Lindsey Kelk - Always the Bridesmaid

‘Oh, um, I haven’t actually got one,’ I said, squinting. It was one of the ushers. The one whose trousers were an inch too short. You tend to notice strange things when you work two weddings a week for three-quarters of the year. ‘Sorry.’

‘No worries,’ he said, putting the cigarette back in the pack of ten in his inside pocket. He was awfully tall; I supposed that explained the trousers. ‘I’m supposed to have quit anyway.’

‘Probably best then.’ I shuffled from foot to sensibly shod foot, flicking my unlit cigarette between my fingers and tucking my phone back into the waistband of my skirt.

He nodded, pressed his lips together and stuck his hands in his pockets.

‘Did you lose your lighter?’ he asked.

Oh good, awkward conversation. I loved those. Why couldn’t he leave me alone so I could bunk off and text my friend in peace?

‘Oh no,’ I replied, preparing myself. ‘I don’t smoke.’

The very tall usher looked at me strangely.

‘You don’t smoke?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘But you’re standing outside holding a cigarette?’

‘Yes.’

He took in a short breath that sounded like he was going to say something, then shook his head and stopped himself. Then did it again and didn’t stop himself. More’s the pity.

‘I’m sure I’m going to regret it, but can I ask why you’re standing outside holding a cigarette without a lighter if you don’t smoke?’

It was a fair question; I just didn’t want to answer it. I wanted to read some showbiz gossip on my phone, text Sarah, call Lauren and pretend I hadn’t just pissed away an entire Saturday at someone else’s special day. It didn’t matter if you were wearing Jimmy Choos or a pair of Clarks − if you were on your feet for nigh on twelve hours, you were in pain.

‘My boss smokes,’ I said, shaking a full box of Marlboros at him. ‘And she takes cigarette breaks all the time, so she can’t stop me from taking them. So, you know, as far as she’s concerned, I’ve got a very healthy two packs a day habit. Or unhealthy, as the case may be.’

He looked at me. ‘You’re not serious?’

I looked back at him.

‘Oh my God, you are.’

‘She thinks smoking is better than eating,’ I replied. ‘Fewer carbs.’

‘But smoking will kill you,’ he said, looking at his own pack with a regularly repeated lecture playing over in his head. ‘She does know that, doesn’t she?’

‘We get private health insurance,’ I said. ‘So it all works out.’

‘Fair enough.’ The usher put his cigarettes away and scrunched up his face for a moment, staring at me. ‘I hate weddings,’ he said.

‘Really?’ Who went around saying they hated weddings while they were at a wedding. ‘Why?’

‘There’s so much standing around,’ he said wearily, pushing wavy brown hair off his forehead. Earlier it had been all slicked back and crunchy-looking, but by this point in the proceedings his locks had let loose. He needed a good shot of Elnett; he had to be single. ‘And there’s never anywhere to go. I just want to sod off somewhere and have a sit-down.’

‘Once I did a wedding that had a mini cinema,’ I said, nodding in agreement, ‘but the bride got angry because everyone sat in there all night instead of dancing to the band she’d paid a bloody fortune for. In the end she made us turn the film off and shouted at everybody.’

‘What film was it?’ he asked.

‘ Ghostbusters . The groom picked all the films from when they’d been dating but he did too good a job.’

‘I’d give my right arm to sit in the dark and watch Ghostbusters right now,’ he said, sighing. His skin was quite pale and his eyes were quite dark and he really was awfully tall. At least a foot and a half taller than me. Teetering around too tall territory. Just the right height if you wanted something down from the loft, but a nightmare to sit next to if you were flying economy.

‘They had ice cream and beer as well,’ I added, trying not to look at his visible ankles.

‘I might never have left.’ He paused for a moment and then smiled.

He was nice looking when he smiled, a bit less gawky and angular, a realization that only made me feel all the more uncomfortable. I felt myself breathe in slightly and brushed a few stray strands of hair behind my ear.

‘Maybe my fiancée will let me have one at my wedding.’

Stray strands of hair be damned and belly be bloated.

‘And these bloody penguin suits,’ he said, ignoring me and pulling at his stiff collar. ‘If I took my tie off, I’d look like one of you.’

‘One of you?’ I asked. What the cocking cock was that supposed to mean?

‘Oh. Oh!’ he said, hands stuck midair as though he were showing me he had caught a fish thiiiiis big. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that, you know, I’m dressed like a waiter.’

As soon as he’d said it, I could tell he wanted to take it back. Unfortunately for him, I was not in the mood to let anyone off with anything.

‘And what’s wrong with being a waiter?’ I asked.

He looked even paler than he had two minutes before. ‘Nothing. But I’m a lawyer.’

He couldn’t have been anything else in the world, could he? He had to be a lawyer.

‘And you think being a lawyer is better than being a waiter?’

‘I was just trying to say how funny it is that we’re both wearing black and white, when I’m at the wedding and you’re just a waitress,’ he said.

And there it was. The shovel hit the soil and suddenly he was tit-deep in a hole he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of. Just a waitress? Just a waitress?

‘Not that I think being a lawyer is better than being a waitress,’ he said, the panic setting in. ‘I think it’s brilliant that you’re a waitress.’

I was so angry, I was very nearly ready to be slightly rude.

‘Is it?’

No one had ever made those two syllables sound like such a threat.

He was flustered. I was angry. It was a perfect British combination. I think we both knew it was time for him to give up and walk away, but I knew he wasn’t going to: lawyers never could.

‘Absolutely. I look like a penguin.’ The usher pressed his arms against his side and kicked his legs out. He looked so ridiculous that I almost softened. ‘I think you’re more of a panda.’

And then I stopped almost smiling.

‘How come you’re a penguin and I’m a panda?’ I asked, breathing in again. Had he just called me fat? ‘Because I’m a woman?’

‘Pandas are good!’ he replied, exasperated. ‘Pandas are better than penguins!’

‘Maddie?’ Shona’s voice cut through the darkness.

‘Christ.’ I pulled my cigarette back out, broke off the filter and ground it against the wall before Shona could bust me. ‘Whatever.’

‘Pandas are better than penguins,’ he said in a sulky voice. ‘So much better. Everyone knows that.’

I shook my head and turned on my heel, striding back towards the kitchen as quickly as my ugly practical shoes would carry me.

Wanker.

‘ MADDIE! ’

‘I’m here!’ I picked up pace and ran into the kitchen, to find my boss waiting for me. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she said. She was sitting on a stool, leaning her elbows on the big stainless-steel island in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Everything’s fine. Do you want a drink?’

Sometimes this happens. Sometimes my boss Shona forgets she’s a she-beast who would be better occupied guarding the gates of hell and likes to pretend we’re friends. This is how you know she’s a properly evil mental case. The truly psychotic are not consistent.