Page 15 of Best Man
“Of course,” Charlie says. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m notworryingexactly.” I tilt my head slightly. Even I can hear the worry. “I’d just be happier if Misha was around. Not that you need him, but you’ve had quite a few episodes lately.”
Charlie steps back, his face closing down slightly. “He’ll be round tonight. He’s got the week planned.” Jesse’s shoulders sag, and his friend smiles. “I’m an adult, Jess. I don’t need to be treated like a–”
“Like a child,” Jesse fills in, smiling wryly. “I know the tune, and I know the lyrics.”
“Well, sing it properly, then,” Charlie advises happily, and, smiling at both of us, he turns and heads back into his flat, oblivious to the woman who nearly walks into a postbox as she stares at him.
Jesses looks at me and laughs. “Happens every time,” he says cheerfully. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I say wryly as we climb into the car. I drive an Audi which, according to the salesman, is known for its spacious interior. He obviously hadn’t travelled with Jesse before though, because sitting next to him it’s like the space has suddenly shrunk. Like we’re in a reverse Tardis where I’m preternaturally aware of the scent of green tea that seems to cling to his skin and that sun-warmed long body.
I should probably break into conversation, but instead I turn the radio up and drive off. We travel in silence for ten or fifteen minutes while I navigate the early morning rush hour. Or at least I travel in silence. Jesse talks, but it’s an easy-going chatter that doesn’t require much beyond an occasional yes or no or a grunt.
It isn’t until we’re heading out of London on the motorway and it’s calmed down a bit that he steps up the chat. “So, tell me about the people who are going to be at this do,” he says, stretching his long legs out and sighing happily.
I shoot him a quick look and go back to staring at the road ahead. “Well, there’s Patrick. Did you ever meet him?”
“No. I’ve heard of him though.” I see him look at me from the corner of my eye. “I’ve heard alotabout him,” he says innocently.
“I’m sure,” I say dryly.
“You were together for five years. That’s a long time.”
I suppress a smile at the casual tone that doesn’t quite conceal the curiosity. “Okay, I’m not one for talking about my private life, but I suppose you deserve to know. We were together for five years and living together for two, but he never entirely settled into the relationship. His family has always had a lot of expectations of him, and settling down with a man wasn’t on that list.”
“Let me guess, settling down with a girl and popping out a few children was.”
I shake my head. “You guessed it.” I shrug. “He cheated. I found out. I expected him to be remorseful. To my surprise, he wasn’t. And that’s it.”
“That’s it?”
The patent incredulity in his voice makes me smile. “What did you expect?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. More.”
“Why? He’d cheated. There was no way back for me after something like that, and he didn’t appear to be looking for forgiveness anyway. He’d lined up my replacement before he left.” I shrug. “Patrick never wastes time. He likes his life to proceed the right way and smoothly. It was never going to be that way with me.”
“And yet you’re his best man. Why?” He huffs. “I wouldn’t have given the wanker the pickings off my nose.”
I look at him curiously, wondering where this passion is coming from. Youth, I suppose. Although I can’t remember being like that. My idealism left me a long time ago to be replaced by resolve. I envy him.
“Listen, Patrick is who he is. He doesn’t pretend to be anything less or anything more. He’s selfish and arrogant and charming. It’s a slightly dangerous combination. But at one point he was my friend. I haven’t got enough of those to cast one aside just because we didn’t work out romantically.”
“Do friends cheat on one another?”
I shake my head. “Lovers do it all the time,” I say cynically. He opens his mouth, and I talk quickly because his youth hurts me somewhere in a tiny spot in my chest. “He asked. He caught me at a weak moment, and I said yes.” I wonder whether he’ll ask what that moment was, but to my relief he doesn’t. I don’t think he’d like the answer.
Instead he says calmly, “Okay, tell me about the rest of the cast.”
“Frances is Patrick’s fiancée. She’s twenty-three, I think. The only child of very rich parents. She’s charming and spoilt, but a good hostess. Her mother and father are Charles and Oona. I believe he’s something big in the city.”
“What does that even mean?” he grumbles. “People always say that and it conjures up an image of Godzilla shimmying up the Shard.”
He surprises a laugh out of me, and I listen to it with disbelief. “It’s how he describes himself. He’s not known for modesty,” I say wryly. “They have a huge home in St John’s Wood and a cottage in the Cotswolds where they rub shoulders with the Camerons.”
“Kevin and Louise?”
