Amanda's Wedding Read online

  ‘So, therefore, she must really, really want you.’

  He looked down at me with a wounded look in his eye.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  He sighed.

  ‘Do you love her terribly much?’ I asked, suddenly longing for a bit of highly dramatic romance in my life.

  ‘She’s … you know, pretty and confident and, well, she knows lots of people and … stuff …’ Fraser looked down. ‘And, you know, she really wanted to marry me!’

  ‘Was that so difficult to believe?’

  He grinned. ‘I don’t know.’

  We got a few limp ‘Woah hos!’ when we emerged from the ladies toilets together, but the single-entendre brigade was getting pretty tired, and the room was definitely a bleary party ready to go home. Fran was still nowhere to be seen, so I decided to brave it home alone …

  I waved cheerily to Nash and found Angus in a corner, finishing a whisky contemplatively.

  ‘I’m off,’ I announced.

  ‘Bye then.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I said, for the second time that evening.

  ‘What for?’ he smiled wearily. ‘We just had a discussion, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ I wasn’t going to tell him about what happened in the loo …

  ‘You never told me about …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You never told me about Alex.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘So you said before. I’ve got lots of time.’

  ‘Some other time then. Umm, when there’s lots of it. And not tonight, when I have twenty-eight minutes and counting before I pass out wherever I am.’

  I leaned in to kiss him good night. Unexpectedly, he put his arms round me and gave me a hug.

  ‘Do you want me to come and find you a cab?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said gratefully. ‘This is Holborn, for God’s sake – what are they going to do, sue me to death?’

  ‘Goodnight then.’

  I grinned, turned and left, before I could do something clumsy and spoil the moment.

  Outside I spotted a cab and was just putting up my arm when I heard my name being called, weakly, from an alley.

  Discounting the obvious, I assumed it was an evil spirit coming to reclaim me for the night, and jumped six feet in the air. When I saw the arm coming out of the alley, I discerned it was at least semi-human … I hoped.

  I wandered over and crouched down beside the sorry specimen.

  ‘Wooooooah, Alex! I came looking for you earlier – I thought you’d gone.’

  ‘I wasn’t feeling too well.’

  ‘What on earth happened to you?’

  ‘Um, he hit me. Then I felt a bit tired and had a sleep. Then I woke up and didn’t know what to do. And then you came.’

  ‘That’s because I am in fact an angel from God,’ I said severely. ‘Can you stand up?’

  I wanted to work out how bad a state he was in. Still pissed, he had a gorgeous black eye coming up, but his nice patrician nose remained in a nice patrician state, and I didn’t think he’d broken anything too major. I hoisted him to his feet.

  ‘And also, I was sick.’

  ‘Aha, so you were!’ I said, noticing suddenly, but managing not to drop him like a stone.

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Fran?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  I sighed.

  ‘Come on, you.’

  I hailed the cab. The driver slowed down, saw me half-carrying a bloody, vomity war victim and speeded up again.

  ‘Bastard!’ I yelled after it. ‘Poxy poxy bastard.’

  One freezing November hour later, all my pleasant, muddled, drunken feelings had evaporated and I was cursing London, cursing parties, cursing cab drivers, and especially cursing the enormous stinky sack of potatoes I had been delegated to haul around just because I was in love with it.

  Finally we found a minicab driver too hashed up to care about the vomit – actually, judging from the smell of the cab, it was his speciality – and made it back to Kennington for 3.30 a.m. The entire building was silent and completely black.

  Alex only wanted to get to bed, but he wasn’t going anywhere near me in that state, so I dumped him fully clothed in the shower and turned the water on.

  Instantly, he started to make a noise like a howling dog. I made a flying tackle through the air, which successfully cut off the howling, but not without pulling the shower curtain down. It fell with a huge clatter as I stood there, hand over his mouth, tilted at a horrible angle and getting soaking wet, with the curtain over us both like a huge ghost outfit, waiting for the entire neighbourhood to descend and throw shoes at me. Alex looked up at me, wide-eyed and lost, as I closed my eyes and tried to think where on earth I could possibly move to when I got summarily ejected from the flat.

  Nothing happened. I flopped out from under the curtain and tilted my head like a fox. Not a sound. I pulled Alex out, having wiped most of the dried blood off his face. He stood there dumbly while I tried to silently fix the shower curtain then decided to ignore it and hope it went away by the morning.

  Sunday was half over by the time I limped through into the kitchen desperate for fluid. I drank half a pint of milk – YUCK – which was all there was, and steeled myself to go check out the bathroom. It was immaculate, as if we’d never been in. The curtain was back up, the blood was washed away. I wondered for a second if I’d dreamt it, then shook my head to clear it.

  ‘Ehm, Linda?’

  I timidly knocked at her door. She opened it the way women do on The Bill when their men are escaping over the back fence.

  ‘Yes?’ She peered at me through her thick spectacles.

  ‘I’m … sorry about the shower curtain.’

  ‘S’OK.’

  ‘I mean it … I’ll, buy you another one, or … ehm, I’ll buy you another one.’

  ‘S’OK.’

  I didn’t want to get into a staring match with her, so I gradually backed away, feeling creepy, and went back to the bedroom with another glass of milk. Alex was still completely unconscious, and his eye was turning fluorescent.

  ‘Alex,’ I hissed, flopping down beside him. ‘Alex! Wake up! I’m frightened of my anti-social flatmate! I think she’s going to chop me up with an axe! And leave me here, and no one will find me for three weeks!’

  ‘Pfnat.’ Alex tried to open his eyes and realized he couldn’t, because they’d been punched. He focused on the glass of milk, and his eyes bulged and his skin turned green.

  ‘NO! Don’t vomit!’ I pulled the glass away. ‘Again!’

  His eyes slowly closed and he passed out.

  ‘Great,’ I thought to myself. ‘Caught between the silent psycho and the unconscious phlegm machine.’

  I had to get out of the flat. And, of course, I had to find out what had happened to Fran. I thought I’d go round rather than phone; get some fresh air and hangover supplies. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a couple of random jumpers, I wandered out into the frosty afternoon.

  Fran lived in a practically empty bedsit, about half a mile down the road. It was white, immaculate and had absolutely nothing in it. This wasn’t really a design statement: she had no imagination, and hated the place, which was why she practically lived around my house – it may have been full of psychos, but at least they were company. I set off manfully, stopping for some emergency Diet Coke infusions before I too vomited from a milk overdose. And a beer overdose, I suppose. The main door of the block was lying open as usual, and I made my way upstairs.

  ‘Yoo hoo!’ I yelled outside the door, banging on it loudly.

  ‘Rise and shine, sweetie pie. We have BIG time gossip to do, ESPECIALLY you, Ms Yo-Yo Knickers.’

  There were sounds from inside, and I could hear someone moving about.

  ‘Come on!’ I yelled impatiently. ‘I need to find out about you and that skinny little twerp, and tell you about Angus
and Fraser and everything.’

  There was more noise on the other side of the door – what sounded like someone trying to pull on a pair of trousers, losing their balance, hopping about a bit then crashing over on to the floor.

  It suddenly occurred to me that she may not, in fact, be in there alone. I tried to remember what had happened to Johnny McLachlan when he’d returned to the bar. Shit! He must have left and come back here! Argh! I hoped he hadn’t heard me call him a twerp. And she didn’t even know he was married! Or – yikes! – we hadn’t found out what had happened to Charlie. Maybe she’d gone back on her shag-to-death routine for once. Wow, she’d be annoyed. Oh no, the married man or the prick! Too many cocktails.

  I leaned into the door.

  ‘Erm … d’you want me to go away and come back later …?’

  It was too late: Fran had already swung the door open. She stood there, looking exhausted, with a man’s shirt on and a towel round her waist. I grimaced.

  ‘I can go away, you know. It’s no problem.’

  ‘Hello, Mel,’ she said wearily. ‘No, I suppose it’s OK.’

  She drew back her arm from the door, and I entered the fuggy, darkened room – to see, of all people, Angus, looking extremely sheepish indeed, checking the zip on his flies was done up properly.

  ‘!’ I expostulated.

  We stared at each other. He flushed beetroot, and I tried to recover myself.

  ‘Hi!’ I said brightly, shooting a fierce look at Fran.

  ‘Hullo,’ said Angus, looking at the floor. He pretended to look at his watch. ‘Ehmmm … I’d better go … I told Fraser I was going to … ehm, help him pick a cravat.’

  I nodded slowly. We all stood stock-still, until Fran realized it was her cue to take his shirt off. He practically grabbed it, and buttoned it up at lightning speed.

  Fran, refusing to look embarrassed, stood poised in her bra. For a moment, I thought she was going to shake him by the hand and thank him very much for coming, as it were.

  Angus left, stuttering. I left it a full half-second and turned round.

  ‘WHAT the FUCK was that?!!!??’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Melanie, no need to get so overexcited.’

  ‘Overexcited?? Me?? I’m not the one who managed to shag two people in an eight-hour period.’

  ‘Neither am I, darling. Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘Huh? What on earth is up with you?’

  Fran walked around the small room pulling up blinds and opening windows, before putting the coffee maker on. I was standing in the middle of the room, wringing my hands in frustration.

  ‘Tell me!’ I begged her. ‘I thought it was my job to get drunk and misbehave!’

  Fran looked dreamily out of the window until I wanted to kill her. She’d always been fairly mercenary in her dealings with the opposite sex, but this was just too bizarre – first Charlie, then Johnny and now Angus, of all people. My new friend Angus, who, I had to admit to myself, I thought had rather liked me, (1), and (2) I had thought was rather noble.

  Finally the coffee was ready and she sat down beside me in her ‘Frankie Says Relax’ T-shirt, which still fitted her.

  ‘Please, Fran,’ I said, trying to sound calm, ‘just tell me what’s going on. Are you on a special mission from space to sleep with everyone we know?’

  She patted me gently on the hand. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘What, there are animals involved as well?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Well, you know I was being a lioness?’

  ‘Oh yes. So in fact there are animals …’

  ‘Johnny wasn’t quite up to being a lion.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You practically ripped his head off.’

  ‘That is not true.’ She shot me a sharp look. ‘We’d gone outside …’

  ‘Yeah, to get arrested.’

  ‘… for a breath of fresh air …’

  I snorted.

  ‘… and before we’d gone two yards, he burst into tears.’

  ‘Honestly, Frannie, that does not surprise me.’

  ‘Mel, does anyone ever tell you that you talk too fucking much?’

  ‘Ehm, yes, actually. Quite a lot. Funny, Alex was saying just the other day that I always talk more when … I’m –’ I saw her thunderstruck face – ‘nervous,’ I finished.

  Fran harrumphed. ‘Anyway. He burst into tears and said he hated his wife and his life and his job and I was the nicest thing that had ever happened to him and how depressing everything was and this was the only party he’d been to for eight years and how I had no idea what it was like teaching geography day in day out to a bunch of illiterate animals.’

  She paused, waiting for me to comment, but I wasn’t saying anything.

  ‘We ended up in the bar downstairs, with me having the most boring, sober three hours ever, listening to someone else’s ghastly life.’

  ‘Why didn’t you escape, and come and find me? I was having a great time.’

  ‘Every time I made the slightest move, he started weeping into his pint again and saying I was the best friend he’d ever had.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Honestly, Mel,’ she looked at me haggardly, ‘have you any idea how much I know about the amount of paperwork involved in the National Curriculum?’

  ‘Well, it’ll come in handy if you ever play Miss Jean Brodie,’ I said encouragingly.

  ‘So, finally, I decided I was going to have to leave before I started plunging a fork into my thigh. And then he tried to get off with me!’

  ‘Well, you can understand it from his point of view.’

  ‘Cheeky bastard! If he’s going to be a pale and interesting stranger, that’s fine. If he’s going to bore the tits off me for three hours about his wife, then he can go piss up a rope, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘You are possibly the kindest person I’ve ever known.’

  She sighed. ‘I know. So, I sent him off with a flea in his ear.’

  ‘Did you hit him?’

  ‘Not that hard. Whining little toad! Then I sat and had a drink or two. And then I came back upstairs again, looking for you.’

  ‘I stayed to the end, so I must have just gone.’

  ‘You had – I saw you from the window, dragging Alex up the road.’

  ‘And you didn’t come and help?’

  ‘It was freezing out there.’

  ‘Yes, it was, thanks.’

  ‘And there was almost no one left in the bar except for Angus, who was propping himself up with some double whiskies.’

  ‘I know, I saw him before I left.’

  ‘He looked pretty miserable, so I started talking to him.’

  ‘Did he mention me at all?’

  ‘Ehm, no, not at all.’

  ‘Oh. OK.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘Huh.’ She gave me another sharp look. ‘Anyway, he was pretty drunk, so I let him stay here. And that’s the end of it.’

  I was extremely relieved.

  ‘So, you didn’t sleep with him?’

  ‘Oh well, yes, I slept with him.’

  ‘You are dreadful!’

  ‘I’m dreadful? Who’s worse, Angus or Nicholas?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘That’s exactly the point. Anyway, it’s hardly serious.’

  ‘You don’t even fancy him. You think he looks like a dog.’

  ‘It was you that thought that.’

  ‘Was it?’ I couldn’t remember thinking that now. Except in the sense of dogs being strong but kind, I suppose. Hang on, dogs didn’t have those qualities. What on earth was I thinking about …?

  ‘How’s Alex?’ asked Fran, sipping her coffee.

  ‘Who? Oh, I think he’s OK.’ I told her about the shower.

  ‘I hope he’s not concussed or anything,’ I said suddenly. ‘Oh my God! What if he’s in a coma for years, all because I didn’t take him t
o the hospital!’

  ‘Then I could perform my special little happy dance,’ said Fran. ‘Now, drink your coffee and I’ll tell you what Angus is like in bed.’

  And she did.

  I left Fran an hour or so later so she could get some much needed sleep, and walked home, my head spinning.

  After buying bacon and eggs, I let myself into the flat quietly. I couldn’t hear anything. I was about to tiptoe into the kitchen when there came a sorrowful groan.

  ‘Mel … is that you?’

  I peeped into my bedroom, which reeked of whisky.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘Yes …’ he said weakly.

  I sat down next to him on the bed. His eye had gone red and purple and green, but wasn’t swollen shut any more.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked tenderly.

  ‘Like I’ve been run over by the Death Star.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘No milk, please,’ he said. Then he half smiled. ‘Were we awful?’

  ‘You were naughty, and your friend was evil.’

  He laughed, and then winced.

  ‘We didn’t mean anything. We just went to the rugby and had a few pints …’

  ‘And then chaos happened. Amazing that, isn’t it?’

  He forced a slow grin. ‘How awful?’

  ‘You didn’t do anything you didn’t pay for.’

  ‘I could have had him, you know.’

  ‘Course you could, sweetheart.’

  ‘If I met him again, I’d take him …’ He reached out for me sleepily, and I let myself be grabbed.

  ‘I’m the most tolerant girlfriend in the world, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, asleep. ‘I know.’

  Nine

  I was absolutely desperate for somebody to talk to at work, but the prospects weren’t good. Only Cockney Boy, whose name was, inevitably, Steve, bothered to ask me how the stag went.

  ‘It was great,’ I said. ‘Turned out the stripper was gay and I copped off with her.’

  ‘Yeah?’ he grunted, his eyes wide as saucers.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Lezzie cow! Probably couldn’t cop off with anyone,’ he muttered under his breath.