‘Oh, no, I’m ruining your love fest, aren’t I?’
‘It’s not a love fest!’
‘You’ve gone red!’
‘I always go red when I’m embarrassed.’
‘Because you’d planned a shagathon!’
‘No.’ I clamp my hand over her mouth. ‘Shhh, he’ll hear.’
‘You do fancy him though.’ She’s all muffled, but I know exactly what she’s saying. She might as well be shouting it through a loud hailer.
‘I bloody don’t. He’s just Freddie.’ I am embarrassed, I am as hot as a hot tin roof that a cat can’t stand on. ‘He’s he’s …’ Has she been in my head, seen all those rude visions of Freddie licking cream off my nipples and kissing my neck? I mean, all that doesn’t mean I fancy him in real life, nobody would ever accuse me of thinking I could have a relationship with Bradley Cooper just because I can totally see him throwing me naked onto the lid of a grand piano, are they? See.
‘You’ve gone really bright red now! I knew it!’
‘You don’t know anything! I was thinking about Bradley Cooper actually. Freddie is a friend. I don’t think of him like that!’ Which is partly true, I don’t actually think of him being like that in real life, it’s just a weird fantasy that keeps me happy. It also saves me spending hours on Tinder trying to find somebody I want to swipe right.
‘Ha!’
‘He’s not sexy!’ I might have shouted that bit. Partly to cover up the fact that the in-my-head Freddie is sexier than any man I’ve ever known. But that is because he’s the fantasy Freddie. Not the real Freddie.
‘Whatever.’ She shakes herself free. But she’s grinning. ‘So, are we on, then? Can we all come to Brighton?’
‘You can come to Brighton!’
‘That is so cool.’ She has a broad smile on her face and looks very pleased with herself. ‘Brighton rocks!’ She gives me the thumbs up and squeals.
‘How many is all?’
I don’t get an answer. She is off down the steps and slamming the front door behind her before I can object.
I stand, catching flies, then close my mouth.
There are two big issues here: 1. Michael. Michael is a very big issue. If she’s actually going to marry him, do I tell her now about his ‘transgression’, before it’s too late? I mean, what if he was lying and he’s had ‘transgressions’ before? What if she thinks I’m trying to fuck up her wedding on purpose? Or just un-asks me to be a bridesmaid, and un-friends me. In real life, not just on Facebook. And issue number 2. The (as yet unnamed) bridesmaids. Pretending I’m partay-ing in Ibiza when I’m pounding the prom in Brighton had at least a remote chance of success when only me and Freddie were in on it, but is the week really going to be leak free if there’s a big girls’ night out involved?
I turn round and Freddie is there, a strange half-smile on his face.
‘Shit, did you hear that?’
‘Some of it.’
‘Sorry, she’s mad. She’s just desperate to hook me up with another guy, God she’s so embarrassing.’ My voice tails off. Which bit did he hear? I was pretty loud when I said he wasn’t sexy. And he is. Not that I want him to know I think that, of course, but I’d be gutted if even Ron, the beer-bellied, bum hanging-out, belching builder from number 27 bellowed that down the street about me. And if I heard Freddie say it I’d be mortified.
Devastated.
‘You are, er, sexy. Very.’ I think I’m digging a hole here. ‘Lots of people think so.’
‘But not you?’ He’s smiling, but it’s tinged with something I don’t quite understand.
‘Oh, I do, too. Definitely. I just didn’t want Rach to jump to any kind of, you know, she’s about to get married and she’s all loved and thinks everybody else should be.’
‘And you don’t want to be?’
‘Not, er, right now.’ I flap the bottom of my T-shirt, hoping the fresh air will go all the way up to my face. ‘You know I don’t.’
I look at Freddie. Freddie looks at me. ‘And not with me?’
‘Well, er, if I was looking, I mean, I wouldn’t, er, put you in the “no-way” category.’ He’s frowning. ‘You’d be much higher than “no-way”. Definitely. I think maybe I should stop now before I embarrass myself. You. Both of us.’
‘I’m cool, not embarrassed at all. In fact, I’m quite intrigued about this no-way category and where I fit. Feel free to carry on.’ He grins. A proper Freddie grin.
Right now, I could just jump him, give him a smacker and tell him exactly where he sits on the sexy scale. But he’s my bloody friend, and one kiss would ruin everything for ever. On an embarrassment scale if nothing else. And, I mean, let’s face it, I’m totally in love with him as a friend, but I already know he’s not ready to settle down, don’t I? We’d be doomed. I’d be in a worse mess than post-Andy. Because at least then I had Freddie.
‘I’ll shut up. Safer.’ I need to change the conversation here, I glance round, desperate for inspiration. Then spot my case. Ha-ha! ‘We need to talk about Brighton, what the hell are we going to do about Brighton? They’re all coming!’
He shrugs, takes the one and half strides it takes to reach the sofa, and switches the TV on. Then he pats the sofa, inviting me to join him. ‘We need Mission Impossible – Tom would know what to do!’
We’re cool.
I am in shock. The whole ‘no New York’ thing rattled my cage, and after that wedding announcement I feel like Rach has dropped a bloody big boulder on me and left me feeling totally flattened. I can’t get my head round everything.
I feel like my best friend is heading for a car crash and 1 can’t do anything about it. Feeling helpless and out of control is so not my thing.
I should have told her, I know I should have. Ages ago. When it happened.
But if I sow the evil seed of doubt in her mind now, then everything could be off – our friendship, and her wedding. I know what that feels like. I went to pieces and I’ve always thought of myself as a strong person, so what would it do to Rach?
And I could be wrong. Saint Michael might have cast off his sins and been reborn. Now all I can think about is St Michael’s mount, and it’s the word mount that is bouncing around in my head. Eek, bounce was so the wrong word.
This could all go horribly wrong and I could let her down. Andy is bound to be there, because he knows Michael, and so will lots of other people who were supposed to be coming to our wedding. And she’s asked me to be her bridesmaid! I think I’m fine, I think I’m totally over it, but what if the whole walking down the aisle in a pretty dress brings me out in hives and makes me puke? Or yell blue murder at an inappropriate point, such as when the vicar asks if anybody sees any reasons why they can’t be married. Or bump the bride out of the way and yell ‘it should have been me’? Or (and let’s face it, this is most likely), just look glum and tearful on what is supposed to be the happiest day of Rachel’s life.
Note to self: not only do I not make an appealing enough bride, I also do not make a good best friend.
I need her to get married on a desert island with only a monkey and coconut tree in attendance.
Or I need to develop some kind of lurgy that