Page 65 of The Wedding Game

It’s a lovely venue: candles flicker inside hurricane lamps and oversized silver lanterns. There are stag antlers and deep tartan everywhere. It’s dark, kind of moody, sexy, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies that Josh and I could disappear into. If only he was here. But it’s fine, because I’m here with my best friend and I’m happy to be her wingman. Only she’s temporarily missing.

I wander through quieter parts of the venue, trying to decide whether it’s feasible to drink five whiskies back-to-back without vomiting. This is my ‘out there’ challenge from Scarlet that I have to tick off, and I’m really not feeling it. First, I hate whisky. Second, I hate whisky. Maybe I could ask for the lightest whisky they have. Is light whisky a thing? I’m looking down at my grid as I walk into a dark little snug-style room with tea lights flickering gently. But instead of walking into the room, I walk straight into someone.

‘Sorry,’ I say as I look up, register the person I’ve crashed into and then step back. I don’t speak for a second and then, ‘What areyoudoing here?’

Chris doesn’t speak. He’s clearly in shock. ‘Wh—’ he starts and then fails to finish. Then he finds his voice. ‘I could ask the same of you. Why are you here?’

‘I’m a guest.’

‘Obviously,’ he says. ‘So am I.’

‘Actually I’m really a plus-one,’ I say, although I’m not sure why.

‘I’m a proper guest.’

‘That’s a weird brag.’

‘You started it,’ he says and we stare at each other again. After a beat, he laughs and so do I.

‘How are you here? Who do you know, to be here?’ I ask. We’re standing in the doorway and as a waiter rushes past in the narrow corridor with a tray of empties, we automatically move inside the vacant room, out of the way.

A crystal decanter of whisky has been placed on a side-table at the edge of the room with clean cut-crystal glasses. This venue is deluxe.

‘Most people from uni are friends with most people from uni,’ Chris replies simply.

‘You didn’t tell me you were coming to the UK,’ I point out, and he looks at me as if to say:why would I tell you?This is a fair point. Why would Chris tell me he was going to be in Scotland when I live in London?

He skirts past my question. ‘Do you want a drink?’ He points at the whisky.

Not one of those, I think, but seeing as there’s nothing else to quaff in here and I have a bingo square to tick off, I say, ‘Sure. A small one. You having one?’

‘Yeah.’ He pours two measures and hands me a glass and I look at it.

‘You don’t like whisky,’ he says, like some kind of psychic.

‘How do you know?’

‘You made that exact same face when I said we were going ice-skating.’

‘Ah, crap! Sorry. I became resigned to that, and I’m resigned to this too because I need to drink five of these in order to stand a chance of winning the bingo game tonight.’

Chris looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. ‘Ohhh myyy Goddd,’ he says slowly. ‘The bloody wedding bingo. You’re still doing that?’

I laugh as he looks back at me. ‘What do you mean? It’s our weddingthing– mine and Scarlet’s.’

‘OK. Confession,’ he says. ‘Wait for it …’ He pulls a piece of paper out of his suit jacket pocket, holds it out to me.

I breathe in sharply and then I snatch it from him excitedly. ‘You’re playing wedding bingo too!’ I cry.

‘Sure am. It’s kind of silly. But my friend and I are here together and he had no idea what the hell I was on about when I suggested we do it. But I think we’re playing it right.’

I look back down at the instructions on his sheet, glancing at the top few. ‘This is very entry-level,’ I tell him. ‘Playing it safe.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he jokes. ‘C-minus? See me after class?’

I hand it back. ‘You’ve ticked quite a lot off already, though.’

‘Because it’s so entry-level?’ he jibes. ‘I’m doing well,’ he says proudly. ‘I didn’t understand who had to set the really-hard-to-achieve challenge. That’s the bit I couldn’t explain. Do I set my own challenge or does Dan set mine? Neither of us could work out what made the most sense. So, in the end, I set his and he set mine. It felt like the right way round.’

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