The Wedding Game

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

February

It’s been six months since the wedding that upended my world. And now that it’s the depths of winter, Scarlet and I find ourselves at yet another wedding – our first of this year. Here we go again.

‘It is one degree,’ Scarlet exclaims, as we enter the Scots baronial country-house wedding venue. ‘Who chooses to get married in Scotland in February ?’

‘The bride’s Scottish and it’s Valentine’s Day,’ I tell her. ‘It’s romantic.’

‘It’s fucking freezing is what it is.’

‘They’re your friends,’ I point out. ‘I’m your humble plus-one. You didn’t have to say yes.’

‘We’ve had your fair share of friends’ weddings too,’ Scarlet says, trying her best to muster some enthusiasm. ‘And it’s always fun in the end, isn’t it?’

‘Until it isn’t,’ I reply unenthusiastically, and then I remember how I met Josh and I perk up a bit.

As if reading my mind, Scarlet asks, ‘How’s Posh Josh?’

‘He’s fine,’ I say. I’ve given up asking her to stop calling him that.

‘He doesn’t mind that you’re here with me on the most romantic day of the year?’

‘No, he’s pretty chill, so he doesn’t mind.’

‘Ugh, you’re so loved up. It’s depressing.’

‘Why is it depressing?’ I ask with a shocked laugh. ‘I thought you’d be pleased for me.’

‘I am. I am . Sorry. I’ve just really had enough of being alone.’

‘It’s not being alone. It’s being single. There’s a difference.’

‘Yes, there is a difference,’ Scarlet says. ‘I am both single and alone.’

‘OK, well,’ I reply, trying to be helpful, ‘let’s work on that. Where’s your bingo grid?’

‘You’ve already set my one “out there” challenge,’ she says.

‘I’m changing it.’

‘No-o-o – pretending to be famous and asking not to be photographed all day, whenever the photographer came near me, was going to be fun!’

I take her sheet from her and cross out the square. I draw a new one, write something in it and hand it back.

She reads it and says in a flat voice, ‘I’m not doing that.’

‘Yes, you are. It worked out well for me. This – this is how we get you a man.’

‘It’s seedy.’

‘Hey! Snogging someone at a wedding was your suggestion, as I recall. I’m only turning it back on you.’

‘Fine,’ Scarlet says reluctantly, folding the paper up and putting it in her coat pocket, which she refuses to take off, due to the temperature. ‘I’m going to need a lot of drinks.’

Hours later I’ve lost Scarlet completely. This keeps happening to us at weddings. She takes her bingo grid seriously, and I have no idea how near completing it she is. I’m quite far off completing mine. In a moment of madness, while we were rushing to get ready in our hotel room this morning, I’ve given myself some squares that I don’t think I can tick off. If I cross any of them through and write something else, Scarlet will notice, and I’ll lose by default for cheating. Am I about to lose? We don’t have any financial comeuppance this time, which wouldn’t really matter now (within reason), as I am earning a fairly decent salary and am slowly catching up with my credit-card debt.

Even so, I wish I hadn’t written in a square ‘fight breaks out’. I’m never going to win, with that as a bingo option. I’ve literally never been to a wedding where a fight has broken out. ‘Bloody Chris,’ I mutter to myself as I remember his phrase All good weddings end in a fight . It had sounded so convincing at the time.

I haven’t spoken to Chris since New York. We haven’t messaged. But when a group email goes round the company and I watch the replies pile in, I read every word he writes, no matter how brief.

I turn my attention to the dance floor as guests start dancing a ceilidh. I have no idea how to do this and I haven’t had enough drinks to try. I decide I’m going to slink off and attempt to complete a square or two.

It’s a lovely venue: candles flicker inside hurricane lamps and oversized silver lanterns. There are stag antlers and deep tartan everywhere. It’s dark, kind of moody, sexy, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies that Josh and I could disappear into. If only he was here. But it’s fine, because I’m here with my best friend and I’m happy to be her wingman. Only she’s temporarily missing.

I wander through quieter parts of the venue, trying to decide whether it’s feasible to drink five whiskies back-to-back without vomiting. This is my ‘out there’ challenge from Scarlet that I have to tick off, and I’m really not feeling it. First, I hate whisky. Second, I hate whisky. Maybe I could ask for the lightest whisky they have. Is light whisky a thing? I’m looking down at my grid as I walk into a dark little snug-style room with tea lights flickering gently. But instead of walking into the room, I walk straight into someone.

‘Sorry,’ I say as I look up, register the person I’ve crashed into and then step back. I don’t speak for a second and then, ‘What are you doing here?’

Chris doesn’t speak. He’s clearly in shock. ‘Wh—’ he starts and then fails to finish. Then he finds his voice. ‘I could ask the same of you. Why are you here?’

‘I’m a guest.’

‘Obviously,’ he says. ‘So am I.’

‘Actually I’m really a plus-one,’ I say, although I’m not sure why.

‘I’m a proper guest.’

‘That’s a weird brag.’

‘You started it,’ he says and we stare at each other again. After a beat, he laughs and so do I.

‘How are you here? Who do you know, to be here?’ I ask. We’re standing in the doorway and as a waiter rushes past in the narrow corridor with a tray of empties, we automatically move inside the vacant room, out of the way.

A crystal decanter of whisky has been placed on a side-table at the edge of the room with clean cut-crystal glasses. This venue is deluxe.

‘Most people from uni are friends with most people from uni,’ Chris replies simply.

‘You didn’t tell me you were coming to the UK,’ I point out, and he looks at me as if to say: why would I tell you? This is a fair point. Why would Chris tell me he was going to be in Scotland when I live in London?

He skirts past my question. ‘Do you want a drink?’ He points at the whisky.

Not one of those , I think, but seeing as there’s nothing else to quaff in here and I have a bingo square to tick off, I say, ‘Sure. A small one. You having one?’

‘Yeah.’ He pours two measures and hands me a glass and I look at it.

‘You don’t like whisky,’ he says, like some kind of psychic.

‘How do you know?’

‘You made that exact same face when I said we were going ice-skating.’

‘Ah, crap! Sorry. I became resigned to that, and I’m resigned to this too because I need to drink five of these in order to stand a chance of winning the bingo game tonight.’

Chris looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. ‘Ohhh myyy Goddd,’ he says slowly. ‘The bloody wedding bingo. You’re still doing that?’

I laugh as he looks back at me. ‘What do you mean? It’s our wedding thing – mine and Scarlet’s.’

‘OK. Confession,’ he says. ‘Wait for it …’ He pulls a piece of paper out of his suit jacket pocket, holds it out to me.

I breathe in sharply and then I snatch it from him excitedly. ‘You’re playing wedding bingo too!’ I cry.

‘Sure am. It’s kind of silly. But my friend and I are here together and he had no idea what the hell I was on about when I suggested we do it. But I think we’re playing it right.’

I look back down at the instructions on his sheet, glancing at the top few. ‘This is very entry-level,’ I tell him. ‘Playing it safe.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he jokes. ‘C-minus? See me after class?’

I hand it back. ‘You’ve ticked quite a lot off already, though.’

‘Because it’s so entry-level?’ he jibes. ‘I’m doing well,’ he says proudly. ‘I didn’t understand who had to set the really-hard-to-achieve challenge. That’s the bit I couldn’t explain. Do I set my own challenge or does Dan set mine? Neither of us could work out what made the most sense. So, in the end, I set his and he set mine. It felt like the right way round.’

‘You’re not taking it seriously, though?’ I say, nudging him. ‘What did you set each other?’

He shows me the back of the paper. ‘I’ve got to get a girl alone in a room, make her fall in love with me, but not kiss her.’

‘What … the … hell?’ I ask. ‘That’s messy . Who sets that kind of challenge? Fancy playing with people like that.’

‘I don’t make the rules. This is your game,’ he states, giving me a pointed look. ‘But it is evil. I’m prepared to lose, based on that alone.’

‘I think I might like this Dan,’ I say. And then I remember who Dan is: the groom from the wedding where Chris and I met. And where Josh and I met. Why is Josh not invited, but Chris and Scarlet are? I ask Chris this in a roundabout sort of way.

‘Josh only knows Dan through school. This is the uni crowd.’

‘I can’t keep up,’ I say, eyeing the whisky warily.

‘I worked in the Union bar part-time,’ Chris explains. ‘After I left, Scarlet got my job, I believe. Or maybe someone else got my job and then Scarlet got their job when they left? I’m not sure. I’ve still not met your friend Scarlet. I worked with Grey, and then I think Scarlet did after me.’ Then he leans in conspiratorially. ‘It’s Grey whose wedding you’re at right now, in case you’ve forgotten, like last time,’ he says.

‘Ha-ha.’ He has a point, though.

‘It’d be nice to meet Scarlet eventually,’ he tells me.

‘I’ve temporarily lost her,’ I say, getting to my real point, which is, ‘I thought you didn’t bring guests to events. Why have you brought Dan? I thought plus-ones seriously inhibited your ability to meet new people.’

‘I might have changed my mind on that. I might have changed my mind about a lot of things since we met.’

I look at him, unsure what to make of that, unsure if I want to analyse it. I don’t have time to process my feelings about Chris being here, in front of me, after everything we said last time we met. And everything we didn’t say. I forge on with more Big Talk. ‘Where’s Dan’s new wife?’ I ask curiously. ‘Don’t tell me it’s all ended in divorce already?’

‘Course not. He’s not forty yet,’ Chris deadpans. ‘Five years to go,’ he says cheerfully, which makes me laugh and I take a large glug of my drink, forgetting it’s whisky and wincing as it burns all the way down my throat. I cough wildly.

‘And you’ve got to drink five of those?’ Chris raises an eyebrow as I finish coughing.

‘I may have to fib a bit on this one,’ I reply. ‘Or drink five really small whiskies.’

‘Or – heaven forbid – maybe be honest, not drink them and lose the game?’

‘I’m not doing that,’ I cry. ‘You’re missing the point of the bingo.’

‘What is the point?’ he asks, genuinely interested. ‘I thought it was to make boring weddings less boring.’

‘I guess it’s to take you out of your comfort zone a bit. Do things you wouldn’t normally do.’

He nods, sips his drink. ‘Makes sense.’

‘Do you like whisky?’ I ask. ‘Because you’re not making the same face I allegedly made.’

‘Not really, but there’s nothing else in here and I don’t want to get up and go to the bar. Last time when drinks took precedence over good conversation I lost you for half an hour and, in that time, you met Josh. Look where that got us.’

I watch him as he sips, but his gaze is on his drink. He’s said it in a jovial tone, although the words hold so much truth.

‘That was a brave thing to say,’ I mutter softly.

‘Was it? Why? I’m being honest. Big Talk, remember.’

‘Fine,’ I say, rising to the challenge. ‘I remember how to do Big Talk. Where’s your girlfriend? Have you decided nothing is ever going to match up to the wedding where we met, so you thought: Sod it, I’ll bring Dan and escort him around all night.’

He laughs. ‘You think you’ve ruined me for all weddings for evermore?’

‘Yes,’ I reply proudly.

‘Kayla’s working,’ he says. ‘Couldn’t get the time off. Same as Dan’s wife. So we’re here together instead.’

And then I’m serious. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to England?’

‘We’re not in England,’ he replies. ‘We’re in Scotland.’

‘You know what I mean. Why didn’t you say?’

He shrugs, thinks. ‘I don’t know how to say this, so … please don’t be offended, but you’re not on my speed-dial for when I come home.’

I wasn’t expecting those words to come out of Chris’s mouth. Neither was I expecting them to hurt so much. Why’s he being so snarky?

‘Shit, OK,’ I reply and sip my drink.

‘Sorry,’ he says and looks as if he genuinely means it. ‘I’m just telling it how it is.’

I don’t know how to respond to this, so I don’t say anything for a moment. I can see him clawing around for a follow-up, but I beat him to it. ‘I obviously thought we might be …’

Chris furrows his brow, watching me, waiting for me to say something.

‘I thought since that night in New York we were …’

‘What?’ he asks, his eyes penetrating mine.

‘I thought we were better than this. I thought we were friends and that if you were in my city, the way I was in yours, you’d at least tell me. But I’m wrong. I’m sorry I overthought it. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel weird.’ I look away, genuinely saddened. I can feel the telltale sting of tears building in the back of my eyes.

‘I’m not in your city, though. I’m in Edinburgh, and I didn’t know you were going to be here. We are friends, I guess. Who don’t see each other. Or talk to each other outside work. I don’t have much time in the UK, and I’m in Scotland for a large portion of it. I’m only in London for a day and a half and I’ve got to fit in seeing my brother, my mum and dad before I get on a plane back to New York.’

‘I get it,’ I respond. I feel as if I’ve been told off. ‘Ignore me.’

‘I’m not going to ignore you,’ Chris says. ‘Would you have wanted to see me if I’d messaged you?’

‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘Why?’ he asks.

I want to scream. I can’t keep saying the same thing over and over.

‘You’re with someone, and so am I. We have to stop this,’ he says.

‘Why?’ I snap.

‘Are you joking? We talked about so many things we shouldn’t have done last time we saw each other. We have nearly-got-together-history.’

‘We have what?’

‘You heard me,’ Chris says. ‘We probably shouldn’t have hung out in New York. I didn’t think it was a good idea then. I don’t know why I suggested it.’ He makes a noise between his teeth.

I glance at my watch. I want to leave.

‘It’s been more than seventeen minutes, if you were thinking of proposing,’ he says flatly.

But I don’t laugh. I don’t even smile. Neither does Chris.

‘So we really can’t be friends, because of that one night.’

‘It wasn’t just that one night, though, was it?’ he persists. ‘It was everything after too. I felt so much, and I couldn’t let you go. And I don’t think you could let me go, either. We messaged back and forth for ages and it was flirty. I loved it. I loved spending time with you that night, and I loved talking to you after. I couldn’t wait for a message from you to arrive. All that Big Talk. We have such a connection. The kind I’ve never had with anyone. Then you got with someone else and friend-zoned me. But you did that. Not me. I’m merely carrying on what you started.’

‘You’ve levelled up, though, with this horrible attitude. Is that how it has to be? Would you like to level up even further? Would you like us to block each other?’

‘Don’t be ridic—’ he starts.

‘No, no, this is what you’re saying, right? We’re not allowed to be friends. And this is all due to some noble rule you’ve made up. Really?’

‘Well …’

‘Well, what? Yes or no?’ I ask. ‘Are you seriously never going to talk to me outside work because we almost got together, once? Or is it that you would be friends with me, but you’ve got a girlfriend? So that’s the game-changer. And what …?’ I grasp around for an accusation to hurl at him. ‘Are you worried you might accidentally sleep with me? Are you that untrustworthy?’ I admit saying this is probably a bit beneath me. Chris has made me so angry, and cheating is high on my worry list, even when it’s not happening to me.

‘What the fuck?’ he explodes angrily, which I did not see coming. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend and I’ve got a girlfriend. Why are you trying to fuck this up for both of us? I am not stupid enough to be mates with someone I fancy. I can’t be mates with someone I want to kiss every time I see her. I can’t be mates with someone I can’t stop fucking thinking about.’

I stare at Chris, my mouth open. A guest walks into the room, senses the tension and walks back out again. At least now I can tick off the ‘fight breaks out’ square on my bingo grid.

Chris lowers his voice. ‘Honestly, Lexie, what did you think I was going to say?’

‘Not that,’ I reply.

‘Really? Then you’re na?ve. I liked you so much. Meeting you was … perfect,’ he says. ‘As if any other way of meeting someone is ever going to match up to that. As if any conversation I have with anyone is ever going to match up to that. Two people meet each other, connect instantly, like each other enough to discuss hanging out together in another country, and it just wasn’t to be. I tried to take that for what it was. Then you ended up in New York anyway, and seeing you was …’ He can’t find the word. ‘But you left, and I tried not to think about you any more. And I failed. And now you’re all why didn’t you ring me and tell me you were here? Why do you think?’ He downs half his drink in one go and winces. ‘Ugh. This is awful.’

I watch Chris for a moment – he can’t bring himself to look at me initially – and then he does so, with a pained expression that is a punch in the gut.

‘I suppose I should be flattered,’ I say quietly when I regain my power of thought.

He shrugs, tops up his glass and tops up mine, despite the fact that neither of us likes it.

‘Two whiskies out of five,’ he says, diffusing the tension briefly. ‘You felt it too.’

‘Saying goodbye was bittersweet when I first met you in the summer, and it was bittersweet again in New York, but so much has happened to us both over that time.’

‘That it all fades away?’ he asks.

‘We have to let it fade away.’

‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘Exactly. We need to let it go or we hurt the people we’re with. Are you and Josh still together?’

I nod.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks.

I hesitate. I nod. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not cheating on Josh. I could never do that to someone, after what happened to me.

‘Why do you think I barely suggested we hang out in New York?’ Chris asks.

‘You were busy with your new girlfriend.’

‘I made myself busy with my new girlfriend. And she wasn’t my girlfriend then. Just someone I was dating.’

‘Is she your girlfriend now?’ I ask, waiting for salt to enter the emotional wound that’s already open.

He doesn’t answer.

‘Why did you make yourself busy?’

‘Because what was the point in hanging out with you when it won’t do any good?’ Chris says with a sigh. ‘And don’t say because we’re friends. ’

‘I don’t have the answer to that,’ I confess.

‘Neither do I,’ he replies softly.

‘So this is it,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s no point in saying anything else, is there? You don’t want to be friends.’

He shrugs. ‘It’s not don’t want to be . It’s that we shouldn’t .’

‘Are you that irresistible?’ I attempt to defuse the tension with humour.

‘I think it would be a mistake,’ he responds seriously.

This is so pointless. I’m going to go. ‘Fine,’ I answer listlessly. I can’t believe this is happening. Why did he have to say any of this? I hadn’t seen Chris since New York and we’re hardly likely to see each other as the years progress, even when we work for the same company.

‘Are you OK? You’re making the face again,’ he says.

‘I’m not OK actually,’ I reply. ‘I’m angry at you.’

‘Why? I’m doing a good thing. You’re with Josh and you’re happy. Why are you even going to consider messing that up?’

‘I wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be like that. And, Chris, we work together.’ Then I remember. ‘ You recommended me for the job. You put me in your path. Why? And don’t pretend it was only for the financial bonus.’

‘Because I’m an idiot,’ he says softly.

‘You’re not. You’re wonderful and smart and funny, and you make me laugh and you’re so easy to get on with and …’

‘If you’re trying to talk yourself out of being anywhere near me, you’re not doing a very good job.’

‘I’m not the one who’s being weird,’ I say. ‘I’m not the one who doesn’t want to be near you . Why would I not want to be near you. You’re lovely.’

‘So are you.’

‘So why are you doing this?’ I cry.

‘I’m not doing anything,’ he replies. ‘I’m trying so hard not to do anything.’

‘I feel like I’ve just been broken up with, by someone who’s not a friend and who I’m not even dating. This is so weird.’

‘I know. Come here,’ he says and I allow myself to be scooped into an embrace. Chris holds me tightly and it’s bittersweet all over again. His cologne is different from when I last saw him, warm and woody to match the season. I feel his heartbeat against mine, his chest against mine, and it’s more than I can cope with. His lips touch my hair and he lays the gentlest of kisses on my head.

I pull back, look up at him and I know it’s a mistake. He looks down at me. He’s so close to me, and he doesn’t move and neither do I.

‘Don’t kiss me,’ he whispers.

‘Or you won’t win the bingo?’ I whisper back. ‘I’m not going to kiss you.’ But I feel so lost; so lost when it comes to Chris. It’s too late to go back and undo everything – undo how I feel about him.

I feel his breath as he leans towards me: whisky, heat and fire. But he doesn’t kiss me and I don’t kiss him. Instead he lingers for a moment and then pulls back.

‘I’m going to go now,’ he says in a strained voice. And I can do nothing else but watch him leave the room.