Page 39 of The Wedding Game

I feel terrible replying to this message when I haven’t replied to his previous one. It’s such a transparent motive. He’ll probably be asleep now, so I send the following, knowing I’ve got a few hours’ grace until Chris wakes up:What kind of job? Because if it’s in interior design, I am obviously going to jump at it.Then I send another one.Thanks for thinking of me.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

That evening Scarlet and I are engaging in one of our favourite evening activities: scrolling through Deliveroo to see what offers are on and what we – I meanwhat I– can afford. I spent the entire day applying for jobs and waiting for the one that Chris teased me with to land in my messages. But nothing comes. I think that’s for the best. If he doesn’t reply with more details about the potential job, I’m not going to chase. I wonder if he’s cooling off on me, sensing I’ve been doing the same.

Or maybe not, as a message lands just as Scarlet and I are about to succumb to a two-for-one pizza offer.

Of course I thought of you. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re kind of hard to forget.

Oh no. I breathe in, breathe out. I put the phone down, then I pick it back up again. How do I handle this? These are words I’d have fallen over myself to hear coming from Chris, twenty-four hours after he left me standing on the gravel drive of the wedding venue. But now …? I can’t encourage Chris. I can’t. Things are moving so swiftly between Josh and me that I can’t doanythingout of the ordinary to hurt either of them.

‘Back in a sec,’ I tell Scarlet as I stroll, far too casually, backto my bedroom for a moment. But she’s too busy placing our pizza order to notice my dilemma.

I’m online, and so is Chris. But I’m not replying because I don’t know what to say. I sit on the edge of my bed, thinking. I’m trying to phrase it in my head, attempting to find the words that mean we can still be friends, but nothing more, because I’m now moving at quite a pace with the man he knows simply as his mate Dan’s best man.

And then I see Chris typing. He hits send.

It is indeed an interior-design job, you’ll be pleased to hear. Or, rather, it’s sort of an interior-design job. You interested?

My attention is now diverted. My new plan is to deal with this potential job and then let Chris down gently, and hope he doesn’t retract his offer to help me land an exciting new job.

An interior-design job?I ask tentatively.Is this for the company you work for?I’m pleased I’ve been spared having to let him down for a moment. I haven’t gone off him. That’s the problem. My feelings for Chris were only growing, not diminishing, and I can’t forget the connection we had. Chris is kind and thoughtful and sent me a job listing. But I hold tightly onto the fact that I’m with Josh, and building something with him is my priority.

He sends a thumbs-up emoji, followed by:We’re opening a hotel in London. Our in-house designer wants someone on the ground over there. It’s more of an admin/assistant role with a design-slant, from what I can work out. You might think it’s a bit beneath you, but take a look?

At this point nothing is beneath me.

He sends a laughing emoji followed by:How are you anyway?

Now is the time to do this, to rip the plaster off and tell him the truth. But I don’t want to look crazed, so I’ll lead in gently.

I’m good. How are you?This is polite. Very small-talky. Anything more than superficial small talk hasgotto be out of bounds now. Josh and I aren’t serious. We’re just seeing each other. It’s a bit more accelerated, pace-wise, than I’d normally go with a man, but he lives so bloody far away – it’s either this or snail’s pace.

Chris is replying to my question, so while he types I click on the link he’s sent.

The job looks great, and the role-profile describes lots of things I feel confident doing already, barring the fact that it mentions a working knowledge of a few software programs I’ve never used. I’ll take a look at some online tutorials and see how I get on. The majority of the job involves running to and from the site in London, being present when needed at all stages of the build for the office team, who need a site liaison. Thereisan element of design involved, as the company wants to use UK-based manufacturers for the interior, so there would be some reporting back to the Head of Design. It sounds like it’s a lot of admin and diary management for delivery schedules too. I can do that. If I go for this and I get it, then it’s closer to any design work than I’ve ever got before.

I assume they want to use British craftsmen while also making this hotel look aesthetically like every other one oftheir properties. I take a look at the hotel chain online and happily find that I’m wrong. Each property has a different aesthetic, depending on where in the world it is. The hotels are small, fewer than fifty rooms, but they’re each individual, homely, elegant, comfortable, expensive and full of tasteful soft furnishings and no sharp edges. Whoever the head designer is, we have the same taste, which feels like a sign. The job also includes occasional travel to their New York office.

This is far too exciting for words. The position is work from home, when not travelling, and I presume that’s because there’s no office in London yet. I think I’m going to apply for this.

I flick back to our chat. Chris’s message lands, telling me about his day, and I want to keep our conversation going, to find outmoreabout his day, his life, what he’s been doing since we last texted properly. I want to know about him and his world, to have deep, meaningful conversations with him and … I hate knowing I can’t do that now. Just for a few seconds longer I bask in our exciting, flirtatious messages of Big Talk and remember that night with him at the wedding, how it felt to be near him. But this has to stop.

It’s now or never. I’m about to end everything between us. I’m about to say goodbye to Chris. Again. It’s the right thing to do, so why does it feel so wrong?

Neither of us types. Then we both start at the same time. I can see him typing, and so this is going to be a rush as to who can reply fast enough. I’m determined it’s going to be me, because I need to get this over and done with and I can’tlet him say anything flirty or suggestive. It’s not fair. I hit send on my message:I’m really enjoying having you as a friend.

He stops typing. The word ‘friend’ has now entered our chat and it should do the trick, because everyone knows what that means. It feels so cruel, but I couldn’t work out how else to do it. I could hardly say, ‘Remember Josh, the best man from the wedding where you and I met and then had to let each other go? Well, about ten minutes after you left I kissed him as part of a game and now I’m shagging him.’

No, I couldn’t do that. Instead we’re entering the friend-zone and no one looks grimy. Only … Chris isn’t typing any more. I’m going to end it as nicely as I can and then I have to go, move on, call Josh and make plans with him.

I finish with:And thank you so much for the job recommendation. It looks perfect.

I follow it up with another message – a kiss so I don’t look rude. I hit send and then, hoping he hasn’t seen it, I quickly tap ‘delete’, remove the kiss and, in doing so, remove a piece of myself.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chris

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