Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (166 page)

‘You’ve have been an asshole,’ I agreed, remembering not to defend her. ‘But I know you were trying to help. I did spring the wedding thing on everyone, and I suppose I did just let you take it all over. It can’t have been easy.’

‘It would have been easier if I’d let you and Louisa help me,’ she said. ‘And it would have been a whole lot easier if I hadn’t just launched my phone off a bridge.’

‘So we’ll get you a new phone.’ I made a Jewish-mother clucking noise. ‘And we’ll beg Louisa’s forgiveness together. Tomorrow. When she’s cooled down.’

‘We shouldn’t go see her now?’ Jenny looked genuinely upset. ‘I feel like a total shit. I should, like, buy her flowers or chocolate or an hour with Michael Fassbender or something.’

‘Maybe we’ll get her Shame on DVD,’ I suggested. ‘But no, she’ll need a night to calm down. Trust me.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Jenny sighed. ‘Doctor Angela.’

‘Doctor Angela is prescribing a cocktail,’ I took her hand in mine and swung it around. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

‘OK. If it’s doctor’s orders,’ she shrugged, squeezing my hand tightly and spinning away from the bridge and back towards London town.

‘Lezzers.’ A particularly angry man on a bike swerved around us.

‘Better a lesbian than you, asshole,’ Jenny shouted after him.

And she was back.

‘You really think it’s a good idea to go?’ I asked, pinballing off the walls of the toilet cubicle I was currently using as a changing room. ‘We’re not too drunk?’

‘There’s no such thing as too drunk,’ Jenny said considerably louder than she needed to. ‘It’s your bachelorette. We didn’t even do shots. We didn’t even start yet.’

I was drunk, but not nearly drunk enough for her statement not to worry me. The last seven or so hours had been a blur of cocktail-crawling and drunk shopping. I remembered Dirty Martinis at Dirty Martini, mojitos at Freud, something in a teacup at Bourne & Hollingsworth followed by a smash and grab in Topshop. Now we were in the toilets of the Social, changing out of our jeans and Tshirts into what Jenny referred to as the ‘banging’ bachelorette outfits we’d picked up. I’d ordered food, but I couldn’t remember whether or not I had eaten it. Or what it was. Or where we’d been sitting.

I emerged from the cubicle, resplendent in a silver sequin minidress with a kick-ass flippy skirt that span when I did. Jenny followed me out in a purple mesh bandage dress that just about covered everything that needed covering with slightly thicker fabric. Jenny looked disappointed.

‘You look hot.’ I pointed at her fluffed-out hair. ‘Really hot.’

‘It’s pretty cute.’ Jenny dropped her chin and checked herself out in the mirror. ‘I need so much eyeliner. So much.’

‘No way. We’re good. We’re good to go.’ I applied lip gloss with a heavy hand and passed it over before leaning into the mirror. ‘Can you see my black eye?’

‘Sadie gets into town tonight. She wanted to meet us.’ She layered on several coats of gloss and pouted, ignoring my question. ‘But I don’t have my fucking phone.’

‘I’ll text her,’ I promised, drunk enough to lie, sober enough to know I wouldn’t. ‘James was going to meet us too. We’ll meet them after. We have to go.’

‘Yeah.’ She ran her hands down her curves and revisited her opinion. ‘You’re right. And we’re going to be a thousand times hotter than anyone else there tonight. You know that, right?’

‘A thousand. At least.’

As it turned out, not only were we a thousand times hotter than anyone else in the Garage, we were a thousand times more overdressed, and the venue itself was a thousand degrees Celsius. I crashed down the stairs into the main room where I’d spent hours of my life nodding to random indie rock bands and cast an eye about for Alex. As luck would have it, my extremely high heels made me at least three inches taller than anyone else in the room, so he wasn’t hard to find. I grabbed Jenny’s hand, pulling her away from the blatantly underage blond boy she was fluttering her eyelashes at, and yanked her across the room.

Alex was surrounded by the skinny jean, plaid shirt brigade, and had I not been properly sauced, I might have felt a little self-conscious in my sequins. But I was and I didn’t. I hovered around his elbow, waiting to be noticed. I coughed quietly and gently tugged on Alex’s sleeve, keeping Jenny tethered with my other arm. She orbited around me, making happy noises. At least I hoped they were happy.

‘Alex?’ I tugged a little harder on his leather jacket. ‘Um, hubs?’

The rest of the group looked at me over his shoulder with varying degrees of suspicion. I gave them a big wave, swooping my hand in a broad arc. ‘Hi, guys.’ Alex turned round, all bemused expression and expertly messed-up hair. Only I knew it had taken him half an hour and half a tub of Tigi Bed Head wax to make it look so effortless.

‘Hi, mirror ball.’ He took in my outfit and stroked my hair. I immediately pulled back and messed it back up again. ‘You found me.’

‘Always will.’ I nuzzled his neck and found my happy place. ‘Happy bachelor party.’

‘Happy bachelorette,’ he replied as his entourage dispersed. ‘You have a fun day?’

‘I had an interesting day.’ I kept a strong grip on Jenny’s hand as she barrelled around behind me. ‘You will note I am one bridesmaid short.’

‘I will note that,’ he agreed. ‘Should I ask?’

‘I’ll tell you tomorrow.’ I couldn’t face telling the story without at least seven more drinks in me. ‘What time do you go on?’

‘I’m just waiting for the guys.’ He looked over at the door and then at his watch. ‘They should have been here by now.’

‘Can I get you a beer?’ I asked. I had dry mouth. Bad sign. ‘I’m going to get some … water?’

‘I’m good.’ He kissed me on the forehead and slid his hand down to my waist. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting oiled up by strippers or something?’

‘I’m going to strip you down later.’ I traced a finger down his white shirt in a terrible attempt at being sexy. ‘And um, dance?’ I felt like being a little bit sick in my mouth. It was hard to act the temptress when you looked confused and your boyfriend was laughing at you.

‘At your mom’s house?’ He looked scandalized. ‘I’ll get the cooking oil and meet you in your dad’s shed.’

‘It’s a date.’ I turned on my heel and sashayed away, only tripping once. Result.

‘Two shots of tequila and two beers.’ Jenny slammed her fist on the bar before hoisting herself up on top of it. ‘I can get them if you’re busy.’

‘No need. Get your arse off my bar,’ the bartender said, giving her a light push back down onto the floor and replacing her bottom with two bottles of Corona. She landed on her feet like a cat and rewarded him with a smirk and a twenty-pound note. That I had given her. It was expensive to drink in London.

The club was busy and the music was loud, but I could still hear Alex’s name on everyone’s lips. They were excited. I was excited and drunk. Jenny was just drunk. I looked around for Alex again, but I couldn’t find him anywhere in the crowd. I spotted at least a dozen pale imitations, copying his haircut, imitating his easy style, but there was only one. And that one was suddenly on the stage. The background music cut and was replaced by a wild whooping from the floor. All the separated cliques swarmed forward to take their place by the stage − girls, groupies and photographers vying for space at the front, fanboys and chin-stroking musos filling up the middle of the floor, while friends of friends and reluctant dates made up the group hanging around the bar.

‘Hey,’ Alex said into the microphone, pulling his guitar strap over his head. ‘Thanks for coming out tonight.’

The girls in the crowd screamed like he had just promised to father all of their babies. Which he definitely had not. The men muttered and nodded at each other. Craig waved a drumstick in greeting from his stool at the back of the stage while Graham fiddled with his bass, pressing various pedals and buttons at his feet.

‘Is it me?’ Jenny slurred, ‘or does Craig look hotter?’

‘It’s not you and it’s not him,’ I replied sternly. ‘It’s the tequila.’

‘We’re Stills and we’re gonna play a few songs,’ Alex said. Then he turned his back to the audience, nodded at Craig three times, held up his arm, guitar pick in hand, and launched into a familiar rhythm.

The club went crazy − everyone in the house was there because they’d got the message about the secret show. They were all Stills uber-fans and they knew every word, every beat. The place hummed with one heartbeat and it was contagious. I’d been a fan of the band before I was a fan of Alex, but now, knowing everything I knew, every single word of every single song meant something new to me. Sure, sometimes that meant I had to grit my teeth and pretend he wasn’t singing about his ex-girlfriend, and sometimes I had to turn a theoretical blind eye to the tunes dedicated to his time as a Manhattan man-whore, but more often than not, with the new tunes, I knew they were about me, about us. And sure I was biased, but I thought they were the best.

Alex hurled himself around the stage, crashing into Graham, the two of them jousting with their axes before spinning away and jumping up on the drum riser or leaping onto the monitors. As he moved around, eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, he was always drawn back to the microphone just in time, like a magnet.

I was resting against the bar, my body swaying, imagining doing terrible things to him on top of that big orange amp, when I realized Jenny was missing. I scanned the room for her, but since she wasn’t dressed in sequins she was hard to find. And from the looks of the Cinderella situation to my right, she had abandoned her shoes, making her both vulnerable to broken feet and an easily-lost-in-a-crowd midget. Not sure what else to do, I hopped up onto the bar and squinted into the sweaty mass of bodies before me.

‘So I’m actually in town on some personal business,’ Alex panted into the microphone, wiping a towel across his forehead and shimmying out of his tight leather jacket. ‘I’m getting married on Saturday.’

I tried not to be offended by the mixture of high-pitched boos that underlined the crowd’s cheer.

‘Don’t do it,’ shouted one man. A man who would eternally hope I never recognized him.

‘Marry me!’ shrieked a girl at the front. Oh, she was just asking for it.

‘Thanks for the options.’ Alex looked down while he tuned his guitar and laughed. ‘But I think I’m gonna stick with my girl. She’s, uh − she’s the one.’

Damn straight, I nodded in agreement while the crowd alternately ahh-ed and booed.

‘In fact, she’s here tonight.’ He looked up and held his hand over his eyes to shield them against the bright stage lights. ‘So if you see a super-cute girl dressed like she’s on her way to Studio 54, say hi − tonight’s her bachelorette party.’

He looked up and smiled. Even though he couldn’t see me, I knew that smile was for me and I melted.

‘This one’s for you, Angela.’ He combed his hair with his fingers and tried to tuck it behind one ear, but it escaped before he even got his hand back to his guitar. ‘They’re all for you.’

I heaved myself up onto the bar to get a better look, my sequins twinkling under the low lights, while Craig brushed out a soft beat and Graham hung back, letting Alex take the spotlight as he strummed the open bars of my song. I had heard this song a thousand times in the last few months. I’d watched Alex write it. I’d seen it go from notes on a napkin to lyrics on the page and heard it echoing through our apartment until every chord was perfect, every note was chosen and declared just right. But this was the first time I’d seen him play it live, with the band, in front of an audience. This was the first time it had come to life. And it soared. And in that moment, I wasn’t just in love, I was proud. So proud that Alex was the man I was going to marry.

The crowd listened quietly, attentively, while Alex sang softly into the microphone stand, and I knew it wasn’t just me who was imagining I was that stand. I was certain everyone was holding their breath just as carefully as I was; you could have heard a pin drop in the Garage for three straight minutes. Which was why it was so hard to miss Jenny as she clambered onto the stage and crawled over to Craig’s drum kit. I felt my jaw drop and held my head in my hands as I watched a sound technician try to weave across the stage to beat her to the punch, but Jenny was a girl on a mission, and when she knew what she wanted, there was no stopping that girl. Plus she was pretty fast for someone on her hands and knees. Meanwhile, Alex was upping the tempo and crashing into the end of the song, and Graham and Craig were both beating the shit out of their instruments − until Jenny reached the drums, grabbed hold of a very surprised-looking Craig’s skinny tie and pulled him into a deep, intense kiss. The crowd cheered, the drums stopped and everyone saw both Jenny’s knickers and Craig’s tongue.

Alex finished up the song, completely unaware, with his eyes closed. It was only when the last chord faded out and he turned to see what had happened to the drums that he spotted Jenny physically attacking his drummer.

‘Jenny Lopez, ladies and gentlemen.’ He held out his hand to introduce her to the crowd. ‘Bridesmaid extraordinaire.’

Everyone clapped and whooped, and even Alex cracked a smile, while Graham shook his head in disgust. I was with Graham.

‘Uh, Jenny,’ Alex shouted off mic, but his voice still carried. ‘I need my drummer back. Can I get one more song out of him?’

Jenny held up her hand and gestured to Alex for one more minute before letting go of Craig’s tie with the look of the cat who had got the canary. I suspected it was more likely she’d got something transmittable by bodily fluids. Mono, maybe. Strep. Who knew? She clambered upright and took a little bow to a huge round of applause and wandered over to the edge of the stage. Craig didn’t take his eyes off her once.

‘So this is our last song,’ Alex declared to a chorus of boos. ‘See you again soon, London.’

Craig shouted a countdown and all three guys crashed into their final song as everyone in the club started dancing. The lights above us spun and the last shot of tequila warmed my blood. I raised my arms high above my head and sang along, still perched on the edge of the bar. Or at least I was until I felt two strong hands on my lower back.