A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Page 5

  There are long minutes in which all you can hear is each other’s ragged breathing. You tuck your head into the hollow of his shoulder, and reach out an idle finger to stroke the tattoos on his arms. The symbols look vaguely Celtic – now that you’re looking more closely, that seems to be a dragon, but it’s wavering and dissolving.

  Puzzled, you look up at JD’s face, but it’s Bruno’s eyes that are looking back at you. What’s going on? And why is someone beating out a tattoo on a drum?

  You blink, and this time when you open your eyes, you’re alone on your bed, still wrapped in a towel, and smelling of frangipani or something equally exotic. The drum roll is a hammering on the door. You’ve been asleep and dreaming for far longer than you intended – judging by the golden light outside the window, dusk is approaching. You get up on legs that still feel wonderfully loose and lazy, and check the peep-hole.

  It’s Cee Cee.

  ‘I need your help,’ she says, pushing past you into the room. ‘I’m having a crisis! I booked the hotel spa for this evening for all of us girls – pampering, you know. But they’ve had an unfortunate waxing incident and have cancelled. What are we going to do now? The receptionist says the local pub has a karaoke night, but that could be too low-rent. Otherwise, we could stay in and have a girls-only pyjama party. What do you think we should do?’

  Excellent, you think, knuckling your eyes, trying to clear away the remnants of your dream. You understand why the handsome DJ showed up on cue, but what was Bruno doing in your head? In real life, however, the hen party will solve your Steve problem for now – he’ll be out at the stag party, so you’ll be able to delay the awkward but inevitable ‘I’m just not that into you’ conversation for one night at least. The question is, do you feel like an evening of bad cover numbers and cheap tequila shots, or a night in with the girls, chucking dodgy lingerie around?

  If you decide that an evening of karaoke is the way to go, go to page 70.

  If you’d prefer a girls’ night in, go to page 80.

  You’ve opted for the karaoke night

  The karaoke night is exactly what you expected: a country pub with a microphone, a makeshift stage, and a balding DJ behind a plywood box in one corner.

  You managed to escape the hotel without having any alone-time with Steve. As he and the group of yellow-t-shirted guys headed out for their own night of fun, he tried to kiss you on the mouth, but you managed to swerve so that it landed on your cheek. Bruno, who was wearing his YES U CAN t-shirt over a long-sleeved black shirt, gave you an unreadable look, and you didn’t see any sign of JD.

  But now you need to put your Steve concerns aside and make sure Jane enjoys her last night as an unmarried woman. She’s looking strained, and is ordering cocktails and shooters in rather excessive quantities.

  You join her at the bar, where Lisa and Cat are doing their first round of tequila shots. Aunt Lauren is leaning on the counter, chatting up the barman, who’s almost young enough to be her grandson. And judging by the look on his face, she might just have scored. At least someone’s getting lucky tonight. You think wistfully about JD and his intriguing tats. You wouldn’t mind finding out if that ink extends to other parts of his body, but there’s no chance of that now. He obviously assumes that you and Steve are a couple.

  Jane knocks back one shot, then another. You follow suit, feeling the alcohol hitting your system and flooding your veins. You watch as Cee Cee and Noe blast out ‘I Will Survive’ at the tops of their voices. Lisa and Cat are deep in conversation, their heads close together.

  ‘You think I’m doing the right thing?’ Jane asks.

  ‘No. Karaoke is never a good idea.’

  ‘I mean … with all the wedding preparations, I sort of haven’t had time to think … if marriage is what I really want.’

  What could have sparked this off? You like Tom; he’s kind-hearted, a decent bloke, but truth is, you’re worried that he might be a little bit, well – as Lisa would say – fucking boring. ‘But you and Tom have been together since university.’

  ‘That’s the problem – I haven’t been with anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, Tom is wonderful, it’s just … what if there’s someone else out there I’m supposed to be with?’

  You’re out of your depth here, but you tell yourself that it’s normal for the bride to get cold feet before the wedding. Isn’t it?

  The microphone whines, making you wince. ‘This is for the special woman in my life,’ a man’s voice croons. Uh-oh. You know that voice.

  You turn slowly, feeling the kind of dread usually reserved for when you find a spider in the bath. Steve’s up on stage, microphone in hand, about to launch into what sounds horribly like ‘Unchained Melody’. What is he doing here? He must have slipped away from the stag party. Still, as his voice throbs on the first ‘da-ar-ar-ar-ling’, sending shudders down your spine, a tiny fragment of your brain acknowledges that he is possibly the only man in the world who looks good in a yellow t-shirt.

  Lisa looks over to you and mouths, ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Isn’t that Steve?’ Jane asks. Aunt Lauren is whooping in front of the stage, the young barman forgotten.

  You feel an overwhelming urge to flee. But how can you abandon Jane at her hen party? You’re supposed to be her best friend!

  But … can you stand the embarrassment of Steve serenading you?

  If you decide to stay and brazen it out, go to page 74.

  If you make a run for it, go to page 76.

  You’ve decided to stay and brazen it out

  Jane may be drunk, but she’s not insensitive to your plight. Steve is trying to spot you in the crowd, and it won’t be long before he does. He’ll probably ask you to come up on stage with him, and you’re not nearly drunk enough for that sort of experience to be anything but excruciating.

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough, anyway.’

  You both head for the Ladies’ and then dart out to the car park. Cee Cee has arranged a car to collect you all after the pub closes, but that’s at least an hour away. But fortunately, a taxi from the nearby village is dropping off an inebriated couple, and Jane staggers towards it.

  You get in and ask the driver to take you to your hotel.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ he says. ‘I was just about to call it a night.’

  You ask Jane if she wants to discuss her cold feet issues, but she mumbles something about talking it over tomorrow. She falls asleep on your shoulder in the taxi, and when you reach the manor, you have to half-carry her to her room. She’s going to have a raging hangover when she wakes up, so you persuade her to take an aspirin and down a glass of water.

  You make yourself a cup of tea from the complimentary pack on top of the minibar, sit with her until she falls asleep, then head to your room.

  You round the corner and stop dead in your tracks as you spot a figure in a yellow t-shirt knocking at your door.

  ‘Babe? Babe? You in there?’

  You’re really not up for a tricky conversation with Steve right now. What to do?

  If you go outside for some fresh air while you wait for him to leave, go to page 82.

  If you sneak down to the bar for a nightcap, go to page 91.

  You’ve decided to make a run for it

  ‘Just popping to the loo,’ you shout over the caterwauling.

  Feeling guilty for abandoning your friend, you slink into the night. You send Jane a quick text, explaining why you’ve absconded. But now what? You need to get back to the hotel. You try ringing a taxi, but you’re in the middle of nowhere, and the number for the nearby village’s only taxi service goes straight to voice mail.

  You have no choice but to walk. On the plus side, it’s only a mile or so, and you could do with the exercise and fresh night air after downing all that tequila. You slip off your heels and walk barefoot down the verge, enjoying the feel of cool grass between your toes.

  It’s a warm evening, but the moon is shrouded in cloud and the
re’s nothing to light your way. You hope you don’t end up falling in a ditch.

  You hear the roar of an engine, and look over your shoulder to see the single eye of a motorbike approaching.

  It skids to a halt next to you. Feeling a stab of trepidation – you’re walking along a deserted country lane alone, after all – you brandish a stiletto heel, just in case.

  The biker flips up his visor. ‘Need a ride?’

  It’s Mikey. The world’s most disreputable best man.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be having drinks with the guys?’ you ask.

  ‘We ended up in a pub full of pissed octogenarians. I sneaked away,’ he says. ‘You want a lift back to the hotel? I’m sober as a judge, don’t worry.’

  You think about it for a second, but something’s telling you not to get on the back of the bike. ‘No thanks,’ you say. ‘My mother always told me never to get on bikes with strange men.’

  ‘Suit yourself!’ You expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. He roars off, leaving you alone. Within minutes you’re regretting your decision. An owl hoots, making you jump. The dark fingers of surrounding tree-limbs seem to point at you. A huge black shape shifts in a field next to you – you tell yourself it’s only a cow, but by now you’re really spooked. A stoat – or is that a large rat? – darts across the road in front of you.

  You round a bend and see the twin glow of headlights approaching. A car pulls up. You recognise it as the vintage wedding car Tom and Jane have hired for the occasion – some kind of fancy Rolls-Royce that must be worth a fortune.

  The driver’s window hisses down. ‘I know you weren’t keen on the bike, but how about getting in a car with a strange man?’ It’s Mikey – he’s come back to fetch you.

  You climb in with relief and sink into the white leather passenger seat. The interior is practically the size of your bedroom and twice as luxurious. The walnut dashboard gleams in the interior light, and the sheepskin floor mats caress your bare feet.

  ‘Where did you get the keys?’ you ask.

  ‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.’

  ‘Well, I’d prefer that to being sent down the river as an accessory to grand theft auto.’

  Within minutes, you pull up outside the hotel. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ you say.

  He turns to you. ‘Hey, feel like doing something fun?’

  You narrow your eyes. ‘That depends on what your idea of fun is.’

  ‘Stick around, and you’ll find out.’

  If you decide to see what Mikey has in mind, go to page 95.

  If you decide to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep, go to page 105.

  You’ve decided to stay at the hotel and have an all-girls pyjama party

  As pyjama parties go, this one hasn’t been half bad. Aunt Lauren showed up with several bottles of Moët that she’d wheedled out of the hotel manager, and has been regaling you all with tales of her life as a photographer in the swinging sixties. You’ve also discovered that Cat, Bruno’s girlfriend, is not only extremely nice, but has a string of major accomplishments to her name. She’s published a novel and sailed around the world – and she managed to reveal these facts while coming across as self-deprecating and funny. The only mystery is what she’s doing with Bruno.

  The evening is winding down. The other guests left hours ago, Lisa and Cat are sitting on one side of the bed, engrossed in conversation, and Cee Cee and Noe, both near-paralytic, are singing a Beyoncé number. Aunt Lauren is out on the balcony smoking a joint.

  Only Jane is looking maudlin.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ you ask.

  She shrugs exaggeratedly – she’s more than a little drunk. ‘Think I’m having a bit of … whatchoocallits – cold meats.’ She hiccups.

  ‘Cold feet? About marrying Tom?’ This is not good. You like Tom – what’s not to like? He’s kind-hearted, stable and he’s a vet. But you have to admit he’s not the most exciting bloke in the world.

  ‘Yesh. No … I dunno.’ She hiccups again. ‘Don’t mind me. Jusht pished.’ She stands up and sways. You’d better help her to bed.

  You say goodnight to the others and guide her to her room.

  ‘You want to talk about this some more?’ you ask.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she slurs, collapsing onto the bed. You make her drink a couple of glasses of water, tuck her in, and make your way to your own room.

  You turn the corner and freeze – there’s a familiar figure in a yellow t-shirt knocking on your door.

  ‘Babe? We need to talk.’ Oh no – it’s Steve. You are so not ready for this.

  What do you do now?

  If you head outside for some fresh air while you wait for him to leave, go to page 82.

  If you sneak down to the bar for a nightcap, go to page 91.

  You’ve headed out for some air while you wait for Steve to leave

  Feeling a complete coward for not facing Steve and telling him that your future together is a definite ‘NO U CAN’T’ scenario, you flee through reception and out the French doors that lead to the hotel grounds.

  It’s a gorgeous night, the air warm and balmy. The cloud clears, and moonlight dances over the lake. You wander down to it, skirting its edge, pausing to dip your fingers in the water. You’re almost tempted to strip off your clothes and dive in, but where’s the fun in skinny-dipping by yourself?

  ‘Babe?’ You turn and see a silhouetted figure standing on the hotel veranda, peering around.

  Shit. You scurry into the nearby summer-house, an elegant structure containing boxes of florist’s supplies, dozens of stacked slatted chairs and several pool loungers. It looks out over the water, and it’s private and peaceful – the perfect spot to hide out for a little while.

  Go to page 83.

  You’ve taken refuge in the summer-house

  You hear footsteps approaching and the sound of whispered voices. Oh, bugger. Has Steve rounded up reinforcements? You look around wildly, then duck behind a latticed screen in the corner of the summer-house.

  Floorboards creak, you hear the fizz of a match and catch the scent of candle-wax. You peek through the lattice and see two figures, a man and a woman, lighting several of the extra tea-light candles Cee Cee bought for the wedding, ‘just in case’. As the light blooms, you recognise JD and a waitress from the get-together in the bar.

  This is awkward – clearly they have romantic intentions, and you don’t want to be a fly on the wall – but how are you going to extricate yourself? Perhaps if you stay quiet, they’ll go away.

  If you decide to stay hidden and hope they leave, go to page 84.

  If you decide to get out of there somehow, go to page 89.

  You decide to stay hidden and hope they leave

  You crouch down and cross your fingers, hoping they’ll go away. But your hopes are dashed by the sounds of quickened breathing, gentle moans, kissing, and the rustle of clothing being discarded. You apply an eye to the lattice – you’re not spying on them, you just want to know what stage they’re at. If they’re still decent, maybe you can emerge, making some excuse. You could tell them you’re doing a study on the nocturnal habits of swans – anything that might explain why you’re skulking by the water’s edge in the middle of the night.

  But it’s too late. They’re both already shirtless, and you can’t tear your eyes away, even though you know you should. The candles cast dramatic shadows and warm lights on their skin, and JD’s tattoos ripple with a life of their own. His body is hard and lithe, while hers is voluptuous, with skin that looks almost velvet-soft. The contrast between their different textures and shapes as they press their bodies together is amazing.

  By now they’re entwined and kissing passionately, the soft sounds and murmurs heightened in the still night. You’re sweating with embarrassment – and, if you’re honest, with something else, too.

  Look away, look away, you tell yourself, but you keep watching as they move together like dancers, now helping each other out of their remaining clot
hes, pausing only to nuzzle and kiss each other. As you stare, JD bends his head to the waitress’s apple-shaped breasts, and she tosses her head back, the line of her throat catching the flickering light, her hair, released from its earlier neat bun, rippling down her back. His strong hands sweep down to the curves of her bottom, cupping her buttocks, his fingers clearly outlined as they knead and sink into the lush skin.

  Then he sweeps her up into his arms and carries her to a pool lounger, laying her down and straddling her. You don’t know whether to be thrilled or appalled – you’re going to have a ringside view for the next round. Things have gone way too far for you to reveal yourself now. You’re along for the ride, like it or not, and much as you hate to confess it, part of you likes it very much indeed.

  Next time you look, JD is lowering himself between the waitress’s legs, and they both groan as he enters her. You’ve never watched two people having sex before, and it’s strangely beautiful, like watching an ancient pagan rite, but incredibly sensual too.

  JD begins to move rhythmically, slowly at first, his partner’s head tilting back with each stroke, her hands clenching and unclenching on his shoulders, her voice catching in little breathy noises.

  There’s no fudging this – you’re shamelessly watching two relative strangers shagging each other, and worse, you’re panting almost as hard as they are. You touch your damp neck, then slide your hand down and over your breast, feeling your heart pounding under the skin. Your nipple is rock-hard, and it’s not just the night air that’s responsible.

  You can’t help yourself – you slide your other hand under your skirt and into your knickers – which are wet through. Your fingers are trembling from a mix of anxiety, desire and the strangeness of the experience – you’re doing something forbidden, but as you slide your index finger between your warm, slick pussy lips and gasp, you know there’s no turning back.