Jenny Colgan 3-Book Collection: Amanda’s Wedding, Do You Remember the First Time?, Looking For Andrew McCarthy. Jenny Colgan
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it. I’m boring myself to death with this damn wedding business. Mel, please, we’ve been friends for a long time. Can you promise to stop going on at me, like Angus did?’
I thought about it. ‘What, just because it’s none of my business?’
He nodded.
‘OK. Seeing as it’s you. And we’ve been friends for such a long time. Apart from the five years in the middle when we lost touch.’
He held out his hands. ‘You vanished. One moment you were being a bit pissed at Graduation, next thing you phone up out of the blue five years later.’
I never had been able to say goodbye.
‘OK then. I promise.’
Having finished his lasagne, he launched into my spaghetti.
‘Don’t you get fed at home?’
‘Not really. Less than five milligrams of fat a week until the wedding.’
‘See, you started it! Less than two seconds that lasted! Wedding, wedding, wedding. Here, help yourself.’
He smiled sadly, and I felt awful. I mean, what did we think we were playing at, with tape recorders and all that shit? This was someone’s life we were fucking around with.
Whenever I get into one of those arguments about nature over nurture – which isn’t that often, to be honest, as I don’t seem to see my genetical ethicist biology friends so much these days – I always bring up my overwhelming desire to feed people I feel a bit sorry for, despite my absolute lack of culinary ability, and think about my mother.
‘Do you want to come round to dinner?’ I asked him. Damn genes.
Fraser of course has known me for a while and looked up from my plate, where he was gulping down pasta.
‘Are you feeling sorry for me?’
‘No, definitely not. Definitely, definitely not. In fact, I’ve been planning it for ages.’
‘Really? Who were you thinking of inviting?’
‘Well …’ – fuck! – ‘you’re guest of honour, you choose.’
‘God. How amazing. You’re having a big dinner party?’
‘YES!’
‘With all of us?’
‘Who’s us?’
‘You, me, Amanda and Angus.’
‘I’m not sure about that definition of “us”. But yes, why not?’
‘Oh, can I bring Nash? He’ll be down. McLachlan … kind of resigned as my best man, so I’m asking him instead.’
‘Wow. Yes, sure.’
‘And Amanda will want to bring one of her bridesmaids.’
‘Don’t push it.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought you were doing a big thing.’
‘I am. Ehm, can you make it be Mookie then?’
‘I cannot for the life of me tell them apart. Why that one?’
‘No reason.’
‘Is she the one on the end of the tape who sounds like Bagpuss?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I thought so.’
He looked at me and smiled.
‘Are you sure you want to put yourself to all this trouble?’
‘What, just shopping, cooking, serving and washing up for six? How hard can it be? I made scrambled eggs this morning.’
‘Well – what a nice surprise! Thank you. It’s really kind.’
I beamed.
‘Ehm, can I ask you something?’
Uh oh. Not another one of those.
‘Just out of interest …’ he leaned over the table, ‘what exactly is going on between you and my wee brother?’
I was genuinely shocked.
‘Nothing!’
‘That’s what he says. Which means one of you must be lying.’
‘Thank you, Socrates.’
‘Aw, go on. Tell me.’
‘There’s precisely nothing going on. I’m seeing someone.’
‘Angus says he’s a bastard.’
‘Angus seems to think he has the last word on everyone’s relationships around here.’
Fraser smiled. ‘Well, yes. But do you like him?’
‘Your wee brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why, what’s he said?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Fine. I’m not saying anything either.’
‘So you do.’
‘Piss off, piss off, piss off!’
‘Oh my God. You really like him.’
‘Look, shut up,’ I said. ‘Truthfully, I don’t know who or what I like at the moment. Everything is so fucked up. Everyone goes out with the wrong people. Everything’s so mixed up at the moment. Alex is driving me crazy, but what’s the difference between that and your brother driving me crazy? So, maybe you were right just now when you said that maybe we should all keep our heads in our own affairs.’
I must have sounded more serious than I’d intended, because Fraser dipped his head and slowly nodded.
‘Yikes. Yes, ma’am.’
‘Yes ma’am, indeed. Can you buy me lunch, given that you’re nearly loaded?’
‘You should buy me lunch for trying to ruin my wedding.’
‘You should buy me lunch for turning up unannounced.’
‘You should buy me lunch for ambushing me in my own house.’
‘You should buy me lunch for asking inappropriate personal questions about your brother.’
He laughed.
‘Ha! You should buy me lunch for giving me inappropriate diktats about my fiancée, don’t you think?’
The waiter returned, holding the bill.
‘Actually,’ I said quietly. ‘You should buy me lunch because I left my wallet in the office.’
He laughed. ‘Minx! But it would be a pleasure.’
‘I’ll get it next time. Also, I want to see whether you write “laird” on your Switch card.’
‘What, in case anyone around here doesn’t already think I’m a wanker?’
We headed back up the road, through the crowds of people wandering their lunch times away aimlessly.
‘Thanks for taking me out to lunch,’ I said.
‘Thank Angus – he suggested it. Angus and Mel, up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N –’
‘Shut it.’
‘How much abuse can one man take?’
‘You’re about to find out for the next forty years of your life. Now, scram.’
And I waved him off, much lighter in my heart than I had been just an hour before.
I had a record-breaking twelve voice-mail messages,