‘You have no choice in the matter, my friend.’ I patted Maeve’s leg. ‘Off you go, soldier.’
I watched them enter competitive mode, bending muscles I hadn’t bent in years, each of them trying to tap their back foot quicker than the other.
‘Watch me crush you like a grape, Maeve!’ Isla was already panting.
I would much rather be watching the two of them than be sat opposite a guy who didn’t even check if I wanted his gherkin. Double entendre not intended.
6
Maeve and I were sitting in front of Maeve’s giant antique mirror (Rory had not taken too kindly to lugging it up three flights of stairs when we’d first moved in), passing palettes and compacts between us like we had back in uni. Some things had changed since we were 18 – we spent less time in dressing gowns, had long sworn off Lambrini and we’d finally invested in a garlic crusher – but most things felt exactly the same. We still ate dry toast straight from the toaster when we were hungover, and we were a well-oiled machine when it came to getting ready. I knew that technically you weren’t meant to share make-up, but we’d been using each other’s lipsticks for years and nothing drastic had happened. I grabbed my eyeliner from one of the make-up bags, checking my phone for what felt like the fiftieth time.
Maeve watched me out of the corner of her eye, mostly concentrating on twisting pieces of hair into tiny braids. ‘I take it we haven’t heard from the future Mrs Webber yet, then?’
I sighed, rooting for an eyelash curler. ‘Nada.’
‘Mae? How does this look?’ Adrian’s voice increased in volume as he wandered through the living room and into Maeve’s bedroom. He fanned his hand down the length of his body, showing off a crisp white shirt and chinos. I wasn’t the only one in this household who turned to my best friend for fashion advice.
‘Looks hot.’ She gave him a thumbs up in the mirror.
‘You didn’t even look.’
She whipped her head round. ‘I did. Grouchy much?’
I did the typical British thing and pretended I was not in the room. Adrian wasn’t even supposed to be here; he’d made a last-minute decision to get a train and had arrived in a stinker of a mood after a diversion at Doncaster.
He perched on the end of her bed now, beer in hand. ‘Fine. Forget it.’
Maeve shot me a look under the pretence of passing me her mascara. Long distance meant hours spent on trains, leaving both of them susceptible to strikes or delays and a long list of things out of their control that could threaten to ruin their precious time together.
‘Anyway …’ I took it upon myself to defuse the situation, wishing Ror was here to make a stupid joke. ‘Crisp, anyone?’
I held out my share bag of Wotsits.
Adrian snorted and took an obnoxiously orange cheese puff from the bag. ‘Any update from Joe?’
‘Negative.’ I leaned back on my palms. ‘Maybe he’s wussed out.’
My phone vibrated.
‘Okay, if he asks, I didn’t just say that.’
I opened up my phone to a text from Isla in the group chat.
You’re looking at the future Mrs Webber!!
The text was accompanied by a photo of her and my brother, Isla’s slender hand sporting the ring held up between them. I could see candles in the background, softened by the sharpness of both of their faces pressed up together, flushed and happy.
‘Why do I feel like I might cry?’ Maeve was squinting at her own phone. ‘God, their living room looks like the world’s biggest fire risk right now. One wrong move and we won’t be celebrating tonight.’
I poked her. ‘That’s not very “think positive” of you, Dr Bellarby.’
Another text came through, this time from my brother just to me:
Joe: Success! Couldn’t have done it without you – see you at the pub? There’s a pint with your name on it.
I grinned as I typed my response. My brother was getting married.
***
‘Wow, Caroline, you’ve really outdone yourself.’ Maeve made a beeline for the buffet table as soon as we arrived, pouncing on Mum, who was still laying out baked goods. She’d been working overtime to produce doughnuts spelling out ‘Just Engaged’, each shaped like their individual letter. She’d also made oatmeal raisin cookies, Isla’s favourite (the only downside of having her in the family, because what kind of psycho has raisins in their favourite cookie) and chocolate shortbreads, which were Joe’s.
‘All in a day’s work.’ She brushed her hands together, smacking Maeve on the bum when she tried to pinch a cookie. Maeve and Isla were on the same wavelength about oatmeal raisin. It was horrifying.
The pub looked fantastic; Mum and I had managed to string fairy lights around our designated section of the room, and we’d pinned up transparent balloons filled with pastel confetti.
‘You guys have done such a good job she might ask you to plan the big day.’ Maeve beckoned Adrian over from where he’d been hovering by the door, typing on his phone.
‘Quick, Mum, make it look shit.’ I was only half joking. I wasn’t sure there was room for Wedding Planner on my CV.
We were among the first few here – Isla’s sisters were at the bar with glasses of lime and soda, whispering to each other and gesturing at the décor. I rolled my eyes. I’d received a terse email from the elder of the two, telling me that they couldn’t stay long due to babysitters, and had Joe not thought about proposing at lunchtime instead? I hadn’t replied.
‘Well, well, well.’ I knew the Geordie accent like the back of my hand, feeling Rory’s hands on my shoulders before I saw him. He swayed me from side to side. ‘Everyone ready for the wedding of the decade?’
I looked up at him. ‘You do know that this is the engagement party, right?’
He pouted as he started to walk away from me. ‘But I brought my fascinator and everything.’
Adrian seemed to perk up at the sight of another guy, and they made their way to the bar, catching up.
