Page 32

Chapter Thirty

Francesca

There’s a sudden flurry of foot traffic – some flights are actually leaving, boarding gates being called, and people are fitting in a quick wee before they go.

I step closer to Gemma, wrapping my arms around her and bringing her out of the way.

She’s shaking, her skin cold and clammy, and once again, years of being the mum friend on nights out has instinct kicking in.

‘We’ll be back in a few,’ I tell Leon, and bundle Gemma to the loos, taking her suitcase with us.

The toilets are huge – wide open and aggressively lit.

They’re noisy, too – exasperated parents talking loudly to their children and trying very hard to be patient, a couple of old women nattering with voices like foghorns, hand-dryers blaring like hurricanes and toilets flushing like Niagara Falls.

It’s a struggle to process it all with the amount I’ve had to drink.

Gemma’s drink-stained outfit from earlier is in a pile on the end of the sinks, which are a long, flat, angled bank of porcelain; her clothes have been sat collecting water as people wash their hands.

For once, Gemma is deathly silent. She wraps her arms around herself, shoulders bowed forward, staring with tearful eyes at nothing at all. Her teeth are chattering.

I can’t even imagine … Seeing those messages, her so-called friends, her best friend , talking about her like that … It’s so cruel. It’s downright nasty. What else must they have been saying behind her back?

Are these people really her friends ? I can’t imagine any of mine acting like this.

We’ve been a tight-knit band since the first year of uni, the kind of friends who always show up for each other but call each other out when someone’s out of line, too.

That’s exactly why I’ve been too nervous to tell them about what’s been going on with me and Marcus!

But even then, they’d call me out to my face, not evict me from a WhatsApp to bitch about me.

None of us would talk to each other, or about each other , like Gemma’s friends did in that group chat.

And for all Gemma made it clear to us that she resents Kayleigh, I’d put money on her bottling it all up rather than badmouthing her to everybody.

Kayleigh obviously hasn’t shown her the same courtesy.

And Gemma told us she’d only found out about the promotion this afternoon, so Kayleigh clearly arranged a celebratory drink with her other friends and made it sound like Gemma was in the know and just didn’t want to come!

Maybe she even told them not to say anything to Gemma to ‘not upset her any more’.

It’s so – it’s so manipulative, so mean , so …

Is this really the woman Marcus is choosing? She can’t be who he wants to spend his life with.

A headache begins to throb at the front of my skull right between my eyes; I grit my teeth against it and focus on the matter at hand.

When I bend down to open Gemma’s suitcase, the room pitches sideways, but I manage not to fall over.

I find a pair of tapered, soft cotton trousers, and pause over a white T-shirt folded neatly on the top of the bag.

Just touching it , I feel like it must cost more than my dress for this wedding, and I splurged in Selfridges on that. It doesn’t feel very ‘basic’ to me.

I root past it and pull out the next item – a pale blue button-down shirt.

I hand the clothes to Gemma. The garment bag for her atrocious dress is hanging over a toilet door, so I prompt her in that direction.

‘Do you need help unzipping the dress?’ I ask, but Gemma shakes her head and walks off. I turn my attention to her clothes in the sink, wringing them out as best I can and then holding them under a hand-dryer. She can’t very well put sodden clothes back in her suitcase.

When Gemma emerges several minutes later, the garment bag draped over her arm, she looks like a stranger.

Well, I suppose, she is still a stranger – I’ve only known her for a few hours. But it feels like I’ve lived a hundred lifetimes in the span of those heartfelt and heart-wrenching conversations and with the drinking games and gossiping and lingerie shopping.

What I mean is, she doesn’t look like herself.

Her hair is still wavy (it must be natural, I decide, no Airwrap necessary) and a little bit frizzy, and she’s still wearing her glasses, and she obviously has one of those capsule wardrobes where everything goes with everything else because she still looks effortlessly chic in that casual outfit.

But there’s no gleam in her eyes, no casual confidence in her bearing, no sense of absolutely rightness and belonging radiating out of her.

Gemma splashes some cold water on her face, then runs her fingers through her hair and uses her shirt to clean the smudges off her glasses.

‘Thanks,’ she mumbles, as I pack her suitcase back up. She stands looking awkward and stiff. ‘Sorry, I …’

‘It’s alright.’

I get back up, bringing the suitcase with me.

The room spins again, and I think it might be time to take a break from drinking, maybe have a bit of food to settle my stomach.

I didn’t used to be a very big drinker, but I forced myself to keep up with Marcus and the gang from work on nights out.

Normally I’d remember to have a couple of soft drinks between rounds of shots, though – even if I went to buy them alone, so the others wouldn’t realise I’d skipped the alcohol.

It seems so silly now.

And also like a genius move I’ve regretfully neglected tonight. I got a bit too trigger-happy, pouring out drinks for myself, enjoying myself too much to pay attention.

Just before I turn to leave, Gemma sucks in a sharp breath.

‘I didn’t … I mean, I don’t want you guys to think … All that stuff I told you about Kayleigh, what I think of her … I don’t … It’s not like I go around telling everybody. I’m not two-faced about it. Or, I am, but – only to myself. I don’t go whinging about her to other people.’

‘I didn’t think you did.’

Gemma’s brow furrows, making her glasses shift on her face. She pushes them back into place. ‘I know I’m not a good person—’

‘ What? Where did you get that from?’

Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t seem to have an answer.

I wonder if this is to do with her ex – or her dad, like Leon mentioned. Maybe it’s to do with Kayleigh, or maybe it’s all three and then some. And while I felt a bit distrustful of her earlier, she didn’t strike me as bad news .

Leon did, being all surly and short with me, but he’s softened up since, too.

Gemma just … seems to say what’s on her mind. She called me out about those texts with Marcus and our emotional affair, but she wasn’t wrong to do so. It’s not like I was squarely in the right, after all.

She’s certainly been friendly enough in the last few hours.

She’s obviously got a bit of a bond with Leon despite them not being especially close, and she’s even treated me like we’re old pals, with all that open affection and good-natured teasing that feels like we’re in on the joke with her instead of the butt of it.

‘I know it’s not worth very much coming from me, because we don’t really know each other,’ I say, ‘and I am in the process of trying to steal your best friend’s fiancé before he can make it to the altar, so I don’t think that says very much about my character, either – but I don’t think you’re a bad person, Gemma.

I actually think you’re very cool and funny and loyal and the sort of person I’d want to be friends with. ’

And I mean it.

I really do.

A few hours ago, if you’d told me that I’d want to be friends with Kayleigh’s maid of honour – I would’ve baulked at the very idea.

I’ve never taken to Kayleigh and don’t think very much of her, and while I can admit I may be a bit biased there, tonight has only shown me I was right.

I wouldn’t have thought very much of her friends either, merely by association.

But Gemma just has this way of drawing you in.

I feel like I stand a bit taller around her, which is nice.

She didn’t hesitate to try to bolster me up in duty free – or even try to hype Leon up about his dating life a bit, too.

And I always think it’s nice to have friends that lift you up and make you feel comfortable about yourself just by being around you.

Gemma’s like that, I think.

I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be able to see that about herself, and why she thinks she’s not a good person.

She sniffles, a few tears clinging to her eyelashes. She butts her glasses out of the way to wipe the back of her hand under her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew, Fran.’

‘Knew what?’

Gemma looks at me, forlorn and dejected, and I want to hug her. I want to wrap her up in a blanket and let her know it’ll be alright. I feel so wretched for her, because it must be bad to lay someone so self-assured so low like this.

And she tells me, ‘You and Leon … aren’t the only ones with a plan to ruin the wedding. I was, too.’