If that makes sense.
So there's just no point in thinking about it.
Thank God for work. It's the only thing that gets me out of bed, the only thing that keeps me sane and smiling. When I've filled up my brain with facts and figures and stories and people and events and ideas, then there's no room for any thoughts of Robert. Even when I'm not in the office, even when I'm with Sophie, or the girls, or Henry and Charlotte, I just witter away and try to focus on what I did today, what I'll do tomorrow. Work.
Until the moment I get into bed. Then I close my eyes and am instantly transported back to Hong Kong. Back to the hotel room. Back to the moment after dinner when I walked out of the bathroom, grabbed his arm and well, you know the rest. I replay it over and over again in my head, and then fall asleep and dream about him. It's been three weeks since that 3 am shock realisation on the stairs. Three weeks since I finally became conscious that I well, never mind. Let's just say that the homesick feeling was just the start of it.
And this isn't Lonely Single Girl Syndrome, or desperation, or anything else that I used to worry about when I was freshly single, either. This is just a sad, empty yearning that won't go away. And there's nothing I can do about it.
When Plum established that I wouldn't even say Robert's name out loud, she figured out what had happened, and after five hours of trying to convince me to tell Robert how I felt, suggested I date other men, just to see if it could help me 'move on'. But I can't even imagine dating anyone now. The thing I loved most about the dates I went on before was talking about them with Robert afterwards.
Every time I've seen Robert, I've been unable to even look at him. Fortunately, JimmyJames is still staying with us, so they seem to be on a permanent booze-bender, and only come home to sleep. And anyway, Robert doesn't look at me either. It's like he hates me.
Thinking about it makes me feel like lying on the floor. Even when I've just woken up in a suite at the Charlotte Street Hotel, as I have today.
It's Sophie and Luke's wedding day, and we're all staying here as it's just a few streets from the tiny Marylebone church where they are getting married. Sophie asked me to share her bedroom, and I agreed on the proviso that she doesn't try to cuddle me. (From family holiday experience, I know that she's like a little koala and I'll wake up on the far corner with her hanging on to my back.) I've been awake, thinking about work and trying not to think about Robert, for God knows how long. Sophie is still sleeping soundly, facing the other way, her breathing deep and even. When we were little, I was prone to nightmares roosters, sausages, elves. You name it, I had nightmares about it. My parents understandably would get a bit grumpy after the sixth night in a row of me climbing in with them. So I would go and get into bed with Sophie, who was all warm and peachy and never stirred. She's just the same now as she was then: kind and calm and generous. Tears prick my eyes as I think about it. Now she's getting married, and hopefully going to have little warm peachy babies of her own. I hope she has two girls. Sisters are special.
I can't imagine that the whole marriage-and-motherhood thing will be happening for me anytime soon.
Sophie answers the wake-up call from reception, and rolls over to face me. We meet eyes for a second and grin.
'Happy wedding day!' I shout. The tears threaten to spill, but I blink wildly at the ceiling and they recede.
Sophie sits up in bed and squeals.
I head into the bathroom, clean my teeth and splash some cold water on my face. Last night's dream was eerily real. I dreamed that I stayed in the bed in Hong Kong, and Robert woke up and kissed me, and everything was different . . . I point at myself in the mirror. Just. Stop. It. Today is about Sophie, not you.
I bound back out and jump on the bed, shouting 'mawwiage!' I'm ready to go into a whole Princess Bride act, but- 'You talked about Robert in your sleep last night,' she interrupts.
'I dreamed that we were burgled. I was probably saying "robbers, robbers,"' I reply quickly.
'No, you said "I'm so sorry, Robert. I'm so sorry."'
'Ha,' I say.
Sophie looks at me and shakes her head. Thankfully, I'm saved by a knock at the door, and I race to answer it. It's Vix, who looks, as usual, hung over.
'Hotel bar. JimmyJames. Robert,' is all she says, walking straight over to the bed and getting in next to Sophie.
We had a rehearsal dinner last night with the entire bridal party, did I mention that? Even Bella and Dave.
What does it say about my state of mind that I barely even noticed those two?
The entire bridal party, plus our parents, sat at a long table at Elena's L'Etoile. Robert was right down the other end, laughing with JimmyJames and Vix all night. We didn't speak, though he did say 'hi, Abigail,' when he first arrived. I said 'hi, Robert', back. (Ah, quite the conversationalists.) Fortunately, dinner started late, so at 11 pm when Sophie announced that the bride needed beauty sleep, I left with her. Bella tried to catch my eye twice she was on the other side of the table and three down but I ignored her. Dave was on the same side of the table as me, and very subdued. I barely noticed him. Once, his presence would have electrified me.
'Was last night difficult?' whispers Vix to me.
'No, not at all,' I assure her.
Sophie overhears. 'Was it alright with Dave' she pauses, and we all pretend to spit over our shoulder, and then look back to her as though nothing had happened 'and Bella?'
'It's cool. They mean nothing to me.'
I can't mention this in front of Sophie as we've all agreed to not rock the bridal boat: Vix cornered Dave before dinner last night and said, 'Listen to me, you little fuckwipe. Tomorrow is about Luke and Sophie. Not you, and not Bella, and not Abigail. So behave, and be nice, and tell Bella to wipe that pout off her ugly mug, or I'll stab her in the eye with my fag.' Ah, Scottish girls. So direct.
'Well, I've left Bella out of all the fun maid stuff, anyway,' says Sophie. She's started calling us maids, rather than bridesmaids. 'I told her we're getting dressed separately and I'll send her the hair stylist later.' Vix and I start to laugh: Sophie's never been so vengeful in her life. Thanks to marriage, or maturity, or good ol' filial loyalty, she's finally able to get angry. 'She can suck it. No one fucks with my sister.'
'Yeah,' echoes Vix. 'I'm not even gonna talk to her. And I'm going to be an absolute bitch to Dave whenever I see him, forever. So there.'
'You say the sweetest things. Beauty bomb!' I say, emptying the bag on the bed. Out rolls Frederic Fekkai and Kerastase deep conditioner, REN face masks, Clarins Beauty Flash Balm which Vix falls upon with little cries of joy and a Philosophy Microdermabrasion kit. The girls immediately start noisily deciding which they'll need, and I smile to myself. I knew they'd like this stuff.
'I fucking wish you'd let us fake tan,' says Vix petulantly, after she's combed through the deep conditioner and is spackled with a face mask.
'My wedding, my rules,' says Sophie calmly. 'Trust me. In 20 years, we'll all be laughing at fake tan photos the way we now laugh at perm photos.'
Room service arrives with French toast and extra strong, extra-milky coffee, Sophie's pre-chosen wedding day breakfast.
'We're having champagne, too, but not till later,' she adds cheerfully.
'I made some playlists for this bit,' I say, slotting my iPod into the speakers next to the TV. 'Going To The Chapel' comes on.
Vix is increasingly hyper, dancing around while Sophie exhibits a strange bridal calm. I join in as best I can.
Another knock at the door indicates that the manicurist from Return to Glory is here. Then the hair and make-up people arrive, just as our mother comes in, enquiring how everyone slept, and fixes me with a stare from across the room. She was giving me the gimlet eye all last night too. To escape her, I run to the bathroom.
'When did this wedding become a movie shoot?' I hear Sophie saying in surprise. 'There are more helpers than there are bridesmaids.'
'I just wanted to make sure we weren't rushed,' says my mother.
I wash the mask out of my hair, shampoo, shave my legs and do all the requisite grooming rituals that a good maid should, and then, I stand for a long time under the boiling hot water of the shower. It reminds me of that hotel shower. When I lay on the floor for an hour and cried over Dave.
God, what a waste of tears.
I dry myself, fasten my hair in a towel turban, wrap a robe around my body and come out of the bathroom. Vix has gone to shower in her room.
'What on earth is up with you, missy?' asks my mother, who is sitting with the manicurist. I sit down on the opposite side of the room, and the hairstylist starts combing out my wet hair, a hairdryer tucked under her arm.
'I can't hear you,' I mouth to Mum, pointing at the hairdryer.
'It's not even on!' she exclaims.
At that moment, the stylist switches on the hairdryer. I beam at my mother and shrug, and she rolls her eyes and starts talking to Sophie. I meet eyes with the stylist in the mirror and she winks at me.
Continuing like this, I'm saved from talking about Robert or what on earth is up with me for hours. There's always someone around, or something to do, and soon it's time to get dressed, and then we open a bottle of champagne. And then, finally, we're all ready.
'Good luck today, darling,' I say, leaning over to give Sophie a hug. 'I love you.'
'I love you too,' she says, wrapping her arms around me tightly. 'I want you to be happy. I really do.'
'I will be. I mean . . . I am.'
She pulls back and looks me in the eye. I look away first.
'Let's go.'
Chapter Forty Seven.
Walking down the aisle as a bridesmaid is terrifying. I cannot imagine how nerve-wracking it must be for the bride. Practically everyone I know, all our family members, everyone that has seen Sophie and I grow up, is in the church. And they've all turned around to stare.
Bella goes first. Then Vix. Then me. And then Sophie, on my Dad's arm.
As I walk up the aisle of the packed little church, I try hard to keep my eyes on the black and white floor tiles and Vix's steadily advancing feet, so that I can match her pace. When I get halfway up the aisle, a collective gasp tells me that Sophie has just entered the church, and thank God no one is looking at me anymore. That's when I raise my eyes and find myself looking straight at the groomsmen.
There's Luke, with a huge smile on his face.
Dave, staring straight ahead, his face blank.
JimmyJames, clearly deeply hungover.
And then Robert. Looking right at me.
Our eyes meet, and for several seconds, I get tunnel vision. All I can see is his face, his eyes staring at mine. Everything in my vision apart from him goes fuzzy. I'm trying so intently to read his expression that for a split-second, I stumble over the hem of my dress and break the stare. When I right myself and look back, he's not looking at me anymore.
Hardly breathing, I take my place next to Vix as calmly as I can, and turn to watch my sister coming down the aisle.
She's wearing a long off-white silk dress, in a sort of bias-cut, with her dark hair long and wavy. (Her something old is our mother's earrings, her something new is the dress, her something borrowed is again the earrings, and her something blue is a pair of sky blue heels. In case you were wondering.) I'm wondering why people always cry at weddings, because really it's just a weird pagan ritual, when I turn to look at Luke's face. His entire face is creased up in a smile so wide it looks like it must hurt and just as she reaches him, his eyes fill with tears. And then I start crying, too.
Sophie laughs, and leans up to kiss him and whisper something in his ear, and he nods and uses one hand to quickly flick away the tears. They both turn to the front of the church.
I look next to me and see that Vix is also crying. We meet eyes and immediately start to giggle. Vix makes a small exploding sound.
Bella flinches, as though she thinks we might be laughing at her, but doesn't turn. We've successfully avoided her all morning, she didn't even come with us to the church. The bridesmaid dress Bella chose doesn't suit her, I note with satisfaction (okay, I don't hate her, but I'm allowed to be happy when she looks bad, right?). Like ours, it's soft pale grey, but she's wearing a knee-length halter neck style that makes her look both slutty and wide. Vix is wearing a below-the-knee strapless style that suits her, with some serious upholstery keeping her puppies under wraps. My dress is very plain: just below the knee and sort of draped, with a low back. As we're turning to face the front of the church, I look out to the congregation and glance at Plum, who makes a gesture to my dress, and gives me the thumbs up, mouthing 'fucking fab!' Sartorial approval. I almost laugh again, and just control myself.
The rest of the ceremony passes by in a blur. I can't see Robert, despite straining to out of the corner of my eye. Then the vicar pronounces them husband and wife, and everyone starts cheering and whooping, led by JimmyJames and Vix.
We follow Luke and Sophie back down the aisle, but my chance to see Robert is stolen as two of my younger cousins come up to give me a hug. This is followed, when I get outside, by crowds of our family and friends who want to kiss and hug us all. The so-called reception line for said kissing and hugging is a total shambles, because JimmyJames wants to talk to Vix and Luke won't stop kissing Sophie. I can't see Robert in the crowds of people, and when the main person I don't want to see Dave comes towards me and looks like he might start to speak, I grab my great-aunt, give her an enormous hug and pull her over to speak to Dad. Crafty old me.
It's the bridal party's job to ensure that all 128 guests make it to the reception. As we start shepherding people out of the churchyard, it's already a mess, with people stopping to chat and ambling out onto the road.
'Help,' I say beseechingly to JimmyJames and Vix, who are standing near me bickering flirtatiously.
'Yeah, James,' says Vix. 'I thought you were a take-charge kind of guy.'
'Right, screw this,' says JimmyJames. He puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a huge whistle. 'Everyone! Hold hands! We are going to do this in an organised fashion!'
If you haven't seen 128 people in cocktail attire holding hands and snaking through Marylebone, well, you haven't lived. Since the hand-holding order came when everyone was still mingling and talking, we're all placed quite randomly, and there are relatives holding hands with friends holding hands with parents etc. It makes everyone giggle and breaks the ice. It's a gorgeously sunny day and unusually warm for March, which always makes Londoners a bit giddy.
I'm holding hands with Vix and my Uncle Jim. I can't see Robert.
The reception is in a tiny mews off Great Titchfield Street: a huge, all-white photography studio with huge floor-to-ceiling glass doors along one side, opening out onto a hidden garden, where there are two large outside bars set up. This is also where, for a few deeply stressful minutes, the bridal party has to take group photos. I can't bring myself to look at Robert, or Dave or Bella for that matter, but Vix keeps up a running patter that makes Sophie and I laugh constantly.
Thankfully, waiters with large tumblers of champagne on ice are waiting for us as soon as photos are over. I stride away from the bridal party as quickly as I can and start chatting to the guests.
'Champagne with ice cubes! Very unconventional,' I hear one of Luke's Dutch aunts say sniffily. 'Like the shoes, I suppose.'
'Try it, you might like it,' smiles Sophie as she passes. She'd warned me that some of Luke's relatives wouldn't approve of the reception venue. But since she caved on the church ceremony religion not being her cup of hot cha she wouldn't budge on anything else.
The aunt takes a sip, makes a face, and then takes a much longer sip, turning away. I meet eyes with Sophie and wink. All her planning and worrying is going to pay off.
Suddenly, Vix grabs my hand and hisses 'Follow me!' She marches me inside, past the long banquet-style dinner tables, through the kitchen and out into a little side alley where the bins are. She's clearly downed a few glasses of champagne already, and her dress is un peu wonky.
'I think your boob is plotting an escape,' I say. 'Why are we here?'
'We're having a secret fag away from the crowds,' she says, yanking up her dress. 'And by the way, I slept with JimmyJames last night. I wanted to wait till after the ceremony to tell you.'
'What!' I gasp. 'OK, now I need a cigarette.' I light one, take a drag and cough profusely. I haven't smoked in months.
'How could you go for a fucking cigarette without me?' says Plum, jumping through the doorway, followed by Sophie.
'Why is it the only maid I can see is the one that I don't even like?' asks Sophie. 'Bad maids! Bad.'
'Vix is the baddest maid of them all,' I say.
'I slept with JimmyJames last night,' she says again.
Everyone screams. I scream again, too, just for the fun of it.
'Hello, ladies,' says a male voice. We all turn around: it's Dan. 'Ah . . . I can see this is a willy-free VIP area. Can I get you a drink?'
'You can get us a bottle,' says Plum, leaning over to kiss him. 'All good?'
'JimmyJames and I are taking bets on which one of you lot falls over on the dance floor first,' he says.
'That's so romantic,' says Plum. 'But don't worry, sugarnuts. I'm a sure thing.'
Dan leaves, and we all turn back to Vix, who has a satisfied little grin on her face.
'Tell me motherfucking everything,' say Plum, as Dan returns with the bottle of champagne and four glasses and then dashes off. 'Love you, baby!' shouts Plum after him.
'Well, he's been calling and texting and emailing a lot since that weekend in France,' says Vix, downing her first glass of champagne and pouring another. 'And he makes me laugh so much . . . he's interesting and smart. And he's an amazing kisser. I mean, what else is there in life?'