Page 89 of The Fall-Out

‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘Late as always, haha.’

She swept into the room as if her entrance was the most the important thing that would happen that day. At the end of the aisle, I saw Matt turn, his face alight with excitement and then falling into bewildered surprise – Wait, what? They’ve changed who I have to marry?

Just in time, we hustled Abbie out of the way so that he wouldn’t see her, even though he was going to in a few seconds anyway.

‘My God,’ Kate whispered. ‘What is she like?’

‘Unreal,’ murmured Rowan.

I might have said something too, but I have no idea what it was. I felt numb with shock, all the excitement of the day vanishing like the bubbles in a bottle of champagne that had been shaken so vigorously there was no fizz left.

Somehow, we got Abbie into the room and up to the table where Matt, his brother and the celebrant were waiting. Then we took our seats and the ceremony began.

I can’t recall a word of it. Throughout, I was conscious of Zara behind me, feeling her eyes burning the back of my carefully pinned-up hair like lasers, so I could almost smell the popcorn fumes of it. Patch was there too, somewhere behind me. I imagined her sitting next to him, her hand in his where mine should have been.

I wouldn’t have put it past her.

‘It’s okay,’ Rowan whispered to me, in the few moments when the register was being signed and a ripple of happy chatter filled the room. ‘You’ve got this. Just ignore her.’

And so I did. As best I could, throughout the champagne reception and photographs and into the dinner. We bridesmaids were seated at the top table with Abbie, Matt and their families. I could see Patch, a couple of tables away, sitting next to a woman in a yellow hat who I didn’t know, Andy on his other side. He’d been briefed by Matt, clearly, because I saw him topping up Andy’s glass with water whenever it was empty, before filling it with wine again when the water was drunk.

Zara had found herself a seat, somehow, over in the corner of the room with a group who I guessed were university friends of Abbie’s. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her chatting, drinking, laughing, the plate of food in front of her untouched. Although she was in my peripheral vision, her presence filled my mind as if she was inches away from me, laughing in my face.

The speeches happened. The cake was cut. Abbie and Matt had their first dance, their bodies pressed together and their smiles radiant.

Then other couples began to fill the dance floor in the appointed pattern: Abbie’s mum and Matt’s dad, Kate with Matt’s brother Ryan, me in the arms of a colleague of Matt’s whose name I can’t recall. He’d spilled something down the front of his shirt, and I worried that it would rub off on my dress.

Zara was dancing with Patch. Of course she was. I couldn’t know whether she’d asked him or he’d asked her, but there they were, the best-looking couple in the room – her hair the same colour as his black jacket, but shinier, her skin almost as pale as the white shirt pressed against her cheek, only pearly and perfect – her body twining against his like jasmine climbing a wall.

But she was also drunk. I could see how she needed to cling to Patch’s shoulders to stay balanced in her high heels, and when I caught a glimpse of her eyes I noticed that their brilliant green irises were red-rimmed.

Leave him alone, my mind screamed. Stay away – he’s mine. Don’t break what I’ve waited so long to have.

My relationship with Patch had never felt as fragile as it did in that moment, or my love for him as intense.

When the music changed and the couples pulled away from each other, laughing, clapping and regrouping for the next dance, Zara stayed where she was, her arms around Patch’s neck, her face turned up to his. I smiled at the man I’d been dancing with – or tried to – and muttered something to excuse myself.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I moved to the other side of the room, trying to get closer to Patch – to rescue him, or rescue myself. When I got close enough for him to see me, he caught my eyes and smiled, a rueful, weary, eye-rolling smile, then held up his hand, the fingers outstretched to make a number two.

I’ll be with you in two minutes.

That wasn’t good enough. I needed to reach him now, prise Zara off him if I had to, claim what was my own.

But before I could approach them, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

‘Don’t stress, babe,’ Rowan said. ‘Abbie’s going to throw her bouquet now. Chin up, smile. You’re beautiful and he loves you.’

‘But she?—’

‘It’s going to be okay. We don’t want a scene, do we? It’s Abbie’s day.’

That was the reminder I needed. I reached over and squeezed Rowan’s hand and let her lead me away to the table where the cake was resting, three tiers of white icing as smooth as Zara’s dress, twined with green leaves and silver bells.

‘Gather rounds, folks!’ Ryan called over the music, which immediately dropped in volume. ‘Ladies at the front. Let’s see who’s going to be the lucky one.’

Someone helped Abbie up on to a chair. She teetered as if she was about to fall, laughing, and then grasped Matt’s shoulder to steady herself, her bouquet held high in her other hand.

‘I was always shit at PE,’ she warned, ‘this might not go very far, so come close.’

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