nonchalantly as I can. I’m only doing it to make Robert laugh, and it works.
‘We are thinking about having a weekend in France in November,’ says Sophie, interrupting us. ‘Mum and Dad are visiting Aunty Peg and Aunty Pat for the weekend.’
‘Smashing, go for it,’ I nod. I haven’t spent a lot of time at the house in France; Peter and I didn’t do weekends away. I stopped booking longer holidays with him about six months ago. That’s a sign, by the way. You know you’re about to leave someone when you don’t want to plan holidays with them.
‘Actually, we were thinking it would be a get-to-know-you weekend for the wedding party,’ says Luke. ‘All the bridesmaids and all the groomsmen.’ He glances at Henry. ‘Um . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ says Henry. ‘I’ve got rugby anyway.’ He smears butter on his third bread roll and tips salt on it. I reach over and take the salt away from him.
‘And Robert,’ says Luke. ‘I’ve been waiting to ask you if you’d be my best man.’
Robert looks up in shock. ‘Mate! I’d be honoured!’ They stand up and hug as Sophie beams on adoringly and I – I admit it – take the opportunity to steal another look at the guy at the bar. Bar guy smiles openly at me. I smile back. Cripes, I am more confident than I used to be. This experience thing works.
‘I thought you’d ask Dave!’ says Robert, sitting down again. He’s beaming from ear to ear. ‘I was hoping for a groomsmanship and trying to be cool about it . . . This is fantastic, Lukey!’
‘Lukey?’ say Sophie and I in unison.
‘Dave is a groomsman, so is JimmyJames,’ says Luke. ‘But you’re the one who’s been with me through all the shit times . . . and you know Sophie better, too.’
‘I voted for you!’ said Sophie happily.
Our food arrives at this point, and Robert, Henry and Luke happily tuck into their identical dinners: steak for main, medium rare, with a side of chips. Men are so predictable.
Robert is smiling into the distance and sighing happily. ‘Best man! Tell the other bridesmaids to watch out.’
‘Oh, we will,’ I say. Sophie’s bridesmaids, apart from moi, are Vix, Sophie’s best friend who lives in Edinburgh, and Luke’s younger sister Bella, who I haven’t met yet as she lives in Bath and has somehow missed every post-engagement family get-together. Sophie has confided in me that she finds Bella ‘a bit tricky’. This is Sophie-speak for ‘a difficult and unpredictable bitch’.
‘Please don’t plunder and pillage the wedding party, Robert,’ says Sophie. ‘Really. I will go bridezilla on your arse.’
‘I might plunder the wedding party,’ pipes up Henry hopefully.
Sophie pats his arm condescendingly. ‘Sure you will.’
‘I promise to behave,’ says Robert. ‘I’ve known little Bella forever, anyway, so that would be disgusting.’ Then his face drops. ‘Shit. Does being best man require a speech?’
Luke and Sophie smile at him.
‘Is that a yes? That’s a yes, isn’t it . . . Oh, God.’ Robert pushes his chair away from the table and pretends to hyperventilate. I think he’s pretending, anyway. He puts his head between his knees, as Luke pats him on the back soothingly. ‘Public speaking. And talking about love. Both my fears. Together in one place. In black tie.’
‘You have like, six months to prepare . . .’ says Sophie hopefully.
‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ says Robert. I’ve never seen him lose his cool before. Or be so silly. Whichever it is. I stifle a laugh. ‘Shut up, Abigail,’ he calls from between his knees. ‘You’ll be helping me write the speech in return for all the dating help I’ve been giving you.’
‘Lucky me,’ I say.
I steal a glance at the guy at the bar, and he makes a ‘what the fuck?!’ face at our table. It does look funny: four people eating calmly, one person having a panic attack. I shrug a ‘Search me’ face at him and turn back to the table. Cool and detached! And I’m drinking lemonade. I don’t need alcohol to be confident. Oh no.
The waitress comes over and puts a glass of champagne in front of me.
‘From the gentleman at the bar,’ she says.
Is this a set-up? I look suspiciously at the others, but they’ve all turned to stare at the bar, where the guy who’s been looking over all night is now deep in conversation with the guy next to him.
‘There’s a note!’ I exclaim. It’s a little folded sheet of paper. I pick it up and open it. On it is a list of questions with check boxes marked ‘yes’ or ‘no’ next to them.
Q1. Are you single?
Q2. May I buy you a drink later?
Q3. My name is Adam. (Dammit! That’s not a question.)
I snicker to myself. Funny and hot! I look up at the others. ‘Does anyone have a pen?’
‘Not the old “do you like me” note trick! God! I’ve been using that for years,’ groans Robert.
‘What a surprise,’ I say.
‘Does it work?’ says Henry.
‘It’s ballsy,’ comments Luke. ‘Chatting you up without talking face to face.’
‘We’ve been exchanging looks all night,’ I say pertly.
‘Do you want to meet him?’ asks Sophie.
I nod as timidly as a girl who woke up in someone else’s bed this morning can. (Don’t look at me like that! This is all so new and fun. Imagine, you just go out to dinner, and by the end of it, you could meet someone new! Someone who might be your soulmate! Singledom! Best thing in the world, seriously.) (Look, please forgive the ‘soulmate’ comment. I know I’m not supposed to think like that. But in a tiny corner of my mind, the thought is there.) So I tick ‘yes’ and ‘yes’ and write ‘Abigail’ on the note. I add ‘Thank you for the drink’.
‘Add “meet me at Motcombs in ten minutes”,’ suggests Robert. ‘It’s the bar a few doors down.’
‘I thought I was supposed to let him make that decision,’ I say.
‘No, in this instance, a little bull-by-the-horns is good.’
‘OK,’ I say. I wait for the waitress to come by, then give it back to her.
I take a calming breath. Henry is still eating, Sophie and Luke are nibbling and kissing each other, as they tend to do whenever they think they’re unwatched, and Robert is texting someone with a little half-smile on his face. He glances up at me, and presses ‘send’.
‘You alright? This is good. This is just what you need to get over last night. You know you can text me if you have any problems,’ he says.
