The Perfect Girlfriend(52)

‘Why?’

‘We need ID to make the arrangements. Jackson’s got everything else sorted, don’t worry.’

I lock my right arm through his left and start walking him up the stairs. He feels heavy and is walking slowly and deliberately, as though every step requires the utmost concentration.

‘Will there be music inside?’ he asks.

Shit. He’s supposed to be calm and happy, not totally out of it.

‘Later, maybe.’ I try to think of the name of at least one of the band members of Guns N’ Roses to pretend that they got married here, but they all elude me. ‘This is all very rock ’n’ roll, though, music or no music.’ Inwardly, I cringe at my words, but I can’t think of anything else to say. ‘Come on.’ I link his arm tighter and almost drag him up the final few stairs.

At the top, Nate hesitates so I lean forward and kiss him. A younger couple emerge from the entrance doors. As they walk past us, the man raises his hand and high-fives Nate.

‘Good luck,’ I say to them. ‘See?’ I turn to Nate. ‘This is a great thing we’re doing.’

Holding his hand, we step into a well-lit building. But it’s probably good, as Nate blinks several times and looks normal. My eyes seek out the sign for the Express Lane. There is a couple ahead of us. I want to scream at them to move out of the way. Instead, I keep hold of Nate and distract him by reminding him of the time we queued for ages to get into the London Aquarium, only for the fire alarm to go off as we reached the tills.

Inside, I silently pray that there is no reference made to the online form I’ve filled out in advance. When we are summoned forward, I take a deep breath. Thank God.

‘Good evening,’ I say, handing over my reference number, paperwork and both mine and Nate’s passports.

‘Thank you,’ replies the bespectacled woman, tapping on her keyboard.

Nate looks ill at ease, so I squeeze his hand. I try to relax, to look calm, as if it doesn’t matter how long or short the process is. But it is worrying, because Nate looks as if he expects to wake up at any moment. And then, frighteningly, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but I smile and shake my head. It’s hard to concentrate, but I force myself to act how I imagine someone genuinely in my position would. I keep smiling throughout.

‘Good luck to you both,’ she says as we walk away.

‘Remember what I said,’ I say to him, heading for the door, resisting the urge to run. ‘Tonight is on me. Let’s head back to the fantasy world.’

Jackson opens the door for us again.

‘Thanks,’ I say as I hand the paperwork over to him.

‘Thanks, Jackson. You’re a great driver,’ Nate says as he high-fives Jackson. ‘Where are we off to next?’

‘The chapel,’ Jackson replies.

I step inside the limo first. As soon as Nate sits down, I hand him his glass and kiss him, before breaking away and sitting beside him.

I raise my glass. ‘Cheers! Here’s to a wild night. It’s so exciting. Nothing feels real.’

We clink glasses. It’s almost a done deal. Not long now.

As we approach the chapel, my heart thuds so loudly I can hear it. Jackson parks alongside a white Cadillac. A Ford Mustang emerges from the chapel driveway. As we step out of the limo and Jackson directs us towards the Cadillac, the couple inside the Mustang wave at us and shout, ‘Good luck.’

I wave back. Nate rises to the occasion and gives a brief wave.

On the back seat of the convertible is a bouquet of red roses and a matching boutonnière.

‘What’s all this?’ Nate says, staring down.

Jackson stands near the driver’s side, sliding in a boutonnière which matches Nate’s.

I whisper, ‘It’s just part of the package.’

Nate stands still, looking puzzled.

Out of nowhere, a surge of violence rushes through me. I want to push Nate inside the car; his hesitation is going to ruin things, unless he pulls it together. I’m so close. So, so close. This feels like the final hurdle. ‘You owe me,’ I’m dying to say to him. Which he does.

‘All set?’ says Jackson, pulling back the passenger seat for us.

‘Yes,’ I say brightly. ‘Come on,’ I say to Nate.

He steps in. I want to cry with relief.

‘Do many people switch cars in the middle of the journey?’ Nate asks Jackson.

Jackson laughs in the nervous way that people do when they’re not sure whether or not someone is joking.

I lean over and slide the boutonnière into Nate’s shirt button, then sit back, reach over and put my right hand on his thigh. He doesn’t put his hand on mine or do anything that connects us to this moment. Never mind. We have the rest of our lives for small gestures. I rest my roses on my lap, stroking the petals with my free hand. But when I next glance over I’m horrified to see that being exposed to the outdoor heat – combined with alcohol and a mere one pill – seems to have had a soporific effect on Nate. His eyes keep closing. He needs air conditioning.

I lean over. ‘Nate! Darling, we’re nearly there.’

He gives me a soppy grin and opens his eyes, but he stares ahead.

As we approach the Tunnel of Love I almost can’t bear the suspense any longer. This night has to be as perfect as possible.