Erin Lawless - The One with All the Bridesmaids - A hilarious, feel-good romantic comedy

‘But, you know, there was a Tube strike. And it was going to be a complete pain in the arse to get across to London Bridge, where the restaurant was,’ Nora continued, still idly fiddling with her new accessory. ‘So I said, let’s leave it, too much hassle, love, let’s just get some takeaway curries and stay in and watch Netflix.’

The girls all started to giggle as they imagined Harry’s panic at that moment. He was a great one for a plan, was Harry, and now there he was – on arguably one of the most important nights of his life – scuppered, stressed, cursing the railworkers’ union for ruining his chance at eternal happiness.

‘And Harry was … shall we say, uncharacte‌ristically insistent,’ Nora carried on, giggling too. ‘He was banging on about how it was our first proper Valentine’s Day as a couple. Then he told me we simply had to go, because he’d put a huge deposit down on the table and he wouldn’t get his money back! And I was thinking, Christ, what kind of a restaurant is this ?’

Nora paused to join the girls in a mini-cheer as the waitress deftly opened the champagne with a festive pop and began to fill the waiting flutes.

‘So, he said he’d order us an Uber, and – of course – everyone in London wants to get in a taxi right then because the Tube is so up the spout, so we have to wait for ages. And he’s pacing through the lounge, glaring at his phone, glaring out of the window, glaring at me – and I was wondering what was bloody wrong with the man!’

‘And you didn’t even have the slightest inkling what was coming?’ Sarah asked, breathlessly, an eternal romantic.

Nora shook her head. ‘Not a clue. I thought he’d just had a bad day at work, or something. So anyway, the car arrived and we got to the restaurant and, you know, it’s mostly empty. They haven’t given away our table or anything – I mean, come on, it’s like a Tuesday night! – and once we get sat down, Harry calms down a bit. And you know how normally I have to decide right off when I go to a restaurant if I’m going to have a starter or a pudding? Well, Harry tells me immediately that we’re going to have a pudding because they do this special called the ‘Lover’s Platter’ for dessert, and hey, it’s our fake Valentine’s Day after all, so I’m like, sure, okay, fine.’

‘How could you not have known what was coming?’ howled Daisy. ‘He was being so obvious!’

Nora shook her head again. ‘Anyway, so we ordered mains—’

‘What did you have?’ Bea demanded, determined to wring as many little details out of this story as possible.

‘Er, well, it was an Italian. I had this like, sweet chilli-prawn spaghetti thing. Harry had a calzone.’

‘No!’ groaned Bea. ‘That’s so unromantic!’

Nora raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d rather we’d eaten oysters and strawberries or something?’

‘Anything but pizza and pasta!’ Daisy agreed. ‘Too mundane for such an important anecdote, hun.’

‘Sorry to disappoint! We even had garlic bread on the side,’ Nora grinned, achieving a chorus of disapproving moans. ‘So anyway, everything’s pretty normal and we finish and they clear away the plates and then Harry orders this Lover’s Platter thing and they bring it out super-quick, like, too quick. And to be honest, I was still pretty full and I didn’t really fancy anything more. And it was this whole great big plate for two people, full of macaroons, and little truffles and pastries with cream and tiny brownies cut into heart shapes.’ Nora paused, a small smile playing on her face. ‘It was pretty sweet.’

‘Anyway, then I stood up – because I wanted to take a picture of it from above, you know? And Harry jumped up too and was all, what’s wrong, where are you going? I said, nowhere! I just want to take a shot of this for my Instagram, it’s so nice … and we sat back down and I was busy trying different filters on for size and not really paying attention. So I uploaded the picture and, you know, everything’s still pretty normal …’

‘Yes, and?’ Bea prompted, impatiently.

‘Go on!’ Sarah insisted.

‘Yeah, then what happened?’ urged the excited waitress, champagne bottle still in hand.

‘Well, Harry’s just staring at me, properly staring. And then he asks me why I’m not eating, so I tell him I need a break because I’m still pretty full from all that spaghetti I just nailed. And he starts telling me to eat one of the profiteroles at least – you love profiteroles, he keeps saying – so, basically, just to shut him up, I forked a profiterole.’

‘And?’ Daisy grinned. ‘And?’

‘And the fork goes – clink! And I look at what’s there, and it’s, well …’ Nora wiggled her left fingers and laughed. ‘Under the profiteroles. And I don’t even know when he did it, but I suddenly realise that Harry’s on the floor next to me, on one knee and everything, and he said – oh, a bunch of stuff! I can’t even remember, I was so shocked! But at the end of whatever he was saying he said – you know, the important bit – ‘So, will you marry me?’ – and I realised it was actually happening.’

‘And I, naturally, burst into horrendous ugly-crying. I couldn’t speak. I just got down on the floor next to him and hugged him and bawled. I got mascara all over his shirt collar! We’ve had to take it into the dry-cleaners, it’s a state. Anyway. I eventually managed to actually say the word ‘yes’ and all the waiting staff were cheering and clapping, and all the other people in the restaurant and randomers started sending over champagne. It was amazing.’

Nora admired her engagement ring again; she couldn’t help it. She was just so very, very, wonderfully happy. She was getting to marry one of her best friends, after all.

‘And so here we all are,’ finished Bea, holding her glass of champagne aloft. ‘So let’s toast.’

The others obediently lifted their flutes, the pale liquid shining and glittering in the light from the candles, and even the waitress motioned cheerfully with the rest of the bottle. Nora glanced around at the faces ringed around her at the table and pushed aside her slight misgivings; she didn’t want that weight on her heart, not tonight. They might not all get on between themselves, but she knew they all loved her like she loved them and she wouldn’t – couldn’t – be without a single one of them by her side for this. Her best friends. Her bridesmaids.

Bea blew Nora a kiss across the table. Cleo laughed and cheered. ‘To the Dervan-Clarke wedding!’

Cleo jabbed the magic button the millisecond the mug was in place and ready and waiting to receive coffee; after three years at this place she’d perfected the timing.

Gray – Oakland Academy’s favourite history teacher – was also ready and waiting, holding out the plastic carton of communal milk, slipping his own mug in to replace Cleo’s on the machine’s drip-tray as soon as he could. It was pretty indecent the way they fled their classrooms at the break-bell – faster than some of the kids – but twenty minutes was a very short time to get sufficiently caffeinated of a mid-morning.

Caffeine was required even more fiercely than normal this morning: firstly, it was a Monday, and secondly, Cleo still felt vaguely hung over from going out on Saturday night. She hadn’t even been feeling it, but by merit of Cole being both a best friend and turning thirty, she hadn’t exactly been able to take a rain check. She needed to have a word with herself about automatically going for the house wine; it was always the sulphates in cheap plonk that got her like this (she also needed to have a word with herself about going out for a nice, grown-up dinner and ending up barefoot on a sticky dance floor come two o’ clock in the morning).