Page 7 of Something Borrowed

“What is?”

“Never mind. So, Stan is out with Bennett again. That seems to be getting pretty serious?”

My stomach churns, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick. “Yeah,” I say quietly, my mood shifting downhill. “God knows why. Bennett is far too old for him, and bossy doesn’t even begin to cover his personality.”

“But Stan likes him?”

“So it seems.” I shake off that depressing thought and reach for the buttons on my jeans before pausing. “Okay, I’m going to get dressed, but there’s a teeny problem.”

“Oh god.” Joe sighs.

Nigel eyes me through the mirror. “Have we got to stop again so you can exchange more clothes with another stranger?”

“I actually did know that one.”

“Biblically,” Joe adds.

Nigel ignores us. “Do you need to have a shower installed in the taxi, sir? Or maybe I should ring for a masseur?”

“No, but I need to get dressed, and I’m afraid I forgot my underwear.”

“You naughty little minx,” Joe says.

Nigel rolls his eyes. “I’m quite sure you haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before, sir, but do try to keep the flashing to a minimum. The mayor of London has probably legislated against that, too.”

“Good bloke,” I announce cheerfully. I kick off my shoes and wriggle out of my jeans before manoeuvring myself into my suit trousers with a great deal of swearing.

“I can’t believe you’re going commando to Moira’s wedding,” Joe says in a far too admiring tone. “Her mother has a fit of the conniptions if someone rolls up their sleeves.”

“She’s unlikely to know unless I split my trousers like you.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.”

“Time?” I say, reaching for the socks and shoes inside my bag.

“Ten forty.”

“Oh fuck.” I fan my hand in front of my face after putting on my footwear. “The bride arrives at eleven. I feel faint.”

“Faint after,” Joe says unsympathetically.

“If I fall and hit my head, will Jed let me off?”

“No.”

“Well, at least I’m nearly dressed. That’s one thing in my favour. I’ll look nice in my coffin when he murders me.”

“The morning you’re having, you should clutch at all the straws you can find.”

I pull on the shirt, fastening the cuffs with ease of practice, feeling my heart rate settle a little. I can face most things if I’m properly attired. I pull the shirt across my chest and pause, looking down uncomprehendingly. I pull it again and then again. “Bollocks,” I whisper.

In the midst of my great emergency plan, I’d forgotten that Bobby was smaller than me. I look over at Joe, feeling like I might throw up. “It won’t button up.”

He stares at me for a long few seconds, his mouth working, and I wonder if he’s going to cry. Then he bursts into laughter.

“Oh, fuck off,” I say sourly, pulling at the shirt as if I’ve suddenly become a magical tailor and can make it enlarge withthe power of my own hands. “Motherfucker. Why did I borrow a shirt from him of all people?”

Joe snorts again, wiping his eyes. “I can’t wait to tell Lachlan.”

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