‘Of course not,’ I reply. ‘I can’t wait to meet everyone. So Marty’s staying at a B&B?’
‘Yeah. She and Ted wanted a proper mini-break. She can’t believe we’re getting married midweek and making them use up some of their holiday time.’ She shrugs and grins.
Marty is engaged, too. Bridget thinks it’s hilarious that she’s beating her chief bridesmaid down the aisle. No one sawthatcoming.
‘Why couldn’t Leo make it?’ I ask. That’s Laura’s partner.
‘Too many bookings, and I didn’t give them enough notice.’ They run a guesthouse in Key West. ‘It’s probably just as well. I don’t want anyone to upstage Charlie on our Big Day.’ She giggles.
She’s told me on numerous occasions that Leo is super-hot.
‘I can’t wait for you to meet Charlie!’ She bangs the steering wheel with excitement.
I have a feeling that, if she weren’t driving, she’d be clapping her hands like a three-year-old.
‘Me neither,’ I reply, and I mean it.
We’re back at Charlie and Bridget’s house in no time, a gorgeous four-bedroom detached house with a whitewashed exterior and a silver-grey slated roof. Charlie and Bridget have only recently finished renovating it after buying it late last year.
‘This place is amazing!’ I gush as we climb out of the car.
‘We couldn’t have got it without Dad’s help,’ she reminds me coyly, as we walk up the pretty, flower-lined stone path to the moss-green front door.
She’s already told me as much. Bridget’s dad ‘invested’ in a flat in Chalk Farm years ago, but it’s obvious he bought it primarily to help his beloved daughter get onto the property ladder. Property prices in London have skyrocketed in recent years, so he made an absolute packet when he sold it and insisted on using the profits to help Bridget buy a family home with Charlie.
‘He’s so great,’ I say, and I know this from experience. I met Bridget’s dad many times when we lived together. I’ve never met her mum, but I will do in a few days when she’s here for the wedding. Bridget said it was a complete faff trying to agree on a date that suited her.
She doesn’t talk about her mother much, but I understand they’ve had a slightly strained relationship over the years, not helped by the fact that her mum chose to go back to work on a cruise liner, travelling the world, when Bridget was just six years old. Her dad raised her pretty much on his own.
‘He’s thinking about selling up the pub and retiring down here,’ Bridget says of her dad.
‘No way!’
‘Yeah.’ She grins and gets her keys out of her purse.
‘What does Charlie think about that?’ I ask in a low voice in case he can somehow hear me.
‘Oh, he’s delighted. They get along like a house on fire. Dad says Charlie’s the son he never had.’
‘That is so cute.’
‘Yeah, it’s lovely,’ she says fondly, unlocking the door.
‘Hey!’ A male voice calls out, and, a moment later, Charlie appears from a door off the hallway, a big grin on his face. ‘Hello, Bronte,’ he says warmly, coming forward to embrace me. ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you properly.’
‘You too,’ I reply with an equally big smile as we hug.
He withdraws and ruffles Bridget’s hair. She bats him off with a smirk, blushing. Has she gone all shy? She has! She really wants us to like each other, I realise.
Charlie’s even better-looking in person. His eyes, which are a sort of golden hazel and are really striking, don’t come across on the small screen when Bridget has made us say hi via FaceTime. He’s also taller and broader than I expected, with shortish, dark-blond hair, the same sandy shade as Lachie’s, I think with a pang.
I haven’t wanted to talk about Lachie yet, but I know that Bridget will get the whole story out of me later.
‘You want a cuppa, Bronte?’ Charlie offers, jerking his head towards what I assume is the kitchen.
‘Yes, please.’
‘April!’ Bridget calls out. ‘Where is she?’
