My Fake Wedding(47)

‘What are you asking her for?’ George can be heard bitching as we make our way towards our train. ‘Probably never been further south than Morden in her life. Now are you going to carry my vanity case or not?’

‘Not,’ I say, marching off down the platform. I’ve had enough of Janice’s sulking and George’s tantrums. This is my big day. I have to make a success of this wedding or I’ll be back in that tights and handbag environment before you can say Teeline.

Sometimes mates can be bastard selfish.

As the train draws out of the station, we strike up a ‘Weddings I have known’ type conversation, partly because none of us have thought to bring any reading matter— Janice’s bridal porn excepted—partly to keep Janice’s bottom lip from wobbling as her mind wanders back to the crimson monster stuffed out of sight in a squashy heap on top of the luggage rack and partly because I’m still positively squitty with nerves at the thought of all I have to do tomorrow.

‘I hope it’s not going to be a cash bar,’ George frets. ‘So vulgar.’

‘Doubt it,’ Janice ventures, cheering up slightly at the chance of a good bitch. ‘Poppy’s dad’s a compulsive entertainer. Remember when he used to come down to see Poppy at college, Katie?’

‘God, yes.’ I laugh, trying not to slop coffee everywhere as the train rattles towards Reading. ‘He should have been a member of Lunchers Anonymous. He used to take us to all those wonderfully smart places.’

‘It was a bit pathetic, wasn’t it, really?’ she says suddenly. ‘We didn’t even like her much and it was always us she chose to take.’

‘Mmm. Quite sad in a way.’

‘Remember that Sarah-Jane’s wedding in Leeds?’ Janice asks me. ‘Where it was a sit-down meal and they didn’t put the wine bottles on the tables? They only filled our glasses about twice. We were gagging for a drink and we didn’t have any money with us so we had to keep stealing other people’s pints.’

‘Mmm,’ I remember. ‘Mind you, fuck only knows why we were remotely surprised. Sarah-Jane was as tight as a gnat’s chuff at college. She actually cried when I knocked over her Galliano and lime ’cos it cost her one pound twenty. Remember?’

‘We all reckoned she was probably born with a fifty pee clenched between her bum cheeks.’

‘Probably still there.’

‘And we were really pissed off because of all the dosh we spent on actually going to the wedding.’

‘I could have had a new bathroom installed with the money we spent on getting up there and paying for a hotel room.’

‘That’s right. So we took back the present. Remember? Swiped it off the hall table as we left and it was straight back to the shop with it for a refund. And we spent it on two vegetable biryanis and a couple of keema naans down the Punjab Paradise. Pass us a serviette, George. I’ve slopped coffee all over my boob.’

‘Napkin.’ He shudders. ‘Napkin. And there wouldn’t have been much point in you having a new bathroom installed, would there, Katie? Not with you still being in rented accommodation.’

I ignore him. Suddenly Janice is much cheerier. And I don’t want to spoil it by fighting with George.

‘You drank too many Bacardi Breezers and gave the best man a blow job under the top table,’ I remind Janice. ‘And then you blew chunks and passed out and we had to carry you back to the hotel room with bits of red wine sick in your hair.’

‘Yesss.’ Janice laughs. ‘God, don’t let me do that this time. Jasper would have a blue fit. He hates women who get shitfaced. Thinks it’s unfeminine.’

‘He would.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh,’ she tosses her head, ‘I know he’s a sad old fart. And I’m probably going to have to boff him sooner or later if I want to get my hands on his wedge. But that’s cricket for you.’

George and I exchange raised eyebrows and I swiftly change the topic of conversation before one of us is forced to tell her that Jasper is a complete arsehole. Neither George nor I would actually choose to spend one millisecond with him for all the money in the world. But because she’s my best friend and I love her to pieces, I feel the need to protect her from my caustic opinions so as not to hurt her.

‘Don’t forget I’ve booked a hotel for you tomorrow night,’ I tell George. ‘You’re staying at Poppy’s parents’ house with me tonight to help me get everything ready.’

‘A reassuringly expensive hotel, I hope?’ George asks. ‘I’m not staying in a damp B&B that smells of cat’s piss and old people’s cabbage and being forced to eat dodgy Grape Nuts for breakfast to get my bowels moving. I mean we have actually left London now, don’t forget. They have different rules in the provinces, you know. “Sophisticated menu” means “next door but one to the Little Chef”. We’ll have to eat all our meals in those places where you’re forever picking pubes out of your food.’