The One with All the Bridesmaids: A hilarious, feel-good romantic comedy

Nora adored the sort of nineties and noughties crap that everyone secretly loves, but would never admit to and, for Daisy, it was all inextricably tied up with so many good memories, a sort of soundtrack to their friendship.

The group that Daisy had travelled out with that year after college had one by one gotten homesick or run out of money (not to mention the one who’d gotten pregnant – talk about your souvenir to take home) and so Daisy had been alone arriving in Croatia that spring. Embarking on the coach that was to be her home for the next ten hours as they travelled overnight from Zagreb to Dubrovnik, Daisy had made the snap decision that she’d rather sit next to the already-dozing brunette who looked around her age than the human sweat-patch that was sat next to the only other empty seat.

Ninety minutes into the journey, that brunette awoke with a start, ‘completely mortified’ that she’d been drooling on a stranger’s shoulder.

‘I’m completely mortified,’ the girl had apologised to Daisy.

‘Don’t worry about it!’ Daisy had laughed. ‘You gotta catch your Zs when you can, am I right?’ And that was all it had taken to strike up conversation. They covered the usual ground (‘You’re English, right?’/’Are you American or Canadian, or …?’) and as the night wore on and the coach fell hushed around them, Daisy’s new friend, Nora, had pulled out a battered iPod Classic and a pair of candy-pink earbuds and offered one to her. In the seven hours that remained, Daisy had had a whistle-stop tour through the delights of the cheesiest of Britpop: 5ive and the Sugababes and Busted and much, much more. And by the time the coach arrived at the coast Nora and Daisy were inseparable. They’d spent the next six months jaunting around Europe together, working for cash-in-hand pouring drinks in their bikinis or convincing fellow English-speaking tourists that they really want to go into this one particular nightclub in order to save up to pay their coach fares and their two-euros-a-night hostel bed bills.

Returning to real life had been a horrible wrench for Daisy, and part of that was having to say goodbye to Nora, who returned to London after a thoroughly gapped gap year to pack away her tiny bikinis and take up a graduate scheme position in finance, date a succession of tie-wearing, red-wine-drinking men and generally grow up.

When the opportunity had arrived three years later for Daisy to move across the pond to her own firm’s London branch, she had quite literally jumped at it (she blamed the fact that her great-grandparents on her father’s side were Scottish for the serious Europhile feelings she’d always had) and immediately sent Nora Dervan an excited Facebook message.

Nora had just broken up with one of the tie/wine city men and instantly invited Daisy to stay with her in her little flat in Hoxton while she got herself sorted. The ‘sorting’ had taken a long time. Daisy had actually ended up living with Nora for years, until Harry happened. And, whenever one of them had had a shit day at work, they’d come home and put on the playlist Daisy had lovingly entitled ‘Overnight to Dubrovnik’, whack up the volume and spin and scream along with Atomic Kitten, Blue or Steps. It had never failed them.

‘I just love the music,’ one of Harry’s colleagues called out to Daisy as she danced past, waving a glass of rosé wine around alarmingly in time with the pumping pop beats. ‘Sooooooo ironic.’

Daisy just laughed wryly. ‘If you like this, just wait for the wedding reception playlist.’

Darren, who had made his appearance about twenty minutes ago, grinned at her over the head of his cider and black. ‘It’s gonna be your magnum opus, babe.’

‘Hey.’ Cleo appeared, greeting Darren politely before turning to Daisy. ‘Where’s Nora? Everything okay?’

Daisy nodded over to where Nora and Bea were dancing in the centre of a small clutch of friends; Bea was already barefoot (Daisy didn’t even know why she bothered with the pretence of the heels when she went out). Nora had her tell-tale white-wine flush pinking her face and her collarbones. Daisy could hear her laughing even over the music.

‘All quiet on the Western Front, sir,’ she assured Cleo sarcastically. ‘Chill out. Have a drink. You’re really stressing me out.’

Cleo shook her head. ‘I need to stay on the ball in case I’m needed for something.’

‘Look, the only thing you’re going to be needed for is to do the Locomotion,’ Daisy informed her archly, lining the song up on the playlist as she said it.

Cleo groaned. ‘Maybe I will need that drink …’

‘It’s going to be a very long engagement if you and Sarah insist on being such bridesmaidzillas the entire time. Now fuck off and get yourself some wine. You’ve got about forty-five seconds.’

‘God, Daise, I hate it when you mince your words,’ Cleo stuck her tongue out even as she went to obey the order. ‘Why don’t you say what you really think?’

‘Thirty-seven seconds …’

Cleo made a swift exit (via the bar).

Chapter 10

My boyfriend sent me to have a mani and a spray tan and I thought I was being spoiled – then he told me to pack a bag, we were headed for the airport! He’d already arranged with my work that I could have annual leave and whisked me away to Prague, remembering that years ago I’d told him that I thought the Charles Bridge was the most romantic place in the world. Standing on the bridge in the snow, he proposed with a ring he’d had specially made to look like one from my favourite film, and below the bridge 500 swans took flight! He said he arranged the swans specially, but I’m not sure about that … I was thankful for the manicure though – he’d thoughtfully realised that I’d be taking a lot of photographs of my hand!

Amber, Gloucestershire

Bea really couldn’t be arsed to have this conversation. It was not the time, and it was definitely not the place and she was ever-so-slightly too inebriated to think fast enough to avoid accidental agreement (although, secretly she completely agreed with Claire, so it wouldn’t really be truly accidental agreement, merely accidental disclosure of that fact … or something like that … maybe she was drunk … ).

‘I mean, I mean, she’d have been one of mine,’ Claire wailed on; it was quite hard to be heard even at close range over Enrique Iglesias’ heartfelt crooning.

Nora had known this was coming and luckily had fed Bea the ‘party line’ response should Claire start bitching to her about it. Well, here we go: Claire had started bitching about it. Bea sighed and dived in, opening with: ‘she could only have four bridesmaids, Claire, it’s nothing personal, honest.’

‘I know, I know. It just seems SO WRONG that she HAS to have Sarah as a bridesmaid just because she’s married to Cole. Do you think Harry FORCED Nora to have her?’

Bea, biting back a laugh at the thought of Harry forcing Nora to do anything, shook her head. ‘You know how it is. Wedding politics.’

‘Yeah, but, Sarah would ALREADY have been involved just from being the wife of the best man!’ Claire was clearly not going to let this drop. ‘I just thought we’d ALL be bridesmaids, all together, you know?’ Melodramatic sniff. ‘And now the first one of us to actually get engaged, and I’m out in the COLD.’

‘Oh Claire, you are not!’ Bea wanted to tell Claire to stop being dramatic, but she knew from the experience of their long-standing friendship that Claire always reacted horrendously dramatically to being told she was being dramatic, so it was quicker not to go there. ‘Listen, Nora was actually saying the other day … she asked me, did I think you’d mind being in charge of the games at the hen do?’

Claire’s lower lip ceased to be quite so tremulous. ‘Really? She was saying that?’

Bea nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yeah. She said she couldn’t think of anyone better to get the fun started.’

‘Well, that’s so funny, because I actually just happened to read a load of articles about hen-party games the other day … you know, I was so bored at work …’

Yeah, I’ll just bet that was the reason … thought Bea. ‘Yeah, so she’ll probably ask you about it closer to the time.’

‘Oh, no, I’ll have to start thinking about it straight away!’ Claire tutted. ‘A truly great hen-do scavenger hunt can’t be put together in just a few weeks!’

I am instantly regretting this, thought Bea, making a mental note to warn Nora about her unexpected and overexcited new party planner.

Claire had taken on the orbit of their group not long after they’d moved up to secondary school. She’d probably fancied one of the boys initially – Bea can’t really remember now – but despite the fact that nothing had happened there she’d stayed around. She had been – and still was – hard work sometimes, but Bea still loved her to death. And she’d been an absolute godsend to her when Nora upped and left to go to university …

‘Come on, Nora wants a bride-and-bridesmaids picture before the speeches,’ Daisy summoned Bea, thoughtfully already having diverted around the far table to collect the latter’s discarded heels. Bea winced as she saw Claire’s face fall again. It was going to be a really long year. She could only hope that Claire’s friendship with Nora would survive it intact.

Nora, merry and bright, held out her hands for Bea’s as she neared, pulling her neatly into her appointed slot next to her; Bea on the right, Cleo on the left, as usual. Sarah chose to complete Cleo’s side – Bea couldn’t help but wonder if it could be on purpose? – and Daisy moved into place next to Bea. Assorted guests gathered around them in a loose circle began snapping away on their own phones but the girls angled their faces and focused their smiles at Eli, the official photographer of the evening.

‘Cleo,’ he called suddenly, gesturing awkwardly at his own forehead. ‘Your hair-thing’s gone a little bit …’ Cleo immediately turned to Nora for assistance, who pushed the thin jewelled headband back into place and smoothed her friend’s hair around it. ‘Perfect,’ Eli announced, as Cleo shot him a grateful smile. ‘1, 2, 3 …’

Bea barely managed to swallow down that particular throat-full of annoyance, just in the nick of time before it would have shown on her face: immortalised on Eli’s phone, immediately on Facebook. And – despite the firm agreement that she’d made with herself – she was back wondering: about Cleo, and about Nora, and about which of the two of them she was going to pick as her maid of honour.

‘Everybody say WEDDING!’ Eli cheered as he captured the moment.

‘WEDDING!’ the bridal quintet grinned, even though they knew it would put their mouths and their faces into a stupid shape.

‘WEDDING!’ Barlow echoed as he appeared from the back room, several fat green bottles of Cava held to his chest. ‘Speech, speech!’ Everyone howled their agreement. Bea accepted a healthy helping of the bubbles, even though she was probably already slightly too tipsy for good sense. Those who had initially based themselves in the beer garden had pressed into the room, driven as much by the chilly evening as the toast, and the room felt suddenly far smaller. Everyone pressed close, closer. Harry reached for Nora’s hand, pulled her fully to his side, held their joined fingers for a moment at his heart. They were framed by the loops of fairy lights Sarah and Eli had carefully pinned into place. The twins and Cillian crowded in, beaming at their sister and even Eileen’s famously iron expression was soft. Nora, already in white, face flushed; Harry, looking smart in crisp chinos and a slim-fit shirt, eyes shining. They were so perfect and so happy, Bea almost had to look away.

Cole threw a heavy arm over her shoulders. ‘Ah, Beebee.’ She hadn’t heard that old nickname for a while. ‘Look at them. Who would have thought it?’

‘I’d like to thank everyone for coming,’ Harry had started, unimaginative to the last. ‘It means a lot to me and to N—my future wife!’ Cue requisite cheering, whooping. ‘I don’t want to spoil the main event, of course, so I won’t go on for too long, (‘Good!’ some joker heckled from the crowd of guests). So, as you guys know, Nora and I met when we were four, in Miss Proctor’s reception class. Needless to say, it wasn’t love at first sight!’ Harry joined his audience with a laugh. ‘I thought she was the bossiest little madam going. Okay so, some things never change.’ Nora playfully slapped at her fiancé’s chest in protest. ‘But regardless, we became best mates. And we stayed close even when we went to secondary school, through that time when we were fourteen and I thought she was secretly in love with Cole!’ Nora threw Cole a kiss and he returned a wink. ‘And then she went away to university, and to be a gap-year wanker, and moved to the arsehole of East London – and still we were friends.

And I was nice to all her boyfriends. And I was always a go-to cinema date when she didn’t have one.’ Harry was speaking softer now, rubbing Nora’s fingers with his thumb. ‘And one day we were at the cinema – two for one, you know – The Amazing Spider-Man 2, of all bloody films!’ He laughed sheepishly. ‘I wish it had been something a little cooler, but how was I to know I’d ever be telling this story? Because it was just a normal Wednesday evening. And then, it suddenly wasn’t, because I realised I was in love with my best friend. Right there. In the Wimbledon Odeon. Over the salted popcorn and Andrew Garfield’s weird mug gurning at me on-screen.

And so here we are! Celebrating the fact that my best mate not only fell in love with me back, but that I haven’t put her off in the last year and a half, and she’s mental enough to want to marry me!’ Harry laughed, delighted, fizzing, brimming with joy, raising his glass of Cava. ‘Quick turnaround, I know, I know, but I couldn’t wait any longer to ask. I’d waited long enough to be with the love of my life, after all.

So, everyone. Eat. Drink. Be merry. Dance. Thanks Daisy for the tunes, and Barlow for the booze and Eileen for the cake, which we’ll be cutting now, so get in line. And thanks so much, again, for coming.’ Harry was laughing now, distracted, Nora hanging off of him like her very body was light with happiness. ‘And see you all at the wedding!’

Chapter 11

Her feet, bare as they were, couldn’t take the required bouncing for Kriss Kross’s Jump, so Bea made a swift exit, dance-floor right, claiming a seat at a table, empty but for general party detritus: paper plates with sandwich crusts and unwanted samosa triangles; discarded cardigans and handbags; the jagged skins of burst balloons. She tried to dust off the soles of her feet but they were smudged so grey she gave that up as a bad lot and sat back in the chair.

‘Are you alright there, child?’ A red-faced Eileen was there almost immediately, hovering at Bea’s elbow. She’d always mothered her far more than her real mum; Bea only pretended to mind. ‘Sure, you should go on home, if you’re tired. I’ll be off myself before too long now.’ The sherry must be finished, thought Bea with a smile.

‘I’m fine,’ Bea assured her godmother. ‘I’m just resting.’ She gestured at her well-danced-upon feet.

‘Ah, yes now, I’m the same. The dogs are barking.’ And with that Eileen lowered her stiff frame into the chair next to Bea’s and placed her cool hand over hers. ‘It’s a shame Hannah couldn’t make it tonight.’ Bea sighed in agreement. Her mother was currently living the ex-pat lifestyle in Portugal and seemed to have washed her hands of all motherly – and godmotherly – responsibilities as a result. Bea had only seen her twice in the last five years. With no dad ever in the picture, and no siblings, it had definitely left her a little adrift. And Eileen knew it. ‘Now, Nora tells me nothing these days, my girl. Has your special someone made an appearance, now? There’s nobody you thought to bring tonight?’

Bea’s mind flitted to Nice Guy Rob and to the three text messages he’d sent her before taking the hint. ‘Nobody special, no, not yet.’ Eileen had drummed the idea that there was one perfect someone in the world for each of the girls. Granted, it was to get them to consider no sex before marriage, but still, the concept had stuck.

‘Ah, he’ll be along. He’s a man, my girl, and they are all inconvenience, so it will be when you least expect it,’ Eileen informed her authoritatively, settling back in the chair. Bea braced herself for an indeterminable onslaught of unwarranted love-life advice from her widowed godmother.

‘Mammy, I’m going outside for a fag, do you want one?’ Nora’s brother Cillian called out as he made his way past the table, beautiful new girlfriend in tow. He winked at Bea; she shot him a grateful look.

‘Cillian, that’s a filthy habit,’ Eileen intoned mildly, as she got up to follow her son out into the darkened beer garden and indulge in said habit. Bea exhaled, left in peace as both her head and her feet pounded in time with the bass of the music.

‘Here.’ Eli thunked a dripping pint glass of tap water down on the table in front of her. Bea squeezed his forearm in thanks and drank deeply. Eli, holding his own glass, joined her at the little round table. ‘I don’t think Baz got enough drink in. Everyone’s been very much enjoying the open bar.’

‘That’s because an open bar is a thing of beauty,’ Bea pointed out.

‘It’s going to be one drunken wedding if the engagement party is anything to go by. It’s nice, isn’t it, how there’s no big bride/groom split, really? Harry and Nora have shared friends for so long, everybody knows everybody. It’s nice. It’s—’

‘Incestuous?’ Bea supplied, sullenly.

Eli just laughed, used to her occasional darkness. ‘Come on. I know you of old, Beatrice Milton, and you are no way near as prickly as you pretend to be.’ He glanced over wistfully to where Nora was chatting and dancing with Cleo, both holding over-full glasses of wine aloft, shining in the lights. ‘You wouldn’t like what they have? To fall in love with your best friend? You can’t tell me that Harry’s speech didn’t touch you deep in that hedgehog heart of yours.’

‘You’re drunk,’ Bea laughed.

‘Well, you’re a hedgehog,’ Eli repeated, matter-of-fact. ‘Let’s dance.’

* * *

There was a soft touch to the small of her back, a voice in her ear, pitched low to sound under the music. ‘There you are.’

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