The Wedding Date. Zara Stoneley

Why do people insist on watching things they know they don’t approve of? Pull the curtains, love. Watch the weather forecast.

      Anyway, we could even spend a romantic moment on the bench by the pond. But I was dying for the loo, so it would only be a fleeting stop.

      ‘I don’t mean the route.’ He gave me his sad smile, the one he normally reserved for customers he was just about to turn down for a loan. I half-expected him to start his next sentence with ‘regretfully’, but he didn’t. ‘I mean our relationship. It’s not really going anywhere, is it?’

      He liked his routines. He thrived on routine. We had our own sides of the bed, his toothbrush had its own side of the mug, every second of the day had its place in his organised life, and he was saying this as though it was my fault? He was saying he was bored? But I knew I could put a positive spin on this. Maybe I had been a bit lax, not determined enough to shake us both out of our complacent little life together.

      ‘We could have a mini-break, go to Spain, or Paris? Ooh la la!’ I did a wriggle which could have been sexy French, or the start of a Spanish flamenco. ‘Spice things up?’

      ‘I didn’t mean go anywhere as in travel.’ The sad look was now turning into one of annoyance, and he was gazing straight over the top of my head – not looking me in the eye. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, and you know I like to be straight.’

      I did. Liam wasn’t one to soften the blow – he liked to say exactly what he was thinking, which could be embarrassing at times. He was the man who’d agree with the hostess that the meat was on the tough side, and told my mother that yes, her bum did look a little bit large in her new trousers, but at her age it didn’t matter. She’d laughed it off, but the next time I saw those trousers they were in the charity shop – I swear they were hers, they had the faintest of stains from where she’d slopped the coffee she’d been passing to him.

      ‘I think we’ve reached the end of the road.’

      We’d not even reached the corner shop. ‘But we’re only…’

      ‘Samantha, I’ve met somebody else.’ The blood had the decency to rush out of his face at roughly the same speed the words shot out of his mouth.

      I stared in astonishment, pretty sure that my mouth was gaping open.

      ‘I’m sorry, I do wish you well.’ And he held his hand out. Held his bloody hand out! I suppose it was habit, the bank thing.

      I hadn’t seen Jess after that. We’d swapped texts, even had brief, slightly awkward phone conversations where she’d tried not to mention Dan in every sentence, and I’d tried to ignore it when she did, and to act normal and jolly. And not ask if she’d seen Liam.

      The trouble was, we’d been a foursome. For ages. And now we were a threesome and it didn’t quite work the same. We hadn’t had separate girly dates for years. Our social life had been double dating, and though she did sympathise, and she did call Liam several nasty names (she was actually far more inventive than me), I couldn’t expect her to join in a bitch fest about her boyfriend’s brother all the time, could I?

      I’d gone on a spectacular drunken bender with Sarah from work, then I’d booked some leave and sat in my flat for a week, because going out meant putting eyeliner on, and there is no eyeliner known to woman that could cope with the rate at which my eyes were leaking.

      The only thing I didn’t do was lose weight. I hate every woman who sheds the stones like a snake sheds its skin when they break up with a boyfriend. Because I pile it on. Wine, chocolate and every carb known to woman flock to my side to comfort me – then settle on my stomach, and under my armpits.

      Anyway, so that was then and this is now, post exciting-wedding-news email.

      Fantastic news! I text back to Jess. I’m so pleased for you!! You and Dan make the perfect couple!!! I always find exclamation marks can make up for any lack of enthusiasm when you can’t think of anything to say, and all you can think about is the groom-to-be’s bastard brother who will be at the wedding. Can’t wait to see you!!!

      A text comes back straight away, as though her fingers have been poised over the send button. Just so you know, but I know it won’t bother you seeing as you’ve got a new man (I’d lied – when Jess had texted me about ‘the break-up’ I’d told her I was over Liam, so over him, I had a new man, I was happy, deliriously happy!) Liam’s new girlfriend will be with him, she’s preggers. HUGE!

      Shit. My feet have become disconnected from my brain and stopped working, and the nearest wall looms towards me.

      Pregnant? How could she be even a teeny bit pregnant, let alone huge? It had only been five months and three and a bit days since we split, and Liam never rushes into anything. Anything. It took him half an hour (minimum) to get into bed, because the sheets needed straightening and his teeth needed brushing and his clothes needed folding. I’d never yet had a hot meal with him, because if the table wasn’t laid properly and the cutlery perfectly aligned then he couldn’t get stuck in. I mean, who needs fully coordinated tableware when you’re tucking into bangers and mash?

      Liam was a man of habit. The more I list his habits (which I do a lot these days), the more I wonder why I was so mad about him, why I went to bits when he dumped me, why I ever put up with him.

      But love’s weird like that, isn’t it? And I’m beginning to think there might be a tiny bit of hurt pride shoved in there as well. Dumping in your own time is one thing, being the dump-ee is altogether different. But I had been happy with Liam. Lazily happy.

      Jess has obviously got bored of waiting for a reply, or is worried I’ve gone off to top myself. He’s a prat, I wouldn’t have invited him but he is Dan’s brother.

      I know. It is the best response I can do under pressure. No exclamation marks.

      I’d known he’d be at the wedding. He’d told me he’d met ‘somebody else’ – met, not shagged. To be honest a tiny part of me wants to see this girl. The part that could scoff and say she wasn’t that pretty, that thin, that clever. A bigger part of me wants to run a mile in case she is all that and more.

      But pregnant? Huge?? No part of me had expected that.

      At least I wouldn’t have to look at some willowy beauty hanging off his arm, I suppose. Although, shit, don’t pregnant woman have this ‘glow’? I can’t stand next to a glowing girlfriend if I’m all fat and spotty. And alone. Everybody will be looking, nodding sympathetically at me, and whispering ‘you can’t blame him’ behind their hands.

      I can’t wait to meet your new man! Jess is still texting.

      Nor could I.

      How the hell am I supposed to hook up with somebody new before the wedding? And the more excited texts I get from Jess, the guiltier I feel about even thinking about saying I can’t make it.

      Not long!!! See, what did I say about exclamation marks? I suppose between now and the wedding I could say my mystery man and I had split up, or I could actually find a real man, or the imaginary one could die, or rush off to care for an ill relative, or get run over by a bus. Or all of the above. The possibilities are endless. Sorry, got to rush, late for work. I do usually tell the truth. Call you back later for a proper chat xx

      My ‘reasons I can’t go’ list needs updating. There’s a new entry at number six.

      1 6. My ex has impregnated somebody else. Hugely.

      Shoving my mobile in my bag, and pushing my shoulders back, I paste a ‘happy as Larry’ grin on my face and throw open the door of the travel agency.

       Chapter 2

      ‘What’s up?’ Sarah, my other best friend, is sitting behind a desk that has two mugs of coffee, three