Wedding Night
Page 52
“Ow!”
“Dressing gown?” He holds out a rather swanky paisley number. I guess the wife couldn’t swipe that.
I hesitate a moment. Wearing his dressing gown seems a bit cutesy. A bit Let me put on your great big manly shirt and allow the sleeves to flap endearingly around my fingers. But I have no choice.
“Thanks.”
He averts his eyes politely, like a massage therapist in a spa—i.e., completely pointlessly, since he’s seen it all—and I slip into the gown.
“I’m sensing you’re a coffee snob.” He raises his eyebrows. “Would I be right?”
I open my mouth to say, “Oh no, anything’s fine!” Then I stop. I am a coffee snob. And I’m a tad hungover. And, truth is, I’d rather have no coffee than some depressing cup of dishwater.
“Kind of. But don’t worry. I’ll have a two-second shower and get out of here—”
“I’ll go out for it.”
“No!”
“It’ll take two seconds. Same as your shower.”
He disappears, and I start to look around for my handbag. I’ve got a hairbrush in there. And some hand cream, which could double up as moisturizer. As my gaze rakes around the room, I find myself wondering if I like him. Whether I might see him again. Whether this might even become … a thing?
Not a serious thing. I’m mid-divorce; it would be nuts to leap into a relationship. But it was good last night. Even if I’m only remembering half of it accurately, that half was enough to want to reprise it. Maybe we could have some kind of regular arrangement, I find myself thinking. Every month, like a book club.
Where is my bag? I wander farther into the room and see a fencing mask hanging on a hook. There’s a sword too, or whatever they call them. I’ve always liked the idea of fencing. Oh, I can’t resist. Gingerly, I take the thing off its hook and put it on. There’s a mirror hung on the wall, and I head over to it, brandishing the sword.
“Arise, Sir Thingummy,” I say to my reflection. “Haaa-yah!” I do a kung fu action at myself, and the paisley dressing gown flaps round my ankles.
Now I’ve got the giggles. And suddenly I want to share this ridiculous moment with Lottie. I pull out my phone and speed-dial her.
“Hi, Fliss!” she answers at once. “OK, I’m on the Brides website. Veil or no veil? I think veil. What about a train?”
I blink at the phone, wanting to laugh. She’s become a bridezilla. Naturally. The great thing about Lottie is she doesn’t bear grudges or dwell when she’s thwarted in life. She just changes direction and charges off, eyes on the horizon.
“Veil.”
“What?”
“Veil.” I realize my voice is muffled in the helmet and shove it up to the top of my head. “Veil. So, you called the wedding off OK? Ben didn’t mind?”
“I had to talk him into it, but he was OK in the end. He said he only wanted what I wanted.”
“Did you take your honeymoon night at the Savoy anyway?”
“No!” She sounds shocked. “I told you, we’re waiting till we’re married!”
Damn. She’s still on that crazy plan. I was hoping the lust goggles might have slipped a little.
“And Ben’s happy with that?” I can’t help sounding skeptical.
“Ben wants me to be happy.” Lottie’s voice takes on a familiar, syrupy tone. “You know what? I’m so glad we talked, Fliss. The wedding’s going to be so much nicer. And the plus is: you and Ben can meet each other first!”
“Gosh, introduce him to your family before you walk up the aisle and commit your life to him forever? Are you sure about that?”
I don’t think she gets my tone. I think the bridal happy haze is acting as a protective atmosphere. Sarcasm gets burned up before it even reaches her ears.
“Actually, I met his friend Lorcan last night,” I add. “He’s already filled me in a little.”
“Really?” She sounds excited. “You’ve met Lorcan? Wow! What did he say about Ben?”
What did he say about Ben? Let’s think, now. Ben is in no place to be getting married right now.… He’s having a bit of an early midlife crisis … your sister will be the casualty.…
“Just the basics,” I prevaricate. “Anyway, I can’t wait to meet Ben. Let’s do it very soon. Tonight?”
“Yes! Let’s all have drinks or something. Fliss, you’ll love him. He’s so funny. He used to be a comedian!”
“A comedian.” I adopt an amazed and delighted tone. “Wow. I can’t wait. So … uh … anyway. Guess where I am right now? In Lorcan’s flat.”
“Dressing gown?” He holds out a rather swanky paisley number. I guess the wife couldn’t swipe that.
I hesitate a moment. Wearing his dressing gown seems a bit cutesy. A bit Let me put on your great big manly shirt and allow the sleeves to flap endearingly around my fingers. But I have no choice.
“Thanks.”
He averts his eyes politely, like a massage therapist in a spa—i.e., completely pointlessly, since he’s seen it all—and I slip into the gown.
“I’m sensing you’re a coffee snob.” He raises his eyebrows. “Would I be right?”
I open my mouth to say, “Oh no, anything’s fine!” Then I stop. I am a coffee snob. And I’m a tad hungover. And, truth is, I’d rather have no coffee than some depressing cup of dishwater.
“Kind of. But don’t worry. I’ll have a two-second shower and get out of here—”
“I’ll go out for it.”
“No!”
“It’ll take two seconds. Same as your shower.”
He disappears, and I start to look around for my handbag. I’ve got a hairbrush in there. And some hand cream, which could double up as moisturizer. As my gaze rakes around the room, I find myself wondering if I like him. Whether I might see him again. Whether this might even become … a thing?
Not a serious thing. I’m mid-divorce; it would be nuts to leap into a relationship. But it was good last night. Even if I’m only remembering half of it accurately, that half was enough to want to reprise it. Maybe we could have some kind of regular arrangement, I find myself thinking. Every month, like a book club.
Where is my bag? I wander farther into the room and see a fencing mask hanging on a hook. There’s a sword too, or whatever they call them. I’ve always liked the idea of fencing. Oh, I can’t resist. Gingerly, I take the thing off its hook and put it on. There’s a mirror hung on the wall, and I head over to it, brandishing the sword.
“Arise, Sir Thingummy,” I say to my reflection. “Haaa-yah!” I do a kung fu action at myself, and the paisley dressing gown flaps round my ankles.
Now I’ve got the giggles. And suddenly I want to share this ridiculous moment with Lottie. I pull out my phone and speed-dial her.
“Hi, Fliss!” she answers at once. “OK, I’m on the Brides website. Veil or no veil? I think veil. What about a train?”
I blink at the phone, wanting to laugh. She’s become a bridezilla. Naturally. The great thing about Lottie is she doesn’t bear grudges or dwell when she’s thwarted in life. She just changes direction and charges off, eyes on the horizon.
“Veil.”
“What?”
“Veil.” I realize my voice is muffled in the helmet and shove it up to the top of my head. “Veil. So, you called the wedding off OK? Ben didn’t mind?”
“I had to talk him into it, but he was OK in the end. He said he only wanted what I wanted.”
“Did you take your honeymoon night at the Savoy anyway?”
“No!” She sounds shocked. “I told you, we’re waiting till we’re married!”
Damn. She’s still on that crazy plan. I was hoping the lust goggles might have slipped a little.
“And Ben’s happy with that?” I can’t help sounding skeptical.
“Ben wants me to be happy.” Lottie’s voice takes on a familiar, syrupy tone. “You know what? I’m so glad we talked, Fliss. The wedding’s going to be so much nicer. And the plus is: you and Ben can meet each other first!”
“Gosh, introduce him to your family before you walk up the aisle and commit your life to him forever? Are you sure about that?”
I don’t think she gets my tone. I think the bridal happy haze is acting as a protective atmosphere. Sarcasm gets burned up before it even reaches her ears.
“Actually, I met his friend Lorcan last night,” I add. “He’s already filled me in a little.”
“Really?” She sounds excited. “You’ve met Lorcan? Wow! What did he say about Ben?”
What did he say about Ben? Let’s think, now. Ben is in no place to be getting married right now.… He’s having a bit of an early midlife crisis … your sister will be the casualty.…
“Just the basics,” I prevaricate. “Anyway, I can’t wait to meet Ben. Let’s do it very soon. Tonight?”
“Yes! Let’s all have drinks or something. Fliss, you’ll love him. He’s so funny. He used to be a comedian!”
“A comedian.” I adopt an amazed and delighted tone. “Wow. I can’t wait. So … uh … anyway. Guess where I am right now? In Lorcan’s flat.”
