Page 23 of Always the Bridesmaid

‘Shall I order us a few dishes to share?’

I’m thrilled to have someone do the thinking for me and ecstatic when one of those choices is summer rolls, which are cold and so arrive almost instantaneously.

I grab one and dunk it in sauce, two bites and a full mouth later mumbling my appreciation.

‘And I thought I ate quickly,’ Charlie says through half-masticated vegetables. ‘Very impressive.’

‘Why thank you.’ I accept the mock-praise without shame and reach for another roll. ‘It’s my superpower,’ I tell him, also speaking with my mouth full. ‘Also, these are too good for more than two bites.’

‘I agree wholeheartedly.’

Bún th?t nu?ng arrives next, followed by com gà xào x? ?t and finally, udon king prawns. We share each dish evenly, hardly coming up for air.

In less than twenty minutes, we are leaning back against the window panes of the restaurant, both talking longingly about stretchy waistbands and marveling at just how clean we have left the crockery.

It’s the first time I haven’t felt monstrously hungover today and Charlie’s clipped edge seems to have relaxed, too.

‘Sorry if I was a bit of a dick before,’ he says.

When exactly before? I wonder, but in the interests of conciliation and, frankly, surprised to hear an apology, I decide to keep that thought to myself.

‘I can’t stand crowds. Or people, often, but mostly crowds,’ he adds, looking out to the street.

‘You live in London,’ I note, stating the obvious.

‘Yeah, well, you’ve got to live somewhere. London works for comedy.’

I nod. It makes sense. Though I am very much a city girl, I do like to escape from the hive of activity sometimes.

‘I’m sorry, too. I’m not usually so crabby. And I should probably thank you for not making a fuss about last night… In the moment, at least.’

‘You mean for holding your hair and rubbing your back as you purged yuzu foam from your nose?’

That mischievous glint is back in his eyes. I am less offended by it on a full stomach.

‘I take back the apology,’ I say, only half in jest.

‘Sorry, no takie-backies on an apology,’ he says, rising as he does and leaving fifty pounds on the table in notes, placing his empty water glass on top of them.

He flags to the nearest waiter that he has left the money and starts to walk away, expecting me to follow, not stopping until we reach the entrance to Leicester Square Tube station again.

‘Do you remember how I told you to get to Camden?’ Charlie asks. ‘Joe is going to meet you outside The Lock Tavern pub. It’s very… British looking. Wood entrance, gold writing, flower boxes and stuff.’

‘With such a fine description, how could I possibly get lost?’

He sighs. ‘Do you need me to come with you?’

I wouldn’t have said no to the support – new city, clueless on the transport system, strange man acting as an Elvis impersonator. ‘Don’t you want to do a sound check?’

‘Yeah, I do, but—’

I place a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m a grown woman. A city gal. I’ll be fine.’

‘Okay.’ He turns to walk away but gets only so far as two steps before he turns back to me. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Go. I’ll have fun. I’ll see you at the club for the opening set.’

He nods but doesn’t make to leave. ‘Okay. See you then… then.’ Once again, he takes two steps before turning back. ‘Remember, the Chalk Farm stop is closest.’

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