Page 17 of The Wrong Suitcase

‘God,’ he spits melodramatically, following my lead on the water. ‘It’s pathetic when you get like this. Totally pathetic. It’s not the world versus Samuel Birch, you know, baby brother. The rest of us aren’t out to get you.’

His words sting in a way that only words from a sibling can – because he’s right. I do secretly suspect it’s me against everyone else. I hadn’t realised that he’d noticed.

‘Loosen up a bit, mate. Do all that stuff you bleated on about in your reading. “Love is … hitting on the chick with the big tits,”or whatever it was you said.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I said. Glad you were paying attention.’

He straightens up in his chair and looks at me solemnly, really focusing on what he is about to say.

‘You’ve been staring at each other all night, and she laughed at your crap one-liners – the ones that weren’t even funny. I don’t know what the deal is, but if I had the cake knife, I could have cut the sexual tension with it. Go talk to her, Sam! Let yourself have a good time! At the very least, it might stop you scowling. I’ve never known any other man to having resting bitch face. Only you.’ He laughs at himself then, and says, ‘RestingBirchface! Ha!’

I want to say something clever and take him down a peg or two so he doesn’t have the last word, but the chinking of cutlery against glass announces the start of the speeches. He puts his back to me and pulls his wife into him for a cuddle as they get comfy. Happy little shits. Izzy still isn’t back. As I look around the courtyard for her, I catch the eye of her friend, Anastasia. She winks at me and nods her head in the direction of the bar.

15

Izzy

I can hear the speeches start from where I’m sat on the loo, and by the time I’m done the first best man is in full swing. If I try to get back to my seat, I’ll have to walk literally right through the middle of the whole room, so I loiter in the shadows and wait for the right moment.

‘I wondered where you’d gone.’

It’s him.

‘Did you follow me?’ I ask, and I can’t decide if that’s cute or a bit weird.

I don’t have to choose, though, because he laughs and says, ‘I’m pretty sure we’ve both just fulfilled the same objective. Assuming you peed, I mean, and didn’t take a massive crap.’

‘Women don’t crap,’ I reply, keeping my face deadpan. ‘We don’t even have bumholes. We’re just smooth down there. Like a Barbie.’

‘Ahhh, is that why women can’t fart either? I did wonder.’

‘So we’re flirting with toilet humour, are we?’ I ask.

‘Ssssh,’ he tells me, putting a finger to his lips, his smile betraying how much he doesn’t actually mean it. ‘You’re being very rude. The speeches.’ He nods his head to where the second best man has taken to the stage and looks to be getting warmed up for a particularly long act instead of wrapping up in a good amount of time like the first one. I think this might go on for a while.

I shut up – not because he told me to, but because itisrude to talk through speeches, no matter how not-funny or boring they might be. And he’s trying his best, Adriano’s brother, so I whoop and holler and cheer along with everyone else to encourage him. That’s what you do at weddings, isn’t it?

I feel Sam the whole time, though. He kept smirking at me at dinner, so much so that Anastasia and Kat dared me to whisper a sweet nothing into his ear before dessert, promising me that breakfast would be on them in the morning if I did it. At one point I watched him explain a surgery to Aran, leaning in to speak to him and talking with his hands, gesticulating wildly and really breaking the science down so that Aran understood. It turns out he’s apaediatricsurgeon. Claire hadn’t mentioned that part. The grumpy man in the gorgeous suit, the one with the wonderful parents and Hollywood smile and Superman glasses for reading, saves little kids for a living. It’s almost too much. If he was an estate agent, everything about him would make sense. But no, he has to be a bloody paediatric surgeon who makes you feel like you’ve hit the jackpot if you can get him to laugh.

We stand side by side, Adriano’s brother making an ill-advised joke about Adriano’s first girlfriend, and neither of us move, but it feels like we’re suddenly closer. The gap between us feels smaller, and with the faintest movement, Sam brushes his fingertips against mine. It’s chaste and innocent, daring and dramatic, all at the same time. I don’t know if I am supposed to turn and look at him or pretend it isn’t happening. With the tiniest movement I can muster, I flex my fingertips, an Eskimo kiss of the hands, gently caressing his fingers in return.

The air stills. I don’t know what to do next. My breath is deep and heavy, my chest visibly rising and falling in my line of sight, and then Sam’s fingers lace through my own and he tugs, imploring me to follow him.

16

Birchy

I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to be alone with her again. My fingers are entwined with hers and I’m leading the way – but to where, I don’t know. I just walk.

She’s coming with me, willingly, hot on my heels. I can hear her stilettos echo on the stone floor and then muffled as we end up down a pebbled path, and I keep on, barely able to see but navigating ussomewhere,and then she pulls on my arm and says, ‘Sam …’ and I stop and she pushes me against the wall and kisses me.

It’s deliberate and passionate and perfect.

She fingers the lapels of my jacket, screwing them up in her fists and then wrenching me towards her like she’s hungry for me. Like she doesn’t justwantme, butneedsme. It’s such a turn on, making me strain against the fabric of my trousers.

‘Yes,’ she says, and she pushes her groin into mine.

I lose myself in her, pawing at her body. Her waist is petite, but as I run my hands over her curves I end up cupping her generous, perfect ass. Our tongues dance and her hands move up to my hair, and we continue to grind as she moves even faster against me and she whispers, ‘God, you’re hot.’

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