Husband Material (London Calling #2)(24)

Two hours later, it turned out we couldn’t. Unlicensed venues were as booked up as licensed ones, and unregulated celebrants were as busy as ministers and registry offices. While Liz and Bridge were sitting in a relax bar, downing relaxes, Tom and I had tried every park, hotel, and stately home that Google would throw at us.

“It’s no good,” I concluded at last. “I am a shitty maid of honour.”

“And I,” added Tom, “am a shitty fiancé.”

“There’s just no way we’re getting a venue at such short notice.

We’d have to be royalty.”

Tom laughed. He’d always had an irritatingly sexy laugh, which I think I could comfortably admit now he was getting married and I was in a stable relationship. “Yeah, that or massive celebrities.”

Well, fuck.

“How massive?” I asked, with a sinking feeling.

“I was mostly joking,” said Tom.

“Okay, I get that, but how massive?”

I didn’t think Tom was quite on board yet, but he went along with it anyway. “I dunno. Love Island–runner-up level?”

“Or…eighties-rock-star-who’s-just-released-a-multiplatinum-album-and-has-a-hit-reality-TV-show level?”

Tom gave me a suspicious look. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But… I mean, what’s the point of your dad being a dickhead superstar if you can’t use it to help your mates?”

“What’s the point of having mates if they’re just going to use you for your dickhead superstar dad?”

That was also fair, but when it came to my friends, my balance of sacrifices made versus bullshit dumped was tilted heavily towards bullshit. “I can’t make any promises,” I said. “Because, well, he is still a dickhead. But I’m hoping that he’ll like the opportunity to flex.”

“It’s worth a try,” Tom agreed. “And…no pressure?”

No pressure was, as always, one of the most pressurising things a person could possibly say, but it sounded like Tom meant it sincerely. “Yeah. I’ll… I might take it outside if that’s okay with you?”

Tom gave me a nod, and I sloped downstairs with my phone. I wasn’t completely sure who I was going to call. The last time I’d reached out to my dad’s manager, he’d fobbed me off with a Pull the other one, Charlie, and Dad had only got in touch with me because, at the time, he’d thought he was dying of cancer. Since he now definitely wasn’t, I didn’t think going through official channels was likely to work.

Huddled on the steps outside the converted town house that was now Bridge’s block of flats, I texted Oliver. Y’know, that wonderful boyfriend who I hadn’t seen for days.

No luck finding a venue. I’m going to try and call my dad.

For a while there was nothing. Then, Is this a support-me text or a talk-me-out-of-it text?

How the hell should I know? Support me, I think?

Another texty silence. It’s a very kind gesture.

That was Oliver code for “I will be there for you even though you and I both know this will end poorly.” It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?

There was another ominous silence. Not necessarily. A pause.

You need something, he can help you. Another pause. As long as you don’t go in with any expectations.

Oh, trust me I’m going in with zero expectations.

For a while I carried on sitting, trying to psych myself up to start making calls.

Take as long as you need, Oliver texted. I’m making sticky miso peppers this evening and they’re quick, so they can be ready whenever you’re home. Another pause. Assuming you do come home. Pause. Though I understand if you can’t.

God, I hoped I could. This had been a lot, and I’d expected it to be a lot, but I hadn’t quite been prepared for how much of a lot it was. And while I was slowly letting myself accept that my best friend’s wedding wasn’t going to kill my relationship, I’d have accepted it much more easily if I actually got spend time with Oliver.

Which, if I swung a venue for Bridge, maybe I’d be able to.

I took a deep breath and rang Mum.

She picked up as speedily as ever. “All?, mon caneton.”

“Hi, Mum.” I sometimes worried that I wasn’t staying in touch as well as I used to but, on balance, it was more that Mum was no longer my go-to panic dial. And, given I was nearly thirty, that was probably healthy. “How are you?”

“Oh, Luc. Some very bad things have happened.”

Part of me was instantly worried. Part of me suspected she was talking about something very minor. “What’s wrong?”

“Judy and I, we were thinking we may have to break up with the Drag Race. There is just too much of it these days. It is like when you buy something on the internet and then the internet, it thinks to itself, Well, she bought this thing, she must like this thing, so I will show her adverts for this exact same thing that she just bought from now until the day she dies.”

“I’m sorry you and Drag Race are going through a tough time at the moment.”

She gave a deep sigh. “It is very sad for us. There is the Drag Race UK, there is the Canada’s Drag Race, the Drag Race Down Under, the Untucked, the All Stars. And there are queens on the new series of All Stars who were on the last series of the main show. That does not make them an all-star. That makes them someone who lost on a reality TV show quite recently. Also”—she paused ominously —“your boyfriend is incorrect and Bimini was robbed.”