Page 10 of Always the Bridesmaid

I waited another seven long years and nine more carers before I found someone who genuinely wanted to do good by me, and that was my adoptive parents, who took me in alongside their own son and daughter.

It has been a long time since I’ve thought about that first family. It’s only now, as an adult, that I appreciate them and realize how grateful I should have been at the time, rather than the cheeky shit I was. But I was a child, a small child, and all I had wanted at that stage was to be back living in squalor with my addict birth mother.

I squeeze my eyes tightly behind my sunglasses, wishing I was truly sleeping so that my ill-temper would dissipate. I hope I won’t spend the entire week watching Sarah be so bloody accommodating that it’s the equivalent of listening to a teacher dragging her nails down a blackboard.

But there it is again: her unmistakable laughter. It’s big and bright, innocent and silly, and it takes all my strength not to give the game away with a smile. The sound of Sarah’s laughter is like the sun in the summer sky when it’s raining, the finest pink rose in the garden which is forbidden, the last piece of chocolate cake in the café when it’s closed. I’m not much of a poet but suffice to say, it is a nice laugh. I like hearing it, even though the owner increasingly grates on my nerves.

Alanis Morrissette’s ‘Ironic’ comes into my head and I start to sing the lines in my mind. I don’t realize I am wiggling my toes to the beat until Jess is standing at the bottom of my sun lounger, casting a shadow over me.

‘You’re awake! Great. Shall I show you to your room now?’

I pretend to wipe slaver from my chin. Why? I’m not sure. I’m not sure why anyone would fake having drooled down their face, but I do and I watch as Sarah’s expression twists into disgust watching me do so. As if she’s so perfect. Didn’t she slobber down her chops in my car?

‘Yeah, grand,’ I say, having forgotten entirely that my small weekend bag and Sarah’s beast-sized designer luggage are still where I left them in the vestibule.

‘You don’t have to carry those,’ Sarah says as I grunt my way up the staircase, laden like a working donkey.

One heave-ho at a time, I think of a gag for a show…

‘Have you ever noticed how women never really mean it when they say “you really don’t have to”, all doe-eyed and beautiful? I mean, imagine if I stopped mid-staircase and said, “Actually, darlin’, here’s your luggage, carry it yourself,” and handed over the Louis Vuitton suitcase that the airline had dubbed heavy baggage.’

Clearly, I haven’t just thought of that joke, I have accidentally uttered it aloud, because Jess, who is walking ahead of me, hears me and chuckles. Sarah, by contrast, draws her head back into her shoulders and looks like a puppy has just taken a dump in her mouth.

It is true, see… British jokes so often don’t land with our neighbors from across the pond. Nevertheless, I am too grouchy and breathless to apologize. And so, I lug on like a Sherpa until Jess stops on the landing outside the first white wood door we come to.

I have known Jess long enough and know her well enough to recognize her sudden sheepishness, to read her fidgeting of her own hands, and to know she feels awkward.

‘I have a small confession,’ she says, glancing to Sarah, then firmly planting her focus on her own feet. ‘Last night, on his stag-do, well, Jake was drunk and he sort of asked Cash and Will to be ushers at the wedding.’

‘Another two? Christ, I really mean nothing to him, do I?’ I say, dropping the luggage to my sides dramatically.

Jess smiles, then chews one side of her mouth, which is another of her awkward tells. As an aside, Jess really is a shocking poker player, though her honesty is, incidentally, one of the things I respect most about her.

‘Obviously everyone else in the bridal party is staying in this house and now Cash is part of the bridal party and—’

‘There aren’t enough rooms for Charlie and me to have one each,’ Sarah says with a look of sheer terror on her face, as if Beetlejuice met Scream in a dimly lit alleyway.

I’d be Beetlejuice, I think, kind of cool in a badass way, though with sort of mad hair and questionable dress sense.

Jess bites her lip and shakes her head. ‘But… There’s a gorgeous big king bed in this room and a very comfy looking double sofa-bed.’

‘Bagsy the king,’ I say, relishing Sarah’s attempt at a subtle gasp. ‘I carried the luggage,’ I add, straight faced, meeting her eye for added fun, knowing full well that I will never ask a woman to take the sofa bed.

To my surprise, Sarah’s face turns into a beaming smile as she places a hand on Jess’s shoulder. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. This is Jake, I should have foreseen something like this happening. Charlie and I will be fine sharing, won’t we, Charlie?’

I want to laugh so much, it is physically hurting my internal organs. ‘Yeah, great. I hope there’s an ensuite we can share, too.’

Garghhh, I’m dying. This is hilarious.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Jess says, missing entirely the way Sarah’s shoulders have risen to her ears and her hands are balled into fists at her sides. ‘It’s gorgeous, too, come and see.’

‘After you,’ I tell Sarah, failing to suppress a smirk.

I set down our luggage inside the door. If this was a BnB, and Sarah and I were dating, the room would be just the ticket. It is like it’s out of a brochure for the world’s top ten most romantic breaks. It is unfortunate then that I’ll be sharing it with someone who seems to hate my guts.

One feature wall has birdcages on the wallpaper, and when I run my fingers across it, I realize it is velour. The bed is not just a large king, it is a swish four post bed, which would be ideal if this was Fifty Shades of Grey and I had a six-pack and could lift my legs in a straight line whilst balancing on a pommel horse.

I watch as Sarah absorbs the details of the room. If she wasn’t already livid at the idea of sharing, she really will be at the sight of the red velvet chaise longue sitting beneath one of three Georgian sash windows. Especially so when she realizes that the ensuite is not a small room off to one side, but an area visible through an archway. In the center of the archway, acting as a feature, there is a freestanding cast-iron bathtub. I laugh out loud.

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