Page 23

Chapter Twenty-two

Gemma

Fran’s whole face lights up as she laughs, and then I’m joining her as the ridiculousness of this entire situation sinks in, until we’re laughing so hard we’re leaning on each other, gasping for air and bent double, people staring and frowning in our direction, and neither of us caring.

Is this actually happening?

It is, isn’t it?

I’m really stuck in a French airport all night with nowhere to go but Ladurée and a sad, overpriced coffee shop, picking out lingerie for a girl I’ve just met to help her steal my best friend’s soon-to-be husband.

There are tears pouring down my cheeks, and I can’t breathe.

I’m not sure how much of it is laughter anymore, but I don’t really want to know the answer to that.

Like I said, that sort of thinking is what makes you spiral if you’re not careful.

It does feel good to finally vent a little bit about how hard it is to be Kayleigh’s friend and how she treats me. Mis treats me. I’ve always accepted it as fact, but saying it out loud …

God, it’s cathartic.

I’ve never told anybody that she only met Marcus because of me.

He knows what happened – Kayleigh told him, and they both thought it was hilarious, but it’s not the sweet meet-cute story they spin when anybody wonders how they got together.

I’ve made a few backhanded jokes about her stealing my wedding, but nobody’s ever looked at me like Fran did, feeling sorry about it, acknowledged that it was a really shitty thing for Kayleigh to do.

I can feel questions circling in my mind, doubts crawling out of the shadows, half-formed what-ifs …

I know what my subconscious wants me to confront; these thoughts are nothing new.

I’ve wondered plenty of times – What if I just walked away?

What if I confronted her? Why do I put up with it why don’t I try to be better why—

I know the answers to those kinds of questions, though.

It’s the same kind of reason Fran is still chasing after Marcus: because he stuck around.

So I push those thoughts aside now, before I end up letting them drag me down.

Fran starts to sober up, taking the sparkly thong out of my hand to scrutinise.

She looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘Imagine the chafing,’ which sends me into a fresh peal of laughter, but also chases those nasty little thoughts back into the shadows where I don’t have to mull over them, and my chest feels lighter. I’m practically buoyant.

Maybe I should invest in therapy. This is great.

We discard the sparkly thong to pick through different garments. Lurid pink scraps of underwear, lacy push-up bras, shimmering bikinis. Fran lingers on one of those – it’s turquoise, the same colour as my bridesmaid’s dress.

Actually, it’d be a really lovely colour on her.

I say as much out loud, and she snatches her hand back. ‘Oh, no, I wasn’t … I mean, I’m not really going to buy any of this stuff.’ Her hand curls around the Chanel lipstick I picked out for her, and she smiles down at it. ‘Well, maybe this.’

‘You should. You’ll look gorge. And imagine – that, with this? ’ I hold the bikini up in front of her. The top part is essentially two tiny triangles with strings hanging off them, a halter-neck, and she laughs and pushes it away.

‘My boobs would pop right out of that! I think that goes past “seduction” and right into “‘public nudity”.’

‘I’m sure there are some topless beaches around,’ I say, but scrutinise her a bit closer.

The peasant blouse she’s wearing is loose and hides her shape, and that ugly, huge denim jacket drowns her.

It makes her small form look boxy and shapeless, and I remember what she said about not being sure of herself when it comes to fashion.

Unless maybe she’s going for more of a Billie Eilish thing …

? In which case, she’s kind of nailing it.

She moves on to a structured one-piece instead.

There are little cut-outs on the side, and a diamante circle in the middle of the boobs.

Even that looks too daring for Fran, though, and she quickly dismisses it.

It’s only when I watch her pull down the sleeves of her denim jacket to her fingertips that I realise—

‘That’s a man’s coat.’

She jumps, flushing red. ‘Er.’

My eyes bug wide. ‘ That’s Marcus’s coat . It is, isn’t it? Ohmigod. You wear his jacket.’

‘He left it at my place, that night …’ She trails off, and her fingers touch the cuff and her lips draw into a soft smile.

Honestly, you can read her like a book. I’m not sure if it’s sad and pathetic or unbearably sweet that she kept his jacket all this time and still wears it . It’s kind of ballsy to wear it to his wedding, though, I’ll give her that.

‘You said he met Kayleigh just after he met you.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So if what you have is so special, why did he bother with her when you two had a thing going?’

It’s obviously the very last thing Fran wants me to ask her: she winces, looks sheepish and bites the inside of her cheek, screws up her nose and scrunches her forehead like she’s half debating telling me to mind my own business.

But then she says, ‘It’s my fault. That’s why I have to talk to him before the wedding.

After we spent the night together, I saw him at the office and he came over to me saying, “Listen, about Friday night …” and I just panicked .

I hadn’t heard from him over the entire weekend.

He looked so nervous, and I thought, What if he’s going to try to sweep it under the rug?

What if he says he regretted it? I couldn’t bear that.

So I just told him, “It’s fine, really! We’d had a couple of drinks, it was just a bit of fun.

It’s no big deal.” I think … God, it’s so embarrassing to think now, but I was trying to play it cool. To be a cool girl about it.’

‘Oh, sweetie, no.’

She nods, pulling a face at me before continuing.

‘I know. And we were in the middle of the office, you know? There were people around. I didn’t want to tell him in front of everyone that it was the most romantic night of my entire life.

So I said it was fine, and he still looked nervous and he asked if I was sure.

I told him I was, and he smiled a bit and gave me this weird little … ’

She demonstrates, punching me lightly in the shoulder, hardly even touching me, her whole body swaying from her shoulders with a swagger that is actually an uncanny impression of Marcus.

‘And he said, “So, we’re all good? We’re still pals?

I’d hate to lose you,” and I started to realise that maybe I’d gotten it wrong – that he wasn’t going to reject me, but now I’d rejected him , so he had to suck it up and pretend it was all okay.

He said his phone had died over the weekend and that’s why he hadn’t texted, and …

Everything just spiralled so far out of control.

I’d told him we were just friends, and then suddenly he was in a relationship, so it didn’t feel like I had any right to take that back. ’

‘Until now.’

‘Until now,’ she agrees.

I wonder how it actually played out. How much is in her head that she’s romanticised, and how much Marcus actually was invested in her until that point.

I don’t suppose it matters anyway. Knowing him as I do – and from what I’ve seen of Fran – they’re hardly a match.

He’d walk all over her, and she’d let him, happily.

Kind of like someone else I know, with her bestie.

I get the sudden urge to grab Fran by the shoulders, to shake her, to shout in her face, Can’t you see he’s playing you?

Don’t you know what a fool you’re making of yourself?

He doesn’t love you, he never will; he’ll use you and take and take and take and you’ll kill yourself trying to live up to some impossible expectation and count yourself lucky he even looks twice at you.

Don’t you know you’re worth more than that?

Don’t you want to be worth more than that?

But I don’t say any of that, obviously.

I’m not sure if it’d be directed more at Francesca or at me, and neither of us wants to hear it right now.

So instead, I reach inside Marcus’s horrible jacket she’s decorated with her adorable, dorky collection of pins, and pinch her blouse so it fits tighter to her body, and then start having a proper look for something for her to wear.

A cute babydoll, maybe. Definitely a hot bikini.

I bet she’s packed a one-piece she found in the Tesco sporty section years ago, or something.

Fran trails after me, lets me paw through pieces and suggest them for her, and it’s only once I’m holding up a matching set and a really cute nightie that she blanches and recoils.

‘Oh, Gemma, it’s really nice of you to try to help me out, but I’m not actually buying anything, remember? I don’t need … I mean, I’m not going to … Boys don’t even notice half the time, do they? Is that really the sort of thing Marcus would like?’

With that last comment, she reaches out to touch the butter-soft silk of the nightie, and I roll my eyes.

‘Fran, this isn’t for Marcus. It’s not about what he likes. It’s not for any man . The whole point of this kind of stuff is to make you feel good. So you feel sexy and confident. Not so he thinks you are.’

‘I guess I’ve … never really thought about it that way.’

‘Sure you haven’t,’ I say, and when she frowns quizzically up at me I add, ‘You stick to your comfort zone. Probably a raging people pleaser, too.’

She cringes, but manages a laugh in spite of herself. ‘Guilty as charged.’

I toss the clothes onto the top of a display of pyjama sets to grab Fran lightly by the shoulders. And I do give her a little shake, but just a gentle one.

‘Girl, I don’t know what your deal is, but you’ve got to start putting yourself at the centre of your story.

Stop being some sidekick in the background of someone else’s.

For God’s sake, you’re on your way to Barcelona to break up the wedding of the man you love!

If you’re going to act like the main character of a romance movie, you should start believing it about yourself. ’

Fran’s eyebrows bunch and her lips purse, but not like she’s going to argue.

Like she’s heard me, is internalising it, letting it take root.

‘I do always try to fade into the background and just … go with the flow,’ she murmurs, then gives me an accusatory squint which she softens with another laugh. ‘You’re very good at reading people, Gemma, d’you know that?’

‘Yes, I do.’

I’m just not very good at listening to my own advice is all.

Trying to lighten the mood a little – and because I’m kind of curious – I ask her, ‘Was Marcus really that good in bed you spent the best part of two years pining after him? I mean, Kayleigh obviously thinks he’s great, but personally, I have my doubts.

Doesn’t strike me as a guy who makes sure you finish too, you know what I mean? ’

Fran sputters, blushing again, and I wonder if it’s because we’re talking about Marcus or talking about sex in general. Is this a confidence thing, or, like, a Catholic guilt thing? Although saying that, I’m pretty sure I remember hearing that she grew up with Buddhist parents …

She mumbles something, so quiet I don’t have a hope in hell of hearing it even if duty free were dead silent instead of pumping Ariana Grande through the speakers.

There’s a redhead girl nearby looking at some bras, and some people in gimmicky stag/hen do T-shirts loitering by the sunglasses.

Fran looks around, as if scared they can all hear our conversation.

‘Say again?’

But all I get is another incoherent mutter.

‘Fran, I swear to God, if you—’

‘I said we never actually had sex!’ she yells, and my tongue makes a loud pop against the roof of my mouth as my jaw drops.

She’s beet red and everybody is staring, but she squares her shoulders.

The redhead raises her eyebrows and turns away, but I think she’s probably eavesdropping like hell.

At a more conversational level, Fran tells me, ‘We kissed, and he stayed the night, but we didn’t do anything except kiss and cuddle and talk.

That’s what I mean when I say it wasn’t some one-night stand.

It was so much more than that. I’ve never had that sort of thing with anybody before.

It was so romantic and intimate in a way I’ve never known sex be. Does that make sense?’

It does, and my heart goes out to her – but in that same way as when Leon admitted why he’d take on the responsibility of confronting Kayleigh, to spare the rest of his family losing her. It makes sense, but it’s not something I can truly relate to.

I’ve … never had that.

I think, if I had, I’d want to fight for it, too.

‘You’re right,’ I tell her. ‘You can’t turn back now. You deserve to know.’

Fran regards me a moment longer before snatching up the underwear we found for her, bundling it together with her new lipstick.

There’s a spark of determination in her pale blue eyes, and she smiles at me before nodding once.

I’m already smiling back, and wondering when was the last time I felt this kind of easy friendship with Kayleigh and didn’t have to fake a smile for the sake of it.

Then there’s the sound of someone crashing into a stand, products falling, someone shouting out, and the rattle of several suitcase wheels.

‘Sorry, sorry – shit, I’m so sorry, I’ll …’

We both look over to see Leon, his battered satchel slung over one shoulder and dragging all our luggage behind him. As if sensing us looking, he glances our way, and grimaces.

‘I might’ve lost our table. Also, um, the flight’s been delayed. Again.’

This day just keeps getting better and better.

But when I glance at Fran, she meets my eye and laughs, and then Leon turns around and knocks some boxes of biscuits over, and things don’t seem quite so bleak.