The Zara Stoneley Romantic Comedy Collection

This is a teensy bit worrying. I have, in between ice cream eating with Freddie, been wondering why my best friend cannot tell me who am I going to be walking down the aisle with.

There are several worrying scenarios: 1. One or more of the girls were supposed to be my bridesmaids. This thought makes me a bit queasy; 2. Some of Rachel’s gang are girls that really didn’t like me at all at school; and 3. A combination of both.

‘See you Friday, can’t wait! Love you Rx’

I know they say that your school days are the best days of your life, but how often is that true? I spent a huge proportion of mine worrying about not being liked, not being kissed and not wearing the right gear.

And, as far as friends go, well, I trusted Rach … but the rest? Girls can be bitchy, cliquey and spiteful, as well as supportive, lovely and generous. And there’s often a fine line …

I frown at Freddie, well, not at him. Past him. ‘At least I know it won’t be Andy!’

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Sorry, Rach was talking about the bridesmaids.’

‘True, he’d look rubbish in a dress, not got the legs.’

We grin at each other, mine a bit strained, his soft at the edges. ‘Stop worrying.’

‘I can’t help it. What if they’re people I hate?’

‘Is that really what you’re worried about?’

‘Yes. Well, no. Gawd, it’s the whole wedding thing, Freddie.’ I bury my head in my hands for a moment, which is better than in the sand I guess. ‘Why does all the crap stuff come at once?’

‘It’s to test your mettle as one of my up-themselves teachers used to say.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘You are okay, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, yeah, groovy, babe! I’ve got a rubbish job, got ditched just as I was about to go to New York, and now I’ve got to be thrilled for Rach with all this wedding stuff, and I’ve got to go to her hen party! Arghh.’ I pretend to tear my hair out and he laughs, then hugs me.

‘I mean it Jane. Are you sure you can do this?’ The concern in his eyes brings a lump to my throat. ‘The wedding I mean.’

‘She’s my best friend, Freddie. I can’t not do it.’

‘You haven’t got to do anything. She’ll understand if you say you can’t cope.’

‘I can cope.’

‘It’s not going to send you loopy again?’ His voice is light and his words funny, but I know that he’s bothered. Oh, sweet, sweet Freddie, where would I be without you?

‘Look …’ I’ve got to be honest with him. I’m never anything but, we’ve always been able to talk, and after I’d poured out my heart (and most of my insides) after Andy had dumped me, there’d been no going back. I’d not wanted to go back. ‘Okay, part of me is dreading this.’ He nods. ‘But I’m excited for her as well. I’m just a bit nervous about what it will be like, doing all the stuff I did.’ Our gazes lock. ‘It’s the hen party that’s going to be the weird one, I mean, I never actually walked up the aisle, did I? So that can’t be such a biggie.’

‘It can.’ He smiles, a soft smile that reaches his eyes – and my heart.

‘Okay,’ I sigh, ‘it can, it is. I think I need to know that these other bridesmaids are going to be there to pick me up if I fall.’

‘I’ll be there, if they’re not.’

‘You’re too nice for me.’ I kiss him on the cheek, and the roughness of the slight stubble against my lips sends a shiver down me that I didn’t expect.

‘Hmm, I’m not sure nice is what my manly side needs to hear!’ He chuckles, then gives me a brief tight hug. ‘You’re not going to fall.’ It’s odd, but just for a second, with his warm hand on my shoulder, I totally believe him. I can do this.

‘Come on, eat up, before—’

Right on cue a seagull swoops down and it’s heading right for my nose. ‘Shit!’ I scramble up and take a couple of steps back, and it swoops back. I run, dodging the benches, dashing round the bus stop and the damned thing is preparing to dive bomb. Jumping in the air, I fling the ice cream Freddie’s way (it’s all me, me, me it appears when I’m under attack). He swerves, my lovely cornet goes splodge and the bird lands next to it and stares. Giving me the beady eye and a squawk.

I double up, hands on knees, panting from the unexpected exertion, and shock. ‘Bugger, I was enjoying that.’

‘Told you! Never fling food around in Brighton, they’re the food police.’ He nods at the bird.

‘Mafia more like. That bird looks evil.’

We share a look. The dangerous intense-stare bit has been forgotten, which is good. Lick the icing off the cake and you risk ruining the lot, don’t you? Then feeling sick and wishing you hadn’t.

I reach for my camera, but the seagull has scarpered, and Freddie is laughing. ‘You always did take photos of everything, didn’t you? I remember at school.’

‘Everything!’ It’s cute that he remembers, but a bit embarrassing. I don’t remember much about him at all. I guess I was one self-obsessed teen who didn’t look beyond my groups of girlfriends, and the odd show-off cocky guy who was hot. I don’t think Freddie was hot back then, he was the quiet, geeky type.

But as I think about it, something deep in my memory stirs. Freddie helping us set up our photo exhibition for our GCSE exam, Freddie embarrassed when we both reached for the same picture, then more embarrassed when we dropped it, and both bent down to pick it up.

Freddie who painted the unassuming black-and-white still-life pictures that made something catch in my throat, even though I was a brash teenager who couldn’t explain why.

‘Your pictures were ace.’

‘Pretentious, “chocolate box” was how one art teacher described them, I think,’ he says without a trace of rancour.

‘They were good.’

‘They wanted Banksy and anger, not broken hearts and whimsy.’

‘They were wrong.’ I snap a picture of him, then one of our feet on the sand, so that I don’t have to look him in the eye and be embarrassed. ‘You’ve got quite big feet, haven’t you?’

‘You know what they say?’ He jiggles his eyebrows, then glances down, a cheeky grin on his face.

‘No, what’s that then?’ I try to keep a straight face and fail.

He colours up, a slight tinge of pink along his cheekbones, then suddenly laughs and sweeps me off my feet. The whole world is whizzing round, I can feel the warm imprint of every single one of his fingers, especially the one that has somehow slipped under my T-shirt, and it could be awkward.

‘Bugger.’ He staggers off balance, does a daft pirouette and we collapse to the ground. ‘Oof.’

I think that noise is because a fair bit of my weight landed on his stomach.

‘God, you’re a weight.’

‘Your own fault.’ I wave a finger at him, secretly, smugly glad that he did his silly dance so that I’d be the one that landed on top, and he’d be the one that was crushed.

We dust ourselves down, avoiding eye contact. Rolling on the beach isn’t exactly standard flatmate stuff, is it? And even if it was, I wouldn’t be doing it, because I still haven’t figured where I want to fit in the whole relationship arena. Not since Andy did what he did. I think I need casual, except I always seem to duck out of actual dates – because what’s the point, if you know from the start that it’s never going to work out?

‘At least it stopped you taking photos.’

‘You’ve done it now.’ He’s not looking, he’s bent over, so taking his feet from under him is easy. So is planting one foot, warrior style, on his chest and taking a photo. ‘When this is all over, that is going viral!’ I glance at the picture on my phone, check it’s not blurry. It’s not. He’s laughing, a hint of white teeth between his parted lips, lines fanning out from his eyes which are looking straight into the lens. There’s a single strand of honey-brown hair on his brow, curled by the sea air. I want to reach out, brush it away. So instead I stare at my screen. ‘I’ll have to do some retouching of course, sex it up.’

He laughs, then, with one sweep of his long leg, he’s taken mine from under me and I find myself sitting on damp sand.

As I go down, he gets up, and strides away before I can retaliate. He’s grinning though as he looks over his shoulder. ‘First one back gets to pick the movie.’

‘That’s cheating!’

‘Says she. Come on, you’ve got to get your latest dose of Ibiza online.’

I struggle to my feet as he jogs on the spot. But the second I’m upright, he’s off.

Bugger. He’ll pick some really gory, scary, film and I’ll have to spend the evening peeping out from behind a cushion or googling the ending.

Chapter 8

‘Surprise!’ Rachel leaps up and waves madly as I walk into the dimly lit bar. It’s not so dimly lit that I wouldn’t have spotted her though. ‘We’re here! We’re in Brighton!’ She makes a whoop noise before launching herself at me for a mega hug. And she looks so happy, I immediately resolve to never even think about not liking Michael ever again. Once I’ve warned him that castration is still on my agenda. And as long as I don’t have to sit next to him. ‘Look who’s here!’

Rachel is grasping my arm and has moved to one side so I can see who is behind her. I look, and forget all about Michael, and cutting his balls off.

Surprise is the understatement of the year. I’ve been swept back to my days of spots and teenage angst.

‘Remember Maddie?’

‘Oh my God! Of course I do! What a brilliant surprise, how long has it been? You’ve not changed a bit!’ She hasn’t. Maddie has still got the neat, glossy swinging hair, kitten heels and matching accessories that she’s always had. Her perfection could be annoying. But it never has been. She’s too sweet, kind and considerate, and for want of a better word, nice. She is the Audrey Hepburn of the modern day.

Maddie waves wildly with both hands and looks genuinely pleased to see me. In fact, she looks relieved, if I’m honest, which is odd. I don’t ever remember being her favourite. We got on fine, but when we were at high school I drank, smoked and laughed too much for us ever to be bosom buddies.

‘Hey, stranger! You’ve changed lots … in a totally good way, though!’ Her smile and tone is so warm that I get all choked up inside. I think I’ve forgotten what is was like to spend proper time with real friends. Apart from Freddie. But time with girlfriends is different, isn’t it? ‘Look at you, all super star and you’re looking amazing. Those photos on Instagram are fab, you always were dead artistic! Rachel told me they were yours really, not that woman you work for. I look at every single one, I’m so pleased for you!’

I blush and feel guilty. Not out of false modesty (I am quite chuffed with my work for Coral), but because while Maddie has been following my career, I haven’t got a clue what she’s been up to since she picked up her exam results and walked out of high school for the very last time.

Maddie wasn’t a high achiever at school, all she’d ever wanted was to get married and be a stay at home mum. She’d been a natural when it came to looking after people. She cared. Out of Rachel’s group of friends, she had been the one that had welcomed me in without question, even though we were so different. She was the one that didn’t raise an eyebrow because I was in the year below them, the kid that Rach found behind the bicycle shed.

She was also the only girl I knew at school who never dated wildly. While the rest of us were oozing an hormonal smog and snogging in all directions, she only had eyes for one boy: Jack. Jack was her first, her only and I bet you any money they married the moment they left school and have a mini-Maddie and a mini-Jack and live in one of those semis on the new estate by the park, with perfectly manicured lawns and carefully trimmed shrubs. And a hybrid car. And I bet they never accidentally put stuff in the wrong recycling bin.

‘Wow, thanks … and how is—’

‘Jane, Jane, look, Sal is here as well!’ Rachel spins me forty-five degrees with some force.

I don’t get chance to find out what Mads has been up to, or how Jack is, or how many children they’ve got, because I’m trying not to fall off my heels. But I will do later. Definitely.

I stare in shock at the girl sat on the other side of the table. Sally. Who is not at all like Audrey Hepburn. Sally was the girl at school who either already had it all or was damned well going to get it soon. You know the type? You get that longed for pony, next minute she’s got a unicorn. A pink one, that makes dreams come true and farts rainbows. And she was the school swot. You worked three hours on revision for your exams last night? Well, Sally worked all bloody night.

Sally always eyed me suspiciously whenever Rach invited me along on their outings, and she did make a big thing pointing out when they were all teenagers, when they were all sixteen, when they all had bras, when they were all off to the school prom … and I wasn’t. Like I say. Competitive.

Sally was not my best friend at school, but Rachel loved her. They’d met at primary school and did ballet lessons and pony club camp together, so what can a girl do except suck it up and smile? And I never actually disliked her, it was just all that competitiveness could sometimes totally get on my wick and I would have quite liked to have thumped her. Or trumped her unicorn.

Two ‘friends’ I haven’t seen for years – and never imagined I’d see again.

Rachel though had obviously kept in touch with both of them.

I bet they didn’t think they’d see each other either. They are chalk and cheese, the opposite ends of our friendship spectrum and it kind of shows. The vibe isn’t one of giggly reminiscing.

Now when I say ‘friends’ I do mean real, actual friends, as in met at school and drifted apart friends. Not mates from work or people I’ve met on social media.

Sadly though, like a lot of people, I chat less to the real ones because Facebook is about work connections, and all I ever seem to do these days is work. And, let’s face it, these were Rach’s friends. I did have friends of my own, in my own class, as well. Rach was just cooler.

‘Long time no see!’ I bet Sal is running a mega corporation, has an office bigger than my flat, a personal trainer, and survives on quinoa, Japanese poke bowls and kefir (I only know these exist because I have taken photos for Coral – who then proceeded to joke with all her friends about the fact I’d called it quin-o-a not keen-whaaaaa). In fact, I bet Sal grows the stuff herself because she only needs thirty-five seconds sleep a night.

I’m not going to ask. I’m more Krispy Kreme doughnuts than quinoa, if you know what I mean. And most of that healthy stuff just seems to get stuck in my teeth and annoy me for the rest of the day. Whoever thought a rice cake was a good idea? I mean, who dreamt that the words rice and cake should even be in the same sentence?

‘You look amazing, you both do!’ I glance to Maddie, then back at Sal.

Sally looks like she’s put on a few pounds, but she’s glowing. Though Maddie looks a bit sad if I’m honest. Peaky is the term my gran might use.

‘Aww, thanks, Jane.’ Sally slips elegantly off her stool, in the way only tall people can do, and stands up. She towers over me. She always was tall, but now she’s got killer heels on, a waft of expensive perfume, and the type of nails and complexion that says she spends more time pampering than working. So maybe I’m wrong about the mega corporation – unless somebody pampers her while she works. I can see that, I can really see it. A shoulder massage from behind, and a foot massage under her desk, as she shouts out orders on speakerphone.

She’s probably one of those people that has multiple orgasms every time, without losing the place in her book.

She air-kisses me, grins and sits down.

‘Wow, how good is this? The Fab Four reunited!’ I’m aware I sound a bit lame, but I’m temporarily at a loss for meaningful words.

‘I was aiming for the Fab Five!’ Rach looks mischievously at us all.

‘What? Not Beth?’ I look round wildly. Beth with her vodka habit, and Saturday Night Fever dance steps that could clear a floor in seconds, was my naughty-sides twin. She might have brought out the worst in me, but she was so much fun, with a capital F.

The real Fab Four had been Rachel, Beth, Sally and Maddie – until I’d come along and been shoe-horned into the group. But then one day, I’d been tagging along on a night out, and Sal hadn’t, so Beth had declared me an honorary member of the group. I reckon she did it to piss Sally off, but I didn’t really care. I was in.

‘Beth with the boobs?’ That bit comes from Sal, but we all know who she means.

While the rest of us were considering whether booster bras, balconies, or foam fillets would do the trick, slim and petite Beth was displaying her super-sized wares with ease. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

‘Where is she?’

‘She couldn’t come.’

I groan, but I swear Sal perks up. She doesn’t like the competition.

‘But wait for it girls …’ Rachel really is taking the stage now. ‘She said no because …’ She is drawing this one out, but we’re all leaning forward in anticipation. ‘She couldn’t get a babysitter!’

Whatever I thought she was going to say. It wasn’t that.

‘Bloody hell.’ Sal is wide-eyed. ‘Who’d have thought hell raiser Beth would have got up the duff. She was so not the mothering type, she even had her nipples pierced!’

‘She was nice.’ Maddie’s quiet comment gets lost in the excitement. ‘I’m sure she’s made a lovely mum.’

All I can think of is a baby with a mouthful of titanium nipple bar. It is not a pleasant thought.

‘I’d not actually seen Beth for yonks ’cos she did a bit of a disappearing act, moved away, then my mum bumped into hers and she passed on her phone number! She said she’d love to meet up with old friends, ’cos she’s been a bit isolated being stuck at home with a baby. I’ve not actually seen the baby yet, but it’s only tiny, and Beth said she’s been all hormonal, and bigger-boobed than ever,’ this is mind-boggling, ‘and her head isn’t in the right place at all, and …’

‘Wow, she’s married! She beat us all in the adulting stakes!’ I’m a bit gobsmacked. Beth, in my head, will always be the hell-raiser. The one who said boyfriends were for losers (unless they were studded to within an inch of their life, had more nose rings than a herd of bullocks, and more tats than teeth), and pulled a puke-face if she ever saw a baby attached to a nipple – which could be why she got the piercings, I suppose, the biggest barricade to natural feeding ever.

The image of Beth with a baby clasped to her bosom and a husband doing the dishes is just weird.

‘Well, not exactly …’ There is another long Rachel pause. ‘She’s on her own, and she won’t say who the father is!’

I’m not really into these reunions, I mean, there’s a reason you drift apart, isn’t there? And sometimes those reasons are bigger than others. But this one is turning out to be slightly surreal.

Beth has to be the biggest shock. From teenage hell-raiser to worn-out single mum with a secret before I’ve even made a decision on whether a tat would be cool or trying too hard.

‘But she said next time we get together, she’ll be there!’ I think this is Rach-speak for ‘she’ll be at the wedding’, but it looks like she hasn’t broken that nugget of news to the others yet. The wedding bit.

There’s a lull, while everybody thinks about Beth. I decide I need to fill it.

‘Any other births, deaths or marriages I should know about?’ I’m clambering onto a stool as I speak, when Rachel starts to manhandle me and nearly knocks me flying. Looks like I said the wrong thing.

‘Hang on, don’t sit down yet; help me get the drinks in before we get chatting.’ She’s got hold of my arm and is sweeping me along with her towards the bar before I can object. We don’t stop though. After a brief glimpse over her shoulder to check we’re not under observation, she charges onwards, like a mini rhino on a rampage, and I find myself bundled into the bathroom.

Maybe she has been recruited as a spy, as well as getting married.

She slams the door shut, then spins round.

I’ve never been in such posh loos. Except I’m not getting much opportunity to look round or take photos, as Rachel has me pinned against the dryer, which goes off every time I flinch.

‘Sorry I didn’t warn you before, but …’

‘Warn me? What, about Beth?’

‘No, no. About the situ.’

‘Situ?’ I try to edge away as I’m getting more hot air down my neck than I can cope with. Rachel is so close though, there’s not much room for manoeuvre. It’s either bounce off her boobs or get all hot and bothered.

I duck down and pop up the other side of her.

‘Fuck’s sake, Jane. Will you stand still and listen? We’ve not got long, we’ve got to get back to them, we can’t leave them together.’

‘This was your … What do you mean we can’t leave them together?’ I get an uneasy prickle down my spine and it’s nothing to do with the dryer.

‘It’s awkward, well, I need you to be a bit like …’

‘A bit like …?’

‘Like a, well, a barrier?’

‘A barrier?’ I fold my arms, barrier-like. But she has my interest well and truly piqued. ‘What do you mean a barrier? Between what?’ I frown.

‘Between Sally and Mads,’ hisses Rachel.

‘You’ve invited me out to be a barrier?’ As evenings go, this is not panning out as my best. ‘Is this why you wanted Beth as well, then we’d be a double barrier?’

‘No, no, no. Oh, God.’ She runs her fingers through her blonde bouncy waves. ‘I never thought it would be this complicated, but I wanted all three of you to …’ She sniffs. ‘Please, please say you’ll help me make this work?’

I sigh. ‘What’s happened, Rach?’

‘It’s just that, well, you know Sally and Mads?’ I nod. It’s a strange question seeing as we’ve all just been reacquainted. ‘They’ve not seen each other for like yonks.’

I nod. ‘Same here, bit of a shock actually!’

She ignores me, I think she’s had this speech planned. ‘I mean I’ve seen them separately, but we’ve not all got together.’ I nod. ‘Well, there’s something you need to know.’ There’s a long pause while she waits for the other occupant in the bathroom to wash her hands and leave. ‘Sally got married.’

As bombshells go, that’s a bit of an anti-climax. ‘Good for her.’ So maybe I am totally wrong, maybe she does not run a world dominating company. Maybe she is supreme nappy changer. Flannel ones of course. Expensive monogrammed flannel ones. And a maid to dip them in the bucket. Sal is a shit stirrer, not a washer of shit.

Rachel takes a deep breath, then turns to face me. ‘To Jack.’

My image of Sally in marigolds, dunking nappies in a silver bucket is gone in a millisecond. The world does a hiccup. ‘Jack?’ I can hear the note of suspicion in my voice.

She nods.

‘Jack, Jack?’ I think my lower jaw is dangling. ‘Maddie’s Jack? Are you sure?’

‘Positive. I went to their wedding.’

‘You what?’ I think I might be shouting. ‘But, but, they, we …’

‘Jack and Mads split up like ages ago, when he went to uni, so it’s not like Sal barged in and nicked him or anything, and it was Maddie who did the dumping, but, well, Mads didn’t know they were an item until Sally and Jack moved back into the area after, well, you know … the wedding.’

I cringe. I mean, can you imagine? The love (ex-love) of your life suddenly reappears on the scene. With a wife. Your (soon to be) ex-friend.

Then your old school friend invites you all to a big night out in Brighton.

Whoopee!

I’m not surprised poor Mads looks a bit peaky.

‘Rach, how could you! How could you ask them both here, if you knew …?’

‘I didn’t.’ She gulps. ‘Honest. Well, I knew about Sal and Jack, obviously.’

‘And you didn’t think …’

‘I thought Maddie knew! Sal had told me at the wedding that she was totally cool with it, that it was her who had dumped Jack, and he was the broken-hearted one, and Maddie had moved on!’