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Six

Passing a pair of rumpled teenagers kissing like the end of the world was looming, Alex spied Lucy leaning against a magenta wall, a framed Depeche Mode “Master and Servant” poster keeping her company. “You and Harry looked cosy.”

“Nah, we’re just taking pity on each other.” Lucy adjusted the slipping shoulder strap on Alex’s dress. “He’s so hospitable, making sure I’ve got a drink. No wonder Bespoke is such a success.”

Right on cue, the twenty-five-year-old appeared at Lucy’s elbow with two flutes of champagne. “Here you go, ladies. Tom’s parents bailed, so he’s asked me to circulate. I’ll catch you in a bit…”

Alex waited to speak until the club owner was out of reach. “Two glasses?” Her lips hovered over the flute’s rim. “I bet this one was Harry’s until I hijacked you.” She gulped a mouthful, followed by another.

“Nice try, Ms. Matchmaker. Dating Harry would be like dating your brother. Anyway, I’m still stuck on that other blond.”

“Why don’t you just tell Charlie you like him? Why torture yourself, wondering if he feels the same way? It’s better to know.”

“Never say never. With a little Dutch courage, anything’s possible. Maybe I’ll pounce on him at New Year’s.”

Lucy exhaled slowly and walked with Alex towards the wooden stairwell leading upstairs. Their new vantage point would keep them safe from flailing arms but still offer a view of their friends’ dancing shenanigans. “I don’t want to make it awkward. I think he sees me as just his flatmate, nothing more.” Lucy sighed. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh?”

Pharrell Williams gave way abruptly for ABBA’s “Voulez-Vous.” Lucy bobbed her head to the music and laughed, catching sight of the guys pulling disco moves with Naomi that would make John Travolta cringe. “Simon’s rat-arsed. He’d never crease up his suit like that if he was sober.” She squealed and leaned into Alex. “Check out Mark! He’s learned a thing or two from Freddie, all those nights at Zippers before he met you. Fuck, he’s got moves—look at those hip thrusts. It’s almost pornographic. All the better for you, eh, babe?”

Lucy’s words evaporated into the music. Alex was lost in her champagne’s bubbles, her mind elsewhere.

“And speaking of pornographic, my jaw aches! It’s hard work, blowing the Harrow rugby team behind the bar, and then Tom strolled up and asked, ‘Where’s mine?’ And I said, ‘Piss off. I’m not one of your old tarts looking for a final fling.”’ She poked Alex with her elbow.

“Sorry…you what?”

“God, if the blowjob line didn’t pull you back, I feared where I’d be headed next…”

Alex lowered her brows. “Blowjob?”

“Never mind. You were off on another planet just then, probably picturing what the two of you will get up to later—not that I blame you.”

“Right…”

Lucy playfully placed her hand on Alex’s forehead. “You okay? Your man’s been away for six weeks and a shag isn’t top of mind? If I were you, I’d say screw the reception and get busy with him in the loos.”

“No, it is top of mind, it’s just—”

“It’s just what? What are you waiting for? Mark’s crazy for you—sickeningly so.” She pointed to the dance floor. “Just look at him, he keeps spinning around, waving you over…voulez-vous. Ha! Why the fuck are vous still here with me? Get in!”

Alex ignored Lucy’s orders, her thoughts wandering again. “If we’re crazy for each other and hate being apart, we should…get married.”

Lucy spluttered on a mouthful of champagne. “M-M-Married?” She bent forward, her hand flying to her mouth. Cough, cough, cough. “B-But you’re”—cough cough—“only twenty-f-f-four.”

“You okay?” Alex rubbed her friend’s back.

“Are you?” Lucy straightened up, her eyes watering. Cough. “That went down”—cough— “wrong way.”

Alex watched her boyfriend whooping it up with Freddie and Simon on the dance floor, a hint of wistfulness in her eyes.

Lucy swallowed again and again, the burning in her throat refusing to fade. “You haven’t even hit your two-year anniversary and you’re thinking marriage?”

“It’s in less than two months.”

Lucy glanced at the boys and then at her friend. “Lex, seriously? You’ve never been one to doodle Mrs. Mark Keegan in the margins of your plays. Why are you suddenly all wedding obsessed?”

“Keep your voice down.” Alex clenched her jaw. “I’m NOT obsessed.”

Lucy threw a hand up in the air defensively. “Okay, if you say you’re not, you’re not. Don’t get shirty—I’m just trying to understand where you’re coming from.” She blew out her cheeks.