Page 37 of Five Gold Rings

The bride nods, and Eve opens it, breaking off a bit for her and placing it in her palm. The bride shoves it in her mouth.

‘I’ve been on a diet for three months. Do you know how much bone broth I’ve had to fucking endure for today?’

Eve shakes her head and hands her another piece of nutty chocolate.

‘Do you want anything else? A cup of tea?’ I ask, trying to be as helpful.

‘I want to kill my maid of honour. Can you do that for me?’ she bites.

There is a difference between boiling a kettle and murder, but I feel now is not the time to point that out to her. ‘I mean, she headed for the stairs. I can make it look like an accident?’

She stops for a moment to try to laugh, scanning both of our faces again.

‘Look, I can see what you’re doing but you don’t have to be here sorting out this mess. It’s Christmas. Thank Mr Caspar for me for getting the ring here. Tell him I’ll still pay him,’ she says, taking some earrings off and tossing them on the floor.

I’m happy with that but Eve doesn’t move from the bed. ‘I just don’t get it,’ she mumbles.

The bride looks surprised. ‘My dad was shagging my best mate. That’s all you’ve got to get,’ she tells us, pointedly.

‘But can I ask… where is your groom?’ It’s an excellent question. We’ve seen a maid of honour, a father of the bride and a best man but someone’s missing who’s an important part of the puzzle.

‘He’s in his room. He had a massive row with the best man and one of his ushers is still drunk from the night before so about as useful as a bag of piss. I tell you, I’m having the worst Christmas ever.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Eve tells her.

The bride’s eyes are wide; half of her mascara is down her cheeks, making her look like she’s just jumped out of a Japanese horror film well. ‘What do you know?’ she tells Eve in accusatory tones.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Abby.’

‘Abby, yesterday I caught my boyfriend of three years getting a blowie in the shower of my flat, so if you want to compare really crap Christmases then I am going to put my hand up in the air and say that I win. I win that all day long.’

I feel a rush of pride, because not so long ago, Eve was stood staring at an ice rink, hardly able to breathe. For her to say that out loud as some sort of comparative exercise and help this girl out is quite a thing.

Abby looks at Eve for a moment. ‘That is shit,’ she says quietly, taking her hand.

‘So I’ve cried all the tears, I know that emotion you’re feeling and I don’t think you need to feel that way. What’s your groom’s name?’ she asks her.

‘Michael.’

‘How long have you been together?’

‘For the longest time, like years. I don’t remember a time without him, you know?’ There’s a faint glow in her cheeks that reanimates her as she recounts that story. ‘He’s my Mikey.’

‘So somewhere in this hotel, there’s still a man who wants to marry you, right? A man who loves you?’

She nods, the tears still flowing. I worry about her dehydrating so hand her a lonely glass of champagne sat on a dressing table.

‘Why Christmas? Why did you want to get married at Christmas?’ Eve asks her, still feeding her chocolate.

‘Because he proposed this time two years ago. In a Christmas market in Prague. It felt right,’ she says, sighing.

‘Then don’t let other people shit all over your plans. Let’s talk to the groom and see if we can save this day? Eh?’ Eve suggests.

‘I can’t see Mike before the wedding…’

‘Can we call him?’ I suggest.

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