I Heart London (33 page)

‘Is everything OK?’ Louisa reached down to pick up a fussing Grace but never took her eyes off me.

‘Me and Alex had a bit of a row.’ I felt my voice get tight and strained. This was stupid. I was being stupid. ‘And he says everything’s OK, but I don’t know. I feel stupid and you know I really hate feeling stupid.’

‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure it’s just pre-wedding stress, whatever it was.’

I looked at my friend, the girl I’d known since we were as old as Grace was now. She looked knackered − bags under her eyes, at least a stone heavier than the last time I’d seen her − and yet, with that ring on her finger and the baby in her arms, I couldn’t say I’d ever seen her look more content.

‘How did you know that Tim was the one?’ I asked.

‘Oh.’ Louisa pulled a face. ‘Well, we met when we were young, you know that. But then one day I just woke up and I couldn’t imagine him not being there. Then it wasn’t just the thought of him not being there in the morning, it was him not being there at the weekend and at Christmas or on my birthday. After that, it all just got bigger and bigger and I couldn’t picture my life without him.’

‘And did you always know you wanted babies?’

‘I’ve always wanted kids.’ She looked down at her bundle of joy. ‘But it wasn’t like I wanted to get knocked-up at sixteen. We’d talked about it, we knew we wanted it one day, and then, one day last spring, I woke up and I knew I wanted to do it. So we sat down and discussed it and decided to go for it. But you know me, I’m a planner. Can you imagine me just getting knocked-up? Jesus.’ She grabbed her wine with her spare hand and took a deep drink. ‘Anyway, are you going to tell me what’s brought this on?’

‘Me and Alex were having a picnic,’ I started, wiping my imaginary sweaty palms on the sleeves of my cardigan. ‘And he started going on about having kids and when I thought I might be ready and why I hadn’t gone all gooey over Grace and how he wanted to have them soon and I sort of freaked out. A bit.’

‘Well, I have been trying not to be offended by your lack of gooeyness,’ Louisa said. ‘I mean, she’s not Blue Ivy, I know, but my baby is bloody cute. But aside from that − and I’m trying really hard not to say I told you so − I did ask if you’d had this conversation and you said it wasn’t a big deal.’

‘I didn’t think it was,’ I stressed, taking another sip out of the bottle. Classy. ‘And the thing is, I don’t know if it is. And I don’t know how much of it is because his ex is pregnant. And married.’

‘Bugger me, Ange.’ She shifted in her chair, making herself and Grace comfortable. ‘No such thing as an easy life with you, is there?’

I shook my head, mouth too full of wine to reply.

‘So what’s the story with the ex? Was it serious? Do you think he still has feelings for her?’

‘It was serious,’ I said, the words bitter in my mouth. ‘But she is what we would refer to in the trade as a psycho-hose beast and they broke up years ago. It’s that French bird who tried to get back in his pants last year.’

‘Ohhh.’ Louisa’s face clicked with recognition. ‘So no feelings, then. He’s totally over her?’

‘Definitely.’ I was as sure as it was possible for a woman who was engaged to a man with a functioning penis to be.

‘Maybe her getting pregnant just sparked something in his mind?’ she suggested. ‘Alex doesn’t strike me as the type to be easily led, but he does strike me as someone who loves you very much. I think the real question here is whether or not you want to have kids.’

‘I do,’ I protested, slamming the bottle down on the table and promptly waking up the baby. I’d killed my Tamagotchi inside a week, my Sea-Monkeys inside two, and if the miracle of nature that was Sea-Monkeys couldn’t hold my attention, how was a baby supposed to do it?

‘Just not tomorrow. And I wasn’t expecting it to come up as an immediate concern.’

‘Well, apparently it is one.’ Louisa stood up and handled me a little red-faced bundle. ‘So let’s see how you get on. I’m going inside to get her formula. You’ve got three minutes.’

‘I thought you − you know −’ I took Grace in my arms and willed every atom in my body not to break or drop her − ‘did the breastfeeding thing.’

‘She sleeps longer if I give her formula at night,’ she shouted back from the kitchen. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

‘She said three minutes, didn’t she, Grace?’ I bounced my toes, trying to lull Grace back to sleep in my arms. ‘Your mummy is a complete liar.’

Grace blinked her blue eyes at me and opened her mouth, but this time no noise came out. It was amazing. I was a natural. She grabbed hold of my finger and squeezed hard. Someone was going to be a professional wrestler when she grew up. I sniffed her a little bit and waited to be overwhelmed by the instant desire to brew up one of these myself. I supposed it wouldn’t be too awful. And then, from a part of my brain that hated me, came an image of Alex walking down the street with Solene on one arm and a little tiny black-haired version of himself holding onto the other. My blood boiled, my heart pounded. Imaginary Angela punched out imaginary Solene. Imaginary Alex and imaginary mini-Alex looked on approvingly. So maybe I couldn’t quite picture myself having a kid just yet, but the thought of anyone else having Alex’s babies caused quite the reaction. And I couldn’t imagine waking up without him beside me, regardless of his clearly worrying parental issues, his inability to keep me off carbs or his insisting that he tell me the truth all the goddamn time. I wanted him there on Christmas morning, I wanted him there on my birthday, on Valentine’s. I wanted him to come to the pension office with me. I wanted him to make sure I took all my pills.

‘Would you look at that?’ Louisa held up her phone and snapped a picture of me and Grace bonding.

‘Did you get the bottle in the shot?’ I asked, still rocking back and forth.

‘Yes, I did,’ she replied, picking it up and drinking it dry.

I smiled. ‘Good girl.’

The house was buzzing when I got home. Craig had vanished, giving me a chance to keep my dinner down, but Jenny was still making calls and confirming arrangements well past sunset. Alex and my dad were huddled around his computer watching old Rolling Stones footage, while my mum was very busy watching
Coronation Street
on ITV+1 and destroying my Aunt Maureen with a 43-point word. So that was how I’d picked up the multitasking gene.

I excused myself from the fray under the pretence of going upstairs to review my
Gloss
presentation. Any animosity between me and Alex seemed to be forgotten and he wrapped an arm around my legs and rested his head on my stomach when I came over to say goodnight. My dad studiously concentrated on the screen and wished me goodnight without acknowledging Alex’s and my controversial PDA. It was for the best.

‘I’ll come and say goodnight,’ Alex promised. ‘I guess I won’t see you now until Saturday.’

‘You won’t?’ I asked, stroking his back. ‘How come?’

‘He’s spending Friday night elsewhere,’ Jenny yelled, making everyone jump. ‘The groom can’t spend the night before the wedding in the same house as the bride. It’s bad luck.’

‘It is?’ I mouthed at Alex.

‘Apparently so,’ he replied, smiling. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll totally show.’

‘I wasn’t worried until now.’ I tried to laugh but it didn’t really work. ‘If you don’t come, I’ll just marry Graham.’

‘He’s a really great cook.’ Alex squeezed my hand and sent me on my way.

Upstairs, I popped two more painkillers and swallowed them down with the water Graham had left by the bed that morning, thankful that I’d kept to sips of wine since lunchtime. My head was clear and I had thinking to do.

I opened my laptop and pulled up a new Word document. I didn’t need to look at the
Gloss
presentation. I knew every word of it off by heart. And looking at it would only make me panic anyway. Instead, I started writing my vows. Or at least I tried to. Every word I tapped out on the keyboard seemed hackneyed and overused. There was no way I could say what I wanted to say to Alex without it sounding like something I’d read in a book or seen in a movie or, even worse, heard in a song. And not even one of his.

I swapped the laptop for a notebook, thinking the look of pen on paper might make the process feel more personal. Might make it feel more like me. But it didn’t. After several false starts and three torn-out pages, I slid under the covers for just a moment and closed my eyes, letting all my memories of me and Alex wash over me. The day we met in the diner. The show he took me to at Bowery Ballroom. Our first kiss. MoMa, the Empire State Building. Our first sleepover. That wasn’t something I wanted to share with my family, friends or the officiating Uncle Kevin. I thought about the day he’d shown up in LA when I’d been interviewing James. The more romantic moments in Paris, the day I’d moved in, and more importantly, the night I’d moved in. I curled up, pulling the blanket around my chin, and wallowed in happy memories. And that was when it hit me. My vows didn’t need to be about the times we’d had. That wasn’t what the wedding was about. They should be about all the time we had ahead of us, all the memories we had yet to make. And if I hadn’t immediately fallen asleep, I would have written that down before I forgot.

I woke to the sound of my alarm, totally confused. I hadn’t heard it in a week. It was daylight and I was still in my dress, but it had definitely been dark when I’d got into bed, which meant I’d slept straight through. I wondered if Grace had done the same. And where was Jenny?

My phone declared it was eight-thirty a.m. and I had a meeting in three hours. But still, it didn’t do to rush, so I lay back, watching the dust captured by shafts of sunlight fly around the room, and checked all my injuries. My ankle felt so much better already − no one tied a bandage like my mum − and while I was sure my cuts and bruises were still hanging around, they hardly hurt at all when I poked them. Someone had been into my room between me crashing out and the alarm beeping because my laptop had been closed up and placed on the dresser and my notebook and pen were placed neatly beside the bed instead of strewn across the covers. I opened the notebook and saw Alex’s handwriting in place of my crossed-out clichés.

I didn’t want to wake you when you have a big meeting in the morning, but know that I did kiss you on the forehead and feel you up a little. I think you liked it.

We’re getting married on Saturday.

Call me tomorrow. I love you.

A

See? I told myself. That’s why you’re marrying him. Because he touched you up in your sleep without waking you. That’s a skill you don’t find in just any man.

I stood up, tried putting my weight on my ankle and limped over to open the curtains. Jenny was in the garden, directing several large men who were carrying a giant white tent. Oh my. She spotted my
Rear Window
impression and waved, giving me a double thumbs-up. So. This was happening then.

‘Right.’ I stepped into the kitchen with as much authority as I could muster, determined to be my most confident and professional self for the rest of the day. ‘I’m going to have a quick cup of tea and then I’m leaving.’

Mum looked up from behind her newspaper, which I chose to pretend wasn’t the
Daily Mail
, and shook her head.

‘Unlikely,’ she said, giving my outfit the once-over. ‘Jenny has a plan.’

‘Jenny always has a plan,’ I replied, looking down at myself. ‘What’s wrong with my dress?’

‘Nothing.’ She looked back at her paper. ‘It’s nice. Bright.’

I sighed and went over to the fridge to pour a glass of orange juice that was almost exactly the same shade as my BCBG dress.

‘Bright is good,’ I told her. ‘Bright signals confidence and excitement. Plus it’s very on trend and I am presenting a fashion magazine.’ At least, Jenny had told me all these things when I bought it.

‘I know.’ She sounded as disbelieving as she looked. ‘Your dad and I haven’t half had a laugh about it.’

‘Thank you.’ I sat back at the table and pressed a hand against my stomach. It always got upset when I was nervous, and I wasn’t prepared to put anything in it that could cause me grief today. Mum gave me a suspicious eye and pursed her lips.

‘Angela − shit, you look awesome,’ Jenny said as she blew in through the kitchen door, bringing the smell of freshly cut grass with her. ‘Sorry for the swearing, Mrs C.’

Mum waved her hand, long impervious to anything but the C-word. ‘I’m gonna get changed. I’ll be back in fifteen. Be ready to go.’

‘Go?’ I looked at Jenny. ‘Go where?’

‘We’re coming with you!’ Jenny announced brightly. ‘We’re going to drive you into town, wait for you to do your awesome, killer presentation, and then me, you, Louisa, your mom and Sadie are going for mani-pedis. And you’re getting your roots done and ends trimmed.’

‘I just got my roots done,’ I said, reaching up and touching my dark blonde hair. ‘I had highlights.’

‘And they look awesome,’ she assured me. ‘But they’re going to look too harsh on camera. We need to break them up with a few lowlights. Just to bring it down maybe ten percent. Don’t worry, I’ve asked Gina for a recommendation. You remember Gina?’

‘Yes, I remember Gina.’ I was starting to feel ever so slightly panicky. ‘Why can’t I just meet you afterwards?’

‘Because we’re all going to the same place,’ Jenny shrugged, biting into an apple. ‘What’s the diff?’

‘Whatever.’ I didn’t want to argue. I wanted to do my presentation, write my vows and drug myself up until it was wedding o’clock. ‘Nice outfit.’

‘Thanks.’ She looked down at her second-skin neon-pink jeans and tight black sweater. ‘I ran into town yesterday. Picked up some pieces.’

‘And while you were picking up pieces, did you put down Craig?’

She blushed the same shade as her new jeans. ‘Yeah. So that happened.’

‘Yes it did,’ I confirmed. ‘Interesting.’

‘I’m a dumbass.’ She shook her hair forward and hid behind her curls. ‘But maybe he’s not so bad as I thought.’

‘He’s a filthy great slutbag and you know he is,’ I said, picking up a handful of grapes and popping one into my mouth. ‘Tell me it’s just some holiday madness thing? Because you’re in another country or something?’