Page 30 of Always the Bridesmaid

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘I… Yes. Sure thing.’

Rude. Abrupt. Grumpy as hell. This is the Charlie I first met. One minute, he’s the Devil and the next he is Stage Angel. Whiplash doesn’t give justice to the car crash that is Charlie’s ever-changing personality.

It’s as if someone has taken out Charlie’s proverbial batteries. He looks spent. His body is hunched as we walk to the underground station and when we get on the train, he slumps into a seat, leaning his head back, his eyes closed.

I find him impolite and feel sorry for him simultaneously. Whilst I am desperate to get back to my friends, in the luxurious house I have booked for us all, once Charlie and I are back in Clapham and making our way back to his place, I feel obliged to offer, ‘We could stay here tonight, if you would rather not drive.’

I am devastated when he visibly perks up.

‘Are you sure? We could head back first thing in the morning.’

‘Well, I would need to be back super early. Before Jess wakes up and realizes I’ve been missing. It will defeat the point of the secret surprise if I have to tell her where—’

‘Deal.’

I open my mouth to protest but given it was my idea to stay, what can I say now? My attempt to dissuade him with the early rise was an epic failure.

Back in his flat, we stand side by side in the single bedroom, staring at the double bed.

‘I’ll take the futon in the lounge,’ I offer, not at all wanting to sleep on a hard, rickety futon.

‘I can’t let you do that. I’ll take the futon,’ Charlie says.

But as I stare at the dark-grey sheets on the bed, wondering how many nights Charlie has slept in them and, more importantly, what he might have done in them, I think the futon might be the lesser of two evils.

‘I’ll change the sheets,’ Charlie says, shaking his head as he leaves the room, clearly having read my mind.

Sorry, not sorry. God only knows how gross single men living alone might be.

When I finally lie back on the bed, I sink into the mattress with a sigh. It has been another long day.

So far, this visit to England has not been at all what I had envisaged.

Lying in corpse pose and trying to visualize my yoga classes and how quickly I am able to relax at the end of them, I close my eyes and feel my limbs begin to sink into the mattress.

Then I hear the almighty roar of the grizzly bear snoring from the futon.

Pulling a pillow across my face, I speak loudly into it.

‘You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me!’

13

SARAH

‘Charlie,’ I whisper, gently rocking his shoulders where he lies on the futon, all crooked and looking like he’s been hit by a truck, wearing only his boxers, and a passer-by has haphazardly thrown a blanket over his legs. ‘Charlie. Wake up.’

Like an old banger of a car that has just been jumped, he goes from dead to sparking with life, springing bolt upright.

‘What? What’s happening?’

I’m crouched down on my haunches next to his make-shift bed and reach for a mug of coffee I have set down on the floor next to me. ‘We need to get going. If we’re much later, the others will be awake by the time we get back to the house.’

He scrunches his face like a squirrel might and rubs his eyes.

‘What time is it?’

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