Люси Фоли - The Guest List

‘Now,’ Will says, palm on my back as a gentle steer, warm through my dress, ‘let me introduce you to some people. This is Georgina.’

Georgina, thin and chic in a column of fuchsia silk, gives me a wintry smile. She can’t move her face much and I try hard not to stare – I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Botox in real life. ‘Were you on the hen do?’ she asks. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘I had to give it a miss,’ I say. ‘The kids …’ Partly true. But there’s also the fact that it was on a yoga retreat in Ibiza and I could never in a million years have afforded it.

‘You didn’t miss much,’ a man – slender, dark red hair – swoops into the conversation. ‘Just a load of bitches burning their tits off and gossiping over bottles of Whispering Angel. Goodness,’ he says, giving me a once-over before bending in to kiss my cheek. ‘Don’t you scrub up well?’

‘Er – thanks.’ His smile suggests it was meant kindly, but I’m not totally sure it was a compliment.

This man is Duncan, apparently, and he’s married to Georgina. He’s also one of the ushers, along with the other three guys. Peter – hair slicked back, a party-boy look. Oluwafemi, or Femi – tall, black, seriously handsome. Angus – Boris Johnson blond and similarly pot-bellied. But in a funny way they all look quite similar. They’re all wearing the same striped tie plus crisp white shirts, polished brogues and tailored jackets that definitely don’t come from Next, like Charlie’s. Charlie bought his especially for this weekend and I hope he’s not feeling too put out by the comparison. But at least he looks fairly dapper next to the best man, Johnno, who despite his size somehow reminds me of a kid wearing clothes from the school lost property cupboard.

On the face of it they’re so charming, these men. But I remember the laughter from the tower as we walked up to the Folly. And even now there’s definitely an undercurrent beneath the charm. Smirks, raised eyebrows, as though they’re having a secret joke at someone’s expense – possibly mine.

I move over to chat to Olivia, who looks ethereal in a grey dress. It felt like we bonded a bit earlier in the cave but now she answers me in monosyllables, darting her eyes away.

A couple of times my gaze snags with Will’s over her shoulder. I don’t think it’s my fault: sometimes I’ll have the impression that his eyes have been on me for a while. It shouldn’t be, but it’s exciting. It reminds me – I know it’s totally inappropriate to say this – but it reminds me most of that feeling you get when you start to suspect that someone you’re attracted to fancies you back.

I catch myself in the thought. Reality check, Hannah. You’re a married mother of two and your husband is right there and you’re talking to a man who is about to get married to your husband’s best friend, who is standing looking like Monica Bellucci, only better dressed. Probably ease off the champagne a little. I’ve been knocking it back. It’s partly nerves, surrounded by this lot. But it’s also the sense of freedom. No babysitter to embarrass ourselves in front of later, no small people to have to wake up for in the morning. There’s something exotic about being all dressed up with only other adults for company, a plentiful supply of booze, no responsibility.

‘The food smells incredible,’ I say. ‘Who’s cooking?’

‘Aoife and Freddy,’ Jules says. ‘They own the Folly. Aoife’s our wedding planner, too. I’ll introduce you all at dinner. And Freddy is doing the catering for us tomorrow.’

‘I can tell it’s going to be delicious,’ I say. ‘God, I’m hungry.’

‘Well your stomach’s completely empty,’ Charlie says. ‘Got rid of it all on the boat, didn’t you?’

‘Had a vom?’ Duncan asks, delighted. ‘Fed the fish?’

I shoot Charlie an icy look. I feel like he’s just undone some of the effort I made this evening. I feel like he’s playing for laughs, trying to get in on the joke at my expense. I swear he’s put on a different voice – posher – but I know if I called him out on it he’d pretend he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.

‘ Anyway ,’ I say, ‘it’ll make a nice change from chicken nuggets, which I seem to end up eating every other night with the kids.’

‘Do you have any good restaurants in Brighton, these days?’ Jules asks. Jules always acts like Brighton is the sticks.

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘there are—’

‘Except we never go to them,’ Charlie says.

‘That’s not true,’ I say. ‘We went to that new Italian place …’

‘It’s not new now,’ Charlie counters. ‘That was about a year ago.’

He’s right. I can’t think of the last time we ate out, other than that. Money has been a bit tight and you have to add the cost of a babysitter on top of the meal. But I wish he hadn’t said it.

Johnno tries to top up Charlie’s champagne and Charlie quickly puts his hand over his glass. ‘No thanks.’

‘Oh come on, mate,’ Johnno says. ‘Night before the wedding. Got to get a little loose.’

‘Come on!’ Duncan chides. ‘It’s only bubbly, not crack. Or are you going to tell us you’re pregnant?’

The other ushers snigger.

‘No,’ Charlie says again, tightly. ‘I’m taking it easy tonight.’ I can tell he’s embarrassed saying it. But I’m glad he hasn’t forgotten himself on this front.

‘So Charlie boy,’ Johnno says, ‘tell us. How did you two first meet?’

I think at first he means Charlie and I. Then I realise he’s looking between Charlie and Jules. Right.

‘A millions years ago …’ Jules says. She and Charlie raise their eyebrows at each other in perfect unison.

‘I taught her to sail,’ Charlie says. ‘I lived in Cornwall. It was my summer job.’

‘And my dad has a house there,’ Jules says. ‘I hoped if I learnt he might take me out on his boat with him. But it turns out taking your sixteen-year-old daughter for a sail along the South coast wasn’t quite the same as having your latest girlfriend sunbathe on the prow in St Tropez.’ It comes out more bitterly than I think she might have intended. ‘Anyway,’ she says. ‘Charlie was my instructor.’ She looks at him. ‘I had a big crush on him.’

Charlie smiles back at her. I laugh along with the others but I’m not really feeling it. It’s hardly the first time I’ve heard this story. It’s like a double act they do together. The local boy and the posh girl. Still, my stomach twists as Jules continues.

‘ You were mainly concerned with trying to sleep with as many girls of your own age as possible before you went to uni,’ Jules says to Charlie. It’s suddenly like she’s speaking only to him. ‘It seemed to work for you, though. That permanent tan and the body you had back then probably helped—’

‘Yes,’ Charlie says. ‘Best body of my life. It was like having a gym membership with the job, working out on the water every day. Sadly you don’t get quite as ripped teaching Geography to fifteen-year-olds.’

‘Let’s have a look at those abs now,’ Duncan says, leaning forward and grabbing the bottom of Charlie’s shirt. He lifts the hem to show a few inches of pale, soft stomach. Charlie steps back, reddening, tucks himself in.

‘And he seemed so grown-up,’ Jules says, heedless of the interruption. She touches Charlie’s arm, proprietary. ‘When you’re sixteen, eighteen seems so much older. I was shy.’

‘That’s hard to believe,’ Johnno mumbles.

Jules ignores him. ‘But I know at first you thought I was this stuck-up princess.’

‘Which was probably true,’ Charlie says, raising an eyebrow, getting back into his stride.