Page 83 of Always the Bridesmaid

Sarah crushed me, rejected me, in just the same way. I was an idiot for putting myself in that situation when I knew she wasn’t interested.

Hope. What a ridiculous thing to harbor.

I can count on my fingers the number of people who haven’t let me down in life. Two of them are sitting at the table with me now. And the others, I’m only recently coming to appreciate, are my parents. It has finally dawned on me how immensely grateful I am and should be that they took me into their family, into their lives.

And it dawns on me how pathetic I must look and sound now.

‘Charlie, do you know that there was a point in our relationship where Jake and I felt completely miserable? It was right before we realized that we are meant to be together.’

I try to smile at her sweetness. I don’t think I manage.

‘I’m not good enough for her, Jess. I’m not Danny. She knows it and that’s why I’m getting on with my life in London and she’s getting on with her life in New York.’

Now Jake is shaking his head. ‘Charlie, Sarah hasn’t been in a relationship with anyone since Danny died. She is fiercely loyal, to the point of putting the needs of others above her own most of the time. Have you thought for a second that her feelings aren’t negative toward you but a reflection of how she feels about being with someone she cares about for the first time since her husband? I know Sarah and I know it will be eating her up inside that she thinks she isn’t being loyal to Danny’s memory.’

I know Sarah is loyal; it’s one of the things I admire about her.

Could Jake be right? Was she crying because she feels disloyal to her husband?

I’m not letting myself get tied up in knots over nothing again.

‘Guys, I appreciate you being here, but Sarah’s being upset because she feels like she mistreated her husband’s memory by having a holiday fling with some guy she knew for two weeks doesn’t make me feel any better.’

‘Oh my God, you are really stupid, Charlie,’ Jess says.

‘Hey! Kick a guy when he’s down, won’t you?’

Jess bangs me on the head with a flat palm. ‘Don’t you get it? If you had had a meaningless holiday fling, she wouldn’t still be devastated about it two weeks later. She cares about you, Charlie. She’s hurting because she actually likes someone who isn’t Danny and because now she’s hurt you too.’

I want to make some kind of petulant remark, like I would have as a child, like I’m not hurt, or I don’t care but I don’t have the energy for it. I am hurt. I’m hurting. And I give a massive shit about Sarah.

‘I can’t let you get in my head like this, guys. Even if I let myself believe for a second that she likes me, it would never work. She’d find me out. I let people down, that’s what I do. And even if she did like me, she’s in New York and I’m in London. It’s done. Over. And it’s 100 per cent the best outcome for both of us. Why start something that’s going to end anyway? She said as much herself; I just chose not to listen.’

Before they can continue their protest, my manager comes over to the table and asks for a word. I tell Jake and Jess that I’ll catch them another time and stand.

Jake stops me with a hand on my shoulder. ‘Hey. You’ve never let us down. Never. You’re a fucking decent man, Charlie. The best. Try believing it once in a while.’

It’s Sunday and I’ve been invited to my parents’ house for lunch. It’s an open invitation every week. My mum always makes a Sunday roast and she always sends me a message to remind me of the invitation. I doubt she does the same with her biological kids because they actually turn up every once in a while.

I walk up the driveway to the suburban Georgian terrace and knock on the door.

My mother answers, initially surprised to see me, then her face breaks into the sweet smile I love. ‘Why on earth are you knocking on the door?’

She’s an angel.

I climb the two concrete steps in front of the door and wrap my arms around her, holding on to her like my life depends on her. It did at one time.

‘Is everything okay, Charlie?’ she asks, still in my hold.

‘I just want to say thank you.’

She pulls back from me, her hands on my shoulders, looking at me as if she’s reading me like a book. ‘Thank you for what, darling?’

‘For being you.’

She waves her hand flippantly and gives me a dismissive ‘pfft’, then tells me to follow her to the kitchen, straightening her paisley cooking apron as she goes.

In the kitchen, my adoptive brother Dave and sister Lila are sitting at the dining table with their partners. My sister’s kids are building Lego in the conservatory off to the side of the kitchen and my dad is on the sofa, supervising. He holds up a hand in greeting and I do the same in return.

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