Jenny Colgan 3-Book Collection: Amanda’s Wedding, Do You Remember the First Time?, Looking For Andrew McCarthy. Jenny Colgan
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clapped his arm round me briefly, which did the trick, as I blushed incredibly red and got warm almost immediately.
‘We’re nearly there.’
‘We have to be brutal about this, Gus. We’ve got to walk in, just tell him, put the tape on and get out of there. He’ll forgive you in – oh, four or five years.’
Angus didn’t say anything.
‘What? Are you wishing you had brought Fran after all?’
‘No … I was just thinking.’
‘What?’
He looked around.
‘That it’s a nice night for a walk. It feels such a shame that we’re going to, well, you know …’
‘Do a nasty thing.’
‘Yes.’
We walked on.
‘Actually, it’s a freezing cold and miserable night for a walk,’ I said.
‘Yes. I suppose it is.’
‘Shall we go and do a nasty thing then?’
‘Yeah, all right.’
My mysterious and stone-faced FBI persona lasted about ten seconds after Fraser answered the door.
‘Hi! Come in, great to see you! Hello, Mel dear.’ He kissed me on the cheek. Every time I saw him, I remembered how lovely he was.
This was not going to be easy.
‘Did you survive the hen night all right? ‘manda told me it was amazing.’
‘Yeah, yeah, it was.’
‘Hello, Gustard.’ He playfully punched Angus on the stomach. Angus was doing better than me, and gave a quiet half-smile.
‘Come in, come in. What do you want? Beer, wine …?’
He split off into the kitchen and we trooped into the tiny but tasteful living room. The carpet and the sofas were white, which made me extremely nervous. There was a leopardskin bean bag in the corner and some expensive-looking candlesticks dotted around. Fraser had put out little bowls of peanuts and crisps, obviously in anticipation of our visit. They gazed at me pitifully, so I ate a few for luck.
‘Amanda doesn’t like people coming round usually – she worries about the carpet,’ said Fraser, emerging from the kitchen with three glasses and an open bottle of red wine. I gulped.
‘Really? Where is she tonight then?’ I asked.
Angus shot me a dirty look and I realized this was not the time for small talk.
Fraser motioned for us to sit down and make ourselves comfortable. The sofa was squashier than it looked and, as I sank into it, a dribble from the wine glass made its way over the side. Fortunately, it dropped on to my trousers. Angus stayed standing up.
‘Oh, God knows. She’s always disappearing to some do or other.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t keep up.’
‘Don’t you go?’
‘No chance. Totally BORING.’
I nodded, and took some more crisps. ‘Actually, the hen night …’
Angus cleared his throat overdramatically and we both looked up at him. He pulled the tape recorder out and sat down next to me. I covered my glass with my hand.
‘Fraser,’ he said seriously, ‘Melanie and I …’
Fraser smiled at the sombreness of the tone, but leaned forward to hear.
‘We have something to say to you about your wedding.’
We did? I didn’t remember agreeing this.
‘Well, really, I’m more here for moral support …’ I said.
Angus ignored me, continuing: ‘Fraser, Ah hate to have to tell you this, but … Ah don’t think you should marry Amanda.’
Fraser sighed and gulped his wine. ‘I don’t believe it. I mean, you have actually told me that before. In fact, nearly every day since I met her. Please don’t say that’s what you came here for. God, and I thought you were coming round to visit me.’
‘Aye, well. And Mel agrees with me.’
Fraser looked at me, wounded.
‘But I thought …’
I gazed back at his stricken face, feeling horribly guilty and embarrassed.
Angus ploughed on regardless: ‘And we’ve got some proof … I’m sorry.’ He put the tape recorder down on the table. One of the wrought-iron candlesticks fell over.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Fraser. ‘Are you forming some Moonie-type cult which aims to outlaw marriage for brothers?’
‘No.’
‘Then why the fuck don’t you just keep your nose out of it?’
‘Because your ma brother, for fuck’s sake.’
‘What’s on that tape?’
‘Melanie talked to her. She doesn’t love you, you idiot. She just wants to have some kind of title and swank about and get in Hello! magazine and have posh people for friends because she’s actually a completely shallow cow.’
Fraser looked at the tape as if it was a snake.
‘Is that what she says?’ he asked me.
‘Not exactly,’ I whispered. My voice sounded shaky. I felt absolutely terrible.
He stalked to the other side of the room – which, given the size of it, took two seconds – grabbed the sill and stared out of the sash windows.
‘Play the damn thing then.’
Angus was looking at me, but I couldn’t look back. This was much much worse than I ever thought it would be. I’d had visions of him even thanking us. Angus leaned over and clicked the switch, and there it came again:
‘You’re so naïve, Melanie.’
It echoed in my brain like a special effect.
‘You’re so naïve, Melanie.’
Of course I was, otherwise what was I doing in this tiny, pristine, overheated room, betraying one friend and losing another?
‘You’re so naïve, Melanie.’
Who did I think I was, Mystic Meg? What had I done this for? Silently, I began to cry. This lovely, gorgeous bloke was still going to get married, and he was going to hate me into the bargain.
Fraser stood stock-still, looking out into the rain and the heavy traffic. Fortunately, Angus managed to stop the tape before my big speech, so at least we were spared that.
Nobody spoke for what seemed like a long time. I was trying to dry my tears without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, to maintain the silence, I had to let some snot drop out of my nose so I didn’t have to sniff. It plopped quietly on to the white rug, and I rubbed it with my foot.
Finally, Fraser turned round.
‘So, actually, she didn’t say any of those things you mentioned, about the title and the magazines and all that shit.’
I could feel Angus looking at me, but I couldn’t return his gaze. Fraser’s voice was furious.
‘In fact, she spoke for ten seconds about keeping her individuality after she gets married and having thought the damn thing through beforehand, and you take that as proof that she’s some kind of social-climbing bitch. Like you know anything about my wedding, or about my girlfriend or my own fucking life. Not only that, you manage to draft some of my friends into this idiotic scheme … Melanie, are you crying?’