A Christmas Wedding(13)

‘I told you, it wasn’t a big deal.’

‘Elliot knew. How was that, then?’

‘He came out that night with us, remember? You didn’t feel like it.’

‘Only because it was eleven o’clock by the time you finished that wedding!’ I exclaimed. ‘I was already in bed! I thought you were going to come home!’

It was not the first argument we’d had in recent months.

‘Do you find her attractive?’ I ask Lachie now. It’s time we got to the bottom of this.

‘Of course she’s attractive – any bloke would think so.’

‘No, do you find her attractive?’ I repeat.

‘What do you expect me to say?’ he responds eventually, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

‘Oh, shit,’ I mumble, fighting back tears as I unzip my sleeping bag.

‘What are you doing?’ he mutters, reaching for my arm.

I snatch it away from him. ‘Getting some fresh air.’

I sit on a garden bench in the damp night, staring up at the stars. Lachie is snoring lightly by the time I return half an hour later. At some point during the night, he tries to spoon me, but the distance between us is real, and not just because we’re in separate sleeping bags.

The next day, five children pile into our makeshift bedroom at seven in the morning and we manage to feign excitement as we vow to come straight in and open, or, rather, dish out our presents.

Once they’ve left us to get dressed, Lachie meets my eyes directly. ‘I don’t fancy Fliss,’ he states adamantly. ‘I fancy you. Only you. Just… chill out, okay?’

I try to, but the tension between us doesn’t dissipate.

A merry, merry Christmas that year it ain’t.

‘Say hello to Bronte!’

‘Hello, Bonty,’ a sweet little voice comes in reply before Bridget’s face is obscured by a small, chubby hand.

It’s a Saturday evening in late March and Bridget and I are FaceTiming.

‘Give that to me, you cheeky monkey,’ Bridget chides, wrestling her phone back. ‘I’ll get you one of these when you’re twelve and not a year younger.’

I smile at my friend’s face, lit up with love as she grins down at her daughter. It still feels surreal, but Bridget is, without a shadow of a doubt, this tiny person’s mummy, now. They haven’t quite completed the adoption process, but April has been using the moniker for months.

‘How are you?’ Bridget asks once April has run off to amuse herself with some toy or other.

‘I’m okay.’ I nod.

There’s sadness in her eyes, which I know mirrors mine.

Things haven’t been right between Lachie and me, not since Christmas, and, if I’m being honest, not for some time before that. Bridget is as clueless as I am about a solution.

‘So he definitely can’t make the wedding?’

I shake my head. ‘Aside from the fact that he refuses to let people down, we can’t afford to both fly over at the moment.’

‘Is today’s wedding with Fliss?’ she checks.

‘Yep. And the two in July when I’m over with you. She sees more of him than I do.’ I miserably put my feet up on the coffee table. ‘He reckons we should be thankful to her for getting him so much work.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure her heart is in the right place.’

I love it when Bridget is sarcastic.

I grin at her. ‘Miss you,’ I say.

‘I miss you, too,’ she replies seriously. Her expression suddenly becomes anxious. ‘Am I making a shitty mistake asking you to do the pics?’

Now I’m worried. I haven’t managed to line up any other weddings since she asked me to do hers. Lachie said Fliss could ask around – she is very well connected, apparently – but I decided to cut off my nose to spite my face, where that one was concerned.

I’ll probably live to regret it, but I can’t face her being involved in my career. It’s bad enough that she’s so entwined with Lachie’s, although I do know deep down that I should be more appreciative of all the work she gets him. He’d much rather be playing his music than working on a building site or behind a bar.

‘Are you having second thoughts?’ I ask apprehensively.

‘No!’ Bridget cries. ‘Of course I’m not! I just want you to kick back and enjoy yourself, not have to work.’

‘I will absolutely enjoy myself. Anyway, Rachel will be there, too.’

I was thrilled when Bridget managed to line up my former boss after I voiced concerns about my current lack of experience. Luckily, Bridget and Charlie are getting married midweek, so Rachel was free. She gave them a whopping great discount and was delighted to hear that I would be assisting her.

‘I spoke to her last week,’ I say with a smile. ‘I can’t wait to work with her again.’

‘I assure you, the feeling is mutual,’ she replies. ‘With Maria doing my make-up, it’ll be like old times.’

‘Any more thoughts on your hen night?’ I ask.

Last I heard, she still hadn’t made plans. Her friends have put forward so many suggestions – mostly involving European getaways – but so far, none of our ideas have been received with enthusiasm from our bride-to-be.