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Читать книгу: «The Time of Our Lives», страница 2
Chapter 3
Then – 9th September 2008
‘What … the fuck … is this?’ Matt asks, staring down at his plate.
We’re all staring down at our plates. Clarky isn’t though, he’s gleefully slapping the bottom of a bottle of salad cream, dropping large blobs all over his dinner.
When he placed … whatever this is in front of me, I didn’t think it could get any worse, but the addition of salad cream makes it so, so much worse. I’m so relieved it is an optional extra.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Clarky asks.
‘What’s right with it?’ Zach chimes in. His Glaswegian accent always sounds stronger when he’s confused or when he’s drunk. Today, I think he’s just confused.
Clarky looks genuinely baffled by our reaction. He stabs a little sausage meaningfully and pops it in his mouth.
‘Mmm, it’s great,’ he insists theatrically.
‘It’s weird,’ Fiona corrects him.
Clarky’s face falls at her remark.
‘It’s …’ I take stock of the contents of my plate. ‘It’s salad, baked beans with sausages, and fish fingers?’
‘Yeah,’ Clarky confirms. ‘Dig in.’
For our third year of uni, we decided that it would make more sense for our friendship group to rent one big house together, and not only has it worked out cheaper, but we’ve got this massive house, with loads of space for hanging out together and throwing parties. We only finished moving in four days ago, and thought it might be fun to take it in turns cooking for the house.
‘Just try it,’ Clarky insists.
Mark ‘Clarky’ Clarkson has been on the same course as me for two years now, and while I might have lots in common with the others, Clarky isn’t really someone I’m overly taken with. He’s one of those ‘lad lad lad’ types, always ogling girls, making sexist comments, thinking he’s way smarter than everyone else when really, he’s only getting through his BA by the skin of his teeth. Clarky is from Liverpool, and has a strong Scouse accent that can almost always be heard yelling at some video game or other. He isn’t very tall, but what he lacks in height, he more than makes up for in self-confidence.
‘Just because you say it’s a dish, doesn’t mean it is,’ Matt points out.
Before Clarky has a chance to reply, Ed arrives home.
Ed is the only housemate who isn’t studying media; he’s studying to be a doctor, and while we might all be around the same age, Ed feels like a real adult. He’s old beyond his years – he even looks older, but I think that’s because he dresses like a middle-aged man in addition to acting like one.
‘How’s the grind at the board game shop?’ Matt asks Ed the second he walks through the door.
‘Boring?’ Clarky suggests, cracking up at his own joke.
Ed works tirelessly to pay his way through uni. One day, when he’s a rich doctor, it will all have been worth it, and no one will be making fun of him because he spent a summer selling board games.
‘I’m starving,’ he says, sitting down. ‘You guys didn’t have to wait for me.’
‘We weren’t waiting for you,’ Matt laughs. ‘We were waiting for Clarky to explain what it is.’
Ed, who thinks he’s somewhat of a culinary expert, finally looks down at what we’re having. He just laughs.
‘Oh, I’m sorry we didn’t all bring cookbooks to uni with us,’ Clarky claps back.
I have to admit, I did find it a little bizarre that Ed moved in with no less than four cookbooks, but that’s just Ed.
‘I made a leg of lamb with all the trimmings,’ Ed reminds him.
He did, the night after I cooked, and it made my efforts seem as amateur as they were.
‘So … is it a salad?’ Fiona asks.
Fiona ‘Fifi’ Rees is our resident Welsh lady, and the only other girl living here. We made friends on the first day of uni and we’ve stayed friends ever since. We shared a flat together last year, before we decided to get somewhere bigger with the boys this year. I love Fifi because she’s just this bubbly, blonde, bright light that’s a real pleasure to be around. She’s the optimist that I need in my life, to stop me acting like everything is all doom and gloom. She’s got a will-they-won’t-they thing going on with Zach. I think we all wish they’d hurry up and get together, but Fifi isn’t convinced he’s all that into her, and Zach seems to have an aversion to girlfriends for some reason.
‘It’s a sort of salad,’ Clarky replies.
‘I was going to make salad,’ Fifi says, sounding a little annoyed that Clarky has beaten her to it.
‘Your salad will be better than this,’ Zach assures her.
Her salad might actually be salad, this is not a salad.
‘Ergh, get a room,’ Clarky says. He doesn’t have much patience when it comes to Fifi and Zach’s flirting. ‘It’s surf and turf.’
Everyone burst out laughing.
‘Bollocks,’ Ed replies.
‘Why is it so spicy?’ Matt asks, coughing and spluttering after bravely taking a bite.
‘I put chilli in it,’ Clarky explains.
‘Amazing, that it’s killing my taste buds and yet still tastes awful,’ Ed muses.
Clarky repeats his words back to him, mocking his Cambridgeshire accent.
‘I’m not good with spicy stuff,’ I say politely. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, Luca, you have blue hair,’ he tells me. ‘So I don’t trust your taste anyway.’
I push my plate away a little, to emphasise that I’m not eating it. What on earth is he thinking, serving us fish fingers and beans with sausages, laced with copious amounts of chilli, on a bed of salad. Baked beans on salad!
‘My mum used to make it for me,’ Clarky tells us.
‘Well, you should have been taken into care,’ Zach tells him.
With the general consensus being that we’re absolutely not eating it, it isn’t long before we decide to order pizzas. Clarky, adamant that he is a cordon bleu chef, eats not only his own plate of food, but makes a start on someone else’s too.
We abandon the formality of the kitchen table to eat pizza and watch Anchorman in our massive living room. After initially refusing to watch it with us because we wouldn’t eat his mum’s recipe, Clarky has had a change of heart and sat down with us after all.
‘That’s your culinary career down the pan,’ Matt tells him, persisting with the teasing after most of us have let it go.
Clarky bats his hand.
‘As if that’s what I’d want to do,’ he insists. ‘I want a job that impresses women.’
‘Like?’ Matt asks him.
‘I dunno, like a pilot or an astronaut or something.’
‘You won’t meet many chicks in space,’ Ed points out.
‘You shouldn’t be studying media then, that’s not gonna get you far,’ Zach tells him.
‘So, Clarky reckons he’ll be a pilot, Ed is gonna be a doctor,’ Matt says. ‘What about the rest of us? Personally, not to set my sights too high, but I’m gonna be the next Steve Jobs.’
‘I wanna work in film,’ Zach says.
‘Me too!’ Fifi squeaks. I notice Clarky roll his eyes. ‘What about you, Luca?’
‘Erm,’ I start, wracking my brains. The truth is that I’m not entirely sure yet. ‘Maybe advertising.’
‘Boring,’ Clarky heckles.
‘Who do we think will be the first to get married?’ Fifi asks.
‘Ed,’ we all reply, pretty much in unison.
‘And the last?’ she says.
Everyone says Clarky’s name, apart from Clarky who simply points at himself with both fingers.
‘It’s hard to imagine us as real adults,’ Fifi muses. ‘Some of us more than others.’
‘Stop talking over the film,’ Clarky insists.
‘Sorry,’ she snaps. ‘I didn’t realise Will Ferrell was so important.’
‘Do you really think we’ll grow up?’ Matt laughs, glancing between this slice of pizza that’s sitting on his lap and the dumb movie on the TV. ‘Well, I mean the rest of us – Ed is already grown up.’
‘We’ll know Ed has properly grown up when he has kids,’ I point out.
‘And we’ll know you’ve grown up when you get over your daft punk phase and stop dying your hair stupid colours,’ Clarky tells me.
‘I didn’t know you were into Daft Punk, Luca,’ Matt jokes.
‘We’ll know you’ve grown up when you finally learn how to cook,’ Zach tells Clarky.
‘And we’ll know you’ve grown up when you finally get a girlfriend,’ Clarky replies.
‘Not everyone wants saddling with a girlfriend,’ Zach says defensively. I notice Fifi look visibly disappointed.
‘What about me and Fifi?’ Matt asks.
‘When Fifi starts using her real first name,’ Clarky points out.
‘And when you stop using headlocks to show affection,’ Ed tells Matt. ‘Maybe some of us will grow up, maybe some of us won’t. I reckon we’ll all stay friends though.’
We exchange half-smiles before getting back to the film.
‘Unless Clarky kills us with his cooking,’ Matt adds, unable to resist one last dig.
Chapter 4
Now
‘Fifi,’ I call over, spotting my friend hovering outside the hotel’s reception room, where the wedding ceremony is about to take place.
‘Luca, oh my gosh,’ she replies, smiling widely as she pulls me in for a hug. ‘Wow, no one has called me Fifi in years. Zach, when was the last time someone called me Fifi?’
‘Uni,’ he laughs. ‘She dropped the nickname when she was applying for jobs.’
‘I don’t mind one Fi though,’ she assures me.
‘How’s it going?’ Zach asks, hugging me.
‘All great,’ I tell him. ‘How are you two? It’ll be your wedding soon, right? I got my save the date.’
‘Next year,’ she replies.
Fiona’s grin spreads from one ear to the next. She was always such a bright, positive person, but she seems so happy with Zach, and I’m so happy for them. For a while, we thought the two of the might never get together and look at them now, happily engaged.
‘You still have funky hair,’ she points out.
I place a hand on my long, blonde and rose gold ombre curls.
‘It was never like Luca to look ordinary,’ Zach points out.
When I was at uni, I enjoyed a sort of alternative fashion. I had the ridiculous style of a six-year-old, combined with the provocative look of a punk. It was never a lifestyle choice, purely a fashion one. These days, I dress more my age. More my figure too. I’m a curvy size twelve – more like a fourteen if I’m in a shop that favours the thin, or if I’ve just eaten my own weight in carbs. I did once manage to fit into a size-ten dress after having the stomach flu, but that didn’t seem like an ideal long-term solution. Probably just easier to try and make peace with my body as it is.
Today I’m wearing a Bardot skater dress – in rose gold, to match my hair – with a pair of white Louboutin heels covered in cute little spikes, which I thought would serve as a nice nod to my rebellious side that still lingers deep within me.
PR is all about spin. You can make things seem better, you can make them seem worse – if you’re good, you can make them seem like something entirely different.
From head-to-toe, I absolutely could not afford this outfit, but in many ways this is going to be a lot like a school reunion, seeing people I haven’t seen since I was young, and obviously I want to seem like I’m doing much better than I am. I suppose, if I’m careful with these shoes, I might even be able to get away with returning them, which I know is awful, but it might be a good idea if I want to eat next month. Either way, so long as I present myself as something more impressive than my reality, I’ll be happy with my work for the wedding.
I’m not usually the type to rely on designer clothes to make myself pass as presentable, but when I started shopping for a wedding outfit, I felt at a loss. As I moved from changing room to changing room, I’d notice a new hang-up in each mirror. In River Island I felt like I looked every inch my 31 years. In Oasis I noticed the circles under my eyes were growing darker with each night I stayed up late over thinking things. In Zara I was reminded that my bum was big – but not Kardashian big, camper van big.
I have always dwarfed my tiny friend Fiona, who fails to measures up to my 5'7" with her petit 5'2" frame, but today she’s obviously teamed her long, flowing blue dress with flat shoes (I suppose no one can tell what’s hiding under long dresses, you could disguise anything), which just makes me look all the more like a giant in my heels. Zach is wearing a blue suit in almost exactly the same shade as Fiona’s dress, which I doubt was an accident.
‘Where are the others?’ I ask.
‘Matt is in there, looking like a lamb headed for the slaughter,’ Zach laughs. ‘Ed has just nipped to the toilet. No sign of Clarky and his bird yet.’
‘Have you met her?’ I ask him.
They both shake their heads.
‘I’ve seen her on Facebook,’ Zach says. ‘Looks like a bit of a bimbo.’
‘Just Clarky’s type then,’ I reply.
‘Luca,’ I hear Ed call from behind me.
I spin around on my heels, grabbing him for a hug.
‘Ed,’ I squeak as he kisses me on both cheeks. ‘How are you? Where’s Stella? Where’re the kids?’
‘No kids allowed,’ he says, finally releasing me. ‘Stella stayed home to look after them.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I reply.
‘Is it? I live with five women, this is my first day off in years!’
Ed seems really excited at the thought of having a night off from all his women. It’ll probably do him good, having a day off from his responsibilities. As if being a paediatrician isn’t a stressful enough job, having four small children of his own can’t help.
‘Five women,’ Zach repeats back to him.
‘Well, we had Louisa, then Erin. I wanted a boy so we said we’d have one last go at it, but then we got Bethany and Sally, our twins.’
‘Don’t you have a TV in your house?’ Zach laughs. ‘Stop having kids.’
‘It just keeps happening!’
‘Ed, you’re a doctor,’ I point out. ‘I know you know how babies are made.’
Ed laughs.
Ed has always seemed grown up – and he’s always looked much older than us – but now, more than ever, he you’d struggle to believe we all went to uni together. He’s wearing a cream suit with a blue shirt and a black tie, along with the thick black-rimmed glasses he didn’t need when we lived together. He’s also getting his middle-aged spread a little prematurely, but he’s not a bad-looking guy. Being a family guy just seems to suit him in a way that I can’t imagine happening with any of the rest of us. I think we’re all quite immature and selfish still.
‘What about Clarky?’ Ed says, changing the subject.
‘What about him?’ I ask.
‘You guys not been checking your phones? He just dropped a message in the group chat, he’s coming alone. He and Bella broke up.’
‘When?’ Fiona says nosily, leaning in a little to get the gossip.
‘He didn’t say,’ Ed laughs. ‘We can ask him when we see him. Think he’s running a bit late.’
If I hadn’t arrived last night, it would’ve been me running late today, for sure. Were it anyone but Clarky, I might have sympathy for them.
‘If you’d all like to make your way inside,’ a hotel employee calls out. ‘Bride’s side on the left, groom’s on the right.’
We make our way into the reception room, taking five seats in a row, saving one for Clarky when he finally arrives.
I glance around the room for Pete, the guy I met last night, but I can’t spot him. Then I look for Matt, finally spotting him hovering by one of the large pillars dotted throughout the room. He must feel my eyes on him because he notices me too and pops over to see us.
‘You look petrified,’ I blurt.
‘I am!’
Matt is usually so full of confidence, so it’s weird to see him looking so scared.
‘Where’s Clarky and Bella?’ he asks, noticing their absence almost immediately.
‘Clarky is nearly here, traffic is bad,’ Ed says, making excuses for him. ‘But he’s coming alone, he and Bella broke up.’
‘Shit,’ Matt says. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know, but we’re excited to find out,’ Fiona laughs. ‘Good luck.’
‘Yeah, good luck,’ I echo. ‘You’re gonna be great.’
‘Cheers,’ Matt replies, clenching his jaw as he walks down the aisle, getting himself in position, ready for Kat, his fiancé, to make her grand entrance.
The room falls silent, ready for the ceremony to begin, which just makes it all the more obvious when Clarky comes charging in, running down the aisle, plonking himself on the chair next to me. Luckily we’re sat quite near the back, so he doesn’t have far to run. I notice the clicking of a few tongues from guests sitting close to us, but Clarky is immune to criticism.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he says, panting. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘How are you?’
‘Yeah, sound,’ he says.
For someone who has supposedly broken up with his girlfriend recently, he seems in pretty good spirits.
As I turn to face forwards, I notice Matt coming down the aisle towards us.
‘Can I borrow you?’ he says. Surely now isn’t the time to be telling Clarky off? It’s not like this is especially out of character for him anyway. But then I realise he’s talking to me.
‘Me?’ I squeak. ‘Why?’
‘Just quick,’ he insists, holding out a hand to pull me from my seat, before walking me to a door at the side of the room.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask him once we’re still. ‘You’re not having a second thoughts, are you?’
‘What? No, of course not,’ he replies. ‘One of Kat’s bridesmaids has gone into labour.’
‘Oh my God,’ I reply.
‘Thing is, apparently Kat is upset, she says it’s going to ruin the day. That it’s going to throw off the whole aesthetic, and that there’s no one to do the bridesmaid’s duties.’
‘Doesn’t she have other bridesmaids?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, but they’re all pregnant. I’m scared to ask what happened on the hen party …’
I laugh. It’s so like Matt to make a joke, even in times of crisis.
‘Wow, what a weird coincidence – is it to make sure she looks super thin in the pictures?’
An obvious joke, because Kat has a very athletic figure. I wouldn’t put such a manoeuvre past some more controlling brides though.
‘Please can you step in?’ he begs.
‘Me?’ I reply in disbelief.
‘Don’t worry, being pregnant isn’t a requirement.’
‘Kat wants me?’
I think Kat and I have been in the same room on maybe two occasions, and I spent the first time accidentally calling her Kate the whole day. She was too polite to point it out, but not polite enough to let it stop her shooting me dirty looks all day.
‘Well, sort of,’ he says. He pulls out a pair of gloves from his pocket. ‘These are the gloves the bridesmaids are wearing – same colour as the dresses. And your dress matches.’
‘Oh, God, do I have to do this?’ I say nervously.
‘Please, please, please,’ he begs. ‘Apparently Kat’s really upset, and this is important. It’s nothing, really. You’re just a placeholder.’
‘Charming,’ I laugh. ‘OK, fine, if it’s that important to you, I’ll do it.’
I adjust my dress self-consciously. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before, and I’ve never been all that upset about it. I hate having everyone’s eyes on me, which makes me wonder how I’d ever get married – should anyone ever ask.
Matt grabs me and squeezes me tightly.
‘You’re amazing,’ he says. ‘Just go with Auntie May, she’ll tell you what to do.’
Matt knocks on the door before dashing off again.
Auntie May peeps through, looks me up and down, and grabs me by the forearm, pulling me through the door before quickly closing it behind her.
‘Thank you for doing this,’ she says as she ushers me along the corridor.
Once we’re at the entrance to the reception room, she lightly pushes me to the edge of the doorway.
‘It’s so simple,’ she says. ‘The music will start, just make your way slowly down the aisle, take nice slow steps, until you get to the end. Just mirror the groomsmen, all the bridesmaids will be standing in line. There are three of you, three groomsmen, you’ll be in neat little lines, sound good?’
Ergh, I have to walk down the aisle? How slow is slow? Do you put one foot forward before bringing the other in line with it, or do you just walk normally, but slowed down?
The music starts.
‘The others will be here any second,’ she says, thrusting flowers into my hand. ‘We’re already running late, go, go.’
I am out of both my depth and my comfort zone, but I do as Auntie May asks, slowly making my way down the aisle, doing some kind of inconsistent combination of the steps I mentioned before.
I glance at my friends as I pass their seats and they look genuinely baffled to see me walking down the aisle.
‘What the …’ I hear Clarky quietly start as I pass him.
After what feels like an hour, I finally find myself passing the front row, but that’s when I notice him, standing there at the end of the aisle. Not Matt, next to him. Standing dutifully by his friend’s side, in a matching black suit, is Tom Hoult, the man who broke my heart.
My jaw drops as he silently mouths a hello in my direction. I take my position, fixing my eyes on the aisle instead of on him. It’s almost too painful to look at him.
A pregnant bridesmaid with a dress amazingly similar to mine makes her way down the aisle before taking her spot next to me. I don’t allow myself to think about Tom being here, I just focus on the task at hand, but as I watch the third and final bridesmaid approach – another girl in a rose gold dress with a cute little baby bump – I realise that I recognise her too. It’s Cleo. What could be worse than the man who broke my heart being here? The woman who helped him do it being here with him.
