Thankfully, Matthew was much better at dealing with the morning after than I was and had already made himself useful by popping out to the closest Tesco Metro. Thanks to his fast metabolism and the fact he was a clear foot taller than me, he’d been able to power through the worst situations, ever since the three of us were chugging Aftershock and Bacardi Breezers at university together. Emelie and I could be face down in the communal bathroom, cursing the inventor of Jägermeister, and Matthew would still be snout deep in a fry up in the student union, no matter what he’d put away the night before.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said as Emelie rolled into the kitchen, clutching her head. I was rooting through a box marked ‘kitchen stuff’ looking for the kettle but so far, all I’d found was an old hairdryer, a toy WWE championship belt and three completely different Apple TV remotes. It went without saying that Dan had labelled this box.

  ‘That’s it,’ Emelie declared, catching her auburn curls in her hand and tipping her head to drink directly from the tap. ‘I’m officially quitting alcohol.’

  ‘Dry July?’

  ‘Dry year,’ she replied. ‘Dry rest of my life. I cannot wake up feeling like this ever again.’

  I turned something that looked like a small cheese grater over in my hands, puzzled, until I realized it was the thing Dan used to scrape dry skin off his feet, and hurled it across the room. And they said the romance would suffer when we moved in together.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time at my mum’s wedding next month, completely sober,’ I said as the front door opened and then slammed shut, splitting my head in two.

  ‘Maybe I have one more hangover in me.’ She pressed her fingertips into her temples as Matthew bounded into the room carrying four plastic bags. I bowed my head at the shame of not being able to find my reusable totes and hoped the planet would forgive me just this once.

  ‘There she is, the future ball and chain,’ he bellowed, dropping the bags on the draining board (the only available kitchen surface) and giving Emelie a double take. ‘And I see you’ve been visited by the girl from The Ring.’

  ‘Tête de noeud,’ she whispered darkly before seizing a bag full of chocolate chip cookies and propping herself up against the fridge.

  ‘At the risk of making myself unpopular,’ Matthew said as he unpacked his shopping bags: tea, milk, instant coffee, cans of Coke, bacon, bread, red and brown sauce. Sod Dan, truly this was soulmate material. ‘Is it too early to ask wedding questions?’

  Emelie groaned through her mouthful of cookie and rolled her eyes. ‘Matthew, they got engaged twelve hours ago.’

  ‘What she said,’ I replied. I was thrilled to be engaged but the thought of having an actual wedding brought me out in a rash. ‘But we have talked about it before, and I would think we’ll do it sooner rather than later. Neither of us are really interested in a big wedding and I don’t want to wait around two years for some ridiculous venue to become available.’

  ‘No need to make this a personal attack,’ he said, miraculously reaching into the nearest cardboard box and producing a frying pan. Em covered her mouth to hide a smile, flickering her eyes up to meet mine.

  ‘Your wedding was perfect,’ I told him. ‘But ours will likely be a bit more … low key.’

  In that it seemed unlikely Dan and I would arrive at our ceremony by helicopter and jump out in matching brocade Gucci suits only to be met by our officiant, the second runner-up of season five of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

  ‘Any idea when it will be?’ Emelie asked.

  I nodded. ‘Actually, yes. I’ve always loved the idea of a New Year’s Eve wedding.’

  ‘Marvellous plan.’ Matthew smiled. The bacon began to sizzle in the pan and my hangover miraculously disappeared. ‘New Year’s is nothing but a ball ache. Let’s make it your ball ache. Plus it’ll make it that much more difficult for Dan to forget your anniversary.’

  ‘But it’s already July,’ Emelie said. ‘How are you going to plan a wedding inside six months?’

  Reaching into my ancient blue leather handbag, I pulled out a considerably newer black leather notebook and a blue pen. I might not be able to find toilet paper in my beautiful box-filled hovel of a house, but I was never more than three feet from list-making materials.

  ‘Well,’ I said, turning over a new page, uncapping my pen with my teeth and writing “Wedding Planning” at the top, a shiver running all the way down my spine. ‘What are the most important things? Date, venue, guest list, flowers, catering—’

  ‘God help us, she’s already making the list,’ Em groaned, turning to Matthew. ‘Did you pick up any cyanide pills while you were out?’

  ‘Someone’s going the right way to talking herself out of a bridesmaid job,’ I replied, adding “bridesmaids” to the list as I spoke.

  ‘Good,’ she grumbled.

  ‘Make her wear something rancid,’ Matthew suggested. ‘I’ll be choosing my own suit.’

  The two of them continued to bicker while I lost myself in the thick creamy lined paper of my notebook. This was an important list, not like the shopping list, the Christmas card list or my everyday to-do’s. This was a list that would turn into a wedding which would turn into a marriage which would hopefully turn into the rest of my life. Dan’s parents had been together for roughly a thousand years (give or take) but my parents had been married six times between them and my mum was about to make it seven. My dad was only six months into his fifth union, but it felt safe to say that wasn’t going brilliantly, after his latest wife spent his recent birthday party upstairs with ‘a bit of a head’. I hadn’t seen either of them since but his Facebook was suspiciously quiet. Even though my life was not overrun with positive examples of marital bliss, I loved Dan and I did want to marry him. More than anything, I wanted the wedding to be fun. I didn’t want to be stuck taking photos for hours and talking to relatives I barely knew. I wanted it to be fun and I wanted it to be ours.

  ‘Surely Dan will be able to find a venue?’ Matthew suggested as he picked a rasher of bacon out of the pan with a plastic spork and laid it on a slice of Warburtons.

  ‘And he can probably be trusted to find a photographer too,’ I agreed, adding the pertinent points to the list.

  Emelie fought with the seal on the side of the tomato sauce bottle, picking at the tiny tab on the side until a torrent of filth spewed out of her beautiful mouth and she jabbed straight through it with her keys. ‘You’re skipping the most important thing,’ she said, squirting an obscene amount of ketchup all over her breakfast. ‘We need to plan the bachelorette.’

  ‘How long have you lived in England?’ Matthew asked, one perfect blond eyebrow raised. ‘But she’s not wrong, Rach. Wedding-schmedding, what are we doing for the hen?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what we’re not doing.’ I closed my notebook to turn my full attention to the greasy, glorious bacon bounty he placed in front of me. ‘No choreographed dance classes, no life drawing, no pole dancing and absolutely, positively zero plastic penises.’

  Matthew stared at me with dead eyes. ‘So, nothing we did on my stag do then?’

  ‘I’m glad you said it, so I didn’t have to,’ I replied, biting into my sandwich. Bliss.

  ‘All well and good knowing what you don’t want to do but what about the things you have to do?’ Em said, popping the tab on a lukewarm can of Coke. ‘We can’t let you get married until you’re a full and complete woman. We need to go old school on this, let’s make a list of all the things you have to do before we can send you up the aisle.’

  ‘It’s down the aisle,’ Matthew corrected. ‘Down the aisle and up the arse. That’s how you remember it.’

  ‘Literally no one alive has ever needed that reminder before,’ I winced as the two of them cackled at his joke.

  ‘Whatever, open the notebook, start the bloody list,’ he said, holding a hand over his mouth as he swallowed and chewed. Ever the gentleman, was Matthew. ‘Number one, you need to learn to cook.’

  Naturally, I did not take his first suggestion well.

  ‘What sort of patriarchal, misogynistic bullshit is that? You should be ashamed of yourself, Matthew Chase. We’re not getting married so I can stay at home chained to the kitchen sink, you know.’

  ‘No, but if you’re getting married, you’re acknowledging you’re an adult and an adult should be able to cook pasta without burning a hole through the bottom of the pan,’ he replied. ‘This is for your sake as much as Dan’s. And mine and Emelie’s and god forbid, any future children you might have, unless you’re planning to breastfeed until they go to university.’

  I cupped my very small breasts and pouted.

  ‘He’s right,’ Em agreed. ‘You’re a disgrace. Paul is a better cook than you and he can’t do anything right.’ Mine and Matthew’s eyes met briefly at the first mention of my brother in twenty-four hours. Hardly an overwhelming declaration of love.

  ‘Even as someone who loves a list, I’ve got to say, this one is stupid,’ I said. ‘It’s not 1950, there’s literally nothing I can’t do once I’m married that I wouldn’t be able to do before. Dan’s not going to suddenly start wearing cardigans and puffing on a pipe and asking where I think I’m going at this hour of the day. If he was, I wouldn’t be marrying him, would I?’

  ‘We went along with your single girl’s to-do list and you’re going along with the hen night, bachelorette, bride-to-be to-do list, whatever-you-want-to-call-it,’ Matthew reminded me, with an arm-crossed, all-business Emelie nodding at his side. ‘We’re serious, Rachel, open that notebook and start this list. You know the rules, anything that goes on there is sacred and all list items must be carried out and verified before they can be crossed out.’

  With great reluctance, I set aside my bacon sandwich and opened the notebook to another new page, picked up my pen and wrote in big, block letters ‘The Bride-to-Be’s To-Do List’.

  ‘Love it,’ Em said, trying to sneak my sandwich off my plate and getting a slapped hand in return. ‘Number one, learn to cook.’

  ‘You’re both hateful,’ I replied, writing it in and silently cursing their names.

  ‘Number two, you have to see at least one more penis before you tie the knot.’ Matthew held his hands out in front of him to silence my protestations. ‘I don’t make the rules, Rachel Lulu Summers, but as the token gay at this table I am obliged to enforce them.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you finally understand your position in this friendship,’ Emelie said sweetly.

  He swatted at the back of her head, but she ducked just in time.

  ‘I’m not going to a strip club,’ I warned. ‘And I’ve already said no to a life-drawing class, so I don’t know how you’re going to manage this one.’

  Matthew tapped his nose and winked. ‘I have my ways,’ he said with ominous surety.

  ‘You’re not going to show me yours, are you?’ I asked, horrified.

  ‘I’d rather chop it off and let you practise your cooking skills on it. What next?’

  ‘If we’re including life skills, there are a couple of things I’d like to learn to do,’ I said, trying to get into the spirit of the list. ‘Like, I don’t know how to change a tyre. Or a plug.’

  ‘That’s a good one. Not the plug, you’d burn down the house, but it would be helpful to know how to change a tyre,’ Em said, tapping my notebook. ‘Write that down. You also need a lingerie makeover. I saw the state of your knicker drawer when we were packing. You’ve fallen back into bad habits and I won’t stand for it.’

  ‘Fine, clear out knicker drawer,’ I said as I wrote. ‘What else?’

  For a moment, everyone was quiet as we concentrated on coming up with suggestions and finishing off the first lot of bacon butties, watching eagerly as Matthew fired up the pan for round two.

  ‘One of Stephen’s friends bought us a couple’s massage course as a wedding present,’ he said as he carefully laid the remaining rashers in the pan. ‘I’m sure Dan would appreciate that.’

  ‘How come you’ve never given me a massage?’ Em asked.

  ‘Or me?’ I added.

  He flashed a grin as he opened grabbed six more slices of bread. ‘Wasn’t that kind of massage class.’

  I frowned into a can of Coke and tried to practise gratitude for my friend’s full and satisfying sex life. Emelie shoved her fingers all the way to the back of her throat and gagged a little too realistically.

  ‘I’ll find a nice, non-sexual massage course we can all take,’ he promised. ‘We also took a wine class which felt very adult and classy and exactly the opposite of everything you’re supposed to do on a hen night so I’m assuming you’d be into that. Anything else you’re itching to do?’

  ‘I’ve never been to a festival,’ I suggested brightly. ‘That could be fun.’

  ‘That’s a good one! We’re long overdue a road trip,’ Emelie said. ‘How about a weekend away, just the three of us?’

  Matthew’s face softened as he flipped the bacon. ‘It has been a while,’ he admitted. ‘Rach, write this down, we have to stay up all night and see the sunrise.’

  ‘But Nana gets very tired these days,’ I said, somewhat alarmed at the idea. ‘Can I take an afternoon nap or is that cheating?’

  Em signalled her approval with a raised Coke can. ‘I can’t believe we had to wait for a stupid boy to propose to you to make plans like this but I’m already excited.’

  As much as it pained me to admit it, she was right. We’d been seeing less and less of each other over the last few years. Ever since Matthew and Stephen got married and moved to Wimbledon and Emelie started seeing my brother, our regular routine of easy hangs had become somewhat stilted. When it was just the three of us, things were simple, there was always someone available to go to the pictures or drop everything for a cheeky midweek Nando’s, but once we were all coupled up, trying to work with six different schedules became more and more difficult. Friday nights and weekends weren’t automatically ours anymore. Friend hangs became date nights, and sleepovers were traded in for weekends away, destination weddings and DIY projects. We had more responsibilities and, if I was being entirely honest, different priorities. When I’d had a long week at work, the last thing I wanted was to go out on the lash when I could be at home watching something completely shit on Netflix with Dan. It had taken me moving out of the flat to bring us together for an entire day for the first time in months and that simply wasn’t good enough.

  ‘I’ve got it,’ I said, scribbling down the tenth commandment. ‘We need a Friendiversary.’

  ‘No offense,’ Matthew said, turning off the frying pan. ‘But that sounds like some straight girl shit.’

  ‘I will accept that criticism but we’re doing it anyway,’ I replied, scribbling it down. ‘We pick a day to get together every year and do something fun together. Come on, it’ll be fun.’

  ‘As long as you don’t make me get another tattoo, I’m in,’ Emelie said with a frown.

  ‘No more tattoos,’ I confirmed, eyeing the three-star design on the inside of my wrist, a permanent reminder of the last time the three of us made a list. ‘Matthew, you know you’re going to agree to it, so get it over with.’

  ‘You basic bitch,’ he said, smiling even as he rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll co-sign as long as you agree we don’t have to wear matching t-shirts and I’m allowed to drink throughout.’

  ‘Deal,’ I confirmed, underlining ‘Friendiversary’ on my list. ‘Right, that’s ten things and if I’m getting married at New Years, we’ve got six months to complete them all.’

  ‘And plan a wedding,’ Em reminded me.

  ‘And unpack this house,’ Matthew added.

  ‘And work,’ I groaned. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.’

  ‘You’ve agreed to it now,’ he replied with a wink. ‘No backing out.’

  ‘The list or the wedding?’ Em quipped, before wrapping her arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze. ‘I kid, it’s going to be great, the list and the wedding. We’re here, we’re going to help, everything will be perfect.’

  I looked around my kitchen and the endless stacks of boxes that spilled out into the hallway, and the living room and the dining room and all the way upstairs. ‘What about the house?’ I asked. ‘And my job.’

  She followed my gaze then screwed up her face. ‘Your job will be fine, but you’ll still be living in boxes by January.’

  I looked over at Matthew as he shoved a second bacon sandwich into his mouth.

  ‘Even a broken clock is right twice a day,’ he shrugged. ‘I’d have said March but I’m the cynic.’

  They really were the best friends a girl could ever ask for.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SPRING 2016

  ‘I can’t believe the last time we were all on a plane together, we were flying to Toronto,’ I said, jostling down the aisle with my little rolling suitcase bumping into each and every business class seat on the way.

  ‘Technically, the last time we were on a plane together, we were flying home from Toronto,’ Matthew, bridesmaid number one, pointed out. ‘But that turned out alright, I suppose.’

  Bridesmaid number two, Emelie nodded in agreement. ‘If we hadn’t flown back that night, we might not be on our way for your bachelorette right now. Isn’t that wild?’

  Bringing up the back of our party was Maddie Fraser, Dan’s little sister and my third and final bridesmaid. ‘Even though I still say you’re too good for my brother, I am extremely excited about this holiday,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been to California before; it’s going to be epic.’

  It was April, we had barely got started on the to-do list and my fantasy of a quick and easy New Year’s Eve wedding had been dashed almost as quickly as it had been dreamt up. After we told Dan’s family, Maddie, a professional event planner, sat the pair of us down and asked us to list everything we wanted to include in our big day. Our requirements weren’t that intense but between the things Dan’s parents ‘thought might be nice’ and ‘the lessons I’ve learned’ lecture we got from my dad, the list of must-haves soon overwhelmed us, and Maddie had to break the news that there was no way we’d be able to satisfy all parties and still make our desired New Year’s date.

 

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