‘You have got to be joking!’ A wave of nausea rushed up the back of Lucy’s throat. Seriously? she thought, What is wrong with people? Is there no shame? She peered again at her laptop screen and re-read the post from her long-lost school friend Eliza Longchamps-Delauney. Even the name made her stomach squirm. A far cry from her previous surname, Pratt, she noted with a wry smile.
Facebook Status Update:
Eliza Longchamps-Delauney: feeling blessed (1 hr: London)
Eliza is the luckiest girl in the world, thanks schmoopy for the best anniversary surprise – ten red roses. One for each year. You are my soulmate and I am so glad I found you!
‘Oh, pleeease,’ Lucy muttered to herself, ‘spare me!’
She scrolled down her newsfeed and scanned the updates from her various friends and acquaintances. Lucy winced and swept her fringe away from her eyes, leaning closer in disbelief as she caught sight of yet another portrayal of blissful family life.
Michelle Murphy (2 hrs: London)
Thanking my lucky stars for my perfect family.
The caption accompanied a carefully posed photograph of Michelle and her ridiculously handsome husband with their three blonde children, all in neatly pressed matching sailor suits, sitting on the steps to their mansion. They looked like a Ralph Lauren advert.
Gorging on these cringeworthy posts had become Lucy’s preferred pastime. Why did people insist on sharing their private thoughts and moments with the world on social media? Her favourite of all time was from an American ex-colleague called Brett Davies. His post from across the world in Chicago had made her want to share it on worststatusupdatesever.com to publicly shame him.
Had a proud fiancé moment today. My speakers crashed off the wall at 3 a.m. and I leapt on top of Danni to cover her body with mine in case she got hurt. So pleased my natural instincts were to protect her first.
Lucy didn’t want to look at these displays of sickly-sweet marital bliss but she couldn’t quite resist the urge. She found them bizarrely intriguing. They were a bit like the traffic jams caused by cars slowing down as they passed the site of a gruesome accident.
‘I will never share sentimental crap like that on social media’ Lucy vowed solemnly to herself, attempting to shove aside the familiar sneer that popped into her mind that she may never get the chance. She wondered briefly if there was something wrong with her, if she was missing some kind of ‘romance’ gene that would turn her into a simpering fool like Eliza or Brett. Perhaps all the romance-free years that fate’s hand had dealt her had tarnished her tolerance. Or maybe, the cynical voice of reason suggested, she was just jealous. For, in truth, the one thing Lucy longed for more than anything else was her own other half, someone to stroke her hair and fall asleep with, someone to share her life with and, most specifically and heart-wrenchingly of all, someone with whom she could start a family of her own.
Before she could stop herself, she had tapped the letters ‘JACK’ into her Facebook search bar, clicking on the first name to appear in the scroll down list of her acquaintances, Jack Hawkins. Even the tiny icon of his profile picture was enough to get her heart racing. She knew it was pointless and would only serve to torture herself further but she couldn’t help it. She scrolled down his wall looking for any new posts. There was nothing new, which wasn’t particularly surprising considering that she had last looked at his page immediately before going to bed the night before. Unable to resist, she clicked on his cover photo, a picture-perfect family snap of his beautiful wife, Penelope, and their two children, Max and Arabella. She had never actually met them yet she felt like she knew them all pretty well thanks to her Facebook-stalking habit. She imagined snipping Penny’s perfect face out of the picture and inserting her own instead. She scolded herself… this had to stop! How could she even consider breaking up such a happy family? She knew it was partly Jack’s fault, despite being one of her superiors at work he flirted outrageously with her at any given opportunity. Over the past few months the flirting and flattery had escalated to such a point that she was starting to entertain the prospect that he might actually have feelings for her. She fantasized about a deeply unhappy marriage behind closed doors and dreamt of the day he would leave his wife and declare his undying love for her instead. Forcing herself to get a reality check, she clicked on the cross to close the page.
She rolled her eyes and sighed, rubbing her face with the palms of her hands to try and wake herself up. She had to stop procrastinating on these hateful social media sites and get to the task in hand. Her best friend was getting married. She still couldn’t quite believe it. Today was finally the day when little Claudia, the scruffiest, scrawniest girl in school was to be wed. And Lucy was maid of honour. Claudia was, as her namesake might suggest, the Winkleman to Lucy’s Tess. Though unfortunately for Lucy, the blonde hair was about as far as her own comparison went. Claudia, meanwhile, with her dark looks and waif-like figure, was a real dead ringer for the Strictly host.
Despite Claudia’s obstinate refusal to pander to the opposite sex in any way, shape or form, she had well and truly pipped Lucy to the matrimonial post. Though, to her credit, Claudia was doing her best to soften the blow by promising Lucy the wedding’s most eligible bachelor as her dinner companion. The prospect of this, and Lucy’s determination to prove that she was not giving up on life or love just yet, trebled her resolve to transform herself from cygnet into swan for the occasion.
She slammed her laptop shut and chucked it on to her battered, floral sofa, rootling around amongst the biscuit crumbs in search of the remote. She found it, aimed for the TV and flicked through the music channels to find some suitably upbeat tunes. Satisfied with her choice, she looked at the clock: 9 a.m., one hour to get ready and out the door in time to catch the train from Paddington to Little Bedford. The service was not until 3.30 p.m. but Lucy was under strict instructions to be there by lunchtime to help with last-minute preparations and to steady Claudia’s nerves. Though what there was to be nervous about when you were marrying someone as awesome as Dan, Lucy couldn’t imagine.
At her bedroom mirror, swaying her hips in time to Beyoncé, Lucy took a long, hard look at herself. She patted her squidgy love handles and round belly, trying to repress the familiar critical thoughts that vied for her attention. She was relieved that Claudia had chosen a sculpted, shape-enhancing dress with boning that would squeeze her curves into all the right places. Today of all days she didn’t need to worry whether any unsightly lumps or bulges would disrupt the contours of her bottom half. She released her blonde hair from its ponytail, checking her fringe, which she decided was in dire need of a wash and straighten, and examined her face. She moved a little closer to the mirror, scrutinizing the sprinkling of freckles, the slightly open pores, the smattering of broken veins on her cheeks and her cornflower blue, black-ringed irises. Thank god for make-up. Without its wonders, she looked like a puffy-eyed mole taking its first glimpse of daylight. A university boyfriend had once joked that make-up took her from a paltry five to a more impressive eight out of ten in the looks department. Of course, she had laughed it off at the time, but she hadn’t forgotten the barbed compliment in the fourteen years that had since passed.
Brushing these thoughts aside, she jumped into the shower and turned the taps to full blast. A happy sigh escaped her lips as the invigorating, warm water sliced over her. She scrubbed herself with some mint shower gel, washed her hair and scraped a rusty old Bic over her armpits and legs to eliminate a couple of weeks’ worth of unsightly stubble.
Lucy stemmed the flow of water and opened the shower door, watching the tiny droplets of spray swirl in the steamy condensation as they made their bid for freedom in the small bathroom. She hadn’t done much to the flat since she had bought it six years ago. There hadn’t been a penny left over from the money that Granny Annie had given her. She adored her little home more than anything and had done a wonderful job of making it cosy. She had invested all the love and attention that most people showered on their other half into her home instead. It was filled with bits and pieces from her extensive travels and she had scattered her beloved plants about the place in brightly coloured pots.
With one eye firmly on the clock, Lucy scanned the living area; the table in the kitchen was strewn with newspapers and magazines as well as the remnants of her breakfast. Not wanting to come back to a messy house, she quickly cleared the table, shaking the toast crumbs into the bin and stacking her plate and coffee cup into the dishwasher. In her bedroom, she gave her body a final, vigorous rub-down with the towel, made the bed and raked her hairbrush through her damp hair.
Lucy had always loved getting dressed up for any occasion. She prided herself on her ability to transform from the most disastrous of early-morning appearances in a surprisingly short amount of time. She had a well-established routine that had been perfected over the past decade of pre-first-date preparations. She luxuriated in the smell of cocoa butter as she smoothed moisturizer all over her skin. This was followed by several pumps of bronzing gel, which she rubbed into her chest, face, arms and legs to give herself a sun-kissed glow. After that she tousled her shoulder-length hair with the hairdryer before running her straightening irons over it, paying special attention to her fringe. She chose a new set of blue silk lingerie from her underwear drawer, the same striking cornflower blue as her eyes. There was nothing so confidence-boosting as the knowledge that a killer set of matching underwear lay hidden beneath your clothes, even if they were covered by a thick layer of Spanx. She wiggled into them to the beat of Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’, wondering what tunes she might be dancing to that evening… and more importantly with whom?
She conjured images of the mysterious eligible bachelor that Claudia had mentioned holding her in his arms as they danced. A new man was just what she needed to knock all thoughts of Jack out of her mind for good. She tried to quash any hope that swelled within her at the thought. The truth was she was desperate to meet someone to settle down with and she knew only too well that men could detect desperation on a woman like a bad smell.
Lucy approached her mirror and her make-up bag with determination. She smoothed her foundation over her face, watching any red marks and uneven patches of skin tone disappear as though being airbrushed away. A dusting of bronzer, a touch of pink blusher and a thick line of smudged black kohl around her eyes and she was nearly there. A final double coat of black mascara made the striking dark rings around her irises stand out in contrast to the blue of her eyes. She fluttered her eyelashes seductively at herself in the mirror, practising, just in case.
Lucy looked at the clock, 10.05 a.m., perfect timing. She dashed to the loo one last time, grabbed her canvas overnight bag, already packed, and her beautiful satin dress in its protective plastic sheath, and closed her green front door behind her, clattering down the three flights of stairs and blinking in the early morning sunlight as she emerged onto Mayfield Road. A feeling of huge excitement rippled through her, she was on her way! She whipped out her phone and sent Claudia a text.
All on schedule and so excited! Should be there by 12, can’t wait to see the beautiful BRIDE! L x
With that, Lucy made her way to Baron’s Court tube with a skip in her step. Not even the realization that the back of her skirt had been tucked into her knickers most of the way there, thanks to some rather overzealous honking of car horns, could dampen her spirits.