Eve craned her neck to see as I flicked to the first marked page. I knew it must be a favourite of Tawna’s, because as well as the corner of the page being folded down, it was labelled with a luminous green Post-it note.
The dress wasn’t what I’d choose for myself – a slash-necked lace peach tea-length dress with a thick silky ribbon a few shades darker tied around the waist. It was pretty, but not suited to my colouring. On a pure English rose like Eve it’d probably be perfect, accentuating flushed cheeks and bud-red lips.
I flipped to the next marked page, hoping it would be more suitable. I was faced with a full-length strappy dress in a sickly lemon shade.
“We’d look like walking bananas in those,” Eve whispered. I was glad she didn’t like them either.
“Seen anything you like yet?” Tawna asked, entering the room with a champagne bottle in one hand and three glasses clutched at the stems in the other.
“I’m not sure about the yellow,” Eve said diplomatically, “but we’re just getting started.”
“How about the sage green? They’re beautiful and would fit perfectly with our country theme.”
Tawna placed the bubbly and the glasses on the coffee table, taking care to move the magazines safely out of the way in case of spillages. She peeled back the gold foil that covered the neck of the bottle and, twisting the bottle one way and the bulbous cork the other, opened it with a satisfying pop.
“You’ll have a glass won’t you, Eve? I know you’re driving, but a small one won’t hurt. It is a celebration.”
“As long as it really is a small one,” Eve warned. “You know it doesn’t take much of that stuff to get me drunk.”
Tawna poured a trickle into one of the glasses, probably no more than two mouthfuls’ worth of champagne altogether, and handed it to Eve.
“You’ll have a proper glass though, won’t you, Soph?” She’d already decanted the fizz into the glass, a frothy cloud of bubbles spilling over the rim and dribbling down the outside. “I can always rely on you to be my drinking partner.” She smiled.
“I’m probably turning into a lightweight,” I admitted. “I’ve not been drinking as much lately.”
I sipped at the drink, the sharp tang of the champagne coating my throat as I swallowed.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Tawna peered judgementally down her long slender nose.
“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I wasn’t being ridiculous. Besides last week I’ve not seen you in ages. I don’t know what’s been going on in your love life.” Tawna harrumphed, as though she was the one being insulted, and her eyes skimmed over my stomach looking for any sign of a bump. There was a bump, but that was down to the bag of reduced Sainsbury’s doughnuts I’d eaten the previous night rather than a new life growing within me. It would have had to have been an immaculate conception anyway, because the innocent hand-hold with Max at the pub was as intimate as I’d got lately. It would be hard to take things further anyway, without a phone number. A particularly raunchy dream about the two of us had left me hot and bothered and in need of a cold shower, and wishing I’d been brazen enough to ask for his number. “I think I’ve got every right to know if one of my best friends, not to mention one of my bridesmaids, is going to be pregnant on my big day.”
It was so like Tawna to expect everyone else to put their life on hold because of her wedding day. “I assure you my womb will remain uninhabited for your special day. The only new babies in my family this year will be Nick and Chantel’s.”
“I can’t believe they’re having twins, especially so soon after Noah,” Eve exclaimed, lowering the magazine she’d been browsing onto the table.
It had shocked me too. Mum had called to share the news; typically as I was on my way home from the supermarket, two weighty Tesco bags for life hanging from the hook of each arm. Lifting my phone close enough to my ear to hear what she’d had to say had been a struggle, with the thick plastic of the handles sliding down the fleshy part of my forearm. The friction stung.
“I didn’t realise you were going out. I thought you’d be in bed with a sore head on a Saturday morning.” She’d laughed as she said it, but yet again I’d felt like a failure of a daughter. She’d never say something like that to Anna or Nick, instead she’d be praising them on their work ethic and perfect home lives.
“I’m reining in my partying,” I’d said defensively, jiggling my arm so the bags hung at my elbow.
“Are you heading into town for some retail therapy?” she’d asked, and once again I bristled. She was obviously convinced I was a raging shopaholic.
If only.
“I’m on my way back from the supermarket.” I’d reached my front door by this point, relieved to be able to drop the weighty bags to the floor.
“Good, good,” Mum had replied, in a way that made me think she’d not been listening. “I didn’t ring for small talk, actually.”
There’d been a pregnant pause as she waited for me to beg for details. “Oh?” I’d managed, rummaging distractedly in my pocket for my key.
“Chantel had her twelve-week scan yesterday.”
Again Mum had stopped, dragging it out for dramatic effect. “Come on, Mum. What’s going on?”
“It’s twins!” Her squeal was so high-pitched that it wouldn’t surprise me if every dog within a ten-mile radius pricked back its ears. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”
Nick
