Page 4 of Wish You Were Here

Everyone claps politely, and then it is silent.

Everyone is staring at me. I have my guitar resting on my lap and I look up for a moment, my eyes momentarily drawn to the table in front of me where Mum is sitting next to Brian, and because Brian is wearing a kilt, and I’m exactly at eye level to where his kilt ends and his legs start, I can see directly up his kilt and he’s not wearing underwear!

There used to be a fish and chip shop near our house in Glebe, it’s closed now, but I remember they had a jar of pickled eggs on the counter, and this image comes back to me when I see up Brian’s kilt.

It’s jarring, and for a moment I am frozen in shock and disgust, until I look away, clear my throat and start strumming my guitar.

‘This is a love song, about a girl and a boy, about a bottle of soy and a car ride of joy. This is a love song about two people who watched Neighbours twenty feet away, not ever knowing it would lead to this day. This is a love song, a love song, about these two people up there, the guy with the tattoo and the girl with the blonde hair.’

The song goes better than I had imagined, and when I finish, there is a standing ovation, and when I look across at Jess, she has tears in her eyes. Then I see Brad, and he has the ‘I’m going to fuck you later’ eyes. It’s at this point, I realise I am in trouble.

‘The song was awesome!’ says Jess, an hour later, after dinner and speeches. The evening music has started, drinks are flowing, and it’s time for everyone to let their hair down.

‘Yeah, Sas,’ says Aaron. ‘It was unreal. Maybe it will go viral, and you’ll get that record deal you always dreamed of, eh.’

‘That would be the perfect wedding present,’ says Jess, as Mum and Brian wander across.

‘Saskia, that was lovely,’ says Mum.

‘Wasn’t it?’ replies Jess.

‘I was just saying, maybe it will go viral,’ says Aaron.

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ says Mum, ever the realist and the person most likely to drape a damp towel over my dreams. Mum has never really believed it would happen for me, has constantly badgered me to think about getting a ‘proper job’, and with the immovable barrier of my thirtieth birthday fast approaching, she is using it as a bargaining tool – ‘If you want to keep living at home rent free, Saskia, in your thirties, you need to get a proper job!’ Which is hard to argue with when you have been living at home rent free for the entirety of your twenties.

We all stand around for a moment and then Brian says.

‘The kilt is causing quite a stir.’

‘You’re Scottish?’ asks Aaron.

‘No,’ replies Brian.

‘Oh, right,’ says a confused Aaron, but he doesn’t ask the question we all want to know the answer to: Then why the fuck are you wearing a kilt?

After a few minutes of polite chit-chat, we wander off to get drinks, and then I kick off my shoes and head towards the dance floor with Jess.

The real wedding is about to get underway.

As we’re dancing, Jess tells me again not to sleep with Brad because he’s bad news, and it took Caroline ages to get over him.

Jess says I can do whatever I want with anyone else at the wedding, just not with Brad because it would break Caroline’s heart.

I look around and, apart from a few men, who are clearly in relationships, the number of hot single men is looking a little thin on the ground.

This will just have to be one of those weddings when I don’t hook up, and wake up the following morning wondering whose room we’re in, and if the hotel offers a free breakfast. I will be sensible, not drink too much and go to bed alone, but with the knowledge I am growing and maturing as a woman.

I wake up, and I can barely open my eyes.

I was clearly very drunk last night, but at least I am in my bed.

I can see my nightstand with my phone, which is probably dead, a book – which I didn’t read a single page of the entire weekend, and a shoe.

But not my shoe. In fact, it’s a man’s shoe.

A smart black shoe. Fuck! I have no memory of what happened last night.

Alcohol seems to have miraculously wiped most of the previous night from my mind, like something from a sci-fi movie.

I slowly begin turning around to face the other person.

I take my time because my head is killing me, and honestly, I don’t want to know who is lying next to me in bed.

I eventually get all the way around, and he’s already awake, looking at me, and then he smiles a radiant smile full of ridiculously white teeth.

‘Morning, Sas,’ says Brad.

‘Fuck, it’s you, and please don’t call me that. Only friends call me Sas.’

‘So men, who do things to you that can only be described as downright filthy, can’t call you Sas?

’ says Brad, and I hate myself. I look down, and the duvet is barely covering his penis, but his entire top half is out, and it is glorious.

I have never seen abs like that. Completely hairless, perfectly tanned abs and a chest you could have a picnic on.

‘I think you should leave,’ I say, adjusting my eyes so that they’re staring at his face and not his body, before I pull the duvet up to cover myself because I am only wearing a pair of knickers.

‘You don’t want a morning round? It was pretty awesome last night.’

‘Brad, please just go. And make sure no-one sees you on the way out.’

‘Look, I don’t know what you think you know about me, or have heard from Caroline, but I’m not a bad guy,’ he says, standing up, and I get the full Brad.

Completely naked, gorgeous Brad, and it takes all of my willpower not to say, fuck it, get back in bed and do whatever you did to me last night again, but I have to say no. For Jess. For Caroline. For myself.

‘It doesn’t matter what I’ve heard, Brad, we can’t do this.’

‘Fair enough, but for the record, I had fun last night,’ says Brad with a gorgeous, ‘if you give me another chance, baby, I’ll rock your whole damn world!’ smile.

Brad finds his clothes, which are strewn around the room, gets dressed and then he walks across to me. He somehow still smells heavenly, and his breath isn’t bad either – did he wake up before me and brush his teeth? He leans down, and he kisses me one last time.

‘My number’s in your phone. Call me,’ he says, and then he leaves and I lie back on the bed, disgusted with myself because why, for once, couldn’t I make a good decision? Then my mobile rings. At least it isn’t dead. I reach across, grab it and then look at the caller. It’s Jess.

‘Morning, Mrs Blair!’ I say, attempting bright and cheerful.

‘You fucked Brad last night, didn’t you?’