Page 40 of Five Gold Rings

‘Here, help me with my buttonhole?’ he asks me, handing me a red rose. ‘I’ve never been a best man before. I feel guilty, I didn’t even throw him a proper stag do,’ he jokes.

I poke the pin through the flowers on his lapel and straighten it for him. ‘Well, I’m chief bridesmaid and I don’t even know her last name…’ Both my hands on his jacket collar, I smooth it out with my fingers and catch his glance for one small moment. Blue eyes. I’ve not noticed them before, not in this way and surrounded by the glow of all these lights. Why have I not noticed you before? Santa joins us under the trellis for a moment, settling in to officiate.

‘I prefer this set-up,’ he says, looking around approvingly. ‘Downstairs, there was going to be some sort of Christmas dancing flash mob coming down the aisle with children dressed up as penguins,’ he mutters, flicking through some notes. ‘Well done, you two. Now, kiss,’ he tells us.

Both of us look at Santa, confused. ‘We’re not the ones who should be kissing,’ I explain, hoping he’s not had a senior moment and forgotten who he’s marrying today. He points to the top of the trellis under which we stand, where a sprig of mistletoe hangs from the top.

‘I believe it’s both Christmas and a tradition,’ he tells us. ‘And bad luck if you don’t. And this couple don’t need any more bad juju on a day like today.’

‘Did you just make that up, Santa?’ Joe asks him.

He looks affronted. ‘You forget, I am Santa. I make the rules. It’s what I do. Now please, kiss. I have a wedding to officiate…’

Joe turns to face me and puts his palms up in the air to suggest we may as well just make the big man happy. But what’s the deal? Are we going for the cheek? A quick peck on the lips? While I’m still dithering, he leans in, and kisses me gently. I close my eyes, feeling his lips on mine, parted gently, the warmth of his breath, our bodies pulled into each other. I inhale sharply and then relax, my whole body relenting.

‘There you go, Santa,’ Joe says, stepping back from me and I see his face blazing with emotion, embarrassment maybe? I can’t talk so I exhale softly, pausing as he edges away from me. What on earth just happened there? I hear Santa chortling and then he winks at me. I don’t quite know why.

‘Eve…’ I snap back into the room at the sound of Joe’s voice. ‘Places?’ he jokes.

‘Oh, yeah,’ I say, still in some high state of happy shock, heading to the lobby to find the bride in her massive domed dress, pitched around her waist like a gazebo.

‘Bouquet, young lady,’ I tell her, handing her a bunch of red and white roses.

‘Thanks, Eve.’ She beams, shimmying her shoulders around. ‘Let’s get married!’

And as we turn out into that rooftop garden to the sound of John Legend, me the ever-faithful lone bridesmaid, I can’t quite breathe. It’s a crisp December day, the sky blue and misty and the hum of London sings to us from below.

I look up. At Joe. We kissed. We don’t do that sort of thing. I tell myself not to stare at him. At the end of that aisle. With his blue eyes. In that tux. This is not what we do.

Joe

SHITTING HELL. WE KISSED. I MIGHT DIE.

You won’t die. Tell me everything. Where is she? Is she next to you?

No, because I’m in the toilet, texting you and having a mild panic attack.

Which toilet?

The toilet of some 5* swish hotel. I’m best man at someone’s reception.

This is news. I’ll find out more later. Look, just stay cool.

I AM NOT COOL.

Stop using caps.

I CAN’T.

Do I need to come there and sedate you?

So, I am not quite sure what happened there. We were stood on that rooftop garden, under the lights, and I was showing Eve the newfound excitement of the snow machine and suddenly a man dressed as Santa was haranguing us into kissing because, well, mistletoe. And it was a blur. I blame Santa. For all of it.

As I return to the table of the hotel restaurant, where we are having the world’s smallest wedding reception, I think about the best approach moving forward. I need to downplay the kiss completely and not look like it affected me in any way at all. I just got to kiss you, Eve. No biggie. Be cool, Gabriel said. Don’t do some strange happy dance in the middle of this very upper-class establishment with their fabric napkins and tiny forks.

‘JOE!’ Abby squeals as she sees me coming back to the table. Abby is married now and immensely drunk as she and Mike feel it essential to make a large dent in the champagne that was supposed to serve two hundred and fifty people. She throws her hands around me and kisses me on the cheek. I like how love saved the day, how they realised its importance above everything else. Teary but genuine vows were traded on that rooftop and I, for the first time in my life, was best man, wedding planner, ring bearer and official witness. I hope they name a child after me.

‘Santa’s got the shots in,’ she tells us. ‘You joining?’ Santa is not in a good way. He, too, has had champagne and at least two turkey dinners and I worry given it’s one of his busiest work nights.

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