Six

Passing a pair of rumpled teenagers kissing like the end of the world was looming, Alex spied Lucy leaning against a magenta wall, a framed Depeche Mode “Master and Servant” poster keeping her company. “You and Harry looked cosy.”

“Nah, we’re just taking pity on each other.” Lucy adjusted the slipping shoulder strap on Alex’s dress. “He’s so hospitable, making sure I’ve got a drink. No wonder Bespoke is such a success.”

Right on cue, the twenty-five-year-old appeared at Lucy’s elbow with two flutes of champagne. “Here you go, ladies. Tom’s parents bailed, so he’s asked me to circulate. I’ll catch you in a bit…”

Alex waited to speak until the club owner was out of reach. “Two glasses?” Her lips hovered over the flute’s rim. “I bet this one was Harry’s until I hijacked you.” She gulped a mouthful, followed by another.

“Nice try, Ms. Matchmaker. Dating Harry would be like dating your brother. Anyway, I’m still stuck on that other blond.”

“Why don’t you just tell Charlie you like him? Why torture yourself, wondering if he feels the same way? It’s better to know.”

“Never say never. With a little Dutch courage, anything’s possible. Maybe I’ll pounce on him at New Year’s.”

Lucy exhaled slowly and walked with Alex towards the wooden stairwell leading upstairs. Their new vantage point would keep them safe from flailing arms but still offer a view of their friends’ dancing shenanigans. “I don’t want to make it awkward. I think he sees me as just his flatmate, nothing more.” Lucy sighed. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh?”

Pharrell Williams gave way abruptly for ABBA’s “Voulez-Vous.” Lucy bobbed her head to the music and laughed, catching sight of the guys pulling disco moves with Naomi that would make John Travolta cringe. “Simon’s rat-arsed. He’d never crease up his suit like that if he was sober.” She squealed and leaned into Alex. “Check out Mark! He’s learned a thing or two from Freddie, all those nights at Zippers before he met you. Fuck, he’s got moves—look at those hip thrusts. It’s almost pornographic. All the better for you, eh, babe?”

Lucy’s words evaporated into the music. Alex was lost in her champagne’s bubbles, her mind elsewhere.

“And speaking of pornographic, my jaw aches! It’s hard work, blowing the Harrow rugby team behind the bar, and then Tom strolled up and asked, ‘Where’s mine?’ And I said, ‘Piss off. I’m not one of your old tarts looking for a final fling.”’ She poked Alex with her elbow.

“Sorry…you what?”

“God, if the blowjob line didn’t pull you back, I feared where I’d be headed next…”

Alex lowered her brows. “Blowjob?”

“Never mind. You were off on another planet just then, probably picturing what the two of you will get up to later—not that I blame you.”

“Right…”

Lucy playfully placed her hand on Alex’s forehead. “You okay? Your man’s been away for six weeks and a shag isn’t top of mind? If I were you, I’d say screw the reception and get busy with him in the loos.”

“No, it is top of mind, it’s just—”

“It’s just what? What are you waiting for? Mark’s crazy for you—sickeningly so.” She pointed to the dance floor. “Just look at him, he keeps spinning around, waving you over…voulez-vous. Ha! Why the fuck are vous still here with me? Get in!”

Alex ignored Lucy’s orders, her thoughts wandering again. “If we’re crazy for each other and hate being apart, we should…get married.”

Lucy spluttered on a mouthful of champagne. “M-M-Married?” She bent forward, her hand flying to her mouth. Cough, cough, cough. “B-But you’re”—cough cough—“only twenty-f-f-four.”

“You okay?” Alex rubbed her friend’s back.

“Are you?” Lucy straightened up, her eyes watering. Cough. “That went down”—cough— “wrong way.”

Alex watched her boyfriend whooping it up with Freddie and Simon on the dance floor, a hint of wistfulness in her eyes.

Lucy swallowed again and again, the burning in her throat refusing to fade. “You haven’t even hit your two-year anniversary and you’re thinking marriage?”

“It’s in less than two months.”

Lucy glanced at the boys and then at her friend. “Lex, seriously? You’ve never been one to doodle Mrs. Mark Keegan in the margins of your plays. Why are you suddenly all wedding obsessed?”

“Keep your voice down.” Alex clenched her jaw. “I’m NOT obsessed.”

Lucy threw a hand up in the air defensively. “Okay, if you say you’re not, you’re not. Don’t get shirty—I’m just trying to understand where you’re coming from.” She blew out her cheeks.

Alex scowled, dropping the duo into silence. A minute felt like an hour. She had to tell her best friend…

“I found a ring in Mark’s backpack.”

Lucy look startled. “A RING? When?”

“August, in Dublin, the day we showed his mum the new house. Mark doesn’t know—I put it straight back.”

“And now you’re telling me? Three months later—”

Alex kept her volume low. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d tease me for being that girl.”

“That’s true, I would’ve. So, c’mon then, how big was it? Did you need sunnies?”

“Lovely little diamond, white gold band, understated but pretty—really pretty.”

“What the fuck? Did he buy it before he became a household name? It sounds like a Kinder Egg toy.” Lucy frowned. “He can do better than that.”

“Actually, it’s a family heirloom. Grace told me.”

“You asked Grace—in front of Mark?”

“No! He was in the kitchen with his mum, saying hi to someone on the phone. Rhys was in the bathroom. Grace and I were at the dinner table, talking about the family photos along the stairs. There’s a gorgeous shot of her and Rhys’ wedding where she’s holding up this blinding square-cut diamond ring—”

“Sounds like Grace’s bloke has better taste in rings.”

Alex glared. “You sound more like that girl than I do. Who cares if it’s large, square, yellow—it’s not about the actual ring. It’s about what it symbolizes.”

“Yeah, that your man is minted.” Lucy sniffed. “So, how did you two get talking about the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hand-me-down?”

“Grace talked about the night she got engaged and said that when Mark was ready to propose, he would have their mum’s ring. She described it, and it sounded just like the one in his backpack.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Fuck…”

“I know, right?”

“So that’s why you’ve been so weird!” Lucy sipped her champagne.

“Don’t blame me, Mark started it—he’s the one with the engagement ring.” Alex peered into her glass. “I was never all about marriage, but now that I’ve actually seen it…and with Christmas coming up, our anniversary, I keep thinking he’s gonna ask! I’ve gotten all obsessed since finding that ring. Lucy, who have I become?”

“You’ve become Gollum, but, you know, without the body odour and bulging eyes. My precioussssss—”

“Shut up.” Alex swatted at her friend.

“Well! You do have big feet like him.”

“Stop! I thought it might happen next month in New York but with that trip cancelled—”

“I thought you were gonna kill him on the bus.”

“I brought it up while we were dancing, just now.”

“What? The ring?”

“No! Marriage…”

“Shit, Lex. Sometimes you don’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

“He wants to wait. What the fuck, Lucy? Is he acting, trying to throw me off the scent? Or maybe he’s changed his mind…”

“Lex, come on. Fess up. What’s really bothering you?”

Alex’s eyes sought out Mark, but she could no longer find him in the crush. “He’s never here.”

“Babe, you knew when you started dating an actor that work would take him away.”

“Yeah, to do a play up in Sheffield or a TV series in Scotland, but South Africa, Thailand, California, Newfoundland for weeks—months on end? That’s completely different, and it’s happened so quickly.”

“Go with him.”

“And ignore my own work?”

“You’re no longer giving tours at the National, so what’s the problem? You can write anywhere.”

“No, I can’t. I had that writing group at the Royal Court. Then, the Donmar commission started, and there was no way I’d bail on the attachment. Anyway, I can’t afford to follow Mark around.”

“You’d be alone a lot, too, in strange places with strange foods.” Lucy chuckled. “You’d bloody starve, Miss Picky Pants.”

“It sucks. We haven’t spent five days in a row together since April. I’m thrilled he’s getting bigger roles and great reviews, honestly, I am—he deserves all that success and more, but…”

“But what?”

“I’m afraid he’s working himself too hard. I’m afraid…I’m afraid he’ll start to go off me, forget about me.”

Lucy chuckled as a teen stole a half-full champagne flute left on the stairs. “As if! I’ve heard all about your FaceTime sex sessions.”

Alex’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Blame Freddie. You know he’s terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Ergh, I can’t believe Mark told him.”

“I can’t believe Mark still hasn’t realized that Freddie’s got loose lips.”

“Lucy, Mark’s fame and all the upheaval it’s caused makes our lives feel out of control, unpredictable, and I hate unpredictable. How can we plan for our future when our present is just a turbulent long-distance relationship with no end in sight? He says he loves me, wants to be with me, but that’s just words—”

“Says the playwright.”

“His actions don’t back them up. I’m the one making all the sacrifices, compromising everything. After lunch tomorrow, he’ll be gone again, and it makes me super anxious. I need some kind of stability, some security, and that’s what that ring symbolizes to me. That’s why I want to get married. It’s not about the party, the dress—”

“But you already moved in together. That’s not stable enough?”

“No. If anything, it feels worse sometimes, like I’ve got more to lose now—”

“I knew it.” Lucy sipped her champagne.

“Knew what?”

“Your anxiety is flaring again. You’ve been having panic attacks, haven’t you?”

“No…”

“Now it all makes sense.” Lucy stared at her. “The quick exits, the last-minute excuses. You didn’t have food poisoning. That’s why you skipped Naomi’s hen weekend, wasn’t it? Oh, babe, when did they start again?”

Alex raised her glass to her lips.

“Lex, answer me.”

“Seven months ago. My doctor gave me some pills, but I haven’t tried them yet.”

“What happened seven mo—” Lucy widened her eyes. “Oh, right.”

“Lucy, don’t tell Mark.”

“Never mind Mark, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped!”

“Because I catch a sniffle and you drop everything. Your concern would make Freddie curious, and if Freddie found out…”

“He would tell Mark.” Lucy nodded. “But wouldn’t it be good if Mark knew? I bet he’d try to be home more, and I thought that was what you wanted?”

“It is, but I don’t want him turning down jobs because of my panic attacks. He’s living his dream, Lucy—I’d never take that away from him or ask him to choose between me or work. If we got married, I bet I wouldn’t feel so anxious. Life would be more secure…I just think I’d feel more settled, knowing where we were headed. Maybe I wouldn’t sweat his absences as much? With a ring on his finger, he’d never forget me, either…”

Lucy smiled sympathetically. “Oh, Lex. Marriage won’t guarantee that you two will stay together. Just look at my parents—fuck, look at yours!”

“I know all that, but why should having divorced parents and a dysfunctional childhood automatically make me a commitment-phobe? If anything, the opposite is true—I know what NOT to do. I don’t want to lose him, Lucy.”

“Don’t be daft. Look, he’s got this engagement ring, yeah? And now he knows you want to get married. So, you’re dealing with when, not if, right? You just need to be patient, let him get there in his own time, babe. I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposes with the ring inside a snapdragon, the old romantic.”

“Or a big bag of chocolate Buttons.” A shy smile returned to Alex’s face.

“You’ve got a good thing with Mark. Don’t spoil it by fixating on the future or dwelling on what could go wrong. You’re with him now—that’s what matters. He’s totally committed to you, and any idiot can see you two were made for each other. And hey, the next time you’re feeling anxious, please talk to me, okay?”

Alex nodded.

Another ABBA tune blasted from the speakers—“Dancing Queen” this time—and Naomi took centre stage on the dance floor. Lucy screwed up her face. “Fuuuuuck, the queen of shameless self-promotion strikes again.” She turned her back. “I guess it’s my job to remind Naomi that she’s a swing in Mamma Mia!, not the lead. She’s taking the piss.”

“Didn’t she tell you?” Alex shouted over the music as a sweaty Freddie bounded over. “After the honeymoon, she becomes an ensemble member and the understudy for the role of Sophie. She found out this morning.”

“Now we’ll have to go see it.” Freddie stuck out his tongue. “Bloody musicals. Better pack an EpiPen. I may keel over in my ice cream from anaphylactic shock.”

Looking past Freddie and Lucy, Alex’s face lit up.

“You’re only excited because you like cheesy tunes and jazz hands,” said Freddie.

Mark swooped in and laid a sweaty arm over Alex’s shoulder. “Hey stranger.” His lips didn’t hold back, reclaiming her mouth and ignoring all the distractions that lurked only an elbow away: their friends, the reception—the world—could wait.

Her free hand slipped through Mark’s hair, its messy chaos impossible to resist.

He broke away with a smile, helping himself to Alex’s champagne. “That Caprice grabbed Si’s butt. She’s so drunk, she can’t even tell he’s gay.”

“Excuse me, Mark?”

Mark, Alex, Freddie, and Lucy turned towards the posh voice. A thirty-something brunette with gravity defying breasts bursting from a low-cut designer dress hovered with a cocktail napkin in her hand. “Can I have your autograph? I’m a huge fan.”

Alex gave the woman a smile, but the fan ignored her like she was invisible.

“Abso-bloody-lutely.” Mark disentangled himself from his girlfriend and handed back her glass, empty. “Bride or groom?”

“Wha—oh, ha! You’re so adorable.” The fan grasped Mark’s forearm. “Groom, I’m Tom’s cousin.” She thrust her bulging chest towards him and chatted incessantly in his ear while pressing a pen and the napkin into his hands.

Alex felt like a third wheel. She drummed her fingers on the champagne flute. “Bar?” She snatched Lucy’s free hand.

They weaved through the partiers, leaving Mark with Freddie and the woman.

“Talk about boob-a-palooza,” Lucy sniped over her shoulder.

“She’s out of luck if she thinks Mark will be impressed. He’s more of an ass man.”

“TMI, Alex!”

She glanced down at her A-cup chest. “Well, he must be, right? If he’s with me?”

“Doesn’t that woman have any class? He’s at a private party—leave him be. Tom should’ve had a word with his creepy relatives.”

“It’s his wedding day, he’s got more important things to worry about than being Mark’s bodyguard. Anyway, that’s my job.”

Lucy laughed, watching Freddie leave Mark’s side. “And you suck at it.” She stared, not afraid to be obvious with her stink eye. “You should’ve told her to back off. She’s taking loads of selfies. Even Freddie’s had enough.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. Mark won’t stop until she walks away.”

Absorbed in their conversation, Mark took his time, signing three more autographs for the woman, his kind eyes making her feel like the most important person in the room. Alex always joked that her boyfriend’s superpower was charisma. Funny or not, it was true—people were drawn to Mark and loved talking to him.

“Keegs is impressive,” said Lucy. “He asks questions—and actually listens. If I were in his shoes, I’d scribble my initials and be off.”

“You and me both.” Alex turned back to the bar.

“This must piss you off to no end, though.”

“It was cool in the beginning and didn’t happen too often, but now…” She smiled, trying to get the bartender’s attention. “Our time together is so rare. We’ll be having a private moment and suddenly get interrupted. It’s unsettling and scary. These people feel like they know Mark, but they’re strangers. I guess for a guy it’s not frightening, but it freaks me out a bit. This one’s Tom’s cousin, so…”

“God, she’s practically drooling. Mark should’ve worn wellies.”

Alex looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, women like her, they don’t rein it in when I’m standing right there. Imagine what they’re like when I’m not in the room.” She didn’t elaborate—she didn’t have to. Alex had learned to trust Mark; women hit on him all the time, but he never took the bait.

“She’s called her friends over now.” Lucy crossed her arms as Alex turned around.

The Kensington squad draped their Pilate-toned arms over Mark’s shoulders and around his waist, desperately clinging to him for photo after photo. He chatted, posed patiently, and accepted more napkins to autograph.

A short brunette, no older than fifteen, eased into the scrum and asked Mark a question. He leaned forward, his undivided attention all hers. The booming bass on the dance floor made it difficult to think, let alone hold an easy conversation. He shook his head and encouraged the teen to repeat her query in his ear.

A smile rose from Alex’s lips. This fan, polite and respectful, wasn’t like the others, grabbing at him, looking for their pound of famous flesh. Moments like this one made Alex proud to be a fan and even prouder to be Mark’s girlfriend. She relaxed against the bar. Mark grinned warmly, answering the teenager’s question while signing her paper.

The thumping music faded as Naomi stepped forward. “It’s time, ladies!” She waved her bouquet. “Before I pass the torch to the next bride-to-be, Tommy and I would like to thank everyone for celebrating with us.”

Naomi’s new husband snuck up behind her, an unlit celebratory cigar in his mouth and a finger pointing at the shiny platinum band on his left hand. The guests howled with laughter, the notion of Tom married unthinkable just a few months ago. Naomi jutted out her chin and smiled. He was hers, and she was his, their vows and wedding rings, like Kryptonite repelling anyone who deemed otherwise.

“We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful sendoff. We wish we could spend more time with you, but the beaches of Bora Bora beckon.”

The crowd oohed with mock envy.

Tom yanked the cigar from his mouth, snaked his arms around Naomi’s waist, and kissed her neck like no one was watching.

“Maybe that will be me and Mark soon, eh?” Alex’s eyes met her boyfriend’s in the crowd of glowing faces. He winked and resumed signing an autograph.

Lucy held Alex’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Now would all the single ladies—”

“And poofs, darling!” Freddie shouted from the far side of the bar. He handed his camera to Simon with instructions to video the flower fight for his fledgling YouTube channel.

“And poofs.” Naomi laughed. “Gather here now, please.” She raised her eyebrows not so subtly at Alex and Lucy.

“Come on!” Alex dragged Lucy by the hand. “It’ll be a laugh!” She looked over at Mark, who was now free of female company and deep in conversation with Harry.

Alex and Lucy lurked behind Freddie, who was jockeying with the competition—a gaggle of late-arriving Mamma Mia! castmates fresh from their curtain call, the pack of Kensington heiresses post Mark assault, and a hiccupping Caprice, tangerine arms outstretched, ready to pounce on the prize and the marital promise held within its petals.

Tom stepped aside as Naomi turned her back for the toss. “Un…deux…trois!”

The bouquet shot over her shoulder, barely clearing the festive bunting strung below the pub’s ceiling. Squealing women reached out with impatient hands, clawing and scratching for position, their feral efforts jostling Alex aside. Caprice swatted in desperation, but her booze-addled balance sealed her fate. She careened sideways into Lucy with such force that the bouquet of posies catapulted off her head and landed safely in the arms of Freddie.