Sophie's Run (3 page)

I gulped.
Okay. If I must.

“Rach, I saw him. My thunderbolt-and-lightning. My man.”

She looked at me uncomprehendingly, so I elaborated. “The one I’m going to marry.”

“You
what?
Where? When?
Who?
”

Rachel’s eyes lit up with a sense of intrigue. “You dark horse! When did all of this happen?”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed back, “I don’t need the whole world to know just yet. I haven’t even really met him yet. I just know—”

“You just
know
?” she repeated, somewhat incredulous.

“Yeah, I just know.
You
told me all about thunderbolt-and-lightning. You said, one day I would just know. Well, I didn’t believe you, but you were right, and now I know.”

“I said that?” Rachel wondered out loud. “When?”

I gave a big sigh. “Don’t you remember? When I called you from Paris all that time ago, and I didn’t know what to do?
You
said that obviously Dan
and
Tim weren’t right for me, and that I’d know when I met the right man.”

“Oh.” There was a small silence. “Yes, I did say that.” Rachel acknowledged.

“Well, don’t tell me you didn’t mean it?”

“Of course I meant it. I just thought you’d forgotten. You never mentioned it again until just now.”

“How could I forget something momentous like that?” I asked back. “I’ve been thinking about it for almost two years, doubting that you were right. But tonight—” I paused.

“Tonight…what?” Rachel breathed. “What happened? What did Dan say to you?”

“No,” I wailed, “this is nothing to do with Dan. Dan is all over, it’s all history. This is…” I paused again, visualizing the chocolate eyes, recalling that moment.

“This is—what?” Rachel prompted once more.

“This is…
real
. This is really it.”

“Yeah?” And, when I still said nothing, “Go on, don’t make this like pulling teeth.” She adopted a Sheriff-of-Nottingham voice. “I will extract the truth from you even if I have to dig out your heart with a teaspoon.”

I laughed. “I think you’ve got your films mixed up. Okay, okay…right, so at choir tonight… Oh Rachel, it was unbelievable. I locked eyes with this man. I think his name is Steve, and we looked at each other, and I just know I’m going to marry him.”

Rachel looked at me expectantly.

“That’s it?” she eventually queried, when nothing more was forthcoming from me.

“Yes,” I said, “that’s it.”

“You looked at a man.”

“No, I
locked eyes
with a man,” I corrected, lest she should get this vital detail wrong.

“You
locked eyes
with a man,” Rachel repeated, making speech marks in the air with her fingers, “and you know you’re going to marry him.”

“Well, yes. But it was more than that,” I tried to explain.

“Oh good,” Rachel interjected, “I’m glad there was something more, let’s hear it.”

“Well, it wasn’t
more
more,” I started again. “Rach, it was like you said. Thunderbolt-and-lighting. I felt like I’d been electrified. I could practically
see
the sparks fly between him and me. It was real. It was incredible. He felt it, too. He looked at me the whole time and we couldn’t move.”

Rachel regarded me gravely. Her eyes seemed to penetrate right to the back of my head. Suddenly she started whooping with joy, jumping up and down, pumping my hands and twirling me round and round.

“Oh my God,” she finally uttered. “It’s happened, it’s really happened!”

“It’s happened?” I echoed.

“It’s happened,” she confirmed gleefully. “You’ve had your real, bona fide thunderbolt-and-lightning moment.”

“So you believe me?” I needed to hear it again.

“Totally. You lucky cow.” And she punched me playfully on the shoulder. We stood in silence, regarding each other’s reflections in the softly lit mirrors. Idly, I picked up a bottle of exclusive, expensive hand lotion and squirted some on my hands. Rachel was overcome by another wave of hilarity.

“It’s brilliant, it’s brilliant, it’s absolutely bloody brilliant,” she sang, dancing around me again. She spoke in her best newsreader voice. “Sophie Penhalligan today clapped eyes on the man of her life. She hasn’t met him yet but intends to fix that situation as soon as humanly possible. Sophie”—she pushed a soap dispenser in my face as a pseudo microphone—“how does it feel to have your own personal thunderbolt-and-lightning after all this time?”

“Err…electrifying,” I offered, and we collapsed in giggles again.

Still laughing, we returned to the table, and I put in my best effort at being charming and funny. I caught Dan looking at me quizzically a few times. Like Rachel, he was very much tuned into my emotions and he probably sensed something was up. I wasn’t ready to ‘fess up, so I simply flashed him my biggest smile and raised my glass in a silent toast. He gave me his devastating rock-star smile and shrugged, toasting me back.

A few days later, it was my birthday. I hit the big 3-0.

In the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t really
that
momentous. Statistically speaking, I wasn’t even a half-lifer yet. But still—I was thirty.

Dan, being ever magnanimous, offered to host a big birthday bash for me in a club or a hotel. He painted a wonderful picture of Tuscq playing, lots of champagne, canapés, the lot. “Anything you want,” he tempted me. And tempted I was.

But I thought better of it. Yeah, it would have been great to have a big bash, but it wouldn’t have been
my
bash. It wouldn’t have been me.

After much consideration, I decided that I wanted to welcome my thirties by celebrating Sophie-style, in my flat, with my friends, with random bottles of wine brought by my friends, with my badly cooked food, my ancient stereo, my music. It would be crowded and noisy, and the neighbors would complain, and wine would be spilt and I would regret it all the next morning when I had to tidy up on my own. But it would be
my
party.

And so there I was, on the evening of my thirtieth birthday, rolling up rugs, moving the sofa beneath the window, tidying away any breakables, and drinking cava along the way. I was having a great time already.

Suddenly, I collapsed in a heap of giggles as I realized that something dreadful had happened to me. I
had
grown up after all. Only a few short years ago, it would never have occurred to me to clear the decks and protect my belongings. And yet here I was, in best ex-fiancé Tim-mode, party-proofing the flat. I raised a glass to Tim, wherever he was. “Here’s to learning from the best.”

“Learning what from the best?” asked Rachel. She had let herself in and was carrying a big bag of groceries.

“Party-proofing,” I giggled. “Don’t I remind you of someone?” I adopted my most serious expression and commanded myself in a stern voice, “Don’t forget that vase, now, Sophie. It’s a priceless heirloom.”

“Oh… Yes, I get it,” Rachel wheezed, then looked thoughtful for a second. “I suppose it happens to the best of us, imitating our exes.
Only
kidding!” She thumped me lightly on the shoulder. “Anyway, better get on with this lot, the food won’t cook itself.”

For the next hour, we took a rather nostalgic trip down memory lane, back to our student days, when, like today, we had also prepared toasted pitas and hummus and taramasalata, sausages and pizza.

And when we were done with memory lane, I turned the conversation to Rachel’s Big Wedding to Jordan. How could I not? I was going to be chief bridesmaid, after all, and it was my duty to ensure that the bride-to-be remained happy, relaxed and organized. Especially organized.

In fact, the wedding had been meant to happen in the spring. Not so. The happy couple had been so delirious with excitement over their long-overdue engagement that they had not managed to get their wedding off the ground. I had warned and ranted and raved and admonished…and in the end, I concluded that it really didn’t matter. If they weren’t ready for a spring date, it would have to be an autumn wedding. Or a winter one.

Obviously, as March had turned into April and there was no actual date set, no plans made, Rachel had become a little agitated that plans weren’t progressing.
Then
I had sprung into action, and together, Rachel and Jordan and I had finally selected the August bank holiday weekend for the big day. Gradually, I had assumed a role of wedding coach. I had done the research and presented options, gently and subtly coaxing them in the right direction. And after they had finally settled on a venue and a caterer, I gracefully backed out to let them work out the details for themselves.

Every now and then, I surreptitiously checked in to make sure they were still making progress. Like now.

“How’s that dress coming along?” I asked while arranging a pile of napkins on the kitchen counter.

“What dress?” Rachel shot back, unaware of my change of subject.

“Your wedding dress,” I clarified.

“Oh…that…” Rachel blushed. I put the napkins down.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

“Err…well…nothing, really. I just…”

She fidgeted with the hem of her cocktail dress. “Um, well, I changed my mind.”

“You what?” I screeched, incredulous. It had taken
weeks
of trawling through all the wedding boutiques of Greater London to find The Dress for Rachel, and another couple of weeks to convince her to buy it. It was a sleek, elegant sheath dress in creamy satin. Rachel looked like a princess, especially after the dressmaker suggested embroidering the bodice with tiny little pearls and glittery fake diamonds. I had never seen a prettier dress.

I leaned against the wall. “What have you done?” I whispered. “Please don’t tell me you canceled the dress.”

Rachel looked sheepish. “I didn’t think it was really me,” she responded softly. “Sorry.”

I gulped. Of course, her dress was her choice, but her taste had proved somewhat dubious.

“Have you got a picture of the new dress?” I demanded weakly, prepared for the worst. Rachel’s eyes sparkled.

“Have I got a picture of the new dress?” she mimicked, teasingly. “You bet I do. You
know
I do. Here.” She searched in her handbag for something, finally retrieving her phone. “Let me show you.”

She scrolled through the menu, clicking her tongue impatiently while trying to locate the right file. Eventually, she found it and handed me the phone triumphantly.

“Oh. My. God.
” I squealed delightedly. “Oh my God, Rachel, you tease, why did you give me such a fright? I thought you’d changed it all.”

Rachel grinned wickedly. “Do you like what we’ve done?”

“It’s beautiful.” She had only gone and made the perfect dress divine. “How did this come about?”

Rachel blushed. “The dressmaker suggested it, knowing how much I wanted a meringue. She said it would be stunning, and that she’d always wanted to do this for someone. So we’re all happy.”

I regarded the photo again, feeling my face split into a broad grin.

Rachel had kept the sleek sheath dress, and the dressmaker had embroidered the bodice. But she had also added a single layer of the most beautifully delicate organza to the sheath. It was absolutely magical.

“This is the most incredible dress ever,” I breathed, choked with emotion.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” Rachel agreed happily, taking her phone from me and regarding herself critically. “I do love that organza layer. It makes the whole thing so…floaty.”

“It’s adorable,” I agreed, feeling hugely relieved. At least the major pieces of her wedding were now successfully in place. It wouldn’t matter whether Jordan wore a morning suit or an ordinary suit, or whether there was a grand color scheme in operation or not. They had a beautiful venue, a delightful caterer and a magical bride. It would be perfect.

“Now for you,” Rachel cut into my thoughts. “We need to find you a dress, and soon.”

I gulped. The bridesmaid’s dress was the one aspect of the wedding that I had cheerfully neglected. I was fairly certain that Rachel wouldn’t inflict undue pain on me, but when she had pulled hideous wedding dress after hideous wedding dress off the racks, I had begun to panic slightly.

“I’ve got more photos,” Rachel announced gleefully, scrolling through the files again. “Look at these!” She proffered the phone once more. I regarded a selection of bridesmaid’s dresses in pinks and lilacs, and I had to concede, the lilac one didn’t look too bad. I was about to make a comment when the kitchen timer pinged.

“Time for the garlic breads to go in,” Rachel diagnosed and got busy once more. She started to peel the garlic breads out of their packaging, but interrupted herself to give me a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re my best friend, and my bridesmaid,” she told me. “What would I do without you?”

I didn’t know what to say, so instead I hugged her back extra hard, feeling all emotional and gooey.