Page 33 of The Battle of the Bookshops
While he was talking, he was expertly removing the wire cage and sliding the cork out of the bottle. With minimum drama, he filled the two glasses, holding both stems easily in one hand on a slant to avoid undue frothing.
“Dutch courage,” he said, passing her the glasses. “I don’t want her getting cold feet and changing her mind.”
“Jules!” exclaimed Freya delightedly when she saw her, getting up from the little dressing table to give her old friend a hug.
Freya was wearing a cream silk camisole and knickers, her blond hair in huge sponge rollers. Her face, half made up, was wreathed in a smile, and her delight was so contagious, Jules grinned back at her, handing her one of the glasses.
“So, no collywobbles?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“Can’t wait,” squeaked Freya. “I just don’t want to spend another minute of my life not married to that gorgeous man.”
“What can I do to help?”
“In a sec you can help me put on the dress without smearing makeup all over it,” Freya told her, as she carefully brushed on another layer of mascara. Her skin was porcelain smooth, with delicately blushed cheeks.
“You look beautiful,” Jules told her, smiling as she watched Freya make an O with her mouth and stipple on a barely there lip color, just enough to finish the look. Jules sat down carefully beside Freya so as not to jog her elbow. She looked at their reflections in the mirror, her pale green face next to Freya’s radiant one. “Can’t believe we’re all grown up enough to be getting married and stuff,” she mused.
“I know, right?” said Freya, turning her head this way and that, smacking her lips together. “Seriously, what do you think?” she asked anxiously. “I’m keeping it subtle. Finn’s not used to seeing me with a ton of makeup. I’m scared he’s going to see this stranger walking toward him and run away.”
“He won’t,” she reassured her. “He can’t wait, like you. Oh!” Jules suddenly straightened at the thought. “Who are you going to have walking you up the aisle?! I feel terrible, I should know all this stuff.”
Freya smiled contently. “Should you?” she said, sounding totally relaxed. “It would have been Mum doing it, with you holding thetrain, but we were talking about it a few weeks ago, and Finn’s lovely dad offered. He was so hesitant about it, bless him. Of course I said yes. He looked a bit overcome, actually.” Her face twisted with momentary concern at the memory.
“You’resolucky,” said Jules wistfully. “They’re a lovely family.”
“Aren’t they?” Freya replied. “Finn’s mum says she can’t wait to have a daughter at last.” Her eyes darkened in pain. “It’s...” She stopped, as she stared sightlessly out the window.
“I know,” said Jules, putting her arm around her friend and gathering her up into a sideways hug. “I know.” Okay, she wasdefinitelygoing to call her mum soon. She owed it to Freya, if nobody else.
“It’s just, she would have loved to know I was settled,” said Freya, breathing out a long sigh through pursed lips and carefully dabbing tears with her fingertips so as not to disturb the newly applied makeup.
Jules told her what the flower lady had said, and Freya brightened again and then teared up at the memory. Really, this roller coaster of emotion was going to be draining, thought Jules. But she was the one who had to have the broad shoulders today. Freya’s equilibrium was her absolute priority.
Slipping the beaded oyster silk shift over Freya’s head, being careful to avoid the fabric touching Freya’s face, Jules stood back to judge the effect. “You look stunning,” she said, and this time it was her turn to tear up. She sniffed resolutely.Broad shoulders, broad shoulders,she told herself sternly. And appropriately enough, she looked the part in her yellow dress, with the puffed sleeves set in such a way as to make her look like a rugby quarterback. “You’re going to be a bit cold, though, aren’t you?” Jules asked Freya with concern.
“I was just thinking I was worried thatyouwould be cold,” said Freya. “I’ve got this, look.” She slid a matching silk bolero jacketoff the hanger on the door of the wardrobe. It had ostrich feathers at the cuffs and neck, framing Freya’s face charmingly.
“Perfect,” said Jules, standing behind her as they both admired the effect in the mirror. “And I’ll be fine, don’t worry. In London I’ve been living in the coldest, dampest house in Hackney. I’m used to the cold. No veil?”
“No,” said Freya. “I thought it would be a bit much for a civil wedding?” She twisted her mouth uncertainly.
“You look perfect as you are,” said Jules, smiling then glancing at her watch. “Shall we?”
Freya’s concern about the cold proved correct, as the two of them walked up the high street from the flat. Freya had insisted there was absolutely no point in hiring a fancy wedding car for the two-minute walk to the town hall. By the time they were halfway there, Jules was clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering. People divided like the parting of the Red Sea, smiles and murmurs of pleasure emanating from them as Freya—so obviously a blushing bride—walked past, her skirt hitched off the ground. Jules felt an almost proprietary pride as she walked alongside her dear friend, wondering if this was what it was like to be sidekick to a celebrity.
As they turned the corner into the street where the town hall was, Jules stopped dead and put her arm across to stop Freya in her tracks. “It’s Finn, you can’t see him!” she explained hastily, and then she saw another reason for stopping—a deeply personal one this time. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Finn was Roman, wearing an impeccable tailcoat with a narcissus buttonhole.
Of course it was.
“I don’t mind, Iwantto see him,” Freya was saying gaily. “I’m not superstitious.” And then she too stopped dead. “Yikes,” she said, looking stricken. “Roman is Finn’s best man. Did I say?”
Both of the women knew she hadn’t. It simply hadn’t arisen.Finn had had his stuff to organize, and Freya had had hers. Of course, if Jules had been doing her job properly, she told herself, she would have asked, wouldn’t she? She became aware that Freya was looking up at her anxiously, her sweet face clouded with distress.
“How could I not have thought,” she was saying. “You and Roman—with the whole shop thing... I should have warned you. You wouldn’t have agreed to do it.”
“What?” Jules made herself say, altering her horrified facial expression with visible effort. “Roman? Not a problem. Totally fine, honestly. And you’re mad. I would never have turned down the chance to be your maid of honor. Never.”
“Honestly?”
