Page 72 of The Love of Our Lives
‘This place is amazing,’ I say now, looking about myself in awe. I knew Fran’s side of the family was wealthy too, but still.
Fran grins. ‘Of course it is; do you remember how many times we came here for cocktails that summer? God, Dad almost threatened to have the club bar us,’ she says with a laugh.
A memory of the two of us falling through the door, propping ourselves up at the bar in the other room – drinking something pink from tiny gold-rimmed glasses.
‘The Elton,’ I say, the memory catching faster this time. ‘I can’t believe how many of those we drank.’
Fran lets out a burst of warm laughter. ‘Oh my god, right?’ She clutches my arm. ‘We have to have one today for old times’ sake.’A second later, and she’s speaking merrily to a passing waiter, who nods and immediately disappears to the next room.
‘Great idea. Not that I want to betotallysloshed for all the relatives but one might help.’ She grins. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where we’re sitting.’
As she guides me across the floor on her arm, the memories drift away again, but I’m aware they’re getting stronger the more time I spend down here.
I just don’t know why.
I don’t have long to dwell on it as we’re soon surrounded by the family – uncles and aunts and cousins all fussing over us, exclaiming ‘tanto tempo’, and it’s bizarre because I realise I somehow understand what they’re saying to me –it’s been too long. And it should feel strange and awkward how familiar they all are with me but it’s not. Just like Fran, I feel I know these people. The women are neatly quaffed and in stylish dresses, and I feel a little self-conscious that I chose the butterfly dress to put on in Emily’s childhood bedroom this morning. Jackie thought it was fabulous, of course, said softly, ‘this isso you’, but from all the photos I’ve seen, and the people in here, I can only assume that Emily used to dress quite differently.
Suddenly I’m highly aware how much she transformed herself. Fran, being Fran, hasn’t batted an eyelash about it at least, and I know instinctively that she doesn’t actually care what the hell I wear. Just as long as I’m here. She’d already told me I’m her only chosen bridesmaid, and I realised how big a part of her life I really am. ‘I can’t be bothered with the drama of selecting anyone else,’ she’d said a few months ago. ‘You’re my favourite cousin, so it’s just easier this way.’
I’m not totally sure how it will work with being the photographer too but I suppose the flock of other female cousins will probably help.
A tall, thickset man with salt and pepper hair and a clumsy smile appears beside us now. He’s wearing a loud blue blazer and a crisp white shirt, and automatically I know that this is Toby. As he leans in to hug me, exclaiming loudly, ‘She’s here!’ I get flashes of memories – of him and Fran meeting at a charity masked ball and finding out they only lived streets apart, of the hundreds of jokes he tells and the way he puts everyone at ease, and the fact that I adore him too.
‘Toby,’ I say, hugging him back, and the words, ‘I’ve missed you,’ fall from my mouth.
I touch my lips in surprise.
‘Well, look what the cat finally dragged in,’ Toby says, stepping back. ‘Speaking of which, did I hear you have an actual cat now in this Scottish life of yours? What’s it called then?’ He grins, oblivious. ‘Fluffy? Tom?’
‘Ferris,’ I say with a laugh.
‘Original.’ Toby says. ‘Where are you staying before the wedding anyway?’
‘Oh shit,’ Fran says, flustered. ‘Sorry, I totally forgot to check, what with all the wedding madness and everything.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say immediately. ‘I booked into a Travelodge nearby.’
Fran and Toby look at each other in a slightly shocked way.
‘You will most certainly not,’ Toby says. ‘Are you forgetting my family own hotels? We can just put you on the wedding floor a night early.’
I’m about to protest when I see somebody else coming over. Simon, looking devastatingly handsome as usual. He’s wearing perfectly fitted navy trousers and an expensive-looking white shirt with a beige jacket on top. His skin has that gorgeous suntanned hue, and he looks at me in a way that makes my heart genuinely flutter.
‘Hello.’ He passes one glass of champagne to me and one to Fran.
She takes it from him with a stilted look and I wish she would just forgive him.
I have.
‘Hey, where’s mine?’ Toby says, letting out a guffaw of a laugh.
Fran’s eyes flicker between Simon and me, and I know exactly what she’s thinking – that I’m making a mistake.
‘Come on, Toby,’ she says, taking hold of his hand, ‘let’s go check my mum hasn’t started on the Martinis.’ Then shooting me a final ‘be careful’ look, she wanders off, leaving the two of us alone, or as alone as we can be in a room full of people.
Suddenly my mouth feels dry, and my legs are a bit shaky.
I always had such a huge crush on him.
