I was a guest at a wedding where the bride clearly (hopefully) forgot that she was wearing crotchless knickers, and playfully hooked her leg over her husband’s shoulder when he knelt down in front of her to get her garter. ‘Eyeful’ doesn’t quite cover it…
Jamie, Essex
The penultimate appointment of the weekend was the smallest shop thus far: Grace Loves Lace. There was a new spring in Nora’s step, a revival of purpose: she had a venue and her bridesmaid dresses; her mother hadn’t stormed back to London following her elder daughter’s outburst about her younger; she knew through trial and error that fit-and-flare dresses didn’t really suit her stature (damn that Pandora Pritchard-Bailey for being right about that).
The eponymous Grace did things a little differently. She settled Nora and the others down with tea – real loose-leaf tea from a pot and served in tiny cups with matching saucers – and after a little idle chit-chat disappeared into the rails herself, returning with only three gowns.
The other two weren’t needed; conversation dropped away as Nora emerged wearing the first dress, the skirt sighing over her legs as she moved to the centre of the room. The bodice was simple, the back a deep scoop to a row of tiny, silk buttons. The skirt tumbled into soft tiers, full, but still elegant, Grace’s assistant started forward with the finishing touch, a simple chapel-length veil scattered with winking crystals, and there she was: Nora the Bride.
Cleo rose to stand next to Nora; she was admiring herself in the mirror, hips slightly swaying to make the dress slide and move, a silly little beam on her face.
‘You’re going to be cold, you know,’ Cleo pointed out, with a smile.
‘So I’ll be cold,’ Nora shrugged.
The other girls crowded around – even Eileen’s eyes were shining as she took in her daughter. Bea stood the other side of Nora, mindful of the slight poof of the skirt of the dress.
‘Job done,’ Bea announced, meeting Nora’s eyes in the mirror, her eyes feeling embarrassingly hot. Harry would cry for sure, when he held his beautiful bride at the other end of the aisle come the big day on New Year’s Eve. Christmas had felt ages away that morning, but suddenly Bea was all too aware of how close this wedding really was. Surely it was just last week Nora and Harry had announced their engagement, just a couple of months since they’d traded hearts? Time was racing on, and – as usual – Bea felt left behind.
But she remembered that night like it was yesterday, the night in the bar where Nora had met her to confess her and Harry’s big secret…
* * *
2 YEARS EARLIER
Nora pushed her handbag up on her shoulder. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’
Bea waved the hand that wasn’t holding a glass of wine. ‘Yup. I’ll be fine. Fine.’
Nora hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ll be FINE,’ Bea repeated, bullishly. ‘I don’t want to leave the wine now we’ve paid for it. You head off though. Head off and see Harry. Your boyfriend. Your boyfriend Harry.’ She was aware she was talking in circles and had not been in any way, shape or form cool with the news that had been visited on her tonight, but for now the Pinot Grigio was a buffer between her and caring too much about it.
Nora just laughed, and leaned forward to hug her oldest friend; Bea swayed awkwardly to stay on the bar stool. ‘I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?’
Nora and Harry. Harry and Nora. It turned her world upside down and yet made so much sense at the same time. Instead of leaving once she’d seen off the wine, Bea ordered another bottle. Harry had been out telling Cole at the same time; she wondered if he had taken the news with a little more dignity. Either way, if there was one person who was going to feel anywhere near where she was tonight, it would be him. She pulled out her phone: So, what just happened?? Call me ASAP.
Fifth glass of wine down and Bea reeled further and further. Theirs used to be the names people said in one breath – Bea-n-Nora. And now it would be Harry-n-Nora. It didn’t roll off the tongue in the same way; instead it squatted there, threatening to choke her. She poured the sixth glass of wine – way, way past the little white line that made it a socially acceptable amount. She thought about calling her mother to talk; she thought about how nice it would be to have the sort of mother you could just call up because you needed to talk. Nora and the Dervans were the closet thing Bea had to family. They were Harry’s family now – Harry’s in-laws. Bea topped up the wine again, again.
‘Save some for me.’ Bea blinked in confusion; Cole was there, pulling out the barstool next to hers and making eye contact with the guy behind the bar and mouthing that he needed another glass. Had she text him?
‘Where did you come from?’ She pulled out her phone and saw that at some point during her drunken introspection she’d missed three calls from Cole.
‘Nora told me where you were,’ he explained, helping himself to wine. He was drunk as well – Bea could tell from the looseness in his frame, the generous, sloppy way in which he poured the drink. ‘So. Quite the headfuck, huh?’
Bea laughed. ‘Quite,’ she agreed.
‘I mean, it’s great,’ Cole backtracked, after a long pause for drinking. ‘Really great. But still. You know? Wow.’ At least Bea wasn’t the only one being a little bit crazy about it all.
‘I can’t believe it. Harry and Nora.’ Harry-n-Nora.
‘You know though, Sarah said something about Harry and Nora being cute together when she first met them,’ Cole mused, referring to his new girlfriend of the last few months. Well, bully for freaking Psychic Sarah.
‘Well, it came as a shock to me. My five year old self is whirling.’
‘Well, as long as they don’t go through a horrible break up. Christ, can you imagine how awkward that would be?’
Bea topped her drink up while she absorbed that new thought – when had they ordered another bottle? – that was something that hadn’t occurred to her.
‘Everything is changing,’ she whined. ‘Everything is weird! Cole!’
‘Ahh, BeeBee. You’ve still got me.’ Cole rubbed her bare arm affectionately. He knew her of old and he knew all her little idiosyncrasies, her shameful separation anxiety. She felt Cole’s hand, steady and familiar on hers. When he took it back she felt alone. The last of the third bottle was shared out between their glasses. The last orders bell rang out into the dimness of the bar. The world dipped and swayed and Bea drifted along the threshold of insensibility, the wine now warm and tasteless, but still going down. Harry-n-Nora. She loved them; and now they loved each other, apparently.
‘Have you got any wine in?’ Cole asked; Bea’s flat was a ten minute stagger away. ‘Night cap? We’re so fucked we might as well keep going!’ he laughed.
‘There’ll be something,’ Bea assured him; if not, she’d nick something from her flatmate Kirsty and replace it before she could notice. She absolutely, positively did not want Cole to go home and leave her to sober up, alone and thrown.
The walk didn’t take the edge off their intoxication; if anything the fresh air had made her head spin even more. She’d taken off her heels and they dangled from their sling back strap from one hand while she fumbled drunkenly in her handbag for her keys with the other. The doorway where they waited was completely shadowed, the nearby overgrown hedging blocking out any street lights; beyond, night buses rumbled past. And then suddenly Cole pressed up against her, fitting around her curve, sliding his palms over the angle of her hips. His heart beat against her spine, she felt her pulse beat in answer. She half-turned back, wondering what the question was.
Cole pushed two fingers under her chin to tilt her face closer to his and kissed her. It was messy – he was drunk, and their bodies were at an odd slant to one another – but it felt right, right, right. This is what Harry-n-Nora had found; they’d fallen in love with a best friend. And, oh, Bea wanted it too.
Cole said something against her mouth; she felt the shape of it on her lips. It could have been her name. It could have been anything. They broke apart; Cole was breathing heavily. Bea bent shakily to pick up her handbag from where she’d dropped it at her feet to wrap her arms around her best friend. She gently probed at her heart, the way you’d agitate a tooth that’s been aching, expecting something: regret, shame. She felt nothing; Cole said nothing.
She found her keys. Cole reached for her again; they fell through the door.