“What are you doing here, Cordelia?” I ask tiredly.
“I told you, I came to apologize,” she replies, stepping forward. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m sorry for not trusting you and I’m sorry for outing your secret and fucking up all the work you’d done for the wedding. I was hurt and stupid. I should have looked into it before making any accusations.”
She chews her thumbnail nervously, then realizes she’s doing it and drops her hand. When I don’t say anything, she continues: “Jonathan told me about you finding him after he’d stormed out. We’d accused you of something you didn’t do, fired you, thrown you out of the house, and the first thing you did was to find Jonathan so that the two of us would be OK. I don’t even know what to say about that, Sophie, except that you might be the best person I’ve ever known.”
I cross my arms stubbornly. It’s a good apology. Really good. And she did drive for several hours just to say it.
But it’s been a tough few days. I tried to be there for her, time and time again, and she pushed me away.
I know I’m being selfish. If anything, it’s been much worse for her, having to suffer the pain of the worst experience of her life being brought up again, with the guy she’s about to marry finding out about it through online gossip. On top of that, thewhole world has discovered her secret and has been watching her every move.
“OK,” I say coolly. “Thanks for the apology, I guess.”
“The whole family are really upset about it,” she continues. “Especially Mum. She feels terrible about the way we all spoke to you and making you leave like that. She wanted to come with me, but I told her I’d rather speak to you alone. And Dad, he’s mortified. He said to pass on his apology as well.”
I give her a sharp nod in acknowledgment. “How are you and Jonathan?” I ask, because I genuinely want to know and because I feel for him. His world was turned upside down over the last few days, too.
“We’re good,” she says, unable to stop a smile. “It was tough at first, but it’s a relief that he knows. I always worried about him finding out and what he’d think of me. But the only thing he was angry about was that I’d kept it a secret from him.”
“That makes sense. I’m glad he’s OK.”
“He thinks the world of you.” She hesitates. “I’m sorry for telling Tom about you. You know, in the way I did.”
I’ve only started to cool down from my workout, but the heat comes rushing back to my face. I pull at the neck of my T-shirt as though it’s too tight, even though it’s from a hen do I went on a year or so ago, and it only came in one gigantic size. It has “BRIDESMAIDS KNOW HOW TO BOOGIE” on the front. I delegated the job of getting T-shirts for the hens to the other bridesmaid.
She hadonejob.
Anyway. A story for another time.
“It’s fine,” I say hurriedly.
“I feel bad for blowing your cover. He was pretty upset.”
“I can’t be angry with you about that,” I admit reluctantly. “I couldn’t be Emily forever.”
She nods and we both fall silent. I’m not sure how muchshe knows about me and Tom. I can’t imagine he’s said much, especially after finding out that I’d been lying to him since we met.
I rub my forehead, starting to get a headache. “Cordelia, I appreciate the apology, I really do. It’s good of you to come all the way here to say it in person, but you should go.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Why?Because you’re getting married tomorrow! In Derbyshire! In front of four hundred people! It’s your wedding!” I throw my hands into the air in exasperation. “Trust me, I know how much there is to do. You should be there preparing for the biggest day of your life.”
“That’s why I’m here!”
“What?”
“I’m here in your flat because I’m preparing for the biggest day of my life.”
She waits for me to respond, and when I just stare at her blankly, she rolls her eyes and speaks again: “Oh, my God, you’re so annoying! Youhaveto make me explain the cringe stuff—you can’t just get it without me having to spell it all out.” She sighs, exasperated. “I want you to be at my wedding, Sophie. I’m here to pick you up. Hopefully. I want you to be my bridesmaid. Not a professional one. A real one.” She’s fiddling with her car keys. “We’re friends. I think. If you still want to be. Oh, my God, I hate this.”
“Wait.” I hold my hands up. “You’re asking me to be… yourbridesmaid?”
“Yes, Sherlock. I literally just said that.”
“Your real bridesmaid. Not a professional one.”
“Those were my exact words.”
