. Читать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER ONE

      The aisle looks really, really long.

      And my tiara feels so tight.

      Can you put weight on around your head? Have I got muffin top on my scalp? And my shoes really hurt. No matter how beautiful or how expensive they might be; the balls of my feet feel as if they’ve been up and down a cheese grater and then dipped in TCP.

      I saw Mark standing at the end of the aisle, looking relaxed and happy. Well, I suppose he doesn’t have to walk down it in four-inch Christian Louboutins and a fishtail floor-length gown. You can’t even see the bloody shoes, Angela, I chide myself. Not even the tip of the toe.

      And now my hands feel sweaty. Do I have sweat patches? I tried to sneak a peak under my arms without dislodging anything important from my bouquet.

      ‘Angela? Are you all right?’ Louisa frowned at me, a picture of perfection, calm as anything, immaculate make-up and not teetering a touch. And her heels are higher than mine.

      ‘Uh-huh,’ I replied, as eloquent as ever. Thank God it’s her wedding and not mine. And please God, while I’m at it, could you not let Mark focus on what a shoddy bridesmaid I’m turning out to be, just in case it puts him off setting our date. Seriously though, sweat patches would show horribly, the dress is a light coffee colour, specially selected to make me look sick as a dog.

      I stumbled down the aisle behind Louisa, with a small smile for my mum and dad, looking appropriately happy whilst acknowledging the solemnity of the occasion. I really hope that’s how I look, anyway. There is a good chance I look as if I am wondering whether or not I’ve left my hair straighteners on. Shit! What if I have left my hair straighteners on?

      I’m always struck by how short wedding ceremonies are. The months of engagement, hours of planning, a whole weekend for the hen do even, and the lifelong deal was done inside twenty minutes and a couple of hymns. Even the photos took longer than the actual service.

      ‘I can’t believe I’m married!’ Louisa breathed. We’d got to the not-at-all cheesy bride and head bridesmaid smiling by a fountain section. Oh dear. The poses came naturally, we’d been practising them with each other since we were old enough to hang pillowcases off the back of our heads, after all. ‘Angela, can you believe it?’

      ‘Of course I can,’ I said, squeezing her closely to me, ignoring the photographer’s direction. ‘You and Tim have been practically married since you were fourteen.’

      We switched positions and paused to smile.

      Click, flash.

      ‘It’s just unreal, you know?’ She flicked a soft blonde curl over her shoulder and patted a stray light brown hair back into my chignon. ‘It’s really absolutely happened.’

      Click, flash.

      ‘Well, get ready,’ I said through a pearly smile. ‘It’ll be me and Mark next and you’ll be the one in the bridesmaid dress.’

      ‘Have you talked any more about setting a date?’ Louisa asked, fussing with the puddle train behind her. Was I supposed to be doing that?

      ‘Not really,’ I shook my head. ‘I mean, we talked about it all the time when you two finally set a date, but since Mark got promoted we’ve hardly had time to blink. You know how it is.’

      Louisa waved the photographer away for a moment. ‘Mmm. I just mean, do you think you’ll definitely get married? To Mark, I mean?’

      Click, flash – not a good one.

      I had to hold my hands to my eyes to get a proper look at Louisa. The August sun lit her from behind, obscuring her face and highlighting a halo of wispy blonde curls.

      ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We’re engaged aren’t we?’

      She sighed and shook her head. ‘Yeah, I just worry about you sweetness. With the wedding and stuff I feel like we haven’t really talked about you and Mark in ages.’

      ‘There’s nothing new to tell you. You probably see him more than I do. At least you get your tennis time every single week.’

      ‘I tried to get you to take up doubles,’ she muttered, messing with her hem again. ‘I just want you to be as happy as I am right now. Oh, that’s so patronizing, sorry. You know what I mean babe, just, be happy.’

      ‘I am happy,’ I reassured her, taking her hand and closing in on the dress for a scaffolded hug. ‘I am really happy.’

      Just after the speeches had finished but a little bit before the dancing began, I finally managed to escape to the loo.

      The reception was being held in a converted barn, that only had two ladies’ cubicles, neither of which were big enough to turn around in, so I had escaped up to our room. I looked around at my scattered belongings. I carried my life in my massive, battered handbag – laptop, iPod, phone, a couple of knackered old books. Bits of make-up and scraps of clothes were strewn all over the room, contrasting with Mark’s carefully organized suitcase. A place for everything and everything in its place, even in a hotel.

      I was happy, I thought to myself, flopping down on the bed and idly