The coffee machine grumbles to a start and the lady behind the counter catches me tidying myself up. ‘Who’s getting married?’ she asks.
‘Their names are Adele and Vincent.’
‘Friends of yours? Family?’
‘Oh no, I’ve never even met them.’ She smiles politely. That sounded weird, didn’t it? She now thinks I’m here to stake the thing out and run down the aisle to tell Vincent I love him. Or maybe I’m a wedding crasher. ‘I’ll rephrase that. I know the usher who is Adele’s brother. He had a plus-one invite and asked me to come along.’
I see her shoulders relax. This makes far more sense. Themilk steamer shrieks in the background. ‘And you and Adele’s brother…?’
I put a hand to the air to calm down that chat. ‘Just friends. We work together.’
‘Gotcha. And where’s the reception?’ she asks, seemingly grateful for the conversation.
‘Some big London hotel. I believe we’re being transported by double-decker buses after the ceremony too.’
‘Very nice. Chocolate on the top?’ she asks. I nod and she gets out a snowflake stencil.
‘I will be sure to direct any stray wedding traffic this way today too.’
‘Angel. Oh, look…here comes said traffic now. You work your magic very quickly,’ she says smiling.
I turn and see a figure in a tuxedo headed towards the door, push at it and peek their head through. ‘You’re here,’ a familiar voice says.
‘I am. Come in, don’t let all the warm air out of the place.’
Frank steps through the door. I am not quite sure what to say. Yes, he’s in a tuxedo and it’s been tailored exceptionally well with a fetching red bow tie, but he accessorises it with a big puffer coat that I know he wears for work, big padded gloves and a backpack. I see Stella behind the counter bite her lip trying not to laugh.
‘You look like James Bond when he has to go to the mountains. Straight from the casino to the slopes, all the secret documents in your backpack.’
He doesn’t laugh. ‘My sister is furious I didn’t get a proper coat for this. No one told me I had to buy a special coat.’
‘On the other hand, you will be the warmest person in the room. It’s practical,’ I argue. ‘Stella, could I get a latte for my friend, Frank here?’
Frank shakes his head. ‘No caffeine. Or I’ll need to pee.’
‘There are toilets here,’ Stellaexplains.
‘Maybe a hot chocolate?’
‘With marshmallows? Cream?’ she asks.
I nod. Give him the works and it might calm him down. Frank is often operating at quite a skittish level but today it feels even worse. He keeps his eyes focused on the outside of the church while I study his face, urging him to take a stool overlooking the window so he can relax a little. There are things to say but maybe I won’t bring them up.
He takes off his gloves and bag and looks at me. ‘Go on, say it. Ask me about my eyebrows.’
I pout, trying to find the words. He brought them up, not me. There’s no other way of saying it, but the area around his eyebrows looks particularly angry.
‘The haircut is very good. Is that a fade? A bit of product? I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair looking so sleek,’ I say, trying to divert attention away from his face. It also looks like he’s had a good shave, not that Frank grows facial hair particularly well but he definitely looks better than most days in the office.
‘No one told me that waxing hurt. Like really hurt,’ Frank tells me.
‘Well, it’s ripping hairs out at the follicle, Frank. It was always going to sting,’ I explain. Stella comes over with our coffees including a hot chocolate creation I’ve only ever seen given to children in what looks like a sundae bowl, candy canes sticking out the top. ‘What happened then?’
‘So it was this big Turkish man who did my hair and he had hot towels like on airplanes and it was lovely. But then he got this wax stuff and put it up my nose, it was on the end of sticks and he was layering this stuff around my eyes, and then he just started ripping.’
I sit there, flaring my nostrils, trying not to laugh as he tells this story with such pain in his eyes. ‘And where was Leo in all of this?’
‘He started filming after the first scream when he realised I was crying.’