Unwrapping the Best Man Read online

  ‘You don’t need to do all your Christmas shopping in one day, you know. You have another two weekends before the big day, and you know Hamleys has late night shopping like every other store.’ She leans to the left as a woman almost takes her out with a heavily laden backpack and smooths her blonde hair back into place. ‘And then there’s the internet, that thing where we don’t have to trample through the masses to find the perfect gift.’

  ‘Okay, Scrooge, since when have you hated present shopping so much?’ I spin back around and almost sideswipe a singing Santa. ‘Oops, sorry, Mr C!’

  He grins at me as he carries on his happy rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ and I sing along, digging in my handbag for my purse. I pull it out, take out a note and stuff it into his collection bucket.

  ‘Merry Christmas, you wonderful man!’

  Coco gives a bemused laugh as she digs out her own donation and hurries to catch up.

  I send her a look. ‘What?’

  She shakes her head, her gorgeous hair tumbling about her shoulders, a far more sensible number of bags in her hands as she projects the perfect runway image. ‘What is going on with you?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s Christmas. It’s the season to be jolly and merry and bright.’

  ‘There’s jolly, merry and bright, and then there’s jazz hands on a densely populated street.’ She clutches one of my waving arms and drags it down, making me pause and look at her. Her brows are drawn together, her green eyes seeing far too much.

  My stomach gives a tiny lurch. ‘Nothing’s going on with me. I’m just being me.’

  I turn on my heel and carry on walking, my eyes on the shop windows, looking for inspiration, distraction, a deflection.

  ‘Not true,’ she says, hurrying into step beside me, her eyes not leaving my face. ‘You’re crazy, wired, talking ten to the dozen. I mean, you’ve always been a tad manic, but these last few months you’re like a battery-powered bunny...and I don’t mean the X-rated version.’

  No, she wouldn’t because, let’s face it, I haven’t been seen to in that sense since her wedding night...not that she would know that either.

  Not only have I not been seen to, I’ve not been able to forget that night, not for a second.

  I laugh to cover up the heat swirling deep within, the sudden sickness that always follows when I remember the next morning and my empty bed.

  ‘You know me, I love this time of year—I love Christmas!’

  It’s the season of giving, of hitting the shops and seeking out the perfect gift, getting merry with family, with friends, being social. Not that Coco and I have done much of that lately, not since her Married status. But hey, it is the season to be jolly and I will be that in spades, even if it kills me.

  ‘You say that.’ She sidesteps a giggling group of women wearing what belongs on a beach in the Caribbean and not London in winter, but I guess the alcohol they’ve already consumed is doing the work of layers for them. Lucky women. Maybe I ought to try it. Coco touches my arm, drawing my attention back to her and the fact she is still speaking. ‘But it was the same last month, and the month before that, and don’t even get me started on October. You do remember the chaos you caused at my Halloween party, don’t you?’

  My cheeks flush a little. ‘It wasn’t my fault. I told the guy there would be kids present. How was I to know he’d drop his kegs as he serenaded you with Happy Birthday...?’ I stifle a real giggle over that. ‘You’ve got to admit it was kind of fun though? A little twist on Marilyn Monroe?’

  I know the smile she gives me is a reluctant one and I do feel a pang of guilt because she’s right; I should have been more thorough when choosing the entertainment for her surprise birthday party at Halloween. Instead, I’d been too busy keeping myself busy to look into the details properly. It’s lucky I’ve not made a similar mistake at work and launched a PR campaign—an event even—with a similar faux pas. My company would be finished, my career with it, and then I’d have something other than my current celibacy to blame Jackson for.

  ‘Anyway, it was most definitely a surprise all round,’ I continue. ‘A surprise on top of a surprise, so to speak.’

  Now she laughs, a real laugh, and I feel my shoulders ease. Good deflection.

  ‘It was definitely that. And I’m no Scrooge, by the way.’ She crosses her arms. ‘I’m just saying I’d rather be sipping mulled wine in a festive bar and finding out what’s been going on with you these past few months than traipsing through the shops and getting taken out by rogue shoppers.’

  ‘Tut-tut. If this is what marriage does to you, you can keep it; you are d-u-l-l at the mo.’

  She stops walking and my words hit me like a slap in the face. I know I’ve taken my I’m all right, Jack too far and I look back at her, guilt written across my face. ‘Just ribbing you.’

  ‘You’re not though.’

  ‘I am. I’m just, you know, adjusting to having my best friend married off and losing my wing woman on club night.’

  Club night? What club night? My conscience is the one laughing now. You’ve not been clubbing in months.

  She switches her bags into one hand and hooks her arm through mine. ‘Hey, I’m sorry I’ve not been around as much. You know that, right?’

  I give her an apologetic smile. ‘I know. And I’m sorry for accusing you of being dull—you’re not, at all. I just miss you; I miss our nights out together. But you and Ash have visited the most amazing places in the world these last few months and you make each other happy. And that makes me happy. Truly it does.’

  I squeeze her arm, desperate to convince her. It’s not Coco’s fault I envy what she has. It’s not her fault I succumbed to a night of crazy with Jackson, only to have him run. Well, not quite run. He was stuck in the same wedding party as me for three days, but I might as well not have existed for all he looked at me.

  After all we had done—I mean I let him tie me to the bedpost for fuck’s sake—we agreed a holiday fling, three nights... Was I really so awful he couldn’t face a second?

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’

  I refocus on Coco and the reignited frown she’s sending me.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I know I don’t fool her; her eyes are full of concern as they scan my face.

  ‘Look, let’s go out tonight!’ she suddenly pipes up, all cheery, and I realise with relief that she’s totally misread my sudden pause. ‘It’ll be just like old times, though not quite...’ She gives me a wink and I know what she means. No, we’ll never be lovers again, that’s a dead cert, but we had fun back when we needed it, and we’re still best friends. We should be able to have fun, enjoy one another’s company, let our hair down and chill. ‘We can go to Blacks, have a few drinks and catch up properly?’

  I know my skin instantly pales—Blacks. No way. My nails bite into my palms as I clench them into fists and I rack my brain for a get-out. ‘You want to go to a sex club to catch up?’

  She giggles, her skin flushing pink. ‘Hey, at least we can talk there; the music is good and the cocktails can’t be beaten. Plus it holds plenty a good memory for me...and for you too.’

  I chew the inside of my cheek, fighting back the wave of emotion that comes over me as she elbows me in the side, all light and carefree. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun—real fun. And Jackson might be there; it’ll be good to catch up with him.’

  Good? I swallow. It’ll be anything but good.

  ‘I’m worried about him,’ she continues, seemingly oblivious to the tension she’s sparked. ‘I think Ash is too, although you know what men are like—they hardly wear their hearts on their sleeves. But he’s not been himself for ages. I don’t think it helps that Ash still hasn’t forgiven him for the cracking hangover he was sporting the day after our wedding either.’

  ‘Hangover?’ I say numbly.

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t notice? He barely spo
ke. He did an amazing job on the day—his Best Man speech was brilliant, had everyone in stitches. The next day he was like a zombie, hardly said a word. Don’t get me wrong, he chipped in and everything, helped organise people, but he was just...well, moody. He just wasn’t Jackson.’

  ‘Perhaps he was exhausted; it can’t be easy being the Best Man.’ I don’t know why I’m defending him. Maybe it’s because of the part I know I played. ‘All that responsibility, and the Maid of Honour gets off lightly by comparison.’

  ‘He didn’t make my birthday party either, remember? Some last-minute thing cropped up. I think Ash was more annoyed at that in truth. But we’ve invited him over and those times he has come I’ve ended up leaving them to it, hoping that with me out of the way he might open up to Ash.’

  ‘No joy?’

  ‘None. So, you see, going to Blacks is perfect. We get to spend time together and we get to grill Jackson like only a woman can. We’ll have him back to normal again in no time, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yeah, totally.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  ‘I was thinking a light-hearted night of dancing, maybe some karaoke, not playing agony aunt to a brick shithouse who I’m sure can sort out his own crap.’

  ‘Hey, I thought you’d understand. You’ve always had a soft spot for him.’

  Busted. I give a laugh that I hope isn’t as flustered as I think. ‘Yeah, in a fit-and-fun kinda way.’

  She’s quiet. Too quiet. I keep on walking and scan the clothing store to our left. There’s a Christmas scene in the window, a mannequin family of four wrapped up all cosy as though they’re on their way to a party. The man’s tartan scarf has my mind veering sharply to another set of tartan—a certain cravat and kilt—and I immediately look to the woman instead. ‘That’s nice, don’t you think?’ I nod at the scarf she wears. ‘It would be perfect for Sally. You remember Sally, Joe’s wife?’

  ‘Are you changing the subject on me?’

  ‘No.’

  She stares at me, probing, and I school my features before looking back to her, resigning myself to the evening ahead.

  ‘I’m not,’ I say, pulling her towards the shop entrance. ‘We’ll go to Blacks; it’s fine.’

  Her smile lights up her face. ‘Excellent, I’ll see if Ash can come! We can have a proper get-together!’

  ‘I thought you were meaning just you and me.’

  She gives me a sheepish smile. ‘Sorry, it’s become a bit of a habit. Of course it should be just you and me.’

  ‘Relax. If Ash wants to join us, he can.’

  ‘Nope, we’ll have a girly night...then he can be our designated driver.’ She gives me a cheeky wink. ‘Got to be some perks to being married.’

  ‘Considering how well you look, I’d say there are many, many perks.’

  ‘We just need to find you an eligible bachelor and you can experience it for yourself.’

  ‘I’m quite all right single, thanks.’

  She doesn’t hear me. I know it by her smile and the sudden faraway look in her eye as I hold the shop door open for her. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, you can quit it now.’

  ‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she says in wide-eyed innocence.

  ‘Liar.’

  Her smile builds, her eyes lighting up. ‘How about a double date? Ash and me, you and—’

  ‘Coco!’

  ‘What? I haven’t even said who.’

  ‘I know exactly who you’re thinking of and no, just no.’

  ‘But we’re not just clients to him, not really; we’re friends. And you...’ she taps me teasingly on the chest ‘...you could be more.’

  ‘And you’re going to find yourself alone in this store if you carry on.’

  I head for the accessories department, hearing the hurried clip of her Louboutins as she races to keep up.

  ‘There was a time you would have jumped at the chance to cross that line with him. What’s changed?’

  I pretend I haven’t heard her. The memory alone is enough to stir up an overwhelming cocktail of shame, remorse, longing, disappointment, hurt... Above all, hurt.

  ‘Now I come to think of it, you weren’t so hot the day after the wedding either, and the last I saw you, you were on the dance floor with Jackson. Did something happen?’

  I stop moving and take a breath. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘But this is me, Cait.’ She puts her hand on my arm and I turn to look up at her. Her smile is soft, sincere, her worry obvious in the crease between her brows. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

  If I tell her then maybe she’ll understand and agree on going somewhere else for the evening. The idea has merit. And then I realise what it really means is that I’m running scared and, in a weird way, I’d be letting him win.

  ‘You remember we invited you both to dinner last month, and low and behold the day came around and you were both coincidentally sick?’

  She’s right. We were.

  Hell, maybe this has messed him up just as much as me. But I wasn’t the one who crept out in the middle of the night and avoided the other’s eye the next day.

  Maybe it’ll be fun to turn up. Maybe it’ll be fun to be in the same room as him and watch him squirm. It’s the least he deserves. And if I get the opportunity to give him what for while I’m at it, all the better. I even have the perfect plan forming.

  ‘Let’s talk about it later, at Blacks, on one condition.’ I raise a finger to her, my brows lifting and I’m already grinning at what is to come, because Coco won’t say no to me, and this is going to be so...much...fun.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, boss, can I get you a drink?’

  I lift my head from the figures blurring on my laptop screen to see Bates, my head barman, giving me a strange look from the other side of the bar. I say strange, but it’s the same look I’ve witnessed on too many faces lately. They’re worrying about me—my staff, the clientele, the few friends I have.

  Hell, it’s as good a reason as any to pack up my stuff and head into the back office. I may be tucked away in a darkened corner of the bar but I’m still flaunting my misery by sitting here. Problem is, being alone, whether it’s in the office or my apartment upstairs, I’m bogged down by my thoughts and I can’t stand it.

  I need the noise, the hustle and bustle around me. I also need a drink.

  ‘Great idea. Johnnie Walker Blue, straight up.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  I refocus on my screen, on the projections for the proposed club in Berlin. It’s a good move. Solid.

  I should be buzzing. I’m this close to a new venture, another club in another bustling city, another step in my expansion plans, or my global domination as Ash likes to call it.

  But there’s a bitter taste in my mouth—Eliza.

  I’ve been back from Berlin a week and still she hangs over me. It wasn’t like I’d been surprised by her presence out there either. We move in the same circles, run the same kind of business; it’s no surprise she and her husband would be interested in the same club I am.

  Hell, they’re the reason I’m in the business in the first place. They brought me into my first venture, this club. Without them I wouldn’t have garnered the skill required to buy them out, and I wouldn’t have been able to expand at the rate I have. Something they’ll likely regret when I snap up the Berlin property from underneath them.

  No, that has nothing to do with the bitter tang. I’ve lived with them on the periphery of my life for twenty years. This is something else. This comes down to the line I crossed with Caitlin, the line I can’t come back from, the line that exists because Eliza made me draw it.

  One side safe, platonic, easy. The other dark, twisted and loaded with sin.

  There is no middle ground.

  And it’s worked.

 
Ever since my fucked-up relationship with Eliza ended, it’s worked. I’ve been content, happy—Christ, according to those that know me, I strut around like I’m the king of the world.

  Hence the strange looks now.

  The looks that have been getting more and more frequent the longer I go without seeing Cait.

  And seeing Eliza again has been a punch to the gut, reminding me why I did what I did, why I left before morning, why I bailed on our holiday fling pact. I bailed because everything I did to Cait was wrong, debased...abusive even. My stomach rolls now as it replays rapidly in my brain every debauched thing I did and I can’t deny the similarity, how it parallels Eliza’s treatment of me years back. And look at how that fucked me over.

  How could I do that to Cait? How could I do it and think it would be okay? That we would be okay? We’re so far from okay we haven’t been in the same room since the Highlands.

  Hell, we haven’t even spoken and I know it’s my fault. I left her without a word, no acknowledgement of what happened. No apology. Nothing.

  And now it’s December, Cait’s favourite time of year. She loves Christmas and I hate it. I hate it all the more now it reminds me of her. And it’s everywhere. I swear the hype gets earlier every year—the paraphernalia on the shelves, the music playing in bars, on the streets, in the stores. It taunts me with pictures of the perfect family, of being surrounded by loved ones and having mulled-wine-infused fun.

  But it was never that way in the Black household growing up. It was just me and Dad, and a clip around the ear if I was lucky enough to warrant attention.

  It’s the one time of year my mood suits my name—Black.

  And it’s blacker still without Cait.

  I find myself pulling up her account, a habit I’ve formed, and I know what I’ll see before it even opens: nothing. No visits, no drinks.

  She’s cut out not only me, but the club too.