Zara Stoneley - The Wedding Date - The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year!

‘Is he?’ I know my eyes have opened a bit wider, and I’ve sat up a bit straighter. Holy crap, have I just bagged myself a real hunk? I’ve always been able to take it or leave it as far as James Bond goes, but I wouldn’t say no to a date.

‘Is he hell!’ She laughs, and my backbone sags back into its normal curve. ‘He’s doing bit parts, waiting for his big break.’

Otherwise known as working as a barista. Licensed to handle a coffee machine isn’t quite the same as licensed to kill. Or thrill. Although I’d probably get a good latte out of the deal.

‘Here.’ She stands up, showing off endless legs and a designer handbag. ‘Take my card.’ Even the card, framed by immaculate nails, looks expensive.

It would be rude to ignore it, but this is never going to work. The whole idea of a fake date makes me feel slightly queasy, and actor Jake is way outside my league. At least if I hired an escort like Sarah suggested, we’d all know where we stood. And he wouldn’t be nearly famous.

‘I’m not sure it will be up his street.’ I try and match her posh tone, and just sound a bit like my mother when she answers the phone. ‘And er, it’s not for a day, it’s for a week.’

‘Even better, he could do with a change of scene! Honestly, he’d love it.’ She puts the card down, then blows Tim a kiss. ‘Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll sound him out, though he’s anybody’s for a free lunch.’

‘Oh she’s interested, aren’t you gorgeous?’ Tim hugs me. ‘He’s just what you need.’ We watch Amy leave, and Tim wields the hairdryer until I look streaked and sleek.

‘Divine.’ He holds a mirror so I can see the back. ‘I can just see Liam’s face when you walk in on Jake’s arm looking absolutely fab. The dream team.’ He sighs.

I stare at my own reflection. I do look quite good, and Jake might look like a young George Clooney, or a Brad Pitt, or a cute Alex Pettyfer. After all he is an actor.

Tim spins me round. ‘You can do this, I’m not taking no for an answer.’

I grin back. ‘I can do this.’ I swan out of the salon on a high, hair all swishy and a spring in my step. I can do this. I have to.

I shall go to the wedding. I shall take a date.

What could possibly go wrong?

There are obviously loads of things that will might go wrong if I take a fake date called Jake to my best friend’s wedding.

1 1. I might hate Jake.

2 2. Jake might hate me.

3 3. Somebody might know him.

4 4. I could become a laughing stock.

5 5. Everybody will despise me when they realise I’ve tried to dupe them.

There are of course positives in any situation.

1 1. Everybody will admire how well I have moved on (if they don’t guess it’s a sham), and how little I care about Liam and his huge girlfriend.

2 2. His mother might regret being nasty and be insanely jealous when she sees me with another man, and realise that I can no longer be her daughter-in-law.

The fizz has worn off a bit by the time I get home, and the frizz has set in. There is no hair product known to man that will totally stop my hair going all frizzy when it’s damp outside.

I feel a bit daft, and all flat and deflated. I got totally carried away with Tim and his plan. I know he loves me and means well, but it’s a mad idea. Who in their right mind would take a total stranger to a wedding? This is practically a family wedding. Everybody knows me, everybody will realise that I would never meet a young, posh George Clooney lookalike.

I decide I need to forget all about Jake, and take my new hairdo out for a glass of wine while it still has a tiny trace of swish factor left.

‘What’s up?’ This seems to be Sarah’s opening line at the moment. I am obviously not hiding my concerns as well as I think I am.

‘I can’t decide whether to have another Aperol spritz, or have one of those espresso martinis.’ I’m eying up the one on the next table as I suck up the last drop of Aperol through a straw.

‘Well hurry up and decide before that sexy barman does a runner on me.’

‘Which sexy barman?’ I’ve been coming in this wine bar on a regular basis for the past year with Sarah, and I’ve never seen anybody I’d rate as even mildly sexy. Some of them think they are, but they need a reality check if you ask me. I mean, being able to toss a cocktail shaker in the air doesn’t make you anything more than a tosser, does it?

‘There is definitely something up with you if you’ve not noticed. Look, there.’

I glance over the top of my glass, trying not to be too obvious. ‘The one that looks about eighteen?’

Sarah nods. ‘Soo cute.’

Okay, maybe he is quite cute. In an eighteen-year-old way. ‘You can’t!’

‘Watch me.’ She winks. ‘Some men like a mature woman, I could teach him a trick or two.’

‘I bet you could.’

‘But I was looking for you, not me. You could take him to the wedding, it would be way cheaper than going to some agency. I Googled and it’s scary how much these people charge, and that’s just the normal places, not the type of guys that mag article was on about. I mean you can’t even get a quote from some of those places without producing your birth certificate, statement from your bank manager and proof you’ve got a million followers on Twitter.’

‘Really?’ It’s starting to look like if I’m going to do this, then it’s Jake or nobody.

‘And you have to swear on your dog’s life that you won’t tell anybody.’ Sarah has obviously spent some time researching this.

‘I haven’t got a dog.’ I haven’t even got a hamster.

‘See, I knew it was impossible. I mean you’re not going to get a dog just so you can hire a guy, are you?’

‘And you already know, so it wouldn’t be a secret either.’

‘Exactly.’ Sarah has what I can only describe as a look of mischief on her face. ‘So taking the cute bartender is an ace idea – they’d all be drooling, you’d be the centre of attention.’

Okay, feeling good about myself is what I’m after, attention is not. I’ve told Sarah about the wedding invite, and the ‘huge’ complications. I have not told her it’s got worse. I’ve not told her about my mother, or Scotland.

‘I don’t want to be the centre of attention.’ I am hoping to sneak in under the radar and hardly be noticed. I don’t want drooling any more than I want pity.

‘I’ll get you a surprise.’ Sarah is on her feet. ‘And his number.’ She’s off to the bar before I can stop her, and comes back surprisingly quickly which I think means wonder boy isn’t available to be whisked off for some private tuition.

The drinks are green. I’m never quite sure that anything I eat or drink should be green. Apart from M&Ms.

‘Appletini. Callum reckons they’re the in thing.’ Oh, so he didn’t blow her out of the water completely. ‘Vodka and apple schnapps.’ She takes a sip and sucks air in through her teeth. ‘Yikes.’

‘So you had time to discuss ingredients?’

‘And what time he finishes!’ She grins like a cougar that’s got the kitten and smacks her lips. ‘That has got a bit more kick than a V&T.’ She sits back and watches as I toy with the slice of apple, then leans forward. ‘You don’t have to go, Sam.’

We both know what she’s talking about. Sarah saw me through the break up, she fed me pizza, and supplied tissues and wine. And she listened. A lot. Sarah deserves a sainthood.

‘I do, Jess is my friend. And I’m supposed to be maid of honour.’

‘She’ll understand.’

‘Would you?’

‘Suppose not. In fact I’d think you were a bit of a selfish cow putting your broken heart above what’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life.’