One time I was a bit too enthusiastic on the old wedding dancefloor during a particularly “banging” tune near the end of the evening. Suddenly a friend of mine leapt on my back and proceeded to whisper urgently in my ear something about my bridesmaid dress. Turns out I’d been “banging” so hard that I’d managed to rip it along the zip. We backed away from the dancefloor towards a convenient wall where I commandeered someone’s suit jacket and sat there on a chair for the rest of the night.
Hayley, Frankfurt
Gray wasn’t in the first flow of evening guests released into the ballroom. He’d hung back, sharing what looked like a companionable drink with Darren, who of course he’d met a few times before. Cleo was pleased they’d each found someone – the evening guests were a veritable tide, all coiffed and hyper, with a lot more energy remaining than the slightly-jaded day guests – and any port in a storm. Darren, by lieu of being Daisy’s baby-daddy, had been bumped back up to invitee at pretty much the last minute, but he’d taken it with good grace and was looking very smart in his jacket-tie-chinos combination.
Gray had gone for the more traditional three-piece, his charcoal grey waistcoat fitting well across his chest. Cleo allowed herself to watch him for a moment or two, feeling sufficiently anonymous in the crowd, but his eyes found her faster than she anticipated they would; they both smiled at one another across the expanse of room. She continued to stand guard in front of the small curtained alcove where Nora and Bea were currently crammed, the latter attempting to get the veil back on the head of the former, who had decided at the last second she wanted it on for the first dance and cake-cutting photographs.
Father Michaels, the Dervan family priest, had been first in the door – Nora had eventually relented just far enough to let her mother have him as an evening guest. He’d made an immediate beeline to where Eileen was holding court on one of the tables moved into the corner, holding her hand briefly, lightly, reverently as if she was the Queen, or as if he was just about to bring it to his lips. Cleo had met the old man several times, at family functions Nora had invited her to over the years, and she was struck once again, as she watched him with Eileen, how much his aquiline nose and the run of his jawline reminded her of Nora’s sister Fin when she was caught in profile. But before her mind could run away with its fantasies about the tragic young widow and the handsome Catholic priest, Nora emerged from the alcove, re-veiled and ready for action. Cleo preoccupied herself with signalling for Harry; an observant Daisy cued the DJ.
After months and months of back and forth, Harry and Nora had ended up returning to the first track they’d considered for their first dance. Cleo couldn’t suppress her smile as the opening chords of Aqualung’s Brighter Than Sunshine filled the huge room. Neither Nora nor Harry would ever claim to be much of a dancer, but – to be honest – the dress did most of the work, fanning and flying around their feet as they side-and back-stepped their way around the space, beaming stupidly at one another, completely unheeding of the multitude of camera phones that ringed them, flashing away.
Love will remain a mystery, but give me your hand and you will see, your heart is keeping time with me.
Gray, abandoned by Darren who’d sought out Daisy, had circled as close to Cleo as his manners would allow. He could never be anonymous in a crowd, not to her – he stood out easily amongst all of his fellow be-suited guests watching the newlyweds twirl one another around, his eyes and expression soft; Cleo felt a matching softness in her belly. He looked at Harry and Nora like she herself sometimes caught herself doing – like they had something he envied.
Harry’s enthusiastic dipping of Nora obviously caught her off-guard as the song ended. She giggled as she reached up to steady her veil where it was now only loosely clipped through her hair, and Harry kissed her laughing mouth thoroughly. Cleo joined in with the assembly’s delighted applause; the DJ neatly dovetailed into a nineties power ballad and impatient guests flooded the dance floor, surrounding and swallowing the still-kissing newlyweds in an instant.
Cleo looked back towards Gray; he was already waiting for her eye contact. He smiled and tipped his hand to his mouth in the universal mime for “do you want a drink?” Cleo shook her head, her smile widening as Gray began to make his way over to her through the crowd.
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Cleo Adkins?” was his opening gag, his head bent right down into the space between her cheek and her shoulder so she could hear him over the music; it was an old joke between them, worn and comfortable.
“Hey, remember I’m on duty,” Cleo admonished him in return, nodding in the direction of the bride and groom. “Poised for action. Prepared for anything!”
“Surely you don’t expect there to be any more bridesmaids secretly having slept with groomsman revelations?”
“One can only hope.”
“Well, they’re married now. Surely the bulk of the job is done? Do you want to dance?”
Cleo shook her head, smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to dance.”
“Then you really do need to let me get you a drink,” Gray insisted, grinning.
* * *
It seemed like Bea had blinked and the day was almost over, the pressure of time ticking away only sharpened by the fact it was New Year’s Eve. The guests with young children, or with far to travel, had already made their excuses, while the swirling crowd on the dance floor thickened as people grew more inebriated, more relaxed. Bea had been among them until her feet began to hurt past bearing, and she’d gone to rest at a table with Daisy and Claire. Daisy had since been hauled back up to dance, and Claire had gone to queue at the bar, but Bea found she didn’t mind the momentary solitude. It only lasted a minute or too before Eli crashed down into the chair beside her.
“Hey,” he greeted her, his grin the loose and easy one he wore when he’d seen the bottom of a few pint glasses. “Cheer up. You’re at your best friend’s wedding.”
“Indeed. And I’m much like Julia Roberts at the end of that terrible film.”
“Okay, I’ve never seen it, so I don’t get the reference, unfortunately,” Eli confessed.
Bea gestured expansively. “The bitter, bitchy bitch in the bridesmaid’s dress. Alone aside from her gay best friend.”
Eli laughed. “Okay, you might be bitter, but I’m not gay, thank you very much.”
Bea shrugged. “Same difference.”
Eli sighed, impatient. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know.” Eli glared at her. “You just want a reaction from me. You want me to tell you that you’re a great person and puff you up again. Like I’ve done for years and years. Not tonight, please.”
Bea bristled even as she recognised the truth in his words, the fact that she was constantly craving all his little validations. “What are you on about? You don’t ‘puff me up’.”
“Are you kidding?” Eli sat forward in his chair. “That’s all I bloody do.”
“Well. Clearly I’ve needed a lot of puffing,” Bea retorted mulishly. “But it’s not my fault I’m so damn unlovable.”
“It’s not your fault?” Eli echoed.
“Well, okay, maybe it is a little,” Bea consented, staring down at her dirty bare feet against the shiny parquet flooring of the ballroom. “I suck at putting on liquid eyeliner and I never get birthday presents right. I can never keep my shoes on when I’m drinking. I get involved with inappropriate men and I piss off my friends. I probably don’t recycle as much as I should. So, I’m a shit, shitty person.” She tipped back in her chair a little and stared at the ceiling. “But I would like someone to love me, all the same.”
Eli took a deep breath. “Bea. I love you, I really do, but you need to snap out of this.”
“Snap out of what?”
“Your bullshit!”
Bea was momentarily lost for words; Eli wasn’t normally so forceful with her. “How is it bullshit? I’m sorry, but I must have somehow missed the queue of men beating down my door over the last decade or so.”
“For once, you need to actually listen to me. I love you. I’ve been saying it for years. I said it thirty seconds ago for Christ’s sake.”
For the first time in her life, Bea fell completely silent. Her overthinking brain faltered and fell quiet; she could have sworn that even her heart skipped a few knocks.
“You love me?” she got out, after a moment, hating how she couldn’t strip the sarcasm out of her voice, even then.
Eli gave her a hard glare, not looking remotely like somebody who was confessing to a secret love.
“Yes, you idiot,” he snapped, his tone defensive and sharp. “I loved you when we were ten years old, and you played Pokémon cards with me even though you didn’t understand the rules. I loved you when we were fifteen, and I’d sign in and out of MSN Messenger all bloody night long, hoping to get your attention. I loved you when we were twenty and I invited you to visit me in Cardiff so I could tell you how I felt about you, but you got drunk and pulled my housemate before I could. And I love you now, tonight, right down to your dirty feet. I’ll probably love you for always. More bloody fool me.”
Bea felt heat rush to her face, to her hands, to her eyes. “Oh,” she managed, weakly.
Eli waved a hand dismissively, looking faintly disgusted, although Bea wasn’t sure if the disgust was aimed at her or at himself. “Forget about it. God knows I’ve tried.” Suddenly he lurched to his feet. Without another word he pushed himself back through the crowd of dancing guests.
Bea was standing only a half-second behind him, pausing stupidly to hook her high heels out from underneath the table and stuff her feet back into them.
“Wait, wait,” she called after Eli, her voice useless against the loud music. She caught up with him in the very centre of the dance floor, at the point where the two sides of disco lights met in a criss-cross of colour, the point where, just hours before, Harry and Nora had shared their first dance. She grabbed at him, not bothering to be gentle when she used his arm to pull him around to face her. She felt her heart cracking a little at the way he looked at her – like he was scared of her. Still, he bent his ear to her mouth to let her speak.
The DJ was playing Livin’ On A Prayer. I’ve always hated this song, Bea thought, distractedly; at least, if this goes badly, it won’t ruin a song I like.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, “it’s just… Well, I know why I would be in love with someone like you, but why would you be in love with someone like me?”
Eli looked at her, half-thrilled at her words, half-cautious. “I just do,” he answered, simply.
Bea’s body flooded with something unknowable, her mouth dried up. “I do,” she whispered. “I do too.” Eli pressed closer to her, trying to hear her over the crash of Jon Bon Jovi, trying to read her lips, her eyes, her face. She lunged closer, already on her tiptoes in the heels, desperate to be heard. “I do too.”
She felt him stiffen; he grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her back away from him. Bea felt sick. But instead of moving away, Eli just searched her face.
“Don’t just say it,” he said, voice strange.
“I’m not,” she swore. “I’m really not.”
“Okay.” He exhaled, laughing slightly. Bea laughed too.
“Okay? And you don’t care that I slept with Cole?”
Eli made a face. “No. Not that I’d like you to make a habit of it or anything.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He was still holding her by her upper arms; Bea slid her hands up along his, a willing mirror.
“So now what?” he asked.
“Well. I guess we’ve got two options. You kiss me now, in front of everyone, and we totally steal a load of thunder from Nora and Harry’s big day.” Eli screwed up his face, obviously as torn about that as she was. “Or we just keep dancing. And we revisit this when we can talk properly. And be alone.” A smile twitched at her lips. “Next year.”
Eli exhaled, running his fingers down her arms, taking up her hands in his. “Well. I’ve waited twenty years, I suppose. I can wait a little longer. Let’s dance.”
And so, Bea kicked off her high heels, and danced.