Page 38 of Always the Bridesmaid

I surface and jump onto his muscular shoulders, wrestling him under the water, with an awful lot of splashing from both of us.

‘Would you two get a room?’ Will shouts.

When I look, ready to issue a retort, I see he is now playing cards at the table where Sarah and the others are sitting. And so I also find Sarah's gaze, behind large tortoiseshell lenses, fixed on me.

I indulge myself in a nanosecond glance at her smile, then look away, hopefully without attracting the scrutiny of Brooks and Drew, to whom I have promised I will stay clear of Sarah. Or words to that effect.

Ever since they enlightened me as to her past this morning, I understand why they want to protect her. But as I pointed out to them this morning, her interest in me has been limited to my acting as a taxi driver and an unwanted squatter in her bedroom only.

True, we have shared moments of friendliness. And though, as I have been floating around the pool, I have allowed myself to be the smallest bit flattered that the people closest to Sarah might entertain, if only fleetingly, that she could fall for someone as unrefined and ordinary as me, there has been nothing romantic between us.

As the evening wears on, the temperature begins to cool slowly. Edmond and Becky, with the others chipping in here and there, prepare a finger buffet and the cards table becomes the hotspot.

As Sarah and Drew become increasingly competitive and animated, even those who aren’t playing have gathered around to listen to the banter and laughter between them.

I keep my distance, staying in the pool, while the others dip in and out, or come to sit on the side of the pool with their legs dangling in the water to chat to me. All except the key card players, which suits me fine.

It’s 8p.m. before Drew and Sarah call a truce and agree to be joint cards champions. With the girls taking the lead, the group starts to head inside to change out of our swimwear and into warmer but still casual clothes for dinner.

I decide not to perform any naked bathtub antics whilst Sarah uses our room tonight. Instead, I am one of two last men standing as Brooks and I watch the sun slowly making its descent for the day.

‘This is exactly what my soul ordered for dinner,’ he says.

‘The beers or the quiet serenity of the setting sun as a backdrop to this resplendent landscape?’ I ask.

Brooks shifts to look at me with something like astonishment on his face. ‘That was almost poetic.’

I rest my chin on my hands, leaning on the lip of the infinity pool. ‘What can I say? I’m an artist.’

We enjoy the view, occasionally making small talk, until Izzy and Sarah return, ready for dinner.

‘Brooks, can you go get ready? You can’t stay in soggy swim shorts all evening,’ Izzy says, calling over.

‘And just like that, the peace is broken,’ he mumbles, for my ears only.

There’s a part of me that’s happy not to have another half to order me around and tell me when to get dressed for dinner. But as I watch Brooks plant a wet kiss on Izzy’s cheek, then wrap his arm playfully around her shoulders, and Izzy squeal about him making her wet but giggling as she tries to wrestle free, there’s also a part of me that is envious.

Under the guise of watching the exchange between Izzy and Brooks, I allow my eyes to follow Sarah as she moves around the decking. She has changed into an all-in-one that’s electric blue, pulled in at the waist with a belt and floating around her legs down to the ground. It accentuates her height and her figure. Her hair is somehow fixed up, in whatever way women manage to hold up their hair, doubtless precisely placed yet looking effortless.

Effortless. That is how Sarah looks always, actually. Effortlessly beautiful.

She is a disgusting drunk, cantankerous with a hangover, irritable after travel and as hangry as me.

Yet, the sight of her has increased my heart rate. I feel like I’ve had too much caffeine – that combination of excited and nervous energy.

And I realize, true to form, that I now really want what I have been told I cannot have.

I recall Drew’s words from this morning. She’s been through too much to be messed around.

In this instance, I have to heed the advice and let her be.

So, I finish my beer and without interacting with her at all, wrap a towel around my waist and head upstairs to change.

I don’t own designer trousers and expensive Italian shirts like the other guys but I dress in my smartest pair of jeans and one of two shirts I own that isn’t Hawaiian. This is still a floral number but it’s blue and the white flowers are small and subtle, in my opinion. It has long sleeves and, believe it or not, I have decided to tuck it into my jeans. Not only this, but I am also wearing a belt.

My outfit choice has nothing to do with the fact I have seemingly developed a crush on Sarah.

Edmond and Becky’s finger buffet is no ordinary finger buffet. In place of the eighties-style vol-au-vent that is still rolled out at wakes (as if a dollop of tuna mayo in a teaspoon-sized oval of puff pastry is a way to tell the dead how loved they are), Edmond and Becky have made giant love heart-shaped vol-au-vents.

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