her a hug.
‘Hey, Maria,’ Russ says, putting his hand on her lower back. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Hang on, I thought I was buying this round?’ Alex asks with confusion.
‘I’ll get mine and Maria’s, you and Bronte can do what you like,’ Russ decides.
I turn back to the bar, feeling Lachie’s knee against my leg.
I shift slightly towards Alex, but our elbows touch and I tense and instinctively move away again.
A couple of drinks later, I’ve lightened up considerably. We’ve all relocated to a table and Lachie is going down a storm with my female colleagues. He’s wedged in between
Maria and Lisa, who switched seats when I went to the loo, leaving the chair beside Alex free.
‘I thought you said he didn’t play cheese,’ Alex comments, turning to look at me with his stupidly blue eyes.
‘Sorry?’ I give him a puzzled look, distracted by Maria playfully restyling Lachie’s hair.
‘You said he played cool stuff, not cheese.’
What’s he going on about? He hasn’t heard Lachie play. Oh, hang on. Wham at lunchtime. ‘Are you talking about “Wake Me Up Before You
Go-Go
”?’
‘Yeah. Doesn’t come much cheesier than that.’
I laugh. ‘That was an insider joke.’
He regards me with uncertainty, and as his eyes widen slightly, I realise he might be jumping to conclusions. Oh well.
‘You guys need to help me here,’ Bridget says loudly, making everyone at the table turn to stare at her. ‘It’s Bronte’s thirtieth birthday in a few
weeks.’
I interrupt with a groan, leaning back in my seat while several pairs of eyes land on me. ‘I’m going away the weekend after next for two weeks and I will miss it,’ Bridget says
crossly, as though we’re all to blame. ‘So I’m thinking we’ll bring the celebrations forward. What’s everyone doing next weekend?’
‘I’ve already told you,’ I interject just as Maria starts to say that she can’t. ‘I’ve got a wedding in the Lake District then. Maria has, too.’ I smile
across at her. ‘I don’t want a big bash.’ I turn back to Bridget.
‘That’s what I was thinking!’ Bridget says with worrying excitement. ‘How about a group of us go up to the Lake District with you? My aunt has a little cottage in
Keswick, which is not far from where your wedding is taking place, right?’ She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She’s obviously done her research. ‘We could stay there,
otherwise we could camp. There’s a campsite just across the lake.’
‘That’s a wicked idea,’ Russ enthuses.
‘I’d be up for that,’ Lachie chips in.
‘I’m free,’ Lisa says.
‘I can’t,’ Esther tells us with disappointment. ‘It’s my dad’s fiftieth.’
Tim can’t either, and Pete thinks his fiancée, Sylvie, might have already made plans for them. Alex has said nothing, but I know that the answer will be no, anyway.
‘Alex?’ Bridget asks him directly. ‘What about you?’
‘Maybe.’
I glance at him with surprise. ‘Zara’s away,’ he explains. ‘So I don’t see why not.’
‘She goes away a lot, your missus, doesn’t she?’ Russ says.
‘A fair bit,’ Alex agrees.
‘So what do you reckon?’ Bridget asks and I snap to attention when I realise her question is directed at me. ‘We’ll gate-crash your wedding. Just kidding,’ she says
when she sees my face. ‘You can do your bit in the daytime and we’ll help you celebrate at night. Yeah?’
‘We’ll probably be done by eight-ish,’ I tell her thoughtfully.
Her face lights up. ‘In that case, perfect! We can go up Friday night, straight from work, celebrate Saturday night, and play on Sunday before heading back in time for work on Monday. What
do you think?’ she asks the table.
‘I think it’s a brilliant plan,’ Maria speaks for everyone.
I call Polly on Sunday and I’m relieved when she answers. I thought she was avoiding my calls. She tells me she’s going to see Grant’s parents the following
weekend, so she can’t come to the Lake District. Bridget mentioned inviting them as well, but it’s probably a good thing they can’t come if Polly’s trying to stay off the
drink. I tell her I’ve been worried about her, but she brushes me off in her usual manner, accusing me of overreacting and claiming that what Maria and I saw was just a slip-up. I reiterate
that I’m here for her if she needs me and leave it at that.
The following Friday night, a group of us congregate at the office to drive up to the Lake District for my fourth wedding – and my thirtieth birthday celebrations.
Rachel is taking Maria, Russ and Lisa, and Alex, who is the only other one of us who actually has a car, is taking Bridget, Lachie and me.
We’re going to try and hook up at a motorway service station for a bite to eat and drive the rest of the way in convoy.
‘Thanks for giving me a lift, bro,’ Lachie says to Alex.
‘No problem,’ he responds, although he seemed less than thrilled to be taking my new buddy. He tried to persuade Russ to travel with him, but he was keen to travel with Maria. The
pair of them seemed to hit it off at the pub last week – so much so that Maria played less with Lachie’s hair and more with Russ’s as the evening wore on.
‘I don’t know if that will fit in the boot.’ Alex nods at Lachie’s guitar as we walk through the dingy underground car park to his blue Alfa Romeo Brera.
‘If not, it can come in the back with me,’ he replies.
‘One of my bags can come in the back with me, too,’ Bridget says. So she’s sitting next to Lachie, hey? Not that I mind sitting in the front with Alex.
Lachie has a backpack slung over his shoulder. Alex’s bag and tent are already in the boot. He’s borrowed a second tent from his sister and her husband, who I met at the hen
night.
That seems like a lifetime ago.
Rachel, Maria and I already had a B&B booked, but the others are staying at Bridget’s aunt’s place tonight, then tomorrow they have to move to a campsite across the lake because
a new weekly rental is coming in. Russ and Lisa are also bringing tents and Maria and I are playing things by ear. We might crash in a tent if there’s room, otherwise we’ll go back to
our B&B with Rachel, who has shown no interest at all in sleeping on the ground when there’s a perfectly good bed waiting and already paid for. She’s promised to join us for drinks
around the campfire after the wedding, though.
‘Are you planning on playing that much?’ Alex nods at Lachie’s guitar as he pops open the boot to see if it will squeeze inside. It won’t.
‘We’re gonna have a campfire, dude. Gotta have songs around a campfire.’
Alex frowns and takes my bags from me, kit bag included. He manages to find room for them somehow.
‘Your friend is a little uptight,’ Lachie mutters, his breath in my ear as he climbs with his guitar into the passenger seat behind me.
‘Ooh, it’s a bit squashy,’ Bridget says as she joins Lachie in the back.
‘Snuggle in close, Bridgie,’ Lachie replies. Such a typical Aussie man, dishing out nicknames. ‘You can rest your pretty little head on my shoulder.’
Alex flashes me a look and I mirror him, both of us knowing that Bridget will be only too happy to oblige. He navigates us out of the car park and straight into London at rush hour. Lachie
starts to sing along to the radio, Alex turns the sound up and I smile to myself and let him concentrate on driving.
Two hours into our journey, Lachie and Bridget are both fast asleep; Lachie’s head is tilted back on his headrest and Bridget’s head is on one of his broad
shoulders. I twist to face Alex.
‘So Zara didn’t mind you coming away this weekend?’ I ask him. He glances in his rear-view mirror and turns the radio back down, satisfied that Lachie won’t be singing
along in the near future.
‘No, why would she?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. That’s good, though,’ I add awkwardly.
‘What’s the deal with him?’ Alex frowns, jerking his head towards the back seat.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I told you, I met him a couple of weeks ago at a wedding in Scotland.’
‘And he just came to London and hunted you out?’
‘I obviously made an impression on him. He’s found a job in a pub in Camden.’
‘It’s a little obsessive, don’t you think?’
I laugh. ‘He’s just being friendly, you dork, cut a girl some slack. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’s in love with me,’ I add in a
self-deprecating voice.
‘I don’t know. He seems pretty used to women falling at his feet.’
‘Who cares what he’s used to?’ I reply. ‘I’ll do what I want. And anyway, I’m single, he’s single, what does it matter?’ His jaw twitches as he
stares straight ahead out of the windscreen. ‘What’s your problem with him?’ I ask, not getting a reply. ‘You just need to get to know him better,’ I decide.
‘How well do
you
know him?’ He glances across at me, and I can hear the accusation in his tone.
‘What are you asking me?’ I reply, a chill spreading inside me as he looks back at the road. As if he has a right to ask me anything.
He glances at me again. ‘Have you slept with him?’
Wow. I didn’t expect him to be so upfront. Thankfully irritation overcomes my surprise.
‘What’s it to you if I had?’ I bite back.
‘Nothing. It’s none of my business,’ he says blandly, indicating to overtake a lorry. ‘You can sleep with whoever you want.’
I stare at him with shock and anger. ‘Is that what you think I do?’ I ask coldly. ‘Go around having one-night stands with people?’
He shrugs. ‘Forget it.’
I glare at him for a moment longer, before instinctively turning around to look at the back seat. When I do, Lachie’s half-open eyes are staring right back at me. He closes them again,
leaving me to wonder if I’d just imagined him eavesdropping on our conversation.
‘I couldn’t believe it when I woke up this morning. Wayne said to me, not this morning, obviously, because you’re not allowed to see each other on the morning
of the big day, but he’s said to me in the past, he’s said, “The weather is shit in the Lake District. Shit!” he said, but he’s wrong. Look at it! Look out
there!’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Maria says warmly, while Rachel snaps away.
‘Absolutely stunning,’ Becky, our excessively chatty bride continues. ‘And to think he wanted to get married in London. London! Boring old London instead of here? I’m so
glad I stuck to my guns. So glad.’
‘Just hold still for a moment,’ Maria says gently.
‘I’ll head off to the register office,’ I whisper to Rachel. She nods with amusement.
Wayne agreed to marry Becky because she told him it was now or never, that’s what we’ve been hearing. Both in their late thirties, the couple have been together for twelve years with
no sign of a proposal. She wants children; he wants an easy life. She decided it was time to make his life difficult or call it quits.
I still have no idea why she’d bother.
Wayne and I appear to share the same sentiment.
‘What’s with all the flowers? I told her to keep it simple,’ I overhear him complaining to his mother, who looks like she’s gone to a real effort, judging by the size of
her hat and her matching lilac silk suit.
‘It’s her big day,’ Wayne’s mother says reasonably. ‘She’s waited a long time for this.’
‘It’s ridiculous. We don’t need to get married to be together.’
Can’t say I don’t think he has a point. But it’s a little late to be trying to convince anyone else on that matter... Wayne is still looking cranky and I don’t want to
shoot him with a black look on his face.
‘Doesn’t your mother look lovely, Wayne?’ I prompt, hoping he’ll glance at her and smile.
But instead he shocks me by saying, ‘I don’t want any photos. Get that thing out of my face!’
‘Wayne!’ His mother gasps, looking horrified. But he storms off.
Oh dear. We’ve got a tricky one here.
I do what I can, shooting him from afar with a zoom, but I barely get a single shot of him not scowling.
Thank goodness for the flowers, I say. They give me something to focus on. Masses of pinky-purple hellebores, blue delphiniums, muscari and cornflowers are attached to the gilded aisle chairs
with purple ribbons, and huge displays adorn every other surface. I think they look stunning.
When Becky arrives, she’s like a beaming ray of sunshine. I hope some of her happiness rubs off on her husband-to-be. I thought she might have gone for something a little more understated,
seeing as they’re getting married in a register office, but to my surprise she has opted for a full meringue. She’s not slim, but she hasn’t made the strapless mistake. Her gown
has a flattering V-neck, structured bodice with decent-sized shoulder straps, and there are crystal and pearl beads scattered attractively around her waistline just above a billowing white skirt.
Her auburn hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing diamanté drop earrings.
Rachel gives me a delighted thumbs-up.
‘I love it when they go for the big dresses,’ she says, making to move past me. ‘How’s everything here?’
‘Er, okay,’ I say.
‘What is it?’ She looks concerned.
‘I think we’ve got a bit of a reluctant groom.’
We both look over at Wayne to see him checking his watch. He’s wearing a nice enough suit, but it’s nothing special. Not in comparison to the effort Becky has made.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll get some good shots later,’ Rachel assures me.
I’ve set her up at the front, so all she has to do is start shooting.
The Princess Bride’s
‘Once Upon A Time... Storybook Love’ begins to play out of a small
stereo and I bite my lip. It makes a nice change from ‘The Bridal March’, that’s for sure.
Becky begins to walk down the aisle and I ready myself to capture Wayne’s reaction. But he’s not turning around; his eyes are trained on the registrar. The guests coo and gasp as
Becky passes them and then the curiosity must get to Wayne because he starts to swivel. Snap. His mouth falls open with shock. No smile. He stares at his bride-to-be in disbelief. He obviously had
no idea she was going for a big dress. He pulls himself together and readjusts his face, but my heart sinks on her behalf.