“I was actually enjoying your slut drops. It’s admirable that you’re still so good at them, even on a moving boat.”
“I have abnormally strong legs,” she assures me. “Well, even if you weren’t thinking about Jamie, I think you should be. I like him.”
“No boy chat on your hen do,” I instruct, taking a swig of prosecco from my cup.
“Disagree, I wantallthe boy chat! Look, you can’t blame yourself for what happened in Dublin. You weren’t ready then for anyone, no matter how sexy they are with their beards and tattoos. Matthew was still looming.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t looming when I went to Dancing Bear, and I still managed to fuck things up. It’s not meant to be.”
“Do you believe in that sort of thing?” she says dreamily, slinking down on the bench a bit and resting her head on my shoulder.
“Yeah, I think so. What will be will be. I think it’s a nice thing to believe in sometimes.”
“Me too. We were always meant to be, weren’t we?”
“Definitely.”
“This is what I love about hen dos,” she confesses. “All these women”—she jabs her finger in the direction of the girls dancing—“we’ve been through it all. Good times, bad times, relationships, heartbreaks, family shit. But here we are on a canal boat and I’ve never laughed harder. There’s nothing like the friendship kind of love, is there?”
I shift to put my arm round her. “Ah, listen to you. So sweet and poetic.”
“Fuck’s sake. You won’t tell anyone I just said that, will you?”
“It may come up.”
“Can you not tell them I said ‘the friendship kind of love’? That was the worst bit.”
“That was the best bit.”
“Don’t tell Leo.”
“He’ll be the first to know.”
“Freya!”
“What can I say, Rubes, life’s a bitch.”
“It really is.” She sits up grinning. “Although now it doesn’t seem too bad.”
“No, now’s all right.”
“Want to shimmy along the canal boat to Lady Gaga?”
“Not really, but in the name of hen dos—” I stand up and hold out my hand to her. She takes it and I pull her up next to me. “—let’s dance.”
On the morning of Ruby’s wedding, I find myself weirdly wanting to apologize to her for what happened at mine. Suddenly, I realize how hard it must have been for her when I sent her away with everyone else after Matthew broke up with me. Here I am in the position of best friend to the bride and I can see how much the day means to her just with one glance at her face.
I can see the worry and the stress as she checks everything is in place for the day, asking her mum a hundred questions as her hair is styled and makeup perfected; I can see the excitement and nerves as she looks at her reflection in the mirror. There’s an overwhelming and unique sense of pride when your best friend gets married, because you know that they deserve every bit of the happiness that today brings; every hug and smile and moment of celebration that Ruby gets today, she has earned it by being this wonderful human being that honestly no one quite deserves, but if it has to be someone, it’s Leo.
And that’s why I suddenly feel horribly guilty that when that was all ripped from me, I sat in the broom cupboard alone, and Dad went round explaining what had happened and telling everyone to leave, including Ruby. She must have been dying inside for me. I know that because if anything happened to ruin today for her, I’d die inside for her. I’d want to protect her at all costs. I didn’t allow her to do that for me. Not straightaway, anyway.
“Freya,” she says suddenly, catching my eye in the mirror and jolting me from my recollections of those horrible days, “are you crying?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Your eyes look teary.”
“The eye makeup makes them glisten.”
