Amanda's Wedding (39 page)

His mild eyes blinked twice in surprise.

‘Is that true?'

‘Yes,' I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

‘You … well, me, well, you know …?'

‘Ehm, yes,' I said, trusting that that was the right answer.

His grip on my hand tightened and he brought his other hand down to cup my cheek. Outside the window, the snow was falling again.

‘Eventually I realized …' he began. ‘I realized that I was terrified you'd be with him, and make him happy and not me. I was so jealous.'

I gazed up at him.

‘You were jealous? You were getting married!'

‘I know. It just didn't seem fair to me that he got you because his timing was on and mine was as off as it could possibly be. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.'

I couldn't believe I was hearing this. I put my hand over his hand.

‘I met a psychic on the train,' I said, smiling. ‘I didn't believe it. Total nutcase. Do you know, she told me to go back to Alex.'

‘You did,' said Fraser.

I looked at him enquiringly.

‘Alasdair. It's my middle name. It's Gaelic for Alexander.'

I pulled out the handkerchief. D'oh! F.A.M. That mad woman had probably seen the ‘A' when I was clutching it like a maniac, and gone for the educated guess. Unless, of course … I looked up at him, shiny-eyed.

Almost in slow motion, we began to touch each other on the arm and the face, discovering each other for the first time. I felt his strong shoulders through his white shirt. All the hairs on his forearm had raised themselves up from the cold air, and the closeness of
us. I tentatively touched one of his buttons.

‘If I cry any more, I think I'll go blind,' I muttered, trying to hold back.

‘That would explain what you see in me then.'

‘Ho ho ho.'

Suddenly I felt his strong arms clasp my waist, his grip tighten. The expression on his face was tentative, excited, nervous, unsure – well, actually, fairly sure.

I looked straight at this man.

‘You know, if this was a book,' I said, ‘it really should have ended with a wedding.'

‘Not necessarily,' he said. ‘It could just have ended with a kiss.'

And it did.

We wanted to sneak away immediately. We had a lot to discuss and a lot to do. Somewhere in the country, we thought, where we could walk, and talk and, well, the other thing. I was lit up like the Christmas lights outside. I grabbed together some warm things in a bag and we made our way to the door. On our way out, I heard the phone ring. Linda picked it up.

‘Oh,' I heard her say. ‘Mel!'

‘I don't think I want to get that, do I?' I said to Fraser.

‘Don't tell them I'm here either,' he said.

‘Oh my God. I haven't even thought about trying to explain it to people.'

‘Shh …' From behind, he put both arms around me
and leaned on my shoulder. ‘There's plenty of time to worry about all that.'

‘Mel!' Linda yelled. Linda yelling! What a day this was turning out to be. ‘It's somebody called Nicholas! He wants to know if you're free this … hang on … tonight or the rest of the weekend?'

I raised my eyebrows at Fraser. He shook his head vehemently.

‘I think that's going to be a “no”, Linda,' I said.

There was a pause. Then she popped her head round the door.

‘He's asked me out instead!' she said breathlessly.

‘Oh …'

Well, how bad could it be? He was well off, he had a nice car, he was tall, he wasn't … well, he wasn't the heart of pure evil, and Linda needed to get out of the house.

‘Why don't you go?' I said kindly. ‘He's all right. It could be fun.'

Linda looked at me quizzically.

‘That eight foot, wanky, dog-breath accountant? What the FUCK do you take me for?'

Thanks to: Robin Colgan, Ian Wylie and Dr Andrew Teverson for their helpful remarks at an early stage; the amazing Ali ‘don't mess with the' Gunn, Nick Marston, Carol Jackson and all at Curtis Brown; Rachel Hore for her brilliant editing, Anne O'Brien, Jennifer Parr, Fiona McIntosh, Yolande Denny, Julie Cass, Yvette Cowles, Alex Young, Dan Moore, Claire Round, and the team at HarperCollins; Salty Sandra McKay, Susan Hoyer, Andy Kennedy, and the Westminster red-hand gang for their support; Davids Bewers and Knowles for the extra two months; Fiona Hastings, much missed, for suggesting it; my parents for not asking about it, and Jill Edwards.

Jenny Colgan was born in 1972 in Ayrshire. After graduating from Edinburgh University, she worked for six years in the health service, moonlighting as a cartoonist and a stand-up comic. She lives with her partner in London.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © Jenny Colgan 1999

Jenny Colgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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EBook Edition © APRIL 2013 ISBN: 9780007397587

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