FLISSI can’t believe she’s ignored me for a full twenty-four hours. She’s got some nerve.It’s the following afternoon, the wedding is due to start in an hour, and I still haven’t spoken to Lottie. She’s sidestepped my every call (approximately one hundred of them). But at the same time she’s managed to leave a whole series of messages on my phone, about the registry office and the restaurant and meeting for pre-wedding drinks at Bluebird. A purple satin bridesmaid’s dress arrived at my office at lunchtime by bike. A poem arrived by email, along with a request for me to read it aloud during the ceremony: It will make our day so special!She doesn’t fool me. There’s a reason she’s not been taking my calls: she feels defensive. Which means I’m in with a chance. I know I can talk her out of this nonsense. I just need to work out exactly where her vulnerability is and exploit it.As I arrive at Bluebird, I can see her already sitting at the bar in a cream lace minidress, with roses in he
Just call me the World Champion Bride Whisperer.There was no argument. No confrontation. Lottie thinks it was her idea to postpone. I was the one saying, “Are you sure, Lottie? Are you positive you want to call things off? Really?”I’ve totally sold her on the idea of a country wedding with music and a choirand bells. She’s already looked up the name of the chaplain at our old school. She’s off on a new dream of satin and posies and “I Vow to Thee, My Country.”Which is fine. A wedding is lovely. Marriage is lovely. Maybe Ben is destined to be her life partner and I’ll kick myself as she has her tenth grandchild and think, What was my problem? But at least this way gives her some breathing space. At least it gives her time to look at Ben and think, Hmm. Sixty more years with you. Is this a good idea?Lottie’s gone off to the registry office, to tell Ben the news. My work is done. The only task remaining is to buy her Brides magazine. We’re going to meet up for coffee tomorrow and ha
“Another?” He looks up and meets my eye, and I feel things shift between us a little. The first drink was like a coda to the whole affair. It was resolution. It was just being polite.This is more than polite. “Yes, let’s.”“Same again?”I nod and watch as he summons the waiter and orders. Nice hands. Good strong jaw. Unhurried, laconic mannerisms. He’s a lot more appealing than his webpage gives away.“Your website photo is terrible,” I say abruptly, as the waiter disappears. “Really bad. Did you know that?”“Wow.” Lorcan raises his eyebrows, looking taken aback. “You’re direct.Lucky I’m not vain.”“It’s not about vanity.” I shake my head. “It’s not that you’re better-looking in the flesh. It’s that your personality is better. I’m looking at you and I’m seeing aguy who makes time for people. A guy who puts away his phone. Who listens. You’re charming. In a way.”“In a way?” He gives an incredulous laugh.“But your photo doesn’t say that.” I ignore him. “In your photo, you’re scowli
I’m half awake. I think. Oh God. My head hurts.So many thoughts. Where do I start? Remembered sensations are crowding out my brain in a blur. And sudden flashes: intense, astonishing memories like squeezes of lemon. Him. Me. Under. Over … Suddenly I realize I’m mentally intoning Noah’s old picture book, Opposites Are Fun! Inside. Outside. This way. That way.But now the fun’s over. It must be morning, if the light dazzling my eyelids is a clue. I’m lying, one leg thrown over the duvet, not quite daring to open my eyes. You. Me. Then. Now. Oh God, now.I open one eye a chink and get an eyeful of beige duvet. Ah yes. I remember the beige duvet from last night. Clearly the ex-wife took all the White Company Egyptian cotton and he went to the nearest Linen for Divorced Men store. My head is throbbing, and after a moment the beige starts to shimmer in front of my eyes. So I close them and roll onto my back. I haven’t had a one-night stand in a long time. A looooong time. I’ve forgotten ho
All morning, I feel aftershocks of embarrassment.At least I managed to streak from the taxi to my front door with no neighbors seeing me. I ripped off the purple dress, had the quickest shower known tomankind, then called Noah on speakerphone while I was trying to do speedy makeup. (There is no point in rushing mascara application. I know this. So why do I always fall into the same trap and end up wiping blobs of it off my cheeks and forehead and mirror?) Evidently Noah’s sleepover was a 100 percent rip- roaring, triumphant success. Wish I could say the same about mine.I couldn’t bring myself to call Lottie back, and anyway I didn’t have time.Instead, I texted her, suggesting drinks at seven P.M.Now I’m back at the office, speed-reading a review of a new luxury safari lodge in Kenya, which has just come in, about two thousand words over the limit. Clearly this journalist thinks he’s writing the next Out of Africa. He hasn’t mentioned the pool or the room service or the spa, only
“Not exactly.”Oh God. How do I put this? Come on, Fliss. Just say it.“I want you to stop them from having sex,” I say in a rush.There’s absolute silence down the line. I’ve confounded even Nico.“Fliss, repeat to me your request again,” he says at last. “I fear I have not understood.”I fear he has.“I want you to stop them from having sex,” I repeat, enunciating as clearly as I can. “No sex. No wedding night. At least, not till I get out there. Do whatever you can. Put them in separate rooms. Distract them. Kidnap one of them. Whatever it takes.”“But they are on their honeymoon.” He sounds utterly flummoxed. “I know. And that’s why.”“You are trying to disrupt your own sister’s wedding night?” His voice rises in shock. “You are trying to come between a man and his new wife? Who have been joined before God?”I should have explained this better.“Nico, she’s rushed into this marriage. And it wasn’t before God! It’s a big, stupid mistake. I need to talk to her. I’m flying out as soo
I’m married! My mouth is fixed in a permanent, gleeful smile. I’m so euphoric, I feel like I might float away. Today has been the best, most magical, most extraordinary day of my life. I’m married!! I’m married!!!I still keep replaying the moment when I looked up from my desk to see Ben marching into the office, holding a bouquet of roses. His jaw was set and his eyes were flashing, and you could see he meant business. Even my boss, Martin, came out of his office to watch. The whole place was hushed as Ben stood at my office door and proclaimed, “I’m going to marry you, Lottie Graveney, and I’m going to do it today.”Then he lifted me up—lifted me up—and everyone cheered, and Kayla came running after me with my bag and phone, and Ben handed me the bouquet and that was it. I was a bride.I barely remember the marriage ceremony. I was in a state of shock. Ben practically jumped on each answer; I do remember that. He didn’t pause for a moment—in fact he sounded almost aggressive as he s
As I cross the lounge toward the washrooms, I’m actually trembling with anticipation. I knock twice on the third cubicle door, and as Ben sweeps me in, he’s already half undressed.“Oh God. Oh God …”His mouth is immediately on mine, his hand is in my hair, now he’s unhooking my bra and I’m wriggling out of my knickers. I’ve never moved so fast. I’ve never wanted it so fast. I’ve never needed it so badly in my life.“Shh!” we keep whispering to each other as we bump against the cubicle walls. Thank God they’re sturdy. We’re maneuvering into position as quickly as we can, Ben’s braced against the wall, we’re both breathing like steam engines, I can tell this is going to take about ten seconds.…“Condom?” I whisper.“No.” He meets my eye. “Right?”“Right.” I feel an extra spurt of excitement. We might make a baby!“Hey.” He suddenly pauses. “Have you got into any kinky stuff since we last did it? Anything I should know?”“A bit,” I say breathlessly, hoicking my skirt up farther. “Tell y