Chapter 1 #2
‘On the subject of my ongoing man hunt: how’s Ed these days?
’ she asked Hannah, grinning lasciviously.
Hannah laughed and rolled her eyes, but felt genuinely grateful for the change of subject.
Ed was her twin, a handsome rugby player on whose behalf she’d spent half her life fending off excitable admirers – both male and female.
Formerly a semi-pro, he now played most weekends for a queer team in Manchester.
‘He’s fine, thanks,’ Hannah said. ‘Promoted. Now co-ordinating physical education for five different schools across an academy trust in Manchester.’
‘Oooh,’ Charlie breathed with a theatrical shiver. ‘Gotta love a hot PE teacher. Is he seeing anyone?’
‘Yes. He’s still with the same guy as before,’ Hannah said, now fervently wishing the conversation hadn’t taken this turn. ‘Sorry,’ she added, in a that’s that tone she hoped would signal the topic had reached a dead end.
‘It’s quite surprising, really,’ Livi put in a second later.
Hannah winced, willing her sister to stop talking, but Livi went on: ‘Neither of them is usually the type to get serious. We all thought it’d be over within a few weeks, but it’s been .
. . seven months now? Bit awks for poor Hannah.
’ She nodded her head in her older sister’s direction, and Hannah felt the momentary urge to strangle her.
‘How so?’ Charlie asked, narrowing her eyes.
Livi darted a glance in Hannah’s direction, suddenly aware she’d shared too much.
This ‘say what you see’ outburst was typical Olivia, and Hannah bit back a groan even as she felt a surge of affection for her sweet, open-hearted sister.
It wasn’t in Livi’s nature to conceal things, so it often didn’t occur to her that others kept certain cards close to their chests – even with very good friends.
‘By all means, Livi, explain,’ Hannah said, through gritted teeth. She couldn’t bear to do it herself, and the mild terror in Livi’s eyes at least suggested she’d offer no more than an abbreviated summary of the situation.
‘Ed’s boyfriend is the brother of Hannah’s ex,’ Livi said stiffly. ‘Who was also her best friend growing up.’
At this, Charlie’s violet-blue eyes went round with surprise and .
. . Oh god. Hurt. Beneath the horror of hearing the truth spoken aloud, Hannah felt a pang of remorse at having not been more honest with her friend.
She could understand why Charlie might feel peeved.
Although she was sanguine about the split with Neil now, she’d held nothing back from Hannah during the messiest, most painful moments of the break-up.
Charlie had shown Hannah her softest, most vulnerable side, and had just discovered that Hannah – for all their closeness – hadn’t reciprocated.
‘It’s a very long, very old story,’ Hannah said, shooting Charlie a look that she hoped conveyed: to paraphrase you, my reluctance to tell it is very much a me problem, not a you problem.
Charlie nodded, sensing that Hannah’s avoidance of the subject was equivalent to respecting the perimeter around a nuclear blast site.
‘In any case, it’s not awks,’ Hannah said, miming quotation marks with her fingers – desperate to reclaim some control of this exchange, not to mention a little dignity.
‘Even leaving aside the likelihood that this is just a fling, Ed lives in Salford. That’s fifty miles away.
Whoever he goes out with, it’s not like I’ll be bumping into them in the Fox and Feathers on a Friday night.
It makes no difference to me who he’s dating. ’
Though none of this was technically untrue, it was pure misdirection.
Since his relationship with Joe Gibson had begun, for the first time in Hannah’s life it felt as though there was a knot in the string that tied her and her twin together; a kink in the invisible thread than ran between them.
She got nervous about visiting Ed – even about talking to him on the phone, if she thought Joe might be around.
Given Hannah had known Joe since she was thirteen years old and had always liked him, she’d reluctantly concluded this could only be put down to fear.
Fear that any encounter with him would bring her uncomfortably close to memories of his brother; to feelings and a whole version of herself that she’d drawn a firm line under.
Before Charlie or Livi could say anything further, Hannah moved in the direction of an abandoned table and chairs, then busied herself with collecting a stack of empty glasses.
When she returned with them a moment later, Tessa – head of today’s team of waiting and bar staff – said a grateful thank you for the help.
‘All set for the final few hours?’ Hannah asked her.
‘Yep, all good,’ Tessa confirmed with a smile. She and Hannah knew one another well, and the company she worked for was always Hannah’s top pick for weddings like this: where the venue came ‘bare’, without its own army of in-house staff, and she had to source them.
‘The cleaning crew should be here at about 1.15,’ Hannah said, ‘so last orders at 12.45?’
‘Perfect,’ Tessa confirmed. ‘Now, you get off – I promise I’ll call you if I need anything.’
‘Make sure you do,’ Hannah said, stepping aside so that a cluster of tipsy thirty-something women could request their next round of drinks.
Hannah recognised them from the bougie hen party she’d organised for Pooja three months ago, though none of them seemed to notice her as they asked for top-ups of rosé wine and fresh Aperol Spritzes.
Unfortunately, Marc – even from the opposite end of the barn, and through the stage lights shining on him – had clocked that Hannah was leaving.
‘I know Tim and Pooja won’t mind if I say this next number goes out to my own partner, the beautiful Hannah,’ he said into his microphone.
She cringed. Partner? That seemed a pretty punchy way of describing someone you’d only recently begun seeing, and with whom you’d shared nothing more significant than the occasional chicken tikka masala.
‘Hannah’s been behind the scenes today, and has spent months co-ordinating this wonderful wedding,’ he went on.
At this, Hannah felt her temper begin to fray.
As she saw it, the whole point of her job was to remain invisible: to allow special occasions to unfold perfectly, but in ways that felt organic and natural.
She hated the idea that anyone here might think she’d put Marc up to this – that Pooja and Tim’s guests would assume she wanted a share of their attention.
Or had the poor taste to tout for future bookings before the curtain was down on this one.
‘Before you go home for some well-earned rest, I want to dedicate this song to you, darling,’ Marc said, as the band struck up one of his own compositions: a mawkish ballad called ‘Someone Special’. It had once reached number 7 in the UK singles chart, but Hannah had never much liked it.
Charlie caught her eye and grimaced.
‘See what I mean?’ Hannah whispered, as the two of them exited the barn with Livi close behind. They collected their personal belongings from the staffroom, which had been a stable in its former life, then made their way down a winding gravel path to the venue’s rear.
‘I will concede that was a bit . . . What was the word you used before? Much,’ Charlie admitted.