Page 2 of The Wedding Game

When we set the outlandish financial cap on what each of us might win, I’m not sure I chose too wisely. At least Scarlet gets to enjoy some of my winnings by accompanying me to the spa. I don’t get to enjoy wearing her shoes. We’re different sizes. Although for Louboutins, which I don’t think I will ever be able to afford, I would willingly squeeze my feet in and endure the agony.

‘You chose badly,’ she decides.

‘Mmm, maybe,’ I agree.

She eyes her instruction from me and then scans the room hungrily for a suitable waiter from whom she can extract amobile number. I watch her laser-beam onto a blond waiter channelling his inner Kurt Cobain, all jawline and a bit too much stubble for this silver-service location – blue, tired eyes pale against his tanned face.

‘Oh, this is almost too easy,’ she says, salivating. ‘I’ve basically already won.’

I scout around for anyone who might be the best man. How soon is too soon to snog someone? I didn’t really get a good look at him, given that Scarlet and I were at the back of the churchandare now sitting at the ‘randoms’ table, placed at the rear of the room with a view of the kitchen door swinging open and closed as waiters pass in and out. She looks at the tight-fitting trousers of the waiter she’s got her eye on as he walks into the kitchen. The guests at our table pay no attention to us nattering away. They’re deep in various conversations, enthusing wildly about the venue and the food.

‘On my bingo card I’ve got “sitting at the back of the room for the sit-down dinner”,’ Scarlet reminds me after the waiter disappears.

‘I know,’ I bristle. ‘I saw.’

‘This is how we know we’re fillers, invited to the day because they’ve booked a one-hundred-guest package and didn’t quite have enough real friends to fill the space.’

Ouch.‘Bitchy but true,’ I agree. I wish I’d included this on my grid. I thought this time we might be in the middle of the room at least.

She ticks that particular bingo square with glee. I’m starting to twitch about losing my spa day.

When we’ve run out of small talk with those around usand the dinner finally ends – both of us ticking off ‘bride cries during her father’s speech’ and ‘best man tells rude in-joke involving stag-do’ – Scarlet downs the rest of her wine, wishes me luck and makes a beeline for the Kurt Cobain waiter lookalike. The wedding party is invited to go through to the library and adjoining snug, for yet more complimentary champagne as we wait for the evening guests to arrive.

I wonder how I’m going to do this. I know vaguely what the best man looks like, now he’s made his speech, but I could hardly stand up from my poor position at the back of the room and stare right at him, so I’m not totally sure I could even identify him in a line-up. The odds are against me, and I wish I’d made Scarlet’s bingo instruction slightly less attainable now, although I do want her to meet someone eventually. But today … the stakes are too high financially for me to lose. I don’t have a job at the moment, I’m living off my tiny inheritance from my gran and I’m still knee-deep in student debt. I can’t afford Louboutins. I can barely afford to eat. I’m going tohaveto snog the best man.

I hope he’s good-looking.

And that he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

I haven’t seen Scarlet for about an hour and I assume she’s got lucky with Kurt Cobain. I’ve been making small talk with the bride’s gran for ages. She parked herself on a stool next to me at the bar and told the bartender she’d be here drinking sherry until the bitter end and that he was to ‘keep it coming’. What a woman! But her attention has been taken up by the return of her husband, and I need some fresh air. I might havedrunk a bit too much over the past hour, so I slip off the bar stool and sidle past people talking and milling about, waiting for something to happen.

A group of classical musicians has taken up residency in the corner. I grope around in my bag for my bingo sheet, so I can tick off ‘string quartet’. Soon they’ll cut the cake and the dancing will begin, at which point I’ll have to start my search for Scarlet. We’re staying overnight and she took the key after we dumped our weekend bags in the room. I should check my friend’s not dead, but I’d also really like the key to the room at some point in the next few hours.

I stand on the terrace, leaning against the stone balustrade and looking out over the immaculate lawn while classical music emanates from the room behind me. The sunshine is blinding. I can’t remember if I have ‘fireworks on the lawn’ on my bingo card. I glance at it and see that I don’t. Given the space out here, there probablywillbe fireworks later.

‘Bugger,’ I say loudly.

‘Hello,’ a man’s voice says.

I scan further along the terrace. ‘Hello,’ I reply, looking into the obviously amused face of a rather good-looking man. From his facial expression, he’s definitely heard my loud swearing. ‘I thought I was the only one out here,’ I admit.

‘Clearly,’ he replies, smiling warmly. He looks about my age and is wearing a navy suit, the same as the other men in the bridal party.

‘Are you the best man?’ I ask hopefully, because he’s got the same dark-brown hair, which is the only part of the best man I could see from the back of the room. If this veryhandsome guestisthe best man, and also single, then I owe Scarlet some serious thanks for setting such an outlandish bingo instruction.

‘No,’ he says, as if I really should know who the best man is by this point in the day. ‘I’m a lowly usher.’

‘Damn,’ I mutter and realise that’s an odd reply. ‘Sorry, I was sitting at the back during the speeches, I couldn’t see who was talking. I thought you might be the best man, given the suit.’

‘Nope. Not guilty. What did you do to get stuck at the back?’

I turn to face him fully, unsurequitehow to respond to this very direct question.

He laughs at my expression. ‘I’m usually stuck on the back table at weddings too. Being single is my only crime,’ he deadpans.

‘Do you think that’s what it is?’ I ask. ‘My friend Scarlet and I double up at weddings, but we didn’t think we were at the back because we were single,’ I say, pondering this. ‘We thought it was because—’

‘Because?’ he prompts as I stop.

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