Page 65 of Always the Bridesmaid

My hands have found their way into the pockets of my shorts and I’m staring at my shoes, grinning like a bashful child. I nod.

I pull myself together and tell her, ‘On this occasion, Captain Charlie will let it slide.’ Gesturing with my head to the path that runs alongside the River Thames, I say, ‘It’s this way.’

She’s pouting again and I figure it’s because the London Eye is so blatantly that way, it hardly needed me to point that out.

‘Following your lead, Captain Charlie.’

We queue for around thirty minutes, which isn’t bad. I had intended to book us queue jump tickets but as this wasn’t on my agenda for today, we have to wait. Sarah doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. I buy us each a bottle of water and we chat through the wait.

She seems lighter today than she’s been since we met and, in the back of my mind, I’m wondering if it’s because the wedding has been and gone. The thoughts of her husband that must have been haunting her last week – they would have got to anyone with half a heart – maybe aren’t as painful now as they were.

This version of Sarah is incredible. She’s funny. So funny. Actually in quite a dry, British way… for an American. She’s intelligent and witty. Not half as needy as she seemed at times last week.

One thing hasn’t changed. She is still as strikingly beautiful as she was the moment she stepped out of the airport at Heathrow.

My mobile has been receiving notifications all afternoon – I’ve felt the vibrations in my pocket and when Sarah has taken toilet trips, I’ve looked at the messages. They’re all from a WhatsApp group Jess set up for those who stayed in the house in Surrey. She’s just sent the group a picture of an immaculate beach, with long stretches of white sand, and a cocktail in her hand. She thanked everyone for making her and Jake’s wedding day special. Then she gave particular thanks to Sarah for being the best Matron of Honor and organizing the entire week.

I was wrong about Sarah’s relationship with those guys earlier. She is a people pleaser, 100 per cent. But now I think I understand that more than I did then. She just doesn’t want to lose people she cares about in her life. Maybe staying busy with administration also kept her mind off her husband, too.

But I was wrong about her friends not appreciating it. They love her. Spending days in their company showed it. In hindsight, the way the lads were so quick to get on my back when they thought I was trying it on with her proved it. And the stream of messages from everyone in the WhatsApp group, an outpouring of love and thanks for Sarah, has reaffirmed it.

What’s more, I totally get it. They know, as I’ve come to appreciate, that she’s amazing.

She would be amazing anyway but to have loved someone enough to marry them, expect to spend the rest of her life with them, then lose them the way she has and be able to carry on? Wow.

Once we are standing in the window of our panoramic glass capsule, rather than taking in the views, I find myself staring at Sarah. I find myself thinking what a lucky man Danny was to have been adored by her. (And, admittedly, a very unlucky man to have died in his twenties.)

‘What is it you say to me?’ Sarah asks. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

Oops. Caught red-handed.

‘I was just thinking… ah… that the London Eye is the tallest cantilevered observation wheel in the world.’

As our capsule slowly ascends, Sarah and I stand side by side, soaking up the view. There are other people in here but everyone has their own area, and they are speaking quietly, staying segregated. It’s a well-behaved capsule crowd.

I point out sites and buildings, like the Shard, the Cheese Grater, the Oxo Tower and the Old Bailey. Facts, histories and architectural design details are rolling off my tongue. I even astonish myself with the wealth of knowledge I have amassed in my thirty-one years on this planet.

As I’m speaking, mostly I’m thinking about impressing Sarah but sporadically, I question whether I am quite as stupid as I have been told over the years – quite as stupid as I have played the role of being. A new idea occurs to me: to create a sketch for my shows based on places of interest and random facts about history. Grown-up and funnier Horrible Histories.

But now, as we pause at the very highest peak of the observation wheel, I am staring at Sarah's hands on the safety rail. The sun is shining from behind a rogue cloud to the west of us, low and glowing orange across the river. All I can think about is how much I would like to be able to slide my hand on top of hers, to stand behind her, my chest pressed to her back, my chin on her shoulder, the scent of her hair consuming me with every breath I take.

Whoa, knock it off, Charlie!

I’m letting this crush, this fantasy, this overpowering feeling run away with itself.

I need to remember the reasons I left the house in Surrey without saying goodbye.

I’m not good enough for her, her friends made that clear, but even if I were, she doesn’t want a relationship with anyone, let alone me.

We descend to the ground and I walk with Sarah in the direction of her hotel, happy for the company and not at all bothered that I’ve been on my feet for most of the day.

She offers to walk the rest of the way herself when we are on the north side of the river, in a place she recognizes, but she doesn’t protest when I say I’ll happily continue on.

‘So what’s the plan for tomorrow?’ she asks.

I’m already giddy thinking about another day with her.

‘I’ll collect you around nine thirty again, then we can head to the Tower of London for a tour. Does that sound okay?’

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