Chapter Twenty-Two

I don’t like Drew.

There it is, out in the open. I don’t like the guy. Well, no… that’s not entirely fair. I’m sure he’s an OK guy, in his own little bubble. He’s just… not right for Lauren. Not even close. Not even in the same league. For God’s sake, three years ago the guy was living in his parents’ basement. He never went to college, barely graduated high school from what I’ve been told. Every penny he makes – which, by the way, isn’t many – went into his ridiculous comic book collection. Sure, he always claimed that he was going to do something with them one day, and with Lauren’s help he managed to scrape together a loan to set up his own store – but honestly, is that really all that great? A grown man selling comic books to other grown men? It’s not exactly a life goal, is it? I don’t even understand where it came from. His parents are your typical WASP-y success story – mother a doctor, father a higher-up in some accounting firm – and even his baby sister Paige seems to have her shit well and truly together. It’s just Drew.

Childish Drew. Easygoing Drew. Ever-so-slightly-lame Drew.

Is it wrong of me to think that she can do better? To hope that whatever she sees in him, it’s just a phase before she actually walks down the aisle?

Probably. I mean, she seems happy – and if she’s happy, I should be happy too. That’s how supporting your friends works, right?

Maybe I’ve gone past supportive. Maybe I’m just a bitch. Maybe, if I took the time to get to know him properly, I’d find out just what it is that makes her heart skip a beat whenever he walks into the room.

And yet when Lauren says that everything is fucked, all of a sudden the only thing I want to do is grab him and push him against a wall hard enough to shake some sense into him. Whatever he did, he’s an idiot – as if there was any more proof needed. How could he possibly have risked losing a girl like Lauren? Whatever he did – because I’m sure he’s done something, he must have done something – it’s a bad one. It has to be, to get her to react like that.

None of the rest of the girls say anything, so it looks like it’s down to me. Oh, the joys of being the Maid of Honour…

‘Lauren?’ I ask. ‘Everything OK?’

Stupid question, but what can you do?

‘No,’ she says. ‘No, everything’s not OK.’

‘What happened?’ What did he do?

‘The flowers were supposed to be here by this afternoon, so we could get them all set up in the church.’

‘And?’

‘And they’re not.’

Well, thank fuck for that.

I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face; it’s everything I can do to keep down a bleat of hysterical laughter. This isn’t an earth-shattering relationship crisis. No one has ever died because a flower delivery arrived a little late. Well, not that I know of, anyway.

‘Lauren, honey… it’s OK. The wedding isn’t for another day. They’ve got plenty of time to –’

‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s not that they’re not ready. They’re not here. They’re not anywhere. The florist doesn’t have any record of the order.’

‘Have you got the receipt?’

Lauren waves a scrap of paper under my nose. ‘Of course I’ve got the receipt.’

‘And what did they say to that?’

‘Oh, they were real apologetic. Said they were sorry and offered me my money back. But what the hell use is that to me the day before I get married?’

Shit. My immediate lawyer reaction is to march down there and insist they fulfil their side of the contract – but Lauren’s right. What good would it do? They can’t just magic us up some flowers, no matter how sorry they might be, and anything else is a problem for later.

‘Well, what about other florists?’ I say. ‘We’ve still got time before the wedding. Maybe one of them has some… I don’t know. Surplus stock. Or a cancellation.’

‘Surplus stock?’

‘We can go and check them out,’ I say, doing my best to keep my voice calm and soothing. ‘Call around, maybe. There’s got to be something we can do.’

‘I don’t have time,’ she says. ‘I’ve got Drew and his parents and his groomsmen flying down literally as we speak. They’re supposed to be here in an hour. Then there’s picking up the dress, delivering the place cards and decorations and everything else to the reception hall – everything except the goddamn flowers, that is, because I have no clue what I’m going to do about that – and there’s the rehearsal dinner to get ready for, and… and…’

I watch her ball up her hands into tight little fists, like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. I’ve never seen her like this before. Sure, Lauren has always had a tendency to be – and I say this with all the love in the world – a bit of a flake, but she always manages to pull it together in the end. She’s a doctor, for God’s sake. She must deal with things more stressful than this on a daily – hourly, minutely – basis.

But that’s what I’m here for. That’s why she has me.

‘OK,’ I say. ‘OK, we’ve got this. Lauren, where’s the name of the shop where the dress is?’

‘Angelica’s Bridal. It’s over on Royal.’

‘Does it need anything doing to it? Any adjustments?’

She shakes her head. ‘All sorted. It just needs picking up and signing for.’

‘Good. Jess?’

She’s already gathering her things from the table. ‘I’m on it,’ she says.

‘Great. Grab the place cards and take them to the reception hall when you’re on your way back?’

She shoots me a mock salute. ‘Sure thing, boss,’ she says, and in that moment – seeing the relief on Lauren’s face – I could just about marry her myself.

As soon as she’s out of the door, I turn back to Lauren. ‘Keys,’ I say.

‘Keys?’

‘Your car keys. You drove out here, right? You were going to pick up Drew and his side of the wedding from the airport?’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ She fishes mutely in her purse and comes out a second or two later with a small black box: the clicker for the minivan that she – inexplicably, to my mind – drives by choice. ‘Here you go.’ I take it and immediately pass it over to Danielle.

‘You’re on the airport run,’ I say. ‘Think you can handle that?’

Danielle shakes her head, almost smiling as she does passes it right back. ‘No can do,’ she says. ‘I don’t drive.’

‘You don’t, or you can’t?’

‘Can’t. I never learned.’ She shrugs, as if it’s just one of those things. ‘I’m from New York. There was never any need.’

Well, that explains it. It doesn’t help me, but it explains so much.

‘OK, in that case I’ll…’

‘I can do it,’ Paige says. ‘I’ll go and pick them up. He’s my brother, after all. I’m used to him and his dumbass friends.’

‘Can you do it all in one trip?’

She shrugs. ‘If I can, I will. If not, I’ll sort it out. I’ll pack my parents into a cab or something.’ She grabs the keys out of my hands and gives Lauren a kiss on the cheek before she goes, forcing herself onto her tiptoes just to reach. ‘Relax,’ she says. ‘I’ve got this. It’ll all be fine.’ Then she turns to me. ‘Look after her?’

I nod. With my life.

‘What about me?’ Lauren asks. ‘What do I need to do?’

‘You need to get yourself a mimosa and try to relax, for a start,’ I say. ‘Then you need to sit down with Danielle and make a list of the flowers you wanted, as best you can remember them. Preferably any alternates you’d be happy with. Just give me something to work from. Think you can handle that?’

She shrugs. ‘Why? What’s the point? It doesn’t matter what I want, because we’re not going to be able to find any of it at this short notice. It’s impossible.’

Poor Lauren. It’s like she barely knows me at all sometimes.

‘Oh, I know,’ I say. ‘Absolutely impossible, I’m sure. And we’re going to do it anyway – because your wedding deserves to be perfect, and you’ve got Ella Mossberg in your corner. Have you ever known me promise anything I couldn’t deliver?’

She sniffs. ‘No. I guess not.’

‘Good. Then just leave it up to me, OK?’

Forget the partying, forget the rehearsal dinner. If there’s one thing I can do to make this wedding weekend as special as possible for my best friend, it’s to organise this. I owe it to her.

A wedding full of flowers with twenty-four hours’ notice.

What’s so hard about that, right?