Bea knew before she cracked her eyelids open that she was the only one awake. The flat felt thickly silent. Her cheek and ear were damp with sweat from where they’d spent all night pressed up against the cream leather of Nora’s sofa and there was a bruisy ache in the small of her back from hours of inappropriate lumbar support. Still, it could be worse. Below her, taking up pretty much the entirety of the living room’s floor space, Cleo and Sarah lay sharing a blow-up double mattress. Cleo looked small and cute in a stereotypical foetus position, her curled hands up by her curled hair. Sarah lay sprawled on her back, hips splayed wide and mouth lolled open. (Of course, Daisy’s sharing of Nora’s bed hadn’t been contested.)
Bea wondered if anyone had thought to turn the heating down before they’d all crashed out. The room was impossibly warm, a combination of central heating and body warmth, and it smelt like skin, clashing perfumes and something that Bea could only assume was coming from the five glasses of only-partially drunk vegetable juice. Bea peeled herself up to a sitting position. The room was lit all in a twilight grey; she knew outside it was the morning of New Year’s Eve, but it could be anywhere from 5am to 10am, for all she knew. Knowing that they had the travel into the countryside to the venue ahead of them before any real bridal prep could begin, Bea sincerely hoped that it was closer to 5am.
Not wanting to disturb Cleo and Sarah, Bea swung around and clambered off the sofa over the arm, rubbing out the kink in the back of her neck with the flat of her hand as she padded towards the bathroom, double-taking as she passed the open kitchen door. Nora sat alone, silent, her elbows on the Formica table top, her cupped hands wrapped around a large mug of black coffee.
“Hey Mel,” Bea greeted, in a hushed tone, pulling out the other chair from the table. She reached forward to grasp her best friend’s chin lightly in her hand. “Looking good and clear there.” After watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding last night, Nora had become convinced that she’d wake up with an unsightly constellation of zits stretched across her jawline.
“I should be drinking coconut water or something, just to make sure I’m glowing later.” Nora didn’t bother stifling a wide yawn, just raised her hands and the coffee mug up to cover her open mouth. “But I didn’t really sleep. I needed the caffeine.”
“Last minute nerves?”
“No, not nerves. Just anticipation. And paranoia. Like, I kept picturing myself walking down the aisle with my dress tucked into my knickers, or something.”
Bea snorted. “The size of the skirt on that thing, could never happen.”
Nora cracked a smile. “I know, I’m just being silly…”
“Your boob could always pop out the front though,” Bea pointed out, thoughtfully. “I’d be more worried about that if I were you.”
Nora’s smile stretched into a grin. “Well, I think boob-watching is part of the bridesmaid job-description. At the first hint of a nipple-slip from me I fully expect you to divert attention by stripping full on naked.”
Bea nodded, faux-serious. “Noted. I’m going to get in on that,” she nodded at the coffee, the smell of which was driving her to distraction, before moving over to Nora’s coffee machine and selecting a pod from the basket nearby.
“I wish my dad was here.” Nora spoke in a small voice, the minute that Bea’s attention was turned. Bea abandoned her attempts to slot the pod into the machine’s feeder and returned to the table to hug her friend. John Dervan had died when they were both so young, that all Bea could really remember of the man was the boom of loud laughter, the spicy fug of his brand of cigarettes, how he’d insisted the entire family dress up on Sundays. Bea had never known her father, and Nora’s had always been terrifying and thrilling to her in equal measure. It seemed like a million years ago, but now suddenly they were at the day where Eileen would walk her first child down the aisle in the place of her long-dead husband.
“He’ll be watching on,” Bea comforted.
Nora leaned into the hug. “You don’t believe in Heaven,” she pointed out.
“No. But he did.” Bea smoothed her god-sister’s hair down over her ears and her heart filled up with all the Noras she had known and loved across her life: the child; the teen; the woman; the friend; the sister. Nora the bride smiled.
“Better think about rousing the troops. There are a lot of us to get showered, and the cars will be here at nine.”
“Do you want to get in the shower first?” Bea asked. “So you don’t feel rushed?”
Nora shook her head. “Why don’t you go first. Then if your hair still looks pink when it’s dry you can go again,” she teased.
“Bugger off,” Bea shot back, reaching for Nora’s coffee in lieu of her own and taking a fortifying gulp.