Page 39 of Always the Bridesmaid

One such delicacy has been filled with mixed roasted Mediterranean-style veg and topped with creamy, salty feta cheese and fresh herbs. A second has been filled with cream cheese, smoked salmon, dill and capers.

Rather than those packet dips I see at my mates’ house parties – the cheap ones from the supermarket with sour cream and onion, cheese and chive, onion and garlic, and Thousand Island dips – Edmond and Becky have prepared a bright and fresh salsa verde, a mixed tomato, slightly smoky, slightly spicy salsa, and a creamy mushroom and tarragon whip.

Where I would usually snap and dip a cheap breadstick, on this table there are warm, light home-made flatbreads and rainbow-colored crudité on ice.

The off-duty chefs have slow roasted and shredded pork chipotle, served with all the trimmings to make burritos. There are home-made Scotch eggs, the centers oozing when they are cut – I wonder if Sarah will find them so disgusting now. There are spinach and ricotta filo parcels, which, despite being veggie, are mega tasty.

Basically, I am going to find it difficult to move from the table for the duration of the evening.

Everyone is in good spirits and whilst I don’t want to seem mushy, I am warmed by how dizzily in love Jake and Jess appear to be. They are more of a subtle PDA couple usually, more likely to banter than hug in front of others, but tonight they are like loved-up teenagers. A stroke here or a pet there, with an occasional hug or a kiss. But most importantly, they are laughing together, and that is what I love most about the two of them.

They were friends with benefits for a while but when they finally saw what everybody else had been able to see for months, that they are perfect for each other, they transitioned seamlessly into being a couple, yet still retained that sense of fun and playfulness.

I’m happy for them, though maybe the churning in my stomach that I am occasionally feeling tonight is also a bit of the green-eyed monster.

That, or I really need to move away from the finger buffet.

I’m beginning to see Sarah as the Monica of this friendship group. The woman loves a bit of organized fun. But I am also a fan of a party game, so when she declares it’s time to pin the top hat on the groom and pin the veil on the bride, I am up for it.

Grabbing one more Scotch egg, I follow the cohort into the lounge where, stuck to a wall (the owner of this place will not be happy about that) is a giant cardboard bride and a giant cardboard groom, each with movable limbs, attached with those little gold butterfly clips kids use to make Christmas decorations in school.

I remember making a Santa Claus one year with those kinds of clips. His arms and his legs moved, and I was super proud of him. My teacher had beamed when she said I could take my artwork home for Mummy and Daddy; they always forgot that I didn’t come from a regular family, with a regular mum and dad, and always seemed to trip over their feet with me.

But the making of my dancing Santa Claus is such a vivid memory, not because my teachers told me to take it home to my parents, who I didn’t have, but because that year I had been placed temporarily with a family who didn’t believe in Christmas. There had been no tree, no church service or Christmas stories read by a fire. I had taken my dancing Santa Claus home and tucked it under my bed pillow. Then, whilst my foster parents and their other foster children had watched television and ate sausages and mashed potato for dinner, I had stayed in my room, hidden in the wardrobe so that the other children didn’t see me and make fun of me. And I had sung Christmas songs that I had learned in school and made my Santa Claus dance to the music.

The memory causes me to look around the room and feel immeasurably grateful for being in this room full of love tonight. It also makes me mourn the inevitable loss of my friends, old and new, knowing this week, like all good things, will end.

There is something about silly party games when everyone is in a jovial mood that makes them funny when they would otherwise be ridiculous. As a group, we heckle and jeer as each person is blindfolded and the top hat is pinned on the bride’s face, on the groom’s feet, not on the bride or groom at all. As the bride’s veil is pinned on the groom’s abdomen, on the groom’s elbow and on the bride’s right leg.

‘Okay, Charlie, you’re up,’ Sarah says.

It is legitimate, given she has addressed me, that I look at her. That smile. That sparkle she has in her eyes when she is organizing things and taking care of people.

I step up to the wall and face her. She moves her body to within inches of mine and her proximity overwhelms me. My entire body, from head to toe and every limb in between, is energized by her. By the feel of her fingertips as they graze my face when she ties a blindfold around my eyes. By her perfume, which I can’t name but which doesn’t stick in my nose and make my eyes water like others do because they’re so overpowering. It is subtle yet intoxicating. Just like Sarah.

I inhale deeply through my nose but slowly, so as to not give me away. And when Sarah asks if I can see through the blindfold, I lie and tell her I can, just so I can feel her fingertips again as she adjusts the material.

Now, readjusted, I can in fact see.

All the better to play pranks, my dear, I think.

Peering beneath the blindfold, I lift my head slightly and pin the top hat on the groom’s crotch, moving the groom’s butterfly pinned arms to hold it in place. Then in my best impression of Jake, I say, ‘Hey babe, what are you doing? It’s bad luck to see my dick before the wedding!’

I then pin the veil on the bride’s movable arms and whoosh it around dismissively. In my best impression of Jess, I say, ‘Jake, honey, come on, it’s not as if we didn’t get pissed and shag each other one thousand times before we stopped pretending we weren’t in love.’

‘Jess, my parents are here, for crying out loud!’ I retort in Jake’s voice.

Then as Jess, I say, ‘Babe, it’s okay, your mum has seen it all before. And I just want her and you to know that I’m not marrying you because of the size of your penis, I’m marrying you despite that.’

It’s a little uncouth to laugh at your own jokes but when I see the mixture of mortification on Jake’s face and horror and blushing amusement on his mother’s, then see Jess hiding behind her fingers, I burst into uncontrollable laughter.

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ I look at Jake apologetically. ‘I know your small penis is a real sensitive topic. Sorry, buddy, I should’ve been more considerate.’

He launches a sofa cushion in my direction.

There is a nanosecond where I glance across to Sarah and find her laughing, her attention focused on me. I quickly look away.

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