A Girl Like You (33 page)
Authors: Gemma Burgess
Walking down the aisle as a bridesmaid is terrifying. I cannot imagine how nerve-wracking it must be for the bride. Practically everyone I know, all our family members, everyone that has seen Sophie and I grow up, is in the church. And they’ve all turned around to stare.
Bella goes first. Then Vix. Then me. And then Sophie, on my Dad’s arm.
As I walk up the aisle of the packed little church, I try hard to keep my eyes on the black and white floor tiles and Vix’s steadily advancing feet, so that I can match her pace. When I get halfway up the aisle, a collective gasp tells me that Sophie has just entered the church, and – thank God – no one is looking at me anymore. That’s when I raise my eyes and find myself looking straight at the groomsmen.
There’s Luke, with a huge smile on his face.
Dave, staring straight ahead, his face blank.
JimmyJames, clearly deeply hungover.
And then Robert. Looking right at me.
Our eyes meet, and for several seconds, I get tunnel vision. All I can see is his face, his eyes staring at mine. Everything in my vision apart from him goes fuzzy. I’m trying so intently to read his expression that for a split-second, I stumble over the hem of my dress and break the stare. When I right myself and look back, he’s not looking at me anymore.
Hardly breathing, I take my place next to Vix as calmly as I can, and turn to watch my sister coming down the aisle.
She’s wearing a long off-white silk dress, in a sort of bias-cut, with her dark hair long and wavy. (Her something old is our mother’s earrings, her something new is the dress, her something borrowed is again the earrings, and her something blue is a pair of sky blue heels. In case you were wondering.) I’m wondering why people always cry at weddings, because really it’s just a weird pagan ritual, when I turn to look at Luke’s face. His entire face is creased up in a smile so wide it looks like it must hurt and just as she reaches him, his eyes fill with tears. And then I start crying, too.
Sophie laughs, and leans up to kiss him and whisper something in his ear, and he nods and uses one hand to quickly flick away the tears. They both turn to the front of the church.
I look next to me and see that Vix is also crying. We meet eyes and immediately start to giggle. Vix makes a small exploding sound.
Bella flinches, as though she thinks we might be laughing at her, but doesn’t turn. We’ve successfully avoided her all morning, she didn’t even come with us to the church. The bridesmaid dress Bella chose doesn’t suit her, I note with satisfaction (okay, I don’t hate her, but I’m allowed to be happy when she looks bad, right?). Like ours, it’s soft pale grey, but she’s wearing a knee-length halter neck style that makes her look both slutty and wide. Vix is wearing a below-the-knee strapless style that suits her, with some serious upholstery keeping her puppies under wraps. My dress is very plain: just below the knee and sort of draped, with a low back. As we’re turning to face the front of the church, I look out to the congregation and glance at Plum, who makes a gesture to my dress, and gives me the thumbs up, mouthing ‘fucking fab!’ Sartorial approval. I almost laugh again, and just control myself.
The rest of the ceremony passes by in a blur. I can’t see Robert, despite straining to out of the corner of my eye. Then the vicar pronounces them husband and wife, and everyone starts cheering and whooping, led by JimmyJames and Vix.
We follow Luke and Sophie back down the aisle, but my chance to see Robert is stolen as two of my younger cousins come up to give me a hug. This is followed, when I get outside, by crowds of our family and friends who want to kiss and hug us all. The so-called reception line for said kissing and hugging is a total shambles, because JimmyJames wants to talk to Vix and Luke won’t stop kissing Sophie. I can’t see Robert in the crowds of people, and when the main person I don’t want to see – Dave – comes towards me and looks like he might start to speak, I grab my great-aunt, give her an enormous hug and pull her over to speak to Dad. Crafty old me.
It’s the bridal party’s job to ensure that all 128 guests make it to the reception. As we start shepherding people out of the churchyard, it’s already a mess, with people stopping to chat and ambling out onto the road.
‘Help,’ I say beseechingly to JimmyJames and Vix, who are standing near me bickering flirtatiously.
‘Yeah, James,’ says Vix. ‘I thought you were a take-charge kind of guy.’
‘Right, screw this,’ says JimmyJames. He puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a huge whistle. ‘Everyone! Hold hands! We are going to do this in an organised fashion!’
If you haven’t seen 128 people in cocktail attire holding hands and snaking through Marylebone, well, you haven’t lived. Since the hand-holding order came when everyone was still mingling and talking, we’re all placed quite randomly, and there are relatives holding hands with friends holding hands with parents etc. It makes everyone giggle and breaks the ice. It’s a gorgeously sunny day and unusually warm for March, which always makes Londoners a bit giddy.
I’m holding hands with Vix and my Uncle Jim. I can’t see Robert.
The reception is in a tiny mews off Great Titchfield Street: a huge, all-white photography studio with huge floor-to-ceiling glass doors along one side, opening out onto a hidden garden, where there are two large outside bars set up. This is also where, for a few deeply stressful minutes, the bridal party has to take group photos. I can’t bring myself to look at Robert, or Dave or Bella for that matter, but Vix keeps up a running patter that makes Sophie and I laugh constantly.
Thankfully, waiters with large tumblers of champagne on ice are waiting for us as soon as photos are over. I stride away from the bridal party as quickly as I can and start chatting to the guests.
‘Champagne with ice cubes! Very unconventional,’ I hear one of Luke’s Dutch aunts say sniffily. ‘Like the shoes, I suppose.’
‘Try it, you might like it,’ smiles Sophie as she passes. She’d warned me that some of Luke’s relatives wouldn’t approve of the reception venue. But since she caved on the church ceremony – religion not being her cup of hot cha – she wouldn’t budge on anything else.
The aunt takes a sip, makes a face, and then takes a much longer sip, turning away. I meet eyes with Sophie and wink. All her planning and worrying is going to pay off.
Suddenly, Vix grabs my hand and hisses ‘Follow me!’ She marches me inside, past the long banquet-style dinner tables, through the kitchen and out into a little side alley where the bins are. She’s clearly downed a few glasses of champagne already, and her dress is
un peu
wonky.
‘I think your boob is plotting an escape,’ I say. ‘Why are we here?’
‘We’re having a secret fag away from the crowds,’ she says, yanking up her dress. ‘And by the way, I slept with JimmyJames last night. I wanted to wait till after the ceremony to tell you.’
‘What!’ I gasp. ‘OK, now I need a cigarette.’ I light one, take a drag and cough profusely. I haven’t smoked in months.
‘How could you go for a fucking cigarette without me?’ says Plum, jumping through the doorway, followed by Sophie.
‘Why is it the only maid I can see is the one that I don’t even like?’ asks Sophie. ‘Bad maids! Bad.’
‘Vix is the baddest maid of them all,’ I say.
‘I slept with JimmyJames last night,’ she says again.
Everyone screams. I scream again, too, just for the fun of it.
‘Hello, ladies,’ says a male voice. We all turn around: it’s Dan. ‘Ah . . . I can see this is a willy-free VIP area. Can I get you a drink?’
‘You can get us a bottle,’ says Plum, leaning over to kiss him. ‘All good?’
‘JimmyJames and I are taking bets on which one of you lot falls over on the dance floor first,’ he says.
‘That’s so romantic,’ says Plum. ‘But don’t worry, sugarnuts. I’m a sure thing.’
Dan leaves, and we all turn back to Vix, who has a satisfied little grin on her face.
‘Tell me motherfucking everything,’ say Plum, as Dan returns with the bottle of champagne and four glasses and then dashes off. ‘Love you, baby!’ shouts Plum after him.
‘Well, he’s been calling and texting and emailing a lot since that weekend in France,’ says Vix, downing her first glass of champagne and pouring another. ‘And he makes me laugh so much . . . he’s interesting and smart. And he’s an amazing kisser. I mean, what else is there in life?’
‘Amen, sister,’ says Plum, clinking glasses with her.
‘I thought you were with Robert in France?’ says Sophie.
‘Don’t be silly, Robert’s in love with Abigail,’ Vix says, and then claps her hand over her mouth. There’s a pause that seems to last forever, and then everyone looks at me.
‘No, he’s not,’ I say. ‘He’s not,’ I say again, and then look up to meet all of their eyes. ‘Is he?’
Vix shakes her head. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t say anything.’
‘Robert did
not
tell you that he was in love with me,’ I say forcefully.
‘Not in those exact words,’ she says. ‘But we talked until 3 am in France. He talked about you a lot. He’s always looking at you. I asked him directly, and he didn’t answer . . . but it’s so obvious to everyone, except you.’
I stare into space for a moment, chewing my lip, and then shrug. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We don’t speak anymore. We’re not even friends. If he ever felt that way . . . it’s gone now. I heard him bringing some random girl home the other night. He’s an incorrigible ladykiller. He will never change.’
‘JimmyJames told me that,’ says Vix. ‘But he also told me that Robert didn’t do anything, and that the girl stormed out of the house after being in his room for about ten minutes, interrupting JimmyJames’ little snog in the kitchen,’ she adds proudly. ‘Now that he’s my boyfriend, he’ll have to stop that behaviour, obviously.’
‘He’s your boyfriend?’ exclaim Sophie, Plum and I in unison.
‘Everyone’s asking if the bride has done a runner,’ Luke pokes his head around the doorway. ‘You’re hiding next to the bins?’
‘Sorry, darling,’ says Sophie. ‘Come on, girls. This conversation will have to wait.’
Inevitably, when I sit down after an hour of mingling like a good little bridesmaid, the first person I see is Robert. He’s sitting in a little bubble of his own, and looks nearly grey with nerves. I can’t say anything to calm him, either; he’s on the opposite side of the long bridal table from me, and we’re both at the very end.
We couldn’t get further away from each other if we tried.
Oh God, I feel bad for him. The best man’s speech. He’s been dreading it for months, and I didn’t even help him. I was too busy obsessing about Dave, and thinking about my own problems. I suck.
I wonder if I should – no. I can’t go and talk to him. It wouldn’t make any difference. I fucked it up. I just have to get through today, go home, and get over it.
I sigh, and look around the room. The wedding is a success so far. You’d never know half the bridal party isn’t talking to the other half. I’ve barely even seen Dave and Bella. The champagne has been flowing like, well, like champagne should. I’m meant to be next to JimmyJames, but he hasn’t sat down yet. Diagonally across from me is my father, who will be next to Vix and Sophie if they ever stop butterflying.
‘Alright, Daddy-o?’ I ask across the table.
‘I am, indeed,’ he says, taking out his notes for a once-over. Despite the fact that he too, has a speech to make, he radiates his usual calm. ‘All good here.’
I think back to our conversation in France.
When you find the right man you’ll just know
.
I think that maybe I found the right man, but let it slip away. I loved being with Robert more than anyone else in the world. In fact, I remind myself again, the happiest I’ve ever been was when he was my best friend, my drinking partner, the person I confided in and laughed with, and read papers with, and ate dinner and breakfast next to . . .
And then when we finally got together; finally knocked down all the stupid barriers separating us, I left a note thanking him for the ‘fun night’ and got on a plane to the other side of the world.
What if he’d done the same to me? I would have been devastated. It was the worst thing I could have done. Then again, I remember wryly, he programmed it into me with all that ‘always leave them before they leave you’ stuff. He taught me to be a bastard. So no wonder I behaved like one.
‘Ha,’ I say aloud.
‘Enjoying the day, darling?’ says Dad across the table. ‘I want to hear more about your glamorous new job, by the way. Hollywood, watch out, eh?’
‘It’s a documentary, Dad. It’s not that sexy,’ I say, grinning.
‘By the way, I don’t think much of that Dave fellow,’ he whispers. ‘Dad! Shush!’ I say. My dad is good at many things, but whispering isn’t one of them. We’re always trying to drown him out in restaurants when he makes a comment on what someone else is wearing/eating/saying.
He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘I was talking to him about you and Sophie and he left me, mid-sentence. Very bad manners. I think he might be a bit of a prat.’
I grin. ‘I think he might be a bit of a prat, too.’
He nods. ‘Thought so . . . ah, Robert!’ he says, calling up the table. ‘How are you feeling?’
Robert looks over, glancing quickly at me, and then smiles greenly at Dad. ‘A bit ill, to be honest, Mr Wood.’
‘Call me Ross,’ says Dad. ‘You’ll be fine. Just speak from your heart. And when in doubt, raise a toast.’
Robert grins, and nods. ‘Thanks for the advice, Ross. If you could raise a lot of toasts in your speech so the crowd is nice and drunk for me, that’d be great.’
My dad laughs at this. ‘No problem. Now, did you happen to catch the results of the Six Nations today?’
What the – since when are Dad and Robert besties? I think back to last night. They were sitting opposite each other at the rehearsal dinner. Clearly they got along.
After a few minutes, Vix takes her seat, and my dad turns to talk to her. I’ve been pretending to look around the room and smile at people. But the minute he’s not talking to my dad anymore, I look back at Robert. Our eyes meet and, just like in the church, everything else around him goes out of focus. Instant tunnel vision. Oh God. I don’t know if I can bear this.
‘Good luck,’ I say, but my voice comes out in an almost whisper. I don’t even know if he can hear me.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. A heavy, sinking feeling overwhelms me. If he ever did think of me as anything more than a friend, he certainly doesn’t now. I’m not even a friend. I totally and completely fucked it up.
Everyone starts cheering and clapping again, as Sophie and Luke walk through the reception and take their seats. Luke is high-fiving people on the way and Sophie is laughing at him. They’re the most relaxed newlyweds I’ve ever seen.
When they reach our table, Sophie sits down, and Luke, still standing, clears his throat.
‘My wife and I . . .’ he begins, predictably, and everyone cheers. JimmyJames and Vix are whooping. ‘—would like to thank you all for coming. I’ll be giving my speech a little later, but for the moment, let me raise a quick toast to all of you. May your champagne bubbles rise up to meet you.’
I take a slug of champagne and immediately have a coughing fit as it bubbles up my nose. Note to self: champagne is not for slugging.
My Dad now stands up to give his speech. ‘As father of the bride, it’s my pleasure to make the first speech. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Ross – that’s “Ross, Sir” to you, Luke . . .’ I look at Robert again, and lose track of what my father is saying. Robert really looks like he might pass out. I wish he’d said he didn’t want to do the speech, really, someone shouldn’t feel so sick on what’s meant to be a joyous day, don’t you think? JimmyJames could have done it, or fuckhead, I mean Dave.
‘. . . so on behalf of my wife and I, and all the guests today, I’d like to wish you health and happiness for the rest of your lives together.’
‘To health and happiness,’ echoes the crowd. I mouth the words absently. Robert’s gone even paler.
‘Nice one, Ross,’ says Vix, winking at my Dad as he sits down.
‘Try to control yourself around me, Victoria,’ he says drily, though I know he’s secretly thrilled.
The waiters are serving the first course now. JimmyJames and Vix are flirting noisily with each other across the table, thank God. I can sit here in silence.
I take a bite of scallop and look up at Robert again. He’s seated next to Luke’s mum on one side (who, I’ve noted with interest, looks like hand-churned Dutch butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth). She is talking to Dave on the opposite side of the table. I can’t see his face, but I imagine he’s pretending to be equally charmed. I wonder if she knows she is the reason Dave broke up with her daughter, and the reason his mother is an unhappy lush. She must know she helped to break Dottie’s marriage up. She must, surely.
What a mess. My family is so boring in comparison.
‘Hello, high table,’ says Plum, trooping up with Dan in tow. She crouches next to me. ‘What’s up, pussycats? Anything from the evil duo?’
‘Shurrup,’ I hiss, and turn to JimmyJames before my dad can overhear and start asking questions.
‘So, Abigail,’ says JimmyJames. ‘Vix tells me you’ve changed your career.’
‘Uh, yes,’ I say turning to him. ‘I did. I mean, I am. Trying to.’ I can’t seem to get thoughts straight in my head. ‘Plum is, too.’
‘Indeed I am,’ Plum says, smiling beatifically at us. ‘I was working in a job that wasn’t emotionally or intellectually satisfying. So now I work in fashion.’
Vix cracks up, and then stops. ‘Shit, sorry. I thought you were making a joke.’
Plum and Dan, who are already pretty tipsy, start telling a story about one of the Dutch relatives who tried to start a drinking game during the first course, and was told off by the vicar. I’m now facing the wrong way to see Robert. Maybe he should just pretend to faint or something to get out of the speech. I’ve never worried this much about someone in my life.
‘I think you should move to London and live with me,’ I hear JimmyJames shouting – he’s obviously aiming it at Vix but it’s in my ear.
‘Alright,’ she says, looking over at him.
‘Really?’ he exclaims.
‘Yeah, OK,’ she says, a grin spreading across her face.
‘Wooo!’ screams JimmyJames joyously. He turns up the table to face Robert. ‘Rob! I’m moving out of the house of the rising singles and into cohabiting bliss.’
Everyone at the table turns, and I feel Robert, Bella and Dave staring in our direction, and my skin crackles with heat. Fucking hell, when did I start blushing again?
‘I can’t see your mother approving of you two living in sin,’ says my dad to Vix.
‘It’s holy flatrimony,’ hiccups Vix, looking at JimmyJames adoringly. ‘Till the lease do us part.’
As Plum and Dan return to their seats, the waiters start clearing plates, and I steal yet another look at Robert. He now seems to be in a kind of trance. I’m not even sure that he’s breathing.
Then, when all the tables are clear, Luke turns to Robert and whispers in his ear. Robert nods, and stands up. Oh God, it’s time.
Immediately, the crowd shushes itself, and everyone turns to listen. He stares straight ahead, and for several petrifying seconds, I think he’s not going to say anything at all.
Then he clears his throat and starts talking.
‘When Luke asked me to be best man, I almost cried. Partly, yes, because of the honour, and all that stuff,’ he says. The crowd, already well-lubricated, titters. ‘But mostly, because I realised I’d have to stand up in front of a large group of astonishingly good-looking, well-dressed people and talk about,’ he pauses, and puts every bit of dramatic emphasis into his next word: ‘
Love
.’
The crowd all laughs again. What was he so worried about, I wonder. He’s great.
‘Now, you may not know this, but there’s only one thing that will petrify a 31-year-old single man more than public speaking. And that’s love.’ I smile up at him. All the colour has rushed back into his face. ‘So, I’m going to start this gently, for everyone out there who’s as scared of love as I’ve always been . . . I’ve known Luke a long time, and I can confidently state that since the moment he met Sophie, he’s been happier than I’ve ever known him. He laughs longer. He talks louder. He smiles more. In short, he’s the man that I think he was always meant to be . . . but it took the appearance of Sophie, of beautiful, calm, loving Sophie, to make him that way.’
Everyone cheers at this point, and I glance up at Sophie and Luke with tears in my eyes. It’s true. They were meant to be together.
‘Now, as I am still – very – single and alone, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the art of finding love. My mother always told me that you have to slay a lot of dragons to get to the princess –’ there’s a whoop from the audience – ‘and I think that’s true, but the dragon that you really have to slay is your own fear of – now bear with me, this is going to sound soppy – your own fear of taking a risk for love.’ He pauses for a second. Everyone is listening intently now. ‘Luke’s risk was walking into that pub when he first saw Sophie. Most of you already know this story: he was walking past The Walmer Castle in Notting Hill, saw her through the window, knew she was the one for him, and then sat alone at the bar for two hours, drinking alone, until he had the courage to talk to her.’
‘Is that why it’s called Dutch courage?’ shouts someone from the audience, to general groans.
‘I was going to make that joke, but I dismissed it as too lame,’ deadpans Robert quickly, and everyone laughs some more. ‘For Luke and Sophie, it was, more or less, love at first sight. Now, this is a story that has always scared me.’ Robert waits for the laughter to subside, and continues. ‘Because: what if he didn’t walk in to the pub? What if he never found the courage to go and talk to her? Some of us think the way they met sounds easy, but it would have been much easier for Luke to walk away. It’s always easier to walk away.’
I look down at the table for a second. I found it easier to walk away.
‘It’s braver to stay. It takes courage to stay.’ Robert clears his throat, and pauses for a second. ‘I am sure I speak for all the single people here when I say that I don’t want to ever lack that courage. I don’t want to lose my best friend and my true love, just because I wanted to stay in control and not take a risk. Even if they walked away, even if they ran to the other side of the world, even if I thought that I didn’t have a chance in hell, I still want to know that I did everything I could to make it happen.’
I blink, and replay the past sentence in my head. What?
Robert clears his throat. ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I’d like to encourage you to turn to the one you love – or, if you are between loves right now, then the nearest person of the opposite sex, provided of course that their significant other doesn’t mind – and tell them that you love them. No caveats, no limited time only, no terms and conditions: be true to yourself, take a risk, and tell them you love them. To love!’
There’s a roar of ‘I love you!’ and ‘To love!’ from all over the room, as everyone stands up and raises their glasses, cheering and clapping as they go. I can hear Henry whooping particularly loudly. Talk about a crowd-pleaser.
And me? I can hardly breathe. All I can do is stare at Robert.
He is leaning forward, resting both his hands on the table, with his eyes shut. Look at me, I think as forcefully as I can, please look at me.
Robert takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and a beat later, looks over at me.
For a long moment we look at each other, and for the third time today, everything around Robert’s face goes out of focus. All I can see is him.
That speech really was for me, I realise. It was all for me.
‘I love you,’ I say.
He can’t hear me, because of the noise all around us. But he can read my lips.
‘I love you,’ he says back, and his face cracks in the hugest smile.
I smile too, and suddenly feel like there’s a light beaming out from the centre of my body, through every inch of my skin.
That’s the spark I’ve been looking for. The spark is the feeling that you were born to be this happy. And that’s how I feel right now.