Page 68 of Always the Bridesmaid

We are both nodding and not speaking. It’s awkward and my mind is about to spiral as it chews over the reasons why when Charlie says, ‘I understand if you just want to chill tonight, after that.’

Oh. The thought had occurred to me but now that he’s said it first, I don’t know what to think. Have we crossed a line holding hands, linking arms, kissing on cheeks?

‘Right. Yeah. Well, same for you, obviously.’

‘No, I’m good,’ he says. ‘I think I need some comfort food but if you want to join me, I’m all for it. I just wanted to give you an easy out if you need one.’

Huh. I might be even more confused now but I’m not sure I want to be left alone with my thoughts, so I ask, ‘Do you know a good burger place?’

‘My kind of woman,’ he says, smiling, then immediately follows up with, ‘to have as a friend. I’m wary of people who don’t like a good burger.’

Then he’s gone, moving away from me along the Strand. I watch him, unsure whether I’m supposed to be following.

After long seconds, he turns and calls, ‘Are you coming? I’m starving.’

I do a short-stepped run to catch up to him and we walk speedily to a burger bar, which gives me time to brush off the play, the theatre and any idea that there was awkwardness between us.

We both order beers and burgers – halloumi and Portobello mushroom for me, beef for Charlie – agree to not talk about the show for fear of giving ourselves the blues, and wind up sharing our best burger experiences instead.

By the end of our feast, we are full and, at least for my part, contented again with our state of friendship.

As I’m settling the check, I wonder how we should say goodbye in order to avoid the shaking-hug scenario we had outside the hotel last night.

But Charlie prevents the situation entirely.

‘The Tube is closer than the hotel for me, so are you okay to get back yourself, if I head to the Tube?’

‘Absolutely,’ I tell him, relieved. ‘Same time tomorrow?’

‘Great. See you then.’ He’s already backing away from me when he waves a hand and calls, ‘Thanks for dinner!’

‘Thanks for the entire day,’ I say, but he’s already lost in the bodies of people walking on the street.

‘Oops, sorry!’

I apologize to a fellow hotel guest as I realize I’ve been holding a slotted spoon over a bowl of fruit for longer than is necessary to decide which fruit I might like on my Greek yoghurt. I scoop up halved peaches and put the spoon down on a side plate, ready for the stranger to use.

This is symbolic of how my morning has been. Everything feels a little hazy and confused.

I woke with a start around five thirty-five and I don’t think I went back to sleep, not properly.

I had been dreaming about a gorgeous, deep, loving, sexy-as-hell kiss with a man. I think that man was Danny, or at least in my mind it had started out as Danny, but when I forced myself to stop dreaming, that man was most definitely Charlie.

My pulse racing, I sprang upright in bed. I hadn’t meant to dream about kissing Charlie, of course I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. But I couldn’t get that kiss out of my mind. It was exactly how kissing Danny in the early days used to feel. Full of passion.

And so I spent another thirty minutes or so, I think, in a sort of semi-lucid state, trying to get back to that feeling, to that kiss, trying to force myself to see Charlie in my mind… No, Danny. I was trying to see and feel kissing Danny.

‘Would you like more tea, madam?’

I love the way the hotel-service personnel speak like it’s the nineteenth century. It feels quintessentially British and makes me want to accept more English breakfast tea in fine-bone china but I say no because it’s almost time for Charlie to pick me up in the way I am becoming used to now.

The thing is, I’m nervous. If I see Charlie and I think about that kiss, will my dream be written all over my face? The heat of it. My desire for more. The unrelenting guilt that is threatening to take over my every thought?

I make quick work of cleaning my teeth and grabbing my backpack, then I hotfoot it downstairs to the atrium.

And every negative thought I have experienced over the last four hours disappears with one look, one smile, one good morning from Charlie.

He hands me a Monmouth coffee again in the cup he took back from me yesterday morning with the intention of reusing today. It’s so hard to remedy the Charlie I met at the beginning of last week and the Charlie I know now. I met the performer last week and this version of Charlie is, I believe, the real him.

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