Page 15 of Always the Bridesmaid

At 8.59p.m., pleased that a shower and a couple of sugary cocktails have lifted my travel weariness, I check my watch. I built in time for us to enjoy the sunset and dinner should be served promptly at—

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to make your way into the dining room, the chef is about to serve your amuse bouche.’

Nine o’clock. Punctual is exactly how I like people when I’m running to a timetable.

We follow the waitress into the dining room, with me last to leave the decking. As I do, I notice an entirely untouched Manhattan cocktail on one of the side tables. Only Becky has been drinking Manhattan cocktails and it is not like her to leave a full drink.

Ruminating as to why Becky might have sneakily left her drink, I follow the others inside to the dinner table.

I’d decided not to go so far as to prepare a seating plan for dinner but I’m pleased to find myself wedged between Becky to my left and Cady to my right. Happily at the opposite end of the table to Charlie.

Finally, I have some breathing space from that man.

I decide to blank any thought of him and the trip I will have to endure with him tomorrow.

The dinner has been paired with matching wines, and an English sparkling rosé from Surrey Downs is presented to the table by the sommelier to accompany our amuse bouche.

When the waiter comes to pour for Becky, I detect nervousness from her. She asks for a small pour.

And a figurative light bulb is switched on above my head…

This is going to be a long old meal if Becky is going to try to conceal the fact she isn’t drinking alcohol for the entire night.

I subtly shift my glass from the right side of my place sitting to the left, where it is now right next to Becky's. Looking my friend in the eye, I take a sip from her half-full glass, then one from my own.

I also realize that I’m going to have a humongous hangover if I help Becky keep up this pretense all night. But if I am right, the reason behind this sudden turn of events will be worth it less than nine months from now.

8

CHARLIE

Sarah is definitely drinking for two. I have been watching her surreptitiously (I hope) and every time a new wine is presented by the sommelier, she drinks from her own glass first and then from Becky’s. I respect whatever loyalty she is showing to her friend in helping to keep up a smokescreen, but in my opinion Sarah is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. This is a six-course tasting menu and the fine-dining courses are far from the size of the pub grub plates I’m used to eating – the kind that soak up liquor.

Still, she seems relaxed, at last. Her true smile, I have noticed, is wide and lights up her entire face, making it sparkle. And her authentic laughter is contagious – loud but feminine, even though I have twice caught her covering a snort with the tips of her fingers, which only made her laugh harder each time.

Perhaps I’ve been wrong about her – partially. She is definitely a people pleaser. Obsessively so. But maybe I have been wrong to think she is taken for granted. It seems like every person at the table adores her.

Maybe her brusqueness with me is more of a reflection of my behavior and my failings. Very possible. I do tend to rub people up the wrong way. Hell, I aggravate myself half the time.

I’m almost jealous of Sarah’s likeability.

I have always had to work hard to gain friends and even harder to keep them. For anyone in my life to like me enough to keep me around, for that matter. Some things never change.

But in honesty, I’m not sure what I have done to alienate Sarah so badly already.

I take a sip of the Sancerre to my right.

Okay, maybe the naked tub joke was a bridge too far. But come on, it was funny.

I chuckle into my glass.

I was chatting with Jake and Cash when we were called inside to be seated for dinner, so happily, while I have engaged in banter from around the table, I have spent most of the time conversing with my buddies. They know me well enough and me them that I haven’t had to perform for the last two hours, which is a welcome relief.

The number of people staying in the house and the back-to-back socializing is starting to drain my energy. And thanks to The King himself, my respite time tomorrow – a nice long drive into London and back with only music for company – has been commandeered by Sarah.

The pouring of dessert wine signals the end of our meal and I am truly devastated. I’m still waiting to feel full and satisfied.

Why people are willing to pay a fortune for a ball of foam on a tiny plate is beyond my comprehension. Foam. Is. Not. Food. It’s air!

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