Caitlin is in her wedding dress when I come out of my room in my bridesmaid’s dress. I feel my heart flutter and I am thrust back to the day Caitlin pretended to marry Chuck in the play at Saxby. I couldn’t believe that the day has arrived, a day that we have talked about and planned for so long.
I look her up and down. She only needs a little help with the zip.
‘I don’t care what you say, Caitlin. I’m going to tell you. You look very beautiful. And you don’t get to tell me I can’t say it. All right!’ I say as I give the zip a slight tug to start it on its way.
‘All right,’ Caitlin says. ‘So do you.’ But her back is to me, and so she can’t see the tears well in my eyes. I blink them away before I walk around to face her.
‘Just over an hour to go. You have everything you need, no last-minute requests?’
Caitlin smiles. ‘You make it sound as though I’m about to be led to the gallows.’
‘I hope not. It should feel like one of the best—’
‘Don’t you dare!’
‘I won’t. That’s it. I promise no more. You’re saying some vows. Nothing to see here.’
Caitlin laughs. And I smile at her. I think about how long we have known each other. Sometimes I wish I do not know her so well. That maybe there is a chance today might pan out differently.
‘Right, a little drink before?’ I head over to the minibar and pull out the bottle of champagne.
‘I think so, would be rude not to. I bet all those chaps are necking them back like it’s their last day on Earth.’
‘Even Chuck?’
‘Even Chuck.’
I pour the bubbles into two champagne flutes.
‘I know this may seem traditional, but I figure you drink so much of it anyway, it’s just like a normal day, right?’
‘Oh, super. Champagne for breakfast. And lovely and chilled.’
‘Of course.’ I hand Caitlin a glass and she takes a long drink.
‘Oh, delicious. I’ve taught you well, Sasha, even if you still won’t drink the damn stuff!’
‘I’ll have a few sips. To wish you well on the next phase of your life. With the man you love.’ The bubbles must be bringing tears to my eyes.
‘Oh God, you’re going to cry.’ Caitlin pulls a tissue from a box on the coffee table. ‘There you go, bloody cry baby.’ She thrusts the tissue towards me. ‘Okay, you get it your way. You win. A toast. But not to marriage or life journeys. To us. And to you. My bridesmaid.’ Caitlin doesn’t waver as she speaks. She holds her glass out and I clink it with mine.
For a moment I fear she might revert to our childhood exchanges and say, ‘Best friends forever,’ so I speak quickly, making eye contact for just a second.
‘To us.’
‘To us,’ Caitlin says.
In those few seconds that we look at each other, I feel my life hurtling backwards. I go from standing here with Caitlin, to the hotel last night with Chuck, the dinner, the hen weekend that wasn’t a hen weekend, back to the years I spent growing up with Caitlin in Dorset, until suddenly I am twelve years old again, and she has just walked into the kitchen at Saxby and we are about to race off into the woods together for the first time. Two girls who under normal circumstances would never have become friends. But friends we have become and stayed, despite the constant notion that it perhaps should never have been. When I think back to it, I know we were forced into it by circumstance; each of us looking for a companion amongst a vast country estate. There were joyous moments, times when I longed for her company, but as I grew, I recognised the inconsistencies in her behaviour. Caitlin had done so many things to make me feel small and insignificant, scared and even threatened. And as an adult, there were times when I felt I was more of a personal assistant instead of a friend. I have had enough time to think about what a friendship means, and I realise that it has been one-sided for so long. I have realised how much my co-dependency has been the very underbelly of this friendship, how I have always been looking for affirmation from Caitlin, constantly comparing my own measly accomplishments to her loud and bold life choices. And what did I get in return? Kindness, affection? Understanding? None of those things. Yet I have clung on to the friendship as though my life might end if I don’t. Once upon a time as a young girl, I had promised myself that I would get my revenge. I laugh about that now, because it can be construed that way, but what I have planned for Caitlin today is to give me one last opportunity to prove to myself that I am a better person. I would never have imagined it would pan out this way. It has been a slow burn of realisation that this is the way things are meant to end.
The doors are open when we arrive at the small boutique hotel just before eleven. I can see a few of the staff members hovering around, waiting to catch a glimpse of the bride; they stand coyly behind the reception desk or lurk in corners behind exotically upholstered sofas and chaise longues.
My attention focuses on one particular figure lurking in the corner. He is dressed smartly in a suit, so I presume he must have arrived early for another wedding or perhaps come to
