Chapter 1
Chapter One
Georgia was late.
She flung the door open before the car had even really come to a stop, and crunched her way up the gravel drive towards the muffled sounds of the party. The windows of the old stately home twinkled with reflected festoon lights, casting the path in a warm yellow glow.
The actual wedding was tomorrow, but as people were travelling down from all over the country, Tam had insisted on a night before party. She’d promised pizza and a chance to meet the other guests.
“It’ll be great,” she’d said down the phone, her voice crackling with poor signal. “Mum's really looking forward to seeing you, and Dad's been storing up rugby questions for weeks. And my friends are all dying to meet you, having heard so much about my famous athlete bridesmaid!”
A homemade sign pointed Georgia down the side of the house, between the red brick wall and a low, neat hedge. To her right, in the gathering September twilight, she could just about make out the outline of a formal garden, hedges and flower beds and grass manicured to within an inch of its life.
She followed another sign, turning a corner into the stable courtyard, and blinked in the sudden light.
Right next to her, a large bulletin board had been propped against the wall.
It was covered in photos of Tam and Ollie, spread out along a timeline of "then" to "now".
In one of the early photos, Georgia spotted her teenage self, arm flung round Tam, grinning and muddy in their old rugby kit.
She featured later on, too, with Tam and Ollie hugging her over the pitch-side barrier at her first international game.
Beyond the board, the old stables had been transformed into a modern party space, with a full-on DJ booth and dance floor raised above the worn cobbles. The music was already blaring, the speakers pumping out some dated party tune.
Despite the volume, the dance floor was empty. Instead, guests congregated in clumps: one family over there, a group of young parents and babies in the furthest corner, friends in threes and fours, half-empty beers in hand.
Georgia hung back, just out of the beam of light streaming across the path, trying to spot any familiar face in the throng.
There were Tam’s parents queuing for the pizza van, chatting with other older family members.
The groom’s sister was off to one side, bouncing a toddler on her hip as she fiddled with the baby in its pram.
Georgia’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Fleur, the Westcliffe team captain. Georgia hesitated, then ignored the call. It was a Friday night, and she’d been at pre-season training all week. She deserved a rare night off to let her hair down.
If Fleur had wanted to speak to her, she’d had plenty of opportunities. She could wait until Monday.
Georgia craned her head slightly, using her height to peer over the guests without being seen. Her childhood best friend was usually easy to spot: her decidedly un-accountant like clothes, chunky boots thudding across the pavement, and a grin wide enough to make strangers smile back.
There!
In the middle of the courtyard, in her signature brightly patterned dungarees, was Tam. She was twirling in Ollie’s arms, beaming up into his face. They looked so happy, so caught up in each other, Georgia's gut twisted with an unexpected sharp stab of jealousy.
Not that she wanted either of them, of course. And not that she was unhappy being single, either.
It was just that, standing on the outside looking in, she suddenly felt very much on her own. This was her seventh wedding party this year - it seemed like everyone she had ever known was getting married or engaged, buying houses, or generally being super-duper loved up. Everyone except her.
That had been a deliberate choice, after all.
She’d given up swiping, gritting her teeth through an endless parade of first dates.
She was sick of answering the same questions - What’s your favourite colour?
What do you do for work? Oh!, I didn’t know rugby could be professional, for women - over and over again.
Rugby first, rugby last.
A professional career could only last so long. There’d be time for everything else afterwards.
“You're here!” Tam shouted just as she flung herself into the air, expecting Georgia to catch her. They spun round together, the toe of Georgia's boot scraping a hole in the neat gravel path.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, dropping Tam to the ground again. “Left just at the wrong time, and traffic was awful.”
“Sounds like you need a drink.” Tam grabbed her hand and pulled her into the courtyard. Tam plucked two beers from a large cooler next to the pizza van, the glass cold and condensing in the still-warm September night air, and Tam popped the caps off both.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, raising her bottle to chink against Georgia’s. “It’s been ages!”
“Sorry. Summer this year has been nuts - what with the tour and everything. Doesn’t leave much time for a life.”
"I'd sack me off for a chance to play in an England shirt, too," Tam said. "And all the way down to Fiji and Samoa too – business class, fancy hotels. It's the dream."
Tam swooned dramatically, and Georgia grinned. She'd missed her. She'd known Tam almost their whole life, since the first day of primary school when they'd been sat on the same round table. They'd started rugby at the same training session.
England, a professional contract, world tours. It was the dream. It had been their dream, together. Only Georgia had made it.
Georgia took a swallow of the beer, cold and tasteless. She shrugged. “Not such a dream when you’re out cold, ten minutes into the match.”
Tam winced. “You alright now? No lasting effects?” Her eyes darted to the beer in Georgia’s hand. “Should you be drinking?”
Georgia shook her head. “I’m fine, promise. Totally all good and ready to party. Just about three weeks too late.”
She’d missed the hen party, laid up at home under strict instructions to behave. Even though Georgia had begged and talked up her maid of honour duties to the physio, Sophie had put her foot down: Cinderella would not go to the ball.
Tam shook off the apology, waving a hand dismissively. “Hen party, hen smarty. You’re here now, and that’s what counts.”
“All fixed, right as rain and ready to celebrate!”
She was fine, she reminded herself. Just a little knock, that was all. An unfortunate meeting of her head and the hard summer ground that had kept her stuck on bed rest for quite long enough.
She gave a little wiggle, a bad impression of dancing.
Tam whooped, and did her own shimmy in reply.
“Yeah baby!” Austin Powers was dated even by the time they'd first seen it, sneaking down the stairs at sleepovers to watch Georgia's brother's DVD with the volume turned almost to zero. They'd loved it, and spent months communicating almost entirely in quotes.
“I bet I know how much you spent on this wedding,” Georgia teased. They raised their pinkies to their lips together, in sync as they chanted “one million dollars” with perfectly straight faces, before cracking up into laughter.
“Missed you, Tam,” Georgia said once they stopped laughing, punching her arm lightly. “Sorry I've been a shit friend recently.”
“Rubbish,” said Tam. “We're all busy. Anyway, you're here now, and I've got you for three whole days.”
Georgia’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Fleur again.
She swiped away the call notification and turned the phone off.
“Three whole days,” Georgia agreed, stuffing the phone deep into her jeans pocket, “though I basically packed enough for a month.” She gestured over her shoulder in the direction of the dark manor house grounds.
“I just kinda slewed up out in the carpark and left all my stuff in the boot. Should I grab it now, or…?”
“Yeah, bring it up. I’ve put you in the big cottage with loads of people you’ll know.”
“Who?” As far as Georgia knew, that meant Tam’s family. A sudden thought gripped her. “Not Connor?”
Connor had been nice, and they liked each other well enough. Just not, it turned out, as much as he’d liked the new intern at work.
Tam shook her head. “Well, at least people that you’ll like. You know how Ollie still plays for Redford, right? Means he’s invited people who were part of our old gang.” She pointed at a group of lads in matching blue shirts and beige chinos sinking beers on the other side of the party.
“You remember Deano, Stu…” Georgia tuned out as Tam pointed at them one by one.
“Yeah, sure,” Georgia said vaguely, even if she didn’t really.
She'd forgotten those guys even existed. What a blast from the past. It had been ten years since she’d last trained with the amateur Redford team they all still played for.
They'd splintered at eighteen, heading off to different universities, different careers, different corners of the country. Tam and Ollie – and apparently others from the club – had ended up back in their hometown, while Georgia had taken a different path.
She'd jumped at the chance to sign one of the first professional women's contracts Westcliffe had ever given out. The Westcliffe men's side had been professional for thirty years and had won the Premiership more times than she could count.
The women's team weren't quite at that same level. At least, not yet.
“And,” Tam continued, interrupting Georgia’s reminiscing, “more importantly, Ollie’s invited two people I know you’ll just die to see.”
“Oh no,” Georgia groaned. “Who?”
She turned her head to follow Tam's pointing finger.
“Matt Mitchell!”
Georgia caught sight of him just as Tam said his name and swallowed heavily.
Mr Mitchell, sir, as they'd had to call him, though he was only five years older than them. A whole nineteen to their impressionable fourteen.