Page 31

Chapter Twenty-nine

Leon

Gemma stumbles the rest of the way down the corridor, giggling to herself.

Francesca and I finish mopping up all the spilled drinks, dumping the wet napkins into our designated carrier bag of rubbish along with the drenched Doritos and wet, crumbling crackers, and then she tidies up the rest of our picnic.

We didn’t pack anything up properly earlier, abandoning it for some airport Olympics with strangers.

I must be staring, and she must notice, because she says, ‘I’m always the mum friend. I can’t help it. Well, almost always. At work, it’s …’ Her face scrunches up. ‘It’s a bit of a boys’ club environment with a lot of them. I fell into the trap of trying to fit in so I didn’t get left behind.’

‘You mean with Marcus’s lot?’

Her hands pause as she slots a tray of Milka biscuits halfway back into their box. ‘Yes.’

‘And here I thought it was just Gemma with the shitty job.’

Francesca finishes tidying up the food, but her shoulders are tense.

I fight through the alcohol haze to focus my gaze on her.

The way she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, the way her lower lip catches between her teeth.

Tiny, automatic gestures that I suddenly find myself wanting to savour.

‘It’s not the job, so much as … them ,’ she says.

‘That group. I behave a bit different around them on nights out, but – Marcus started including me, and I didn’t want him to stop if I was too much of a bore.

And sometimes they can actually be really great fun!

And they’ll look out for me a bit, help me with stuff at work if I need it without expecting a favour back, always make sure I get home safe at the end of the night … They’re not all bad, but …’

‘Not all great, either.’

‘Not really,’ she admits. She fidgets with one of the pins on her jacket. The black denim is so faded it’s greyish. Maybe it’s vintage? Maybe she thrifts stuff.

‘Cool jacket,’ I say, but Francesca grimaces. ‘Where’d you get all the badges?’

‘Oh! Um, just … Well, here and there, you know.’ Her voice carries, more chipper than when she was talking about going out with Marcus’s gang at work, and her face brightens.

‘Me and some of my friends from uni sort of made it a tradition to do Secret Santa and always get one of these enamel pins. I used to just hoard them all in a box, or put a couple on a tote bag or something, but it seemed so sad to leave them gathering dust somewhere. Some of them I got for birthdays or I just found from a creator on Instagram or something and couldn’t resist.’

She starts telling me about them all – one referencing a book series, another referencing an avocado Vine from years ago that she and her sister always laugh about, one that she and a friend both bought on a trip to Dublin …

She’s animated as she talks, smiling wide and chattering away like she doesn’t really care what I think about them or if it sounds a bit nerdy or weird or anything.

Her head’s doing that thing where it ticks to the side. Like she’s going to tuck her cheek into her shoulder if she smiles too big.

It’s definitely cute, I decide. Very cute.

She only stops because ‘Lady Marmalade’ starts blaring out of a phone somewhere down the corridor, and we both look over to see Gemma’s head poking around the corner.

‘Are you guys ready?’ she yells.

‘Ready!’ Francesca bellows back. The pair of them are noisy enough to draw in a couple of our new friends from the joint stag do who’ve gotten bored of prosecco pong, and now pile in around us to see what’s going on.

As Christina Aguilera starts singing the hook, Gemma hurls herself out into the centre of the hallway in a blur of turquoise.

She grabs the skirt in each hand, swishing it as she struts and rolling her shoulders not quite in time to the music.

I don’t know if I’m drunk enough to see double, or if there really are that many ruffles on the dress.

Gemma’s face is deadly serious, lips in a pout, and she swings one leg deliberately in front of the other in an exaggerated catwalk that makes Francesca shriek. She throws her arms in the air, crying, ‘Yes, Gem! Go! Slay, queen!’

‘Whooo,’ I say, ‘go Gemma.’

The bridesmaids and groomsmen are fully on board with the impromptu fashion show, cheering wildly and singing along to Gemma’s phone loudly. They cry out, ‘Pop off, bish! Yas! No crumbs! She’s serving c—’

Francesca squeaks loud enough to smother that particular swear, which sounds weirdly affectionate coming from this total stranger in a top hat fascinator, but Gemma is beaming under the attention, the life and soul, looking happier than …

Well, happier than she has most of the night. Definitely happier than she did in any of the photos from Kayleigh’s hen do.

She’s about two feet away from us now, and throws her weight to her left, arms launching out to vogue like Madonna – and she collides with a man in a suit, who stumbles back while Gemma lets out a squawk at having almost punched him right on the nose.

She nearly drops her phone as she pauses the music.

‘ Excuse me ,’ the suited man hisses, and skirts around her.

Gemma looks at us all with wide eyes, mouth hanging open, arms frozen outstretched, all trace of her very serious model walk abandoned now – and with no chance of recovery as a mum around my age comes out of the loos behind her with a toddler on her hip and a five-year-old held by the hand.

She gives Gemma a bit of a weird look, and then notices her audience and the little bar set up around our feet, and rolls her eyes.

‘Mummy,’ the little boy says, ‘is that a princess? I thought you said Cinderella lived in Disneyland.’

‘Even Cinders needs a holiday sometimes,’ Gemma calls after them, very serious once more, and the little boy tucks his head into his mum’s side, shy.

The mum throws Gemma a smile, though. There’s a shout from within the concourse – the ‘short king’ groom, I recognise – and the stag do peel away to go see what’s happening, now Gemma’s catwalk is over.

I peer after them, noticing he’s stood on a chair and giving some loud, impassioned speech that makes his fiancé blub happy tears.

I think it might be Taylor Swift lyrics.

Once the corridor is clear, Gemma finally strikes us a pose. This one is more refined, just a hand on her hip. ‘So? Isn’t she stunning?’

‘That cannot be your bridesmaid’s dress,’ Francesca says, appalled.

‘Kayleigh usually has such great taste! What is this? What is …?’ She clambers to her feet, stumbling only a little, and gestures at the layers and layers of ruffles arranged around the dress.

They’re on the sleeves, the skirt, the bodice.

When Francesca turns Gemma around, I see the back is dipped low, and there’s even a ruffle lining that, too.

‘It’s designer !’ Gemma says, with a smile that’s too toothy, and sort of manic around the eyes. ‘It’s sooo on trend, sooo chic. She can’t have us wearing just anything . It needs to be standout. Especially for her maid of honour.’

Francesca takes another long study of the dress and cringes. ‘Um. Well, it’s … certainly not forgettable. It looks like something out of 27 Dresses .’

‘Ohmigod, yes! Thank you! ’ Gemma throws her hands in the air. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking this whole time! She’s out to punish me, right? This is not something you make your best friend wear because you like them. Tell me.’

Now, Gemma pins me with a fierce look, and I clear my throat. ‘I’m not much of a fashion expert, Gem …’

‘Leon, look me in the eye and tell me your darling sister wouldn’t make me wear this if she didn’t want me to suffer.’

‘Suffer’ is a bit strong – it’s just a dress, after all.

But I can only hold my hands up in surrender and shake my head with a breath of laughter, before reaching once more for my drink. It’s almost empty; I pour myself another. In for a penny …

‘You ever doubt what your sister’s really like,’ Gemma tells me, ‘remember this dress. And just look at what she said about it in the group chat …’

She comes over, bringing her phone up from her side to swipe through it.

‘It was all, “Oh, girls, I know Gemma’s got something a bit extra special, but I hope you all understand …” As if she was doing me a favour! As if I didn’t have to pay for the bloody thing myself!’

‘Wait, I thought Mum and Dad were paying for the dresses?’ I say, brow furrowing.

I’m sure that was the conversation … I know my head’s a bit fuzzy, but I distinctly remember them discussing it.

Myleene was put out because she wasn’t a bridesmaid, so they’d promised her to spend a bit extra on her dress to make up for it.

I remember, because I rolled my eyes and thought Kay wasn’t doing them any favours by sharing her taste for fashionable clothes with our youngest sister, and Kay had a wardrobe full of barely worn dresses that surely Myleene could borrow for the weekend; wasn’t one of those good enough?

But I am not a fashion expert, as established, so I kept my mouth shut.

Gemma scoffs at me. ‘Please, that budget got eaten up by the veil and the alterations. It didn’t even touch the bridesmaids’ dresses. We had to foot the bill for those ourselves.’

‘Christ, how expensive was this veil?’

‘You do not want to know.’ She rolls her eyes, turns her attention back to her phone, and halts.

Her face creases, her top lip hooking up in a ‘huh?’ sort of expression, which falls away as she studies her phone and scrolls slowly.

I watch the blood drain from her face, see the usual swagger and confidence leach away too, until Gemma looks – scared.

Young. Like the world just opened up beneath her feet and swallowed her whole.

Her breathing turns shallow, and I’m afraid for a moment she’s going to pass out.

Anyone else, I’d think she’d just had some bad news about a family member being taken ill suddenly. But Gemma doesn’t have family, or none she’s close enough to that it’d warrant a reaction like that.

I step towards her. ‘Everything okay? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s …’ She blinks, staring blankly at her phone.

‘It’s the group chat. They’ve kicked me out so they can bitch about me.

But this is … This is my work phone, the battery on mine was getting really low.

I’m in the chat twice – you know, maid of honour, couldn’t afford to miss any updates, all that crap …

I never really message from this one, I don’t think Kayleigh’s even got this number saved …

They just kicked my personal number out, not this one. Look.’

Her hand trembles as she holds out the phone, and Francesca takes it.

I come over to her side to get a better look.

A WhatsApp of ‘Kayleigh’s Wedding Party!

’ with a series of bride emojis is open to an hour or so ago – a string of messages that have been sent while we were laughing ourselves silly with piggybacks and three-legged races.

Gemma Cavendish has been removed from the group

Kayleigh Michaels:

Will set up the other group now so we’ve got a separate one if she does make it tomorrow! Not looking likely though lol

Joss Nichols-Brown:

Genuinely cannot BELIEVE she’s missing your wedding. What the fuck kind of maid of honour does that??? It’s not like she didn’t have enough advance notice

Laura Fielding:

It’s so messed up. But at least you’ve got us Kay!!!

Kayleigh Michaels:

Much better company lol

Love you gals xxxx

She’s probably not even at the airport, she’s probably shut up in her sad little room in that house-share waiting for a morning flight so she can swan in late and steal the limelight

Andi G:

Lmaoooo classic Gemma. She’s always so desperate for attention

Joss Nichols-Brown:

Omg right???? SO clingy

Kayleigh Michaels:

Tell me about it! She’s always been like this lol. Can’t let me have ANYTHING

Laura Fielding:

You know she tried to tell me the destination wedding was HER thing? Like, what, nobody else has destination weddings? You don’t own the idea Gemma, calm down

Joss Nichols-Brown:

No way!!!! Omg what a try hard

Just as well Brit dumped her instead of proposing, she’d have been copying all your ideas for her wedding otherwise I bet

Andi G:

I still can’t get over that she refused to get the time off work to come early. Like she’s too good for the rest of us! Bet she’s been planning to skip the wedding all week bc you got the job and she didn’t Kay

Kayleigh Michaels:

Would NOT surprise me

Laura Fielding:

I still can’t get over that she refused to come out to drinks last week to celebrate!

Beyond bitter

Like, your best mate just got a promotion? At least pretend to be happy for her?

Joss Nichols-Brown:

She needs to get over herself

Kayleigh Michaels:

Wedding will be MUCH better for her not being here tbh. So glad I’ve got you gals with me!

Although I AM sad we might not get to see her in her dress …

Andi G:

HAHAHA PLS I NEED TO SEE THAT

Kayleigh Michaels:

You guys don’t think it was too much?

Or … not enough? Lol! It was kinda tame compared to some of the ones I was looking at originally …

Joss Nichols-Brown:

Miss high-and-mighty fashionista needed a reality check

Laura Fielding:

Acting like she’s too good to keep up with trends but really it’s just because she can’t afford them lol

Basic white tees for a basic bitch

Kayleigh Michaels:

Oh come on, she’s not all bad …

She’s GREAT at being a total pushover lol Anyway, got to go girlies – need that beauty rest! Thanks all for such a fab night, you’re the best friends a bride-to-be could ask for! See you all bright and early tomorrow morning! xxxxx

Francesca gasps, holding a hand up to her mouth, and there are tears in her eyes. I take the phone from her, scrolling back through to reread some of the messages. Is this a hallucination? The booze messing with me?

No.

It’s not.

It’s the rose-tinted glasses I’ve been wearing shattering to pieces.

I’ve never heard my sister talk like this. I’ve never heard her be so cruel about people. She sounds like a bully. She sounds ugly.

‘You know what?’ I say, fingers clenching around Gemma’s phone. ‘She and Marcus might be a great match for each other after all.’