‘It’s lovely to hear you,’ says Nanna. Her voice makes me smile as I walk along the narrow road towards Pimlico, where we’re meeting for a wedding dress trying-on session. Gen’s supposed to be meeting me at Starbucks, but she’s texting a series of updates from the bus she’s on, which seems to be stuck behind some sort of impromptu protest march. Her messages beep in my ear as I talk to Nanna and walk.
‘So what’s happening with you?’
‘I’m off to play dressing up with the girls.’
‘Ooh, lovely. Has she set a date?’ Nanna loves a wedding – and a funeral. In fact she loves any sort of occasion where you can dress up and wear a nice hat. I step off the pavement to make way for a man carrying two buckets filled with flowers, then step back hastily as a black cab beeps loudly.
‘No, she hasn’t set a date – it’s most un-Sophie-like. I’m not sure what she’s doing.’
‘That doesn’t sound like her at all.’
‘It’s the baby stuff. I think she’s all over the place, trying to plan something that can’t be planned and it’s making her computer brain malfunction.’
‘Babies come when they’re ready,’ says Nanna Beth, soothingly.
‘So everyone keeps telling her. She’s threatened to behead the next person who tells her to relax.’
‘It’s not really Sophie’s thing, is it?’
‘Definitely not. Ooh, Nanna – I’d better go. Gen’s just getting off the bus opposite. I can see her waving.’
‘Give her my love, sweetheart.’
I blow a kiss down the phone and shove it back in my bag, waving to Gen. She’s got a purple scarf wrapped around her hair and huge, ornate silver earrings that jangle and glitter in the light. I don’t know how she does it – if I dressed like her, I’d look like I’d been raiding a dressing-up box.
‘Hi,’ Gen says, kissing me on the cheek and giving me a hug. ‘Are you ready to be meringued?’
‘There’s no way she’s going to put us in something hideous.’
‘I don’t care if she does as long as she hurries up and gets here. What kind of shop is by appointment only anyway?’
‘A royal one?’ Gen hops up and down. ‘How the hell can it be this cold? It’s nearly July.’
‘It was sunny when I left the house this morning.’
‘Well it’s bloody well not now.’ Gen starts doing actual star jumps in the middle of the pavement. A little girl walks past, holding on to her mother’s hand, turning round to look as they walk away. Gen pokes her tongue out at her, making her giggle.
‘Mummy, that lady has a shiny thing on her tongue,’ I hear the girl saying in wonder as they turn the corner.
Right then – thankfully, because I’m beginning to think there’s a danger we’ll freeze to the spot – Sophie arrives. It’s not like her to be late.
‘Sorry,’ she says, shoving her phone in her bag. She pulls her cardigan tightly round her chest against the cold. ‘God it’s cold round here in the shade, isn’t it?’
‘You’re not bloody joking.’
She rings a bell and the door opens. I have to confess that I’m a sucker for a wedding dress shop. There’s something about all that tulle and sparkly stuff. Even Gen gives a little ooh of surprise.
‘This is lovely.’
‘Welcome to Briarwood Bridal.’ The woman who owns the shop is tall, with her hair cut in a severe black bob. She’s dressed in the sort of angular, expensive-looking linen stuff that designers seem to favour.
‘This place looks seriously expensive,’ Gen whispers to me, as Sophie disappears with the woman into a back room.
‘Can I get you two ladies a glass of Prosecco while you’re waiting?’
I wasn’t aware there was more waiting happening, but if there is, there might as well be Prosecco with it. I nod.
There’s a lot of rustling and we’ve almost finished our Prosecco when the severe-looking woman calls us through. Sophie – who appears to be about a foot taller than normal – is standing in the middle of the room looking pleased with herself.
‘What d’you think?’
She looks absolutely gorgeous. The dress looks even better on her than it did in the magazine, and it goes in and out in exactly the right places.
‘If you’re not pregnant by the time your wedding day comes, that dress ought to do it,’ says Gen, giving a filthy wolf whistle that earns her an even filthier look from the owner of the bridal shop. I shoot Gen the sort of look that hopefully says shut up.
‘Well,’ says Gen, defensively. ‘You are trying to get up the duff, aren’t you?’
Sophie gives her a steely look and says nothing. She’s so stressed out at the moment, even by Sophie standards.
‘I thought we were here to try on bridesmaid dresses,’ Gen says looking aggrieved.
‘We’re just going to take some measurements now, madam.’ Bob-woman unrolls a measuring tape and approaches Gen. Gen, being an old hand at costume measurements for the stage, holds out a hand, palm flat in a STOP gesture. ‘I can tell you mine right now,’ she says, parroting them off instantly. The woman inclines her head, looking slightly mollified. I lift my arms up as she measures my bust, waist and hips, feeling like I’m getting measured for school uniform. Sophie dismounts from the low stool she’s been standing on and sashays off to get changed with the aid of the tea-making girl.
Afterwards we go to the cinema then for a drink. Sophie sneaks a look at her phone before, during and after the film to see if Rich has been in touch.
‘Have you two had a fight or something?’
‘He’s just being an arse,’ says Sophie. She plaits her long hair down one shoulder, which is what she’s always done when she’s feeling anxious, so I know there’s something going on.
‘What’s up?’ Gen cocks her head sideways. She might be loud and boisterous but she’s a good person to have on your side. ‘Do you need us to go and rough him up a bit?’
Sophie laughs. ‘No. He’s just – it’s just – well, it’s been seven months now and I’m still not pregnant.’
I look at Gen. I’ve never really contemplated that sort of thing, so I’ve no idea how long it normally takes. Like I said, we were brought up to believe getting pregnant happened the second you went anywhere near a male person. Maybe those sex education classes weren’t completely accurate.
‘Seven months isn’t that long,’ says Gen, kindly. ‘I read somewhere it can take the average person twelve months to get pregnant. Plus, you’re stressing about it, and the wedding stuff, and work, and you’ve got the flat on the market. I mean basically all you need to do is have a bereavement and you’ve ticked off the four most stressful things a person can do.’
‘I know.’ Sophie sighs. ‘I can’t even get Rich to agree to a wedding date.’
Gen shoots me a sideways look. ‘You don’t mean …’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘He’s had this idea that he doesn’t want a big fuss.’
I can feel my eyes widening into saucer shapes. Sophie’s basically been planning her wedding since she was about nine.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
I’m surprised when she shrugs. ‘I dunno, actually. You know when you’ve always had your mind set on an idea, then someone comes along and says something and you realise that actually …’ She tails off, taking a sip of her drink through a straw and gazing out of the window.
Gen glances over at me and subtly raises an eyebrow.
‘Well, there’s no need to think about any of that stuff right now.’
Sophie gives a gusty sigh. ‘It’s like telling someone not to think of a pink elephant,’ she says. ‘What’s the first thing you think of?’
‘All right. So we’ll have to distract you. We just have to find you a project,’ I say.
I go to the loo and when I get back I’m pleased to see Gen and Sophie are laughing about something and Sophie looks happier than she has done in ages. I head home once I finish my drink, because I’ve got plans to hang out with Becky tomorrow morning, and we agree to meet up for lunch on Wednesday.
Back at Albany Road, the house is surprisingly quiet. There’s usually someone pootling around the kitchen making toast or curled up on the sofa watching television, but it’s completely deserted. Alex’s hoody is hanging on the end of the banister. It’s weird that I have barely seen him since the day Alice turned up. Except I have to remind myself it is completely not-weird. Alex is just a friend. A housemate. But since his finger touched the side of mine, I’ve managed to reignite the world’s biggest and most ridiculously unrequited crush. I need to get a grip. Plus he’s probably back with Alice.
Alice, who seems perfectly nice. Alice who – as his ex-almost-wife – has rather more claim to him than I do as his housemate. And even Emma seems relatively unscathed – in fact, she was off on a date with a friend of a friend last night, as she confided when we met in the hall. It’s ridiculous. I am ridiculous. This needs to stop.