We’re interrupted by some of Mum’s mates, all eager for their turn to touch Grace’s fat belly. I swear from the way everyone’s acting you’d think she was about to give birth to the future king or queen of England or something.
Reluctantly my friends peel away, making room for another three sets of hands.
‘Grace looks so beautiful,’ Kimmie says, looking over her shoulder as we walk away. ‘Pregnancy properly suits her. And Sam is so nice too. I can’t believe how perfect they are together.’
‘Hashtag relationship goals,’ Mikey chimes in.
‘Oh, please,’ I mutter.
‘You look really nice too,’ Kimmie adds, looking guilty. ‘I knew your dress wouldn’t be horrible.’
‘Horrible is exactly what it is,’ I say, glaring down at the lilac chiffon. ‘I look like a little kid at a birthday party.’
But Kimmie isn’t listening. She’s too busy squinting up at the terrace, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘Oh my God,’ she says.
‘What?’ Mikey asks. ‘What are you looking at?’
Kimmie grabs my wrist and bounces on her heels, her bitten-down nails digging into my skin. ‘Aaron’s housemate is here!’ she squeaks.
‘What?’ I say.
How on earth does Kimmie know Cara? How?
‘Where?’ Stella asks.
‘Over there,’ Kimmie says, pointing. ‘Holding the tray. She must work here.’
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Mikey quips.
‘Wait, how do you know she lives with Aaron?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady while attempting to ignore my flip-flopping stomach.
‘He posts pictures of his housemates online sometimes,’ Kimmie says. ‘And I’m like ninety-five per cent sure that’s the girl he lives with. Her name’s Cara and she’s a student at Rushton uni – Art, I think. Should I try talking to her, do you reckon?’
‘No!’ I cry, probably a bit too loudly.
‘Why not?’ Kimmie asks, frowning. ‘You’re the one always telling me I need to be more proactive. And she looks nice. You never know, she might put in a good word for me.’
‘I just think it’s a bad idea, that’s all,’ I babble. ‘What if she tells him and he thinks you’re a mad crazy stalker? You wouldn’t want that, would you? I just think it’s a really, really bad idea, Kimmie, honestly.’
I look to the others for backup.
‘I hate to say it but I think Mia’s probably right,’ Stella says. ‘I mean, won’t she think it’s totally weird that you know she’s Aaron’s housemate in the first place?’
Thank you, Stella Fielding, thank you, thank you, thank you.
‘Maybe,’ Kimmie admits.
‘There’s no maybe about it,’ I say. ‘Seriously, I’d just leave it if I were you. You’ll only regret it if you say something. I mean, what if she goes running to Aaron and tells him what a mentalist you are, then you’ll have blown your chances for good.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she says, chewing on her lower lip.
‘Of course I am. You need to trust me on this one.’
She nods, resigned, and I breathe an inward sigh of relief.
‘In the meantime, does anyone fancy a tipple?’ Mikey asks, producing a hip flask from his inside pocket and waggling it about.
I snatch it from his hands and hug it to my chest. Because a drink is exactly what I need right now.
‘I love you, Mikey Twist,’ I say, unscrewing the cap.
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he replies.
‘What’s in it?’ Stella asks.
‘Vodka, of course,’ he says. ‘The drink of champions.’
I glance over my shoulder. Grace and Sam are still surrounded and Mum and Dad are posing for photographs on a bench further up the terrace. We huddle in a tight circle and pass round the hip flask.
‘Oi!’ Mikey cries as I take my turn. ‘Leave some for the rest of us.’
‘I am,’ I say, sneaking in another sip.
Kimmie is last, wincing as she takes her first taste. ‘It’s really strong, Mikey,’ she says.
‘Of course it is, dummy,’ he replies. ‘It’s neat vodka.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll have your share,’ I say, whipping the bottle from Kimmie’s hands and downing the contents.
‘Hey!’ she cries.
‘Oh, please,’ I say. ‘As if you were going to drink it all anyway. You’d be chucking up all night and you know it.’
Kimmie is an infamous lightweight.
I hand the empty hip flask back to Mikey.
‘Bloody hell, Mia,’ he says, turning it upside down. ‘This was supposed to last all night.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, batting my eyelashes.
Not sorry.
29
We’re interrupted by the master of ceremonies (one of Dad’s mates from work) banging a gong and booming that it’s time for the wedding breakfast.
Instead of a traditional long top table, the bridal party are seated at a round table like everyone else. Cara is serving tables on the other side of the room, far away both from my table and the table my friends have been assigned to. Still, I can’t help but track her movements as she goes back and forth to the kitchen, holding my breath every time she interacts with any of the guests for longer than a few seconds. At the same time I sense she knows exactly where I am too. I try to ignore her, but there’s something about her sly little glances in my direction, so tiny I doubt anyone else would ever clock them, that stops me from being able to relax properly.
I’m allowed a small glass of wine with my meal and a flute of prosecco for toasting, but that’s it. When I appeal to Mum and Dad across the table, they raise their eyebrows in unison as if to say ‘not now, Mia’, forcing me to shrink back down in my chair in defeat while the waiting staff top up everyone else’s glasses.
The main course has just been cleared away when Mum stands up and taps her glass with a knife. A hush falls over the room as she murmurs ‘one, two, one, two’ into the microphone she’s holding.
‘Rejecting the tradition that dictates men do all the talking at weddings, I’m going to be the one kicking off the speeches this afternoon,’ she says.
A couple of her friends whoop in noisy appreciation, and everyone laughs.
‘On behalf of my husband and I …’
A cheer erupts, followed by more fuzzy laughter. Mum, grinning wildly, waits for it to die down before continuing. ‘On behalf of my husband and I,’ she repeats, ‘I want to thank you all for being here and sharing our special day with us. I can’t tell you how incredible it is to look around the room and see all our favourite people in the same place. Thank you as well for being so patient with us. As most of you know, Jase and I have had what you could call a pretty long engagement.’
Cue more laughter, and knowing nods from both sets of parents.
‘We just hope the wait is worth it. I, for one, know it most definitely is.’
She leans down to kiss Dad on the lips before passing him the microphone.
Dad gets up, slipping his spare arm around Mum’s waist before proceeding to thank pretty much every person he’s ever met.
‘Finally, though,’ he says. ‘We need to thank our three beautiful daughters. Stand up, girls.’
Grace, Audrey and I get to our feet. I don’t realize how drunk I am until I’m standing up and my head starts to spin. I grip onto the edge of the table to keep myself steady.
‘Are you OK?’ Grace whispers.
‘Fine,’ I mutter, reaching for a glass of water and taking a big gulp.
Camera flashes are going off all over the place. I scan the room for Cara, but all the waiting staff seem to have disappeared. Good. Hopefully she’ll go home after this and I can put the whole Aaron thing behind me once and for all.
Dad addresses Audrey first.
‘Audrey,’ he says. ‘Our little fish. Your drive, commitment and discipline impresses and inspires me every single day. You have no idea how
proud we are of you. In and out of the water.’
Audrey bows her head, shy and proud at the same time. She looks pretty in her dress and with her hair down for once.
‘And then we’ve got our Grace,’ Dad says.
Here we go.
‘Grace, you’re the proof that sometimes the best things in life just can’t be planned for. From the moment we met you, we were besotted, and you’ve ensured we’ve stayed that way, astonishing your mother and I with your ability to turn your hand to absolutely anything. I can’t say I’m thrilled at the prospect of becoming a grandfather at the age of forty, but any thoughts of vanity are cancelled out by how bloody proud I am of the way you and Sam – hang on a second, Sam, you stand up too.’
Sam clambers to his feet, smiling bashfully as people hold up their phones to take another round of photos.
‘Sam,’ Dad continues. ‘I’m so proud of the way you’ve handled this situation with such maturity, positivity and determination, and how you’ve slotted into our family with such ease. I have no doubt whatsoever that the two of you are going to make wonderful parents. If you do even half as good a job as Nikki and I did with Grace, we’ll be over the moon.’
I stare down at my fingernails as the room choruses, ‘Aw,’ and wonder where I might be on that scale. Am I considered a job well done? Or did Mum and Dad drop the ball with me, hastily plunging all their energy into raising Audrey in an effort to make up for it.
‘And last but certainly not least, Mia.’
I brace myself, getting ready to plaster on the smile everyone expects.
‘Our fiery, funny, spirited girl,’ Dad says. ‘As many of you may know, almost seventeen years ago, Mia gave Nikki and I a bit of a shock by arriving six weeks early. I don’t think I got a wink of sleep until we finally got her home and she’s been causing us sleepless nights ever since.’
Lots of laughter.
‘Say what you like about Mia,’ he continues. ‘But there’s never a dull moment when she’s around. From the 2 a.m. phone calls from Rushton Central Hospital, to her – let’s just call them “interesting” – wardrobe choices, she certainly keeps Nikki and I on our toes. I’ll tell you one thing though, we wouldn’t swap her for the world.’ He raises his glass. ‘Love you to bits, baby.’
More laughter and a smattering of applause. I hold my smile as best as I can, my lips trembling from the effort. For a few horrible seconds I’m worried I might cry. I don’t though, keeping my eyes as wide open as possible to stop any tears from forming.
The rest of the speeches go by in a blur of clinking glasses and laughter. I pretend to listen, smiling and laughing where I’m supposed to, when all I really want to do is escape from the table and get drunk with my friends. The second the dessert plates are cleared away, I bolt in the direction of the bar, only to discover Cara on duty.
‘I’ll get the drinks in,’ I tell my friends quickly.
I take their orders and shoo them back towards the main room, waiting until they’re firmly out of sight before taking a deep breath and walking towards the bar. Cara is waiting for me, wearing her trademark smirk.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks with over-the-top politeness.
I reel off my order.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I can’t serve you.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re underage.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m eighteen.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Give it up. You’re still at Queen Mary’s. Aaron told me.’
I swallow at the mention of his name. ‘But this is my mum and dad’s wedding,’ I say.
‘So? You’re still underage and that means I can’t serve you.’
She’s full on grinning now. I can’t let her know she’s got to me, though. I won’t.
‘Fine,’ I say, moving to the other end of the bar and trying to attract the other bar person’s attention. ‘I’ll ask someone else then.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t bother,’ she says, producing a laminated piece of paper from behind the bar and handing it to me.
On it are the faces of all the underage guests at the wedding, average age twelve. My face flames with humiliation. I can’t believe Mum and Dad have done this to me. To make matters ten times worse, the picture they’ve used is last year’s school photo.
‘Nice uniform,’ Cara adds.
I stalk into the foyer, bashing straight into Sam.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I growl.
‘Why? What’s up?’
I tell him about my mugshot behind the bar, leaving out the details of my connection to Cara.
‘It’s just so humiliating,’ I say. ‘How am I supposed to “grow up” when they insist on treating me like a little kid all the time?’
‘Sorry, dude,’ Sam says.
‘Thanks,’ I mutter, rubbing my shoulder.
That’s when I realize how idiotic I’m being. I may not be able to get served tonight, but Sam can.
‘Sam?’ I say sweetly.
‘No,’ he replies, taking a step backwards. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You don’t even know what I was going to ask!’
‘Yes, I do. And the answer is no.’
‘But why?’
‘Your parents would go mad, not to mention Grace.’
‘They won’t even need to know,’ I say. ‘We’ll just say it’s Coke if anyone asks.’
‘I’m sorry, Mia, I just don’t feel comfortable with it.’
‘Just one drink, please!’
I clasp my hands together in prayer position and flutter my eyelashes.
‘Pretty please with a cherry on top,’ I singsong.
‘I said “no”, Mia.’
I let my arms fall by my sides.
‘I thought we were friends,’ I say.
‘We are.’
‘No we’re not. Friends help each other out.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, Mia,’ he says, reaching for my hand.
I shake him off and stomp towards the toilets, my heels clacking against the marble floor.
I push open the door and walk straight into Patrice, a friend of Grandma Sapphire’s.
‘Mia!’ she cries. ‘I haven’t seen you properly in ages. Excited about becoming an auntie, are you?’
It’s a variation on the same boring question I’ve been asked at least twenty times today.
‘Well?’ she prompts.
That’s when I realize I can’t be arsed to pretend any more. ‘No, not really,’ I say.
Patrice laughs a big hearty laugh. She thinks I’m joking.
‘I mean it,’ I say. ‘Grace’s stupid baby is the worst thing that ever happened to our family.’
Patrice gawps at me.
‘Excuse me,’ I say, turning round and walking straight back the way I’ve come.
‘Where are the drinks?’ Stella asks when I find them outside on the terrace.
‘Bad news,’ I say. ‘They’re being really tight at the bar. You have to show ID to get served.’
‘No way,’ Stella says. ‘That’s so unfair!’
‘Yeah, it’s your mum and dad’s wedding!’ Mikey adds.
‘It’s hotel policy apparently,’ I lie. ‘They have to ID anyone who looks under twenty-five. Sorry, I had no idea.’
‘I told you not to drink all the vodka at once,’ Mikey scolds.
‘Oh, relax,’ I say. ‘There’s booze absolutely everywhere. We’ll figure something out.’
Inside, the evening guests are starting to arrive – colleagues of Dad’s, old schoolmates of Mum’s, friends of the family – and the tables and chairs are being put away to make room for dancing. That’s when I notice that there are still loads of half-drunk glasses of wine on the tables, left over from dinner.
Bingo.
Quickly I lead my friends round the room, giggling as we down as much wine as possible before it’s cleared away, only Kimmie refusing to join in ‘in case we get caught’. Zzzzzzzzzz.
By the t
ime the master of ceremonies announces Mum and Dad are about to cut the cake, I’m feeling nice and tipsy again and about a million times better.
Stella has brought her fancy camera with her. As Mum and Dad giggle and feed each other slices of cake, their arms entwined, she flits around them, snapping from every possible angle, before following them as they make their way to the dance floor for their first dance. It’s to ‘Back for Good’, the original version this time, thank God. They don’t do a choreographed routine or anything like that, instead they just hold onto each other tightly and sway in time to the music while everyone else lines the edge of the dance floor and takes yet more photos.
I glance behind me. Although all the wine from dinner has now been cleared away, the tables are littered with abandoned drinks as everyone watches Mum and Dad. I slip away and help myself to a shot of Baileys and the dregs of what I think is a gin and tonic.
Ha. That’ll show them.
The next song is fast and upbeat. Stella rushes to put her camera down on one of the tables and we immediately start leaping around like idiots. The alcohol is properly kicking in now and I finally feel like I’m having some actual fun, Cara and the stupid list behind the bar shoved further and further to the back of my mind with every cheesy song the DJ plays.
For the next hour, we dance to every single song, whether we know it or not, until Mikey announces that he’s sweating his ‘arse off’ and needs some water.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Stella says. ‘I’m bursting for the loo.’
Kimmie and I stay behind and are having a proper laugh dancing to ‘Uptown Funk’ when we spot Stella and Mikey racing towards us, their faces alight with scandal.
My heart plummets.
Cara. They must have spoken to Cara at the bar.
‘Oh my God, Mia!’ Stella cries, crashing into me, grabbing hold of both of my wrists and shaking them hard.
‘What? What’s wrong?’ I stammer, paranoid fear shooting down my arms and legs.
‘Paul’s here!’ she gasps.
Paul?
I didn’t even know Mum and Dad had invited him.
‘Where?’
I follow Mikey’s pointed finger. Paul is standing on the edge of the dance floor wearing a dark suit. The sight of him makes me feel hot and embarrassed and childish, especially in my stupid flouncy dress. Next to him is a pretty woman around Mum’s age. Paul’s hand is resting very gently round her waist. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend. I’ve certainly never seen anyone at the house. I can’t decide if it makes me feel better or worse.