Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t go to bed until six in the morning.
We were supposed to be at the hotel with Bridezilla getting our hair done at nine, but I’d forgotten that while I was drinking champagne with the girls, singing Florence and the Machine’s “Shake It Off” far too passionately for a Thursday night, in an end-terraced house, in a family occupied estate.
Reluctantly, I dragged myself into the shower, threw a bag together and got into the car with Rach. We made our way to the venue, a trendy Novotel by the airport. I probably shouldn’t have been driving, but with fourteen missed calls from Bridezilla, there wasn’t really any other option.
Heidi was her usual pleasant self when we arrived.
‘What time do you call this, Lucy? For God’s sake! And there’s no sign of that bloody hairdresser you booked either. Where is she?’
‘Calm down, Bridezilla,’ slipped out before I could check myself. Thankfully, she laughed. Either she’d been drinking or the excitement of the day had gone to her head.
‘She’s on her way. She text me already to say she was a bit lost. I had to give her directions.’ What she really text was that it was her birthday the day before, she’d had a few too many that night and was running late. She was in good company.
The morning passed in a blur of make-up and champagne. The first glass was slow to go down, but I soon regained my composure and snuck a quick selfie for John. We didn’t get the opportunity to speak properly last night with the girls there. I missed the comfort that talking to him gave me.
In different circumstances, it would have been great to have him here today. Would family would like him? Would we ever get the chance to find out?
For the millionth time, I wished things were different.
At the church, the organ played softly in the background in anticipation of the first glimpse of the bride.
It was surprisingly nice to see so many familiar faces: uncles, cousins, family friends and school friends.
In truth, I hadn’t actually given the wedding much thought since I’d met John.
Even I had to admit, my head had been well and truly up my own arse.
I mentally scolded myself for being a terrible sister, silently promising to do better.
My mother sat in the second row of pews in a lilac, slim-fitting Coast dress with a dainty cream head piece fastened to the side.
She was ridiculously good looking for a fifty-year-old woman, and my friends regularly admired her youthful appearance and sense of style, not to mention her fondness of a glass of white wine.
She was my best friend, and I was grateful for her every day of my life.
Her partner, on the other hand, was a complete dose. None of us had any idea what attracted her to him in the first place. There was something slippery about a six foot, overly confident salesman with ideas way above his station. My grandfather described him as having ‘notions’.
Trevor didn’t drink. I mean at all. Which wouldn’t be too bad that’s if you could get past wondering if he was a previous alcoholic or if he couldn’t trust his own behaviour with a drink?
No, the real problem was he hated to see any of us enjoying ourselves or having a drink.
He would regularly say to my mum in a sneering, patronising tone, ‘You’re not having ANOTHER glass of wine, are you?
’ The poor woman was made to feel guilty every time she wanted to let her hair down.
None of us could understand it, my mother was nobody’s fool.
She was the most loving parent I could have wished for growing up, a little over protective at times, but definitely nobody’s fool.
She had a hard edge to her when it suited her, and growing up, we often joked about her Glaswegian Kiss, should anyone dare to cross her.
But she had been with this miserable man for five years and none of us could understand it.
Each to their own, as I found out the hard way.
My mother shot me a conspiring wink as the ceremony began. My brother stood at the top of the aisle with his floppy blonde hair grazing his eyes, looking exceptional in his tuxedo.
I scanned the pews, looking for Rob. There he was: two rows behind my mother, wearing a grey Gap suit from last year. I needn’t have worried about making eye contact with him – he was staring into space as usual.
Eventually, the ceremony drew to a close at long last and Simon and Heidi were pronounced Man and Wife.
Heidi had decided each bridesmaid would host a table at dinner, which suited me down to the ground.
I got to spend the day with my best friend and cousin.
Rachel swapped seats with Rob, reminding him she very rarely got to have dinner with her bestie.
She’d saved me a few times this day already, and for that I was eternally grateful.
The food was fabulous and the sweet table was even better. I was an absolute devil for Haribo. You’d think, given my job, I’d know better.
Champagne flowed freely, no expense spared, and the sun shone gloriously all day, allowing the guests to make the most of the outside patio bar and gardens until late in the evening.
Despite the previous late night, I managed to stick it in the residents’ bar until five o’clock in the morning again, with my trusty sidekick, Raquelle, who could always be relied upon for ‘one more for the road.’
As the sun came up on the 28th of July, Rachel and I toasted new beginnings, quietly reflecting on the previous few months. It was surreal how everything had changed so dramatically in such a short space of time.
I reluctantly made my way to bed, doubting I would be able to sleep at all.
I was happy for my brother, the day had been everything they had wanted and more, and even though I moaned like hell about Bridezilla, it was an honour to be a bridesmaid at my brother’s wedding. I could only say that when it was over.
I waved them off on their two-week honeymoon to Mexico the following day, and then I decided I would sort my life out.
Or wreck it, depending how you looked at it.