Люси Фоли - The Guest List

The old me might have found it funny. I could imagine texting my mates, giving them a live running commentary on the absolute cringe-fest going on in front of me.

A few of the waiters are watching everyone from the corners of the marquee, sort of hovering on the edges of things. Some of them are about my age, younger. They all hate us, it’s so obvious. And I’m not surprised. I feel like I hate them too. Especially the men. I’ve been touched on the shoulder, on the hip and on the bum tonight by some of the blokes here, Will and Jules’s so-called friends. Hands grabbing, stroking, squeezing, cupping – out of sight of wives and girlfriends, as though I’m a piece of meat. I’m sick of it.

The last time it happened, I turned around and gave the guy such a poisonous stare that he actually backed away from me, making a stupid wide-eyed face and holding his hands up in the air – all mock-innocent. If it happens again I feel like I might really lose it.

I drink some more. The taste in my mouth is foul: sour and stale. I need to drink until I don’t care about that sort of thing. Until I can’t taste or feel any more.

And then I’m seized by my cousin Beth and dragged towards the dance tent. Other than earlier, outside the church, I haven’t seen Beth since last year at my aunt’s birthday. She’s wearing a ton of make-up but underneath you can see she’s still a child, her face round and soft, her eyes wide. I want to tell her to wipe off the lipstick and eyeliner, to stay in that safe childhood space for a while longer.

On the dance floor, surrounded by all these bodies, moving and shoving, the room begins to spin. It’s like all the stuff I’ve drunk has caught up with me in one big rush. And then I trip – maybe over someone’s foot or maybe it’s my own stupid, too-high shoes. I go down, hard, with a crack that I hear a long time before I feel it. I think I’ve hit my head.

Through the fug, I hear Beth speaking to someone nearby. ‘She’s really drunk, I think. Oh my God.’

‘Get Jules,’ someone says. ‘Or her mum.’

‘Can’t see Jules anywhere.’

‘Oh, look, here’s Will.’

‘Will, she’s pretty drunk. Can you help? I don’t know what to do—’

He comes towards me, smiling. ‘Oh Olivia. What happened?’ He reaches out a hand to me. ‘Come on, let’s get you up.’

‘No,’ I say. I bat his hand away. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Come on,’ Will says, his voice so kind, so gentle. I feel him lifting me up, and it doesn’t seem like there’s much point in struggling. ‘Let’s get you some air.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders.

‘Get your hands off me!’ I try to fight my way out of his grip.

I hear a murmur from the people watching us. I’m the difficult one, I bet that’s what they’re saying to each other. I’m the crazy one. An embarrassment.

Outside the marquee, the wind hits us full-force, so hard it nearly knocks me over. ‘This way,’ Will says. ‘It’s more sheltered round here.’ I feel too tired and drunk to resist, all of a sudden. I let him march me round the other side of the marquee, towards where the land gives way to the sea. I can see the lights of the mainland in the distance like a trail of spilled glitter in the blackness. They go in and out of focus: pin-sharp, then fuzzy, like I’m seeing them through water.

Now, for the first time in a long time, it’s just the two of us.

Me and him.

JULES

The Bride

My new husband seems to have disappeared. ‘Has anyone seen Will?’ I ask my guests. They shrug, shake their heads. I feel like I’ve lost any control I might have had over them. They’ve apparently forgotten that they’re here for my big day. Earlier they were circling around me until it almost got unbearable, coming forward with their compliments and well-wishes, like courtiers before their queen. Now they seem indifferent to me. I suppose this is their opportunity for a little hedonism, a return to the freedom they enjoyed at university or in their early twenties, before they were weighed down with kids or demanding jobs. Tonight is about them – catching up with their mates, flirting with the ones who got away. I could get angry, but there’s no point, I decide. I’ve got more important things to be concerning myself with: Will.

The longer I look for him the more my sense of unease grows.

‘I saw him,’ someone pipes up. I see it’s my little cousin, Beth. ‘He was with Olivia – she was a bit drunk.’

‘Oh, yeah. Olivia!’ another cousin chimes in. ‘They went towards the entrance. He thought she should get some air.’

Olivia, making a spectacle of herself yet again. But when I go outside there’s no sign of them. The only people hanging around in the entrance of the marquee are a group of smokers – friends from university. They turn towards me and say all the things you’re meant to say about how wonderful I look, what a magical ceremony it was— I cut them off.

‘Have you seen Olivia, or Will?’

They gesture vaguely around the side of the marquee, towards the sea. But why on earth would Will and Olivia go out there? The weather has started to turn now and it’s dark, the moonlight too dim to see by.

The wind screams about the marquee and around me when I step into the brunt of it. Remembering the near-drowning scene earlier, I feel my stomach pitch with dread. Olivia couldn’t have done something stupid, could she?

I finally catch sight of their faint outlines beyond the main spill of light from the marquee, towards the sea. But some intuition beyond naming stops me from calling out to them. I’ve realised that they’re very close to one another. In the near-dark the two shapes seem to blur together. For a horrible moment I think … but no, they must be talking. And yet it doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my sister and Will speak to one another, beyond polite conversation at least. I mean, they barely know each other. They’ve met precisely once before. And yet they seem to have a great deal to say to one another. What on earth can they be talking about? Why come all the way round here, away from the sight of the other guests?

I begin to move, silent as a cat burglar, edging forward into the growing darkness.

OLIVIA

The Bridesmaid

‘I’m going to tell her,’ I say. It’s an effort to get the words out, but I’m determined to do it. ‘I’m going to … I’m going to tell her about us.’ I’m thinking of what Hannah said, earlier. ‘ It’s always better to get it out in the open – even if it seems shameful, even if you feel like people will judge you for it .’

He clamps a hand over my mouth. It’s a shock – so sudden. I can smell his cologne. I remember smelling that cologne on my skin, afterwards. Thinking how delicious it was, how grown-up. Now it makes me want to vomit.

‘Oh no, Olivia,’ Will says. His voice is still almost kind, gentle, which only makes it worse. ‘I don’t think you will, actually. And you know why? You won’t do it because you would be destroying your sister’s happiness. This is her wedding day, you silly little girl. Jules is too special to you for you to do that to her. And for what purpose? It’s not like anything is going to happen between us now.’

There’s a burst of chatter from the other side of the marquee, and perhaps he’s worried someone is going to see us like this because he takes his hand away from my mouth.

‘I know that!’ I say. ‘That’s not what I mean … that’s not what I want.’

He raises his eyebrows, like he isn’t sure whether he believes me. ‘Well, what do you want, Olivia?’

Not to feel so awful any longer, I think. To get rid of this horrible secret I’ve been carrying around. But I don’t answer. So he goes on: ‘I get it. You want to lash out at me. I will be the first to admit, I haven’t behaved impeccably in all of this. I should have broken it off with you properly. I should perhaps have been more transparent. I never meant to hurt anyone. And can I tell you what I honestly think, Olivia?’