Lindsey Kelk - Always the Bridesmaid

‘ Tell me you haven’t killed yourself. ’

‘ If I’d killed myself, I couldn’t tell you, could I? ’ I typed. ‘ I’m still at work, you ok? ’

Turns out there wasn’t a better way to ask that question.

‘ No. ’

And no better way to answer it.

‘ Have you seen FB? ’

‘ No. ’ I typed, wondering what fantastic news awaited me on the wonderful world of the Internet. ‘ What? ’

There was a pause, followed by three little grey dots on the screen.

‘ Seb’s missus had the baby. ’

If only they had stayed dots.

Seb had a baby. There was a baby Seb. A tiny, red-faced, screaming mini Seb.

And it wasn’t mine.

Seb. Formerly Bash or Sebby, latterly Knobjockey, Cockchops and, most recently and accurately, that absolute bastard who systematically pulled apart every single one of my organs like Cheestrings before getting to my heart, taking it out, freezing it, defrosting it in the microwave, freezing it again, defrosting it and freezing it one last time until all that was left was a leathery bit of offal that would nourish neither man nor beast. I was still getting letters from Direct Line about his car insurance renewal and he was married with a baby.

‘ So? ’

I tapped out the letters, totally not imagining the former love of my life sitting in a fancy private hospital room holding his new baby while his sweaty but beautiful wife smiled at him knowingly. I had some dregs of champagne and a shirt that was a size too small. The only thing that could even this out was a kebab on the way home.

‘ I’ve got to get back to work. ’ Lying was so much easier through the medium of text. ‘ See you tomorrow? ’

‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

A very tall man appeared from nowhere in the semi-darkness before she could reply, and for a split second I was very worried that I might not live to see that kebab.

‘That’s not an incredibly creepy way to address someone you don’t know,’ I replied. It was the insulting usher. ‘I definitely didn’t think you were going to kill me.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, clearly not meaning it. ‘Not smoking again?’

‘No, this time I’m not not drinking.’ I held up the champagne bottle and didn’t smile. ‘Cheers.’

He crouched down beside me and took the bottle, helping himself to a swig.

‘You might be the most interesting waitress I’ve ever met,’ he said, handing the bottle back. Even in a squat he was massive. I’m pretty standard height at five four-ish, but he had to be pushing six five. He would be a very helpful man to know if I needed any light bulbs changing.

‘Thanks,’ I replied, sipping my booze straight out of the bottle in as ladylike a fashion as possible. ‘I try.’

No point explaining I wasn’t a waitress. Might as well be a waitress anyway: most of the waitresses I met did something else. They were actresses or models or musicians or they were at uni studying something fantastic. That or they had lovely families at home and they waitressed as a part-time thing. All I had at home were fourteen back issues of Marie Claire , three still in their mailing bags, and a stale chocolate croissant that I would probably eat when I got home, regardless.

‘I wanted to apologize,’ he said. ‘I think I was rude earlier.’

Seb had a baby.

‘What?’ I looked at him, confused.

‘Earlier, I was a bit out of it.’ He folded himself up into an oversized-schoolboy sitting position. ‘It feels as though I ought to say sorry.’

‘You think you were rude?’ I said. ‘And it feels as though you ought to say sorry? Don’t knock yourself out, whatever you do.’

‘All right, I was rude and I am sorry,’ he replied, overenunciating but still not leaving, which was all I wanted him to do. ‘I’m having a very bloody bad day.’

I took another sip and then laughed.

‘My boss just told me I’m shit and I’ll never get promoted, one of my best friends is getting divorced, the other is getting married, and my ex-boyfriend literally just had a baby with his new wife. As in, an hour ago.’

‘Not ideal,’ he said, combing his hair back off his face. It had completely given up any semblance of style and was starting to curl up over his collar. I thought he looked much better now, less like a young Tory backbencher and more like he’d just come in from taking the dog for a walk before bed. ‘Did you not know he was having a baby?’

Trust a man to completely miss the point.

‘I did,’ I said, ‘but it’s still weird to think that there’s, like, a new human out there that’s half of him.’

The usher thought on it for a moment, his eyebrows coming together slightly, and then he nodded.

‘Why does your boss think you’re shit?’ he asked, taking the champagne again. Without asking, again. ‘Are you?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Blunt but fair. ‘She’s not the nicest person in the world. Or the most reasonable. Or the most sane.’

‘Then why do you work for her?’ He stuck out his tongue as he tried to balance the empty champagne bottle on the uneven grass. Someone was a bit drunk and, unfortunately, it wasn’t me. ‘Can’t you be a waitress anywhere?’

‘I suppose I just can’t imagine it,’ I said. ‘I’ve been doing this for so long, I’m probably a bit frightened of being the new girl. And what if she’s right? What if I am shit?’

It’s strange how some things are easier to say to strangers than your best friends. I knew I wasn’t bad at my job, but there was every chance I wasn’t brilliant at it. It wasn’t like I’d won any awards or been headhunted or anything. The idea of applying for a new job and not getting it, or worse, getting it and then fucking it up, scared me senseless.

‘I don’t believe it for a second,’ he said, reaching out to robotically pat my shoulder with a stick-straight arm. ‘Apart from the fake smoke breaks and getting drunk under a tree during the reception, I bet you’re a brilliant waitress.’

‘The best,’ I confirmed, pushing the carefully balanced bottle over with my foot, much to his dismay. ‘What’s been so bad about your day, anyway? You’re at a wedding. You’re in a wedding. What can possibly have been so bad?’

He closed his eyes and shook his messy head. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Well, no, I don’t,’ I agreed. ‘But you brought it up and I’ve asked now, so it would only be polite to tell me.’

‘What on earth is going on out here?’ A voice chimed in the darkness, and the silhouette of another man approached. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

‘When has that ever stopped you?’ The usher unrolled himself and climbed unsteadily to his feet. ‘We’re having a chat.’

Be still my beating heart, it was the best man.

‘Looks like it,’ he said, nudging the empty bottle with his toe. ‘Has he been a naughty boy?’

‘Please shut up, Will,’ the usher said, digging his hands deep into his pockets. ‘We were just talking.’

‘About me?’ He grabbed the knot of his dark blue tie and pulled it away from his neck before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He was a very attractive man. Just looking at him made me feel all flighty and unnecessary. ‘Whatever he told you, it’s not true.’

‘Strangely enough, you’re not my only topic of conversation.’ My champagne-swilling buddy was not nearly as impressed with Best Man Will as I was. ‘What do you want?’

‘I came out for some fresh air − things are getting a bit much in there,’ he said, cocking his head back towards the reception. ‘Shouldn’t you be inside with your fiancée?’