My Fake Wedding(50)
I bend to kiss the top of my friend’s head. But because it’s so dark, I miss and the kiss lands on his mouth instead.
‘Sorry.’
‘No problem.’
But he’s grinning again. I can tell by his voice.
‘You’re laughing at me.’
‘No more than usual.’
‘Good.’
‘Although you are rather funny.’
‘Cheers.’
I smack him over the head with my pillow. And now that he’s woken me up I can’t go back to sleep. I’m too nervous about tomorrow.
‘I suppose you’ll have to sleep here,’ I grumble. ‘And just when I was looking forward to having this lovely big bed to myself.’
‘Suppose so,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’
We pass the time till I’m able to nod off by talking about schooldays.
‘Remember that dreadful felt jacket with the white leather sleeves you always wore?’ I tease him.
‘My baseball jacket?’ he asks. ‘I loved it.’
‘It was awful.’
‘Not as bad as that acid yellow ra-ra job you wore to the school disco.’
‘True.’ I laugh. ‘You took the piss out of me for weeks.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Did.’
‘I didn’t.’ He sounds hurt. ‘That was Mike McDonald. I stood up for you, I’ll have you know. Said you couldn’t help it. That you were stylistically challenged.’
‘Ho ho.’
‘And I said your legs weren’t like a chicken’s at all.’
‘Ha ha.’
‘Only joking. Actually I always thought you had rather nice legs.’
‘Flatterer.’
But despite myself, I suddenly get the urge to kiss him. He’s certainly close enough. But he’s Sam. And that would just be stupid. It’s just because I’m nervous. And he’s so familiar.
‘Remember when you had the top of your ear pierced?’ I say hurriedly, as if to take my mind off the fact that he’s lying so close. ‘My mother said you were no better than vermin.’
‘And when my dad caught us smoking in the shed…’
He’s even nearer now.
‘Do you remember when I broke your Culture Club album over your head ’cos you told everyone you’d read my diary?’
‘Hmmm. Probably best place for it. I didn’t read it, by the way.’ He pinches my cheek affectionately.
‘I know.’ I push a bit of his hair off his face. ‘You wouldn’t be talking to me now if you had. You should see some of the things I wrote about you.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He laughs.
‘Yeah.’ I grin.
And suddenly, we’re so close, our faces are almost touching. For one mad nanosecond, I think he’s going to kiss me.
And then I remember.
This is Sam. My best mate. Not some dodgy notch on the bedpost.
And I haven’t cleaned my teeth. Check me out. What the hell am I doing? I must stink of drink.
I jump away.
‘Anyway,’ I say.
‘Right,’ he says simultaneously.
Then we both look at each other.
‘Sleep.’
Chapter 10
I wake up next morning with a jackhammer thumping in my temples from last night’s champagne. Sam’s side of the bed is empty. Groaning, I scuffle downstairs, where George, wearing nothing but white Jockey shorts and a pair of pink marabou-trimmed slippers, is standing in the kitchen stirring sugar into a big cup of coffee.
‘All right?’
‘Hanging.’ He tosses his head back and points at his eyes to show how bloodshot they are. ‘My breath’s absolutely minging. Still, better show willing, I suppose, darling. Here you are.’ He thrusts a glass of champers into my hand.
‘God. Already?’
‘Hair of the dog, darling. Hair of the goddamn dog. Ohmigod.’ He suddenly gets up and stares out of the window. ‘LOOK.’
‘What?’
‘He’s here. The darling’s only bloody well here.’
And with that, he runs out into the front yard in his undies and, slap bang in front of Poppy’s mum and dad and other assembled guests, he gives a slightly bemused David a great big hello hug. And, somehow, much to my surprise, it all makes me feel a bit weird. A bit like I used to feel when Jake and I went to see some soppy film and it got to the end and I suddenly found I was sobbing my eyes out. And not because it was sad or even particularly happy or anything, but because I knew Jake and I simply weren’t like that, and probably never would be.
Well, we certainly won’t be now, so there’s no point even thinking about that. But, as I watch David and George hugging and twirling each other around in the yard, it suddenly strikes me…