“You do?”
“It’s wholesome and good for the soul. My granny was a real gardening nut, she always said it was soothing. A bee stung her once, but she just planted more foxgloves. Apparently bees love them. I’m going to buy you a big sun hat with the string that ties round your chin. She had one of those and looked adorable in it.”
“I’m thirty-two, Ruby. I don’t think I need a sun hat with string that ties round my chin.”
“How about next weekend, we come round to yours to sit in the garden and admire your work? Unless it’s raining, in which case we can admire it through the window.”
“I have Isabelle’s hen do next weekend.”
There’s a pause before she carefully asks, “You’re still going to that? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yeah, course,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “I want to be there for Isabelle. It’s been a few weeks now, Rubes, I can’t hide away from everyone but you lot forever. And it’s a good way of easing me into the Wedding Season. It’s coming at me, whether I’m ready for it or not.”
“I guess so,” she says, reluctantly. “Well, we can come over another time to admire your gardening prowess. You keep going with it.”
I hesitate. “Even though there’s a chance that worms will attack me?”
“Oh please, you spent twelve years putting up with Matthew.” She snorts. “What’s a couple of worms?”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m so sorry, Freya. Breakups are just the worst,” Isabelle tells me, adjusting her veil. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’re doing this. If I’d been through what you’ve been through, I’d be… like… dead on the floor.”
I nod, taking a sip from my cup. “Mmm.”
“You are so strong.” She places a hand on my shoulder, her heavily mascaraed eyes gazing at me. “I want you to know we’re all here for you.” She hiccups loudly and then giggles. “Whoops! What’s that you’re drinking?”
“Prosecco.”
“Can I borrow it? Only way to get rid of hiccups is to drink from a glass upside down.”
“Don’t you need water for that?”
“Yeah, but it’s my hen do!” she cries. “So, prosecco it is!”
I smile and hold it just out of her reach. “Finish your pee first. Then you can attempt to drink this upside down.”
“Smart thinking,” she slurs, reaching for the loo roll.
Using the wall to balance, she stands up and smooths down the skirt of her dress before wobbling in her heels across to the sink to wash her hands. I stand up from the ledge of the bath I was perched on while waiting for her.
“I am so in awe of you, Freya. You should know that. We all are.”
“Thanks, Isabelle,” I laugh. “Come on, though, let’s get backto your hen. I think they’re keen to play another game. How are those hiccups? We can get some water first.”
“No, I want to say this,” she tells me firmly, turning off the tap and spinning round to jab her finger at me. “You are so amazing. You didn’t have to come to this and yet here you are.”
I had braced myself for a lot of this chat throughout the weekend. Isabelle kept messaging me saying there was absolutely no pressure for me to come on her hen, that it was surely the last thing I wanted, and she couldn’t bear the idea of me forcing myself to go. Her maid of honor sent me a very sweet WhatsApp, too.
But even though anything to do with weddings is hard to swallow, I didn’t want to miss this. They may be a bit silly, but you remember your mates’ hen dos for the rest of your life. Isabelle is a really close friend of mine from school, and I want to celebrate her hen. However difficult it is.
So I told the MOH that she was very kind, but she didn’t need to worry, I would be coming, and I sent the message in as bright and cheery a tone as possible. I added in a lot of emojis, so she knew everything was just fine.
The problem is, whenever Isabelle has a few drinks, she loves to have deep conversations. So, I’ve spent the majority of today warding her off the topic of Matthew-and-Me. I knew when she grabbed my hand and insisted I come with her to pee, she’d want to make a drunken speech in the loo, so I casually tried to shake her free, but her little hands are very strong and I couldn’t pry those stubborn fingers loose.
“I couldn’t do it,” she continues, shaking her head dramatically. “But after everything that’s happened to you, you’re here for me. You’re right there”—she points at me with her finger, her eyes glazing over as she hiccups—“and that means more to me than anything. I hope you know that.”
“I do. Come on, let’s leave the bathroom.”
