‘Cool. So for the next couple of hours—’ Tom looks at something over my left shoulder for a moment before clearing his throat, which I have to say reminds me very strongly of the canteen dumping ‘—I’m thinking I’ll probably just go and chill in the garden somewhere with a book.’
‘Great!’ I say very, very brightly, likeI do not mind at all that you just basically mini-dumped me because actually wouldn’t it have been a lot more natural for us to have hung out, and what a complete and utter muppet I am for having thought for one moment that there might be a tiny little thing developing between us. ‘I’m going to…’ Er, whatamI going to do now, given that I obviously can’t go anywhere in the gardens in case I look like I’m stalking Tom? ‘Get on with some work. I have work emails to go through. Quite a lot of admin actually. Because I’m actually supposed to be doing half a day of working from home today and I didn’t get through everything I needed to on the train.’
Yes, I am overexplaining.
‘Great, then,’ Tom says.
I nod.
I turn to go… somewhere, anywhere, and I see Carole walking a little unsteadily towards us, champagne slopping over the rim of the glass she’s holding in her right hand.
‘Tom! Nadia! Let’s go and get a drink together on the hotel terrace.’
I try to look at Tom without looking as though I’m looking and catch him doing exactly the same thing to me.
‘Great,’ we say simultaneously after a little pause.
We all start walking towards the building, Carole between Tom and me.
A few paces along, I remember that I told Tom I had work to do.
‘I might have to dip out for a bit, though,’ I say. ‘I have a couple of emails to catch up on.’
‘Nadia,’ Carole says in chiding tones. ‘This is Bea and Ruth’swedding. We all need to participate fully.’ She accompanies thefullywith a big swing of her glass-holding arm, spraying the surrounding area with champagne. I jump very successfully out of the spray zone and am able to enjoy my success for maybe half a second before I land veryunsuccessfully, due to my heels.
My right ankle turns over and I topple straight onto the ground.
It hurts. It hurts so bloody much.
I’m dimly aware of Tom and Carole (who’s drunkenly wailing something about being sorry) crouched down next to me, but don’t have a lot of time to think about them because I’m busy trying hard not to faint.
‘Nadia.’ Tom’s very firm and very loud voice, right in my ear, cuts through the cotton-wool feeling that’s enveloping me. ‘I’m going to put my arm round you and lift you to stand on your good leg and then I’m going to carry you over to a chair.’
I try to say, ‘Okay,’ but the sound that comes out is a lot more like, ‘Owwwwwwww.’
Tom has arms of steel. He literally picks me up from the ground like you would a toddler. I’m not an enormous person but I am also not a tiny person, and I don’t think many people could do that.
I’m momentarily relieved before I begin to feel extremely sick.
I close my eyes because the easiest thing to do would definitely be just to give in to the faintness that’s washed over me.
‘Nadia.’ Tom’s speaking far too loudly. Stridently, actually. I don’t like it, so I ignore him and carry on with my nice sleep. ‘Nadia.’
I feel him bend down and place me onto a lounger-style chair. I could just sleep here for a while, although actually the pain in my ankle’s waking me up now.
I open my eyes and blink in shock at the two faces looming large right in front of me.
‘Nadia,’ cries Carole, ‘I’m so sorry. All my fault.’
‘Not at all,’ I say, inaccurately.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Tom says. ‘Do you think you’re going to faint again? Carole, do you think you could go and get Nadia some water?’
‘Water.’ Carole pushes herself up from where she’s been holding on to the lounger and wobbles quite alarmingly until Tom shoots an arm out and pulls her into a vertical position. ‘Thanks. On it. Back in five.’ And off she lurches across the garden.
‘I think Carole could do with some water too,’ I observe, in what I have to admit is a somewhat pathetic, I’m-not-feeling-at-my-best voice.
‘Yep.’ Tom squats next to me and I admire the way his thigh muscles, which are right in my line of vision, strain against his suit trousers. ‘Right. How’s your ankle feeling? Can you move it?’
