Amanda's Wedding by Jenny Colgan Read Free Book Online Page B

everything was all right with the world and I was ready to hit Amanda’s engagement do. I had it all worked out. No doubt there’d be a lot of nudging. Someone might even say, ‘Hey, it’ll be you two next!’ and I’d blush modestly and do a shy smile, and Alex would look at me tenderly and say, ‘Well, you never know … maybe one day, if I’m lucky!’ and that’d get all round the party and I’d be the queen! By the time my imagination had supplied a huge circular staircase down which we could descend to mass applause, I had to pretend to be Fran and tell myself not to be so silly. But, oh – look how wonderfully compatible we were! We hadn’t fallen out once, all week. He’d grovelled, he’d done his bit. He was home again,he was beautiful, and he was mine. Everything was brilliant.
    Amanda’s party turned out to be a pretty swish affair. Fortunately, what with all the shagging and healthy gourmet meals, I could get into last year’s grey silk frock. And if I kept my right-hand side to the wall, the wine stain scarcely showed. Alex had shoved on his usual T-shirt and jeans, but looked gorgeous anyway.
    I’d begged Fran to come, but she’d absolutely declined, on the grounds that I would be snogging Alex all night and everyone else would be horrible.
    The party was in an exclusive club on the Thames: all noisy gravel and ginormous bouquets of unnaturallooking yellow flowers clustered around a bunch of braying men and sharp-lipsticked women. Everyone was taller than me and knew everyone else, and before I was two steps through the door, my carefully groomed confidence started to plummet, until once again I was Melanie Pepper, unruly loudmouth of 2C, worrying about puppy fat and what would happen if George Michael didn’t want to marry me after all. (Well, who knew?)
    This was definitely not my race, this mob of anorexic, complacent, poshtastic freeloaders. I caught sight of myself in the enormous gold-tinted mirror opposite, surrounded by the glitterprati. I looked like I was wearing my mother’s shoes, en route to the dentist.
    I turned round for the consolation of having the handsomest man in the room on my arm. But my heart sank again. How could I forget? Alex’s hair flopped! He went skiing! His parents couldn’t remember hisfirst name! He was One of Them! Even before I had grabbed my first free glass of champers ( Don’t grab, Mel ! You have a right to be here, remember ?), he was practically being mobbed.
    â€˜Al! Al, darling! Where have you been?’
    â€˜Alex! Sara said she bumped into you in LA – had a few fantastic days, I hear?’
    â€˜Oh, come over and see Benedict and Claire – we haven’t seen you since the pool party!’
    I too had been at the pool party, having a thoroughly miserable time. I too hadn’t seen any of these poncey poseurs since then. I pretended to look politely interested and waited for Alex to re-introduce me.
    â€˜Guys, you remember Melanie, don’t you?’
    A blonde horse glanced at me cursorily, and I wished – for God’s sake! – that my name was a little less common.
    There was a short pause in the conversation as they gave me simpering nob smiles and enquiring looks, then they fell back into loud guffaws as Alex recounted his adventures yet again, cast me one apologetic glance, then hurled himself into dissecting the rugby season and knocking back the ’poo.
    So much for the grey silk dress. The entire circle, defying the laws of physics, appeared to have its back to me, and I felt out in the cold. Deflated, I wondered what had happened to my fantasy big night at Amanda’s party. I would have made my excuses and left, but there was no one to give my excuses to. So I wandered off, pretending to be in search of a toilet,and wondering whether or not to go and have a little cry by myself.
    Weighing up my options, I spotted Amanda. After