Phoebe, always on the lookout for available talent over the Costa counter, had offered Ben and Harry free coffee if they came back at the end of our shift. So it was nothing to do with instant attraction, but more that all four of us randomly ended up at a table and went on to hang out together.
To start with, we went everywhere as a foursome simply because Phoebe wasn’t confident that Harry would go out without Ben. And, strange as it seemed, our pairing off was as simple as the sides of the table we sat on that first Saturday afternoon when the guys got their large Americanos on the house.
At the time, Phoebe had her eyes set so firmly on an engagement and a wedding that she wasn’t taking that much notice of the guys themselves beyond them being tall enough and working in management. But, true to form, she made it happen – within six months she’d got her ring and a year after that she had her husband. And all before she turned twenty-seven. She was also right about Harry and Ben taking their leads from each other. The weekend after Phoebe and Harry’s wedding, Ben turned up with a ring for me too. And the rest, as they say, is history. Ben and I set off on the longest engagement known to man, and Phoebe and Harry settled into the marriage that Harry would walk away from five years later.
As I sit sipping – then slugging – from my alternate glasses and fighting the urge to jump on the best man, I can’t help questioning what the hell is going on. Champers is famous for making you buzzy. Or maybe it’s the tux. Although, that’s immediately rubbished, because the other guys in identical tuxes aren’t getting my vibrations going at all. If I Google ‘drinks that make you horny’ tomorrow and find tequila’s the top of the list, at least that will explain it. But for now, I can’t be too careful; I’ve already committed an epic fail letting Cally throw up on her dress instead of in a bag. After ending up on the floor in a pile of ice cream at the last wedding, if I make an alcohol-fuelled lunge and start dry humping the (already spoken-for) best man at this one, I have an idea my extra work for Jess could come to a very swift end.
As dancing with him is totally out of the question without me completely embarrassing myself, I’m safer going back to Nic’s first question.
‘Some brides change dresses for a more sophisticated look in the evening and I think you’ll agree, Cally’s nailed that.’ I didn’t mean my forced laugh to be quite so hysterical. ‘You know what we women are like – any excuse for a new dress.’
For a guy looking at women’s bridal wear for the first time, he’s very quick to sum up. ‘Well, hers is better than before, but yours isn’t so good.’
‘Since when did you become Falmouth’s foremost fashion guru?’
He’s doing that annoying, nonchalant shrugging thing again. ‘I’ve got eyes, that’s all. Cally’s dress tonight is a lot like yours this afternoon, but with less wow factor.’
I’m shaking my head, hoping Cally didn’t hear that. ‘Shit, Nic, don’t diss the bride.’
He’s pulling down the corners of his mouth as he protests. ‘I’m only telling the truth. And what the hell have you done to yours?’
There’s a thousand per cent less breast on show for starters, which is the last thing he should have on his radar. ‘I’ve changed to a warmer version in case the evening turns chilly.’
‘They both look awesome. But, given the choice, I’d go for the first one.’ He’s pursing his lips. ‘Just saying.’
I’m inwardly rolling my eyes but outwardly sounding super-professional and upbeat. ‘Well, great you’re getting some practice. We’ll know to head straight for the slash-to-the-waist styles when the time comes for you to choose.’
He’s looking at me, tilting his head on one side. ‘You do know you’re drinking Cally’s cocktail there, not yours?’
Ouch. And damn. It’s my turn to sound like I don’t give any shits. ‘Really?’
The lines on his forehead deepen. ‘That’s the second time I’ve seen you doing that.’
‘Oops.’ If he’s only spotted it twice, I’m actually doing a great job.
He shrugs. ‘I know with your past that weddings must be hard for you, but binge drinking isn’t the answer.’
I’m so surprised I gulp the rest of my cocktail in one. ‘I’m okay. Really!’
He coughs. ‘If I know Patricia, these will be double strength.’
If he’s intending to be insulting, he’s succeeded. ‘What is this, best man chore number fifty-four, stop the bridesmaid getting rat-arsed?’
He closes his eyes. ‘This is coming from the best place.’
I blink back at him. ‘And this is coming from an even better one – Nic, I’m not drunk, shut the eff up and get off my case.’ It comes out so loudly that there are people on the dance floor looking round. I try to look relaxed but when I lean forward to stir my cocktail, somehow my stick completely misses the glass.
‘Let’s talk about something else.’ He leans back on his chair, which is pretty disastrous too. ‘So how do you and Cally know each other? I thought you just arrived from Bristol?’
‘Hmmm …’ I’m trying to wrench my eyes off the uninterrupted view of his zip area.
He’s still going. ‘And this morning – why did you say you were off to work?’
‘When did the questions get so hard?’ I was hoping not to ask, but it’s all I have left to put him off. ‘So where’s – you know …’ I force myself to say it ‘… Elfie?’
It works, because his eyes snap open. ‘Why are you asking that?’
‘I just thought she’d be invited, that’s all.’
