How To Lose Weight And Alienate People. Ollie Quain

Adele to come and talk to me in the kitchen.

      She pads after me. ‘Anyway, if we’re aiming for a Christmas do, I’ll need to step on the gas to arrange everything in time. Twenty-four weeks is nothing.’

      ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, Dels. Bob Geldof organised Live Aid in less than that. At least you won’t have the added hassle of trying to perfect the most ambitious international satellite television link-up ever for a global audience of four hundred million.’

      ‘Very funny. I’m certainly going to need to be focused,’ she says, pouring herself a mug of her stinky brew. ‘On the plane yesterday, I had already come up with the idea of a winter wonderland theme … possibly at Burn’s … Luke could DJ … but we’d also have world music to encapsulate mine and James’ love of travelling … and possibly some sort of tribal entertainment. That was before the cabin crew had finished their safety demonstration. We hadn’t even taken off!’ She giggles, but a little uneasily. ‘Joking aside, Vivian, do you think ethnic drumming whilst canapés are being served is too much?’

      I laugh and suck in a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’d be very careful with bongos, Dels. They really are the Nicki Minaj of the percussion world – quite fun for five minutes but they’ll do your head in any longer than that.’ I get a serving of organic goose and venison chunks in gravy out of the cupboard.

      ‘Ha! Okay, no bongos.’

      ‘Or children,’ I add. ‘Too distracting, noisy, messy, demanding and unpredictable.’

      ‘And an added expense.’ Adele nods. ‘Thank you, Vivian. That’s exactly the sort of solid advice I will be needing from my chief – and only – bridesmaid.’

      I stop peeling open the sachet. From between my legs, Monday looks up at me and mews, his face a picture of panic and confusion. I stare at the slimy cat food for a few seconds then return to removing the foil and scraping the contents into his bowl. I don’t put it down on the floor, though, because then I will have to turn round and react to what Adele has just said.

      ‘You heard right, by the way,’ she says. ‘I did just ask you to be my bridesmaid. Well, I-asked-you-slash-told-you.’

      I half twist round. ‘Oh, Dels, that’s so …’

      ‘So?’

      Monday mews again. I put his food down on the floor and immediately his distress signal turns into a joyous high-pitched chirrup, all his years of experience informing him how tremendous the next few minutes are going to be. I stand up and turn to face Adele properly. She smiles at me.

      ‘It’s all right, Vivian. I know what you’re thinking, and quite rightly so. You’re thinking I’ve gone back on that deal we loosely made …’

      ‘Erm, I think you’ll find we shook on it. We said that—’

      ‘I know what we said,’ she interrupts. ‘We said that after the age of twenty-nine, if either of us got married we would never do all that following-each-other-up-the-aisle, telling-each-other-what-to-wear nonsense, because being a bridesmaid …’ I wince as she says the word again, ‘… in your thirties is a bit embarrassing.’

      ‘A bit? Dels, they’ve even made a blockbuster movie about how embarrassing it is since we had that conversation. The agreement was that we help each other organise everything; hen do, dress, venue, etc., but we’re not officially one of them. I’ll do anything else you want me to that wasn’t on that list too – within reason. I’ll even do a reading from the Bible.’

      ‘Don’t be silly, you don’t believe in God.’

      ‘Neither do you and you’re the one wanting to get married in a church.’

      She giggles. (I don’t.) ‘That’s not the point, Vivian. Look, I didn’t realise I was going to feel this way, but now I am actually going to be a bride, I want to do things the right way on my big day. All my other close girlfriends are married so they aren’t allowed to be bridesmaids. You aren’t so you are.’

      With that she puts one foot firmly in that metaphorical stirrup, ready to mount the moral high horse I can tell she will be riding right up until the big day. Why can’t people get married properly, like Penelope Cruz did in Blow? Off the cuff (and off her head) in Vegas wearing a purple jumpsuit. I had expected more from Adele, but like a shocking number of females who have made a point of swerving dry customs their entire lives she has turned into Anne of Green Gables now she has got a wedding to organise.

      ‘Fine, I’ll do it. But you better make sure this is the one and only time …’ I smile back at her as I sit down. ‘And you can forget about me wearing anything ten swatches in front of or behind “dusky peach” in the fabric sample flip book.’

      She bursts out laughing and idly picks up the pepper grinder from where it is still lying on its side from, er, last night. I watch Monday as he finishes his meal, licks his whiskers, does a few feline press-ups and strolls out of the kitchen without thanking anyone. When I turn back to Adele she has stopped laughing. Her eyes have gone watery again.

      ‘Stop that.’ I tut at her. ‘You’re not allowed to cry today, or this week, or this month. You’ve shed enough tears over the years. In fact, I am going to lay down a non-negotiable rule now. You are not allowed to blub for your entire engagem—’

      ‘Stop! Stop being so lovely, Vivian. Look …’ She stares into her tea. ‘There’s something else that I … I don’t know how to tell you. I’ve been dreading this moment so much.’ She stops to take a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’m going to come straight out with it. God. Oh God. Oh God …’

      ‘Oh God, what?’

      Another deep breath. ‘The thing is, I … well, we … as, in James and I … we’ve had a lot to talk about since he …’ She flashes her ring hand at me. ‘And moving forward, we’ve decided to use his place as our base whilst we look for a, er, forever home. Or, at least what I hope will be our forever home … as long as I don’t make a total mess of this relationship like I have done all the others … I mean, he could cheat on me or turn about to be a …’

      ‘Compulsive liar?’ I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Christ, remember that one? The psycho you met in that wine bar who told you he was a professional polo coach, and then freaked out when you organised a date horse riding in Hyde Park. Now, what was he called?’

      ‘I never got to find out his real name, did I?’ she says, slightly boot-faced again at the mention of a previous amour. ‘But listen, about the flat …’

      I reach across the table to her. ‘It’s fine. I know what you’re going to say; I need to find someone to move in. Don’t worry, it won’t be too hard. Dane could be up for it. He mentioned the lease on his place is com—’

      ‘Vivian! Let me finish. Look, I’m sorry, so sorry … but you’re going to have to move out. I’m selling up.’

       ‘Selling?’

      She nods solemnly. ‘It’s time.’

      ‘When are you going to put it on the market?’ I really don’t like the way she is forced to take yet another deep breath as I ask this. This one is more of a desperate gulp for air.

      ‘When the work has been completed. To get the best price I need to install another bathroom so there is one for each bedroom. It’s what young professionals expect … so I’m getting a wet room installed.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Your clothes cupboard. I’ll be staying here to keep an eye on the builders, but you won’t be able to stay in your room with all the work going on.’

      ‘How long have I got?’

      ‘Three weeks.’

      ‘Three