Page 79 of The Wedding Game

The hotel is still a building site, and we’ve been given hi-viz jackets and hard hats, as usual. Chris blends into a sea ofneon yellow as he moves around, inspecting the space and talking to the fit-out team.

We’re a little bit behind schedule, but Max and Chris both assure me this is usual, so while the fit-out guys are hovering with their instructions and drawings, boxes and toolkits, the painters and decorators are working as fast as they can to finish and make space for the next crew. The site manager looks harassed, so I hand him the coffee that I’ve not drunk from yet and he goes off to bark instructions at someone.

I can’t wait to see it all finished. Max allowed me a lot of input into the fixtures, fittings and furnishings aspect of the design, whittling down hoards of samples into a select few of my favourites for each item of furniture or furnishings. I’d discuss with him why something would or wouldn’t work in the space, how it would affect the overall aesthetic of each room and fit the hotel’s brand. Part of the large building was once the home of a prominent map-maker working in the late nineteenth century. Given that the hotel brand loves to nod to what the building was once used for, I’ve had great fun buying old maps from eBay and Etsy. I’ve learned so much from Max. I’ve decided I’m going to do a proper interior-design course as I want to learn so much more.

Until then, I can’t wait to see how the items Max and I have chosen together will look. After seeing a first mock-up of how a space will appear, nothing compares to watching it finally come to fruition before your eyes. All those colours on a mood board converge into a room. A space becomes cosy, habitable, desirable, real.

At the end of the day I suggest that we take the sitemanager for a well-earned drink and Chris recommends a bar round the corner. Only the site manager cries off at the last minute, so Chris and I stand at the bar, a bit uncertain what to do. This contravenes our rule not to be alone.

‘Do you think we should—’ I start at exactly the same time Chris says, ‘Oh yes! They’ve got a Happy Hour.’

‘Uh … OK,’ I reply. Looks like we’re doing this, then.

We order two drinks each, to take advantage of the remaining fifteen minutes, and Chris pays.

‘I’ll get the next ones,’ I offer when we’re sitting on our tiny back-less bar stools.

‘They’ll be full price then,’ Chris warns me.

‘Oh, well played,’ I say, looking at him properly for the first time since he arrived in London.

He laughs, suggesting, ‘We can split the bill for all of it.’

I realise I’ve missed seeing him in person, although we’ve spoken quite a bit for work, and we manage to tack on a friendly conversation or life update occasionally too. We’ve at least been adult about that recently.

We hold up all four of our drinks, one in each of our hands, and clink them together. ‘Cheers!’

He looks good. Chris always looks good. He’s tanned as if he’s been on holiday, and I ask him if he’s been away. He nods and tells me he went to Palm Springs for a week. That explains why his out-of-office was on the last time I sent him a new set of drawings. The tan suits him. Everything suits him. I refocus, as Chris is telling me he saw an offer in theNew York Timesand went for it.

‘You and Tinder Swipe?’ I probe.

‘No. Just me.’

‘Really?’ I ask in surprise. ‘By yourself?’

He pauses for a second. ‘By myself.’

‘Are you still doing that?’ I enquire in awe. ‘Finding yourself?’

He makes a gagging noise. ‘Yeah. Sort of. I’ve never been on holiday on my own before. It was great. Strangely great. No pressure. I needed a bit of no pressure. Because there’s a lot of pressure, now I’m over here.’

‘How long are you over for?’ I ask after we’ve winced at how strong our drinks are.

‘A week. I’m in an Airbnb,’ he says. ‘But I’ll be back once a week every month from now on, to get this all over the finishing line. In December I’m here for two weeks back-to-back at Christmas. One week for work and then one week with my family. I’ve not spent Christmas in London in … for ever.’

‘Nice,’ I say absently and then I realise. ‘Oh, you’ll be here for my leaving and Christmas party all-in-one. Do you want to come? It’s the week before Christmas, which is a busy time for everyone, I know, so we’re booking people in now.’

‘Leaving?’ he asks with surprise. ‘What are you leaving? Not this job, surely?’

‘London,’ I say. ‘I’m moving in with Josh.’

‘Oh,’ he replies simply. I watch his expression. ‘Congratulations, I guess, is the right thing to say.’

We’re friends now. We can do this.

‘Thanks.’ I sip my cocktail. ‘Scarlet and I had some fast decisions to make,’ I continue.

‘I’d imagine it’s tricky when one of you wants to move out and the other doesn’t,’ Chris says.

---