Page 74 of Always the Bridesmaid

Noooooooooo!

The wind comes out. It’s an audible release.

I squeeze my arse cheeks together but it’s too late.

Oh God.

There’s nowhere to hide.

She must have heard.

Maybe she went back to sleep.

Please let her have gone back to sleep.

I tiptoe out of the bathroom, turning out the light. I reach the bed and thank the heavens that Sarah’s eyes are closed.

I lie back down on the bed, pull the dressing gown back over me and will my mortified self back to sleep.

Just when I think I’ve got away with the wind break and erection combo, Sarah says, ‘Nice fart.’

Kill me.

Kill me now.

I want an asteroid from outer space to fall to earth and strike only me.

The floor lighting allows me to see her silhouette and I notice her shoulders are shaking with laughter.

‘Like you’ve never farted,’ I say in the manner of a petulant child. It only makes her laugh harder and all I can do is go with it, until the entire bed is vibrating with our amusement.

When we calm, I ask, ‘Would you like me to go home?’

‘Because you farted? It’s 2a.m. Go back to sleep.’ She rolls over so that her back is to me. ‘If you promise to keep that ass away from me, you can come under the covers.’

I slip off my combat shorts, roll up the dressing gown and put it under the sheets to act as a divider between us, then climb under the duvet.

I don’t sleep a wink. I can’t. She’s right there. And when she rolls around to face me in the night and her arm slides on top of mine, our hands touching, I don’t dare move.

28

SARAH

Charlie is snoring. Not like a hippopotamus snore, more like accidentally over-sucking through a straw in your soft drink, but it’s enough to rouse me. I open my eyes to see his mouth wide open, his chin hanging low. He looks both comical and peaceful at the same time. It makes me smile.

Now I notice my fingers are touching his, despite the dressing gown that has been rolled like a sausage and placed between us. His attempt to secure physical distance between us is hilarious.

The interesting thing is, for the first time in years I have woken up with a man in my bed and I don’t feel guilty. Charlie has made clear to me that we are friends – his comfort level around me is much more friendly than intimate, hence farting in the bathroom last night and sleeping partially clothed but with a towel robe between us. I also don’t believe he would have made the level of comments about the male bodies in Top Gun that he did last night if he were trying to pursue me.

It’s actually nice to not wake up alone.

I peel back the covers and quietly move around the room, picking out my burnt-orange playsuit from the wardrobe – short with long sleeves – and underwear. I take a very quick shower and dress in the bathroom.

Charlie has changed position when I come back in, so he must be in a light phase of sleep, but his eyes are still closed.

I fill the water container on the back of the coffee machine then set it away heating up. I head back into the bathroom and apply a base layer of sunscreen and a little eye make-up before making us drinks.

Charlie must smell the coffee – no pun intended – because as he reaches up his arms and enjoys a full body stretch, he opens his eyes and makes one of those noises you’re allowed to make every time you move once you’ve reached your thirties.

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