‘I’ll tell her about the hairdresser, Mrs O. I was just going down to get her a cup of tea.’
‘There’s some champagne in the fridge – help yourself. And call me Grace.’ She hated the way Freddie addressed her as ‘Mrs O.’ – it sounded so working class, like something offEastEnders.
‘Hi, Rachel,’ Freddie called as he passed the sitting room, where Rachel was enthroned in an armchair, wearing a silky robe open over some very sexy underwear and having her nails painted by a beautician. ‘How’s the blushing bride?’
‘Hi Freddie – where the hell is Kate? Tell her she’s to come and have her nails done – the hairdresser will be here any minute. Orla is just finishing mine and then she’ll be ready for Kate. And Kate has to help me get into my dress. And tell her?—’
‘You look sensational,’ Freddie purred, cutting into the stream of demands.
‘Thanks.’ Rachel gave him a sugary smile.
‘Kate’s just getting into her dress, actually,’ he said.
‘What?’ Rachel exploded. ‘She can’t get into it before she has her makeup and hair done. Tell her to get out of it again and come down here in her dressing gown.’
‘She was just trying it on for size.’
‘Should have done that a month ago,’ Rachel huffed. ‘How does it fit?’
‘Frightfully. Could I borrow a needle and thread?’
‘You’ll find some in a box in that cabinet,’ Rachel replied, indicating it with her foot. ‘It’s her own fault,’ she went on, as Freddie rummaged for the sewing box. ‘She shouldn’t have agreed to be a bridesmaid if she wasn’t going to take it seriously. She missed the fittings for her dress and then she goes and loses weight after all the trouble we’d gone to, modelling it on one of her old tents. She missed the hen party. She even missed the rehearsal, after swearing blind she’d be home by then. Then, to top it all, she turned up here last night looking like Worzel Gummidge on crack.’
Freddie nodded non-committally and started to back out of the room to avoid any further onslaught. ‘Tea?’ he offered hopefully.
‘G and.’ Rachel giggled. ‘Would you be an angel and get me a drink, Freddie? There’s some champagne in the fridge – have some yourself.’
‘You had enough champagne at breakfast, Rachel,’ Grace shrilled, suddenly appearing and flapping about in the doorway. ‘You don’t want to be staggering up the aisle.’ As Freddie wandered off towards the kitchen to get the drinks, she added, ‘And you shouldn’t be sitting there talking to Freddie in your knickers.’
‘Oh, Freddie doesn’t mind. He’s gay.’
‘I know he’s gay. What’s that got to do with it? He’s gay – he’s not a woman.’
‘Well, the point is he might as well be, for all the excitement he’s going to get out of seeing me in my bra and knickers.’
‘What’s he doing here so early anyway? He’s not in the wedding party.’
‘He’s sort of Kate’s date.’
‘You mean the Tree-hugger isn’t coming?’
‘No, and don’t mention it to Kate. I don’t want her walking upthe aisle with her eyes all red and puffy, looking like the bridesmaid of Dracula.’
* * *
In the kitchen, Freddie found the remains of a vast champagne breakfast. He was just hoovering up some congealing cocktail sausages and helping himself from the fridge when Kate’s father walked in.
‘I’ll have a triple whiskey, please, son.’
‘Wedding nerves, Mr O?’
‘I need something to numb the pain. These bleedin’ shoes they’re making me wear are pinching the bejaysus out of me.’ He winced graphically.
Freddie loved Kate’s father. He was the most easy-going member of the family, and Kate very much took after him. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and began to pour it into glasses. ‘Champagne instead, Mr O?’
‘Better not.’ Jack patted his stomach. ‘That fizzy stuff gives me wind and I had enough of it at breakfast. Don’t want to be farting like a buffalo when I’m walking up the aisle.’
‘Rachel would never forgive you.’
