Always the Bridesmaid. Lindsey Kelk
your name?’
‘Maddie,’ I said, a horrible squawk of a laugh bubbling from my lips, as though my name was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Maddie,’ he repeated, ignoring my question. ‘What did Thomas want?’
‘We were just talking.’ I waved my hands around aimlessly. ‘About nothing. He wasn’t being a knobhead.’
‘Makes a change,’ he drawled. ‘Doesn’t matter though, does it? At least he’s gone. You’re safe now.’
‘Am I?’ I asked. Isn’t that what murderers say right before they kill you?
We were completely alone, no one around but random shadows thrown across the lawn by the party going on inside and a Kanye West soundtrack that I would not have chosen for this moment.
Will was still staring at me, a big smile on his face. It was most disconcerting.
‘I liked your toast,’ I said, smiling back, possibly looking a bit like a loon. ‘Very important job, best man. You were great.’
He ran his hand across his five o’clock shadow, still considering me. I surreptitiously licked my lips and combed a few loose strands of hair behind my ears.
‘Very important job,’ he agreed finally. ‘But it’s been a long day. Too much standing around for my liking. I’m knackered.’
‘It has been a long day,’ I agreed, smoothing the back of my hands across my shiny nose. ‘At least it’s almost over.’
‘You’re done for the night?’ he asked.
I nodded. He nodded back, and then, without warning, slapped my bare thigh so hard I let out a yelp and bit my lip.
‘Listen, Maddie, I was actually planning on sneaking out when I saw you out here,’ he said, jumping to his feet and holding out his hand. ‘Don’t suppose I can give you a lift anywhere?’
This was it. This was the moment. Or at least, it felt a lot like a moment. The kind of situation that a girl who blow-dried her hair properly and got professional manicures would know how to deal with. I glanced down at my bare, bitten-down nails and breathed in. Think of the money you’ll save on a taxi, I told myself. It’s just a lift, I told myself.
‘That would be very nice of you,’ I said, pushing my shoulders back and trying to look more confident than I felt. ‘But I don’t want to put you out. Which way are you going?’
He smiled again, and this time there was no mistaking what he meant.
‘I’ll drop you off,’ he said, helping me to my feet without asking where I lived. ‘Come on.’
‘Only if it’s on your way,’ I said, holding back a Tigger-like bounce in my walk when he did not let go of my hand. ‘Really.’
‘Maddie, I will drop you off,’ he said again, squeezing my fingers as we walked towards the car park. ‘It’s not a problem.’
And that was how, for the first time in thirty-one years, I woke up with a strange man in my bed.
Sunday May 17th
Today I feel: Slutty in a good way.
Today I am thankful for: Netflix, Lauren and Mini Cheddars.
I woke up first the next morning, Will still face down in his pillow, snoring and enjoying the deep, restful sleep of a man who had performed. I hadn’t slept quite so well. I don’t know how anyone can relax in bed with a complete stranger, even if they’ve just seen every last little bit of you, up close and personal. Actually sleeping with someone is a lot more intimate than sleeping with someone, as far as I’m concerned.
Rather than wake him up and have to actually converse with the man, I did the only sensible thing I could do. I snuck out of bed, locked myself in the bathroom and panicked. I’d had a one-night stand. I was fairly certain it had been a good one, but it had been a while, and despite what people might say, it was nothing like riding a bike. Or if it was, I was doing it wrong.
‘Hello, what’s wrong, are you OK? You’re still coming to the party, right?’
Lauren would know what to do. Sensible, sweet Lauren.
‘I brought a man home,’ I hissed into my phone, shoving a towel under the bathroom door to muffle the sound of my voice. ‘Last night. I did it with a man. He’s still here. What do I do?’
‘Go you!’ she replied, only sounding slightly surprised. ‘Is he hot? Do you like him? Is he coming to the party?’
‘He is hot,’ I said, examining myself for love bites and thankfully coming up clean. ‘I think I like him, and no, he isn’t coming to the party.’
‘Oh.’ She only sounded slightly disappointed. ‘I think I’ve overcatered. How did you meet him? Tinder?’
‘I deleted Tinder off my phone to make room for the Taylor Swift album.’
‘The last one?’
‘Yep.’
‘Totally worth it.’
‘Totally worth it,’ I agreed, randomly taking the lids off my various lotions and potions and wondering which one would make me look less grey. ‘He was at the wedding I worked yesterday.’
‘Nice.’ Lauren sounded genuinely impressed. ‘Good work.’
I patted a thick white moisturizer onto one cheek. ‘Thank you?’
‘Maddie, it’s not even nine a.m. on a Sunday,’ she yawned. ‘Did you want something, or did you just call to brag now I’m practically an old married woman?’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I whispered, closing the toilet lid and sitting down carefully, wiping off the cream with a tissue. ‘I’ve never done this before.’
‘You’ve never brought a guy home before?’ I could hear her racking her mental archives even as she spoke. ‘Jesus, woman. You’re two years late on your rebound.’
‘Just tell me what to do,’ I said, wondering whether or not he would stay asleep long enough for me to paint my toenails. Of course they didn’t matter last night, but they mattered this morning. If only to me.
‘Baby’s first one-night stand,’ Lauren cooed. ‘This is so awesome. I am so touched that you called me. Not that you could call Sarah right now, I guess.’
‘Yeah, I can’t imagine that call going well,’ I replied, wincing. ‘Now back to me. Please.’
‘Go easy − you want to look totally natural. Clean your teeth, wash your face, put on mascara and lip balm, maybe a little powder if you’re shiny, but that’s all,’ she instructed. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘Last night’s shirt and my not terribly attractive knickers,’ I said, sniffing myself. ‘Are you turned on?’
‘You want to look cute and comfortable,’ Lauren said. ‘Like, a loose sweater, something lived-in, like you wear it all the time. But a nice one. Do you have any cashmere?’
‘No, I don’t have a nice, baggy, post-coital cashmere jumper in my bathroom,’ I replied. As if I wasn’t stressed enough about my chipped toenails, now I had to worry about not having enough premium knitwear to flounce around the house in as well? ‘Forget what I’m wearing, what do I actually do?’
‘Honey, if I’ve got to tell you that, I’m not sure how you got him home with you in the first place.’
‘I don’t mean sexing,’ I whispered. Maybe I should have called Sarah. Or my mum. Or anyone else