It’s a real sign of the times (or perhaps it’s more a sign of my fitness levels) that rushing down the stairs is tiring me out. I thought weddings were supposed to be fun but, honestly, this has been nothing but hard work since I got here.
‘What do you think their first dance will be to?’ Tom asks me.
Tom doesn’t seem to be having too much trouble tackling the stairs. He’s a couple of steps ahead of me, and not at all out of breath. It did occur to me to blame it on my heels, but then I remembered that I’m not wearing them anymore.
‘If Matt has his way, it will be something classically Eighties,’ I reply. ‘If Kat picks, it will be something modern. Probably something naff.’
‘Because the Eighties were so cool,’ he laughs.
‘Erm, they were,’ I correct him. ‘But you know Kat … as far as I can tell, she’s very poppy and mainstream, right? She loves Ed Sheeran and Little Mix.’
It’s amazing, how much you can tell about a person from their Facebook feed.
‘So?’
‘So, Whitesnake’s “Slide It In” isn’t going to hit the spot, is it?’
Tom sniggers at my choice of words.
‘Well, I think Kat will get her way,’ he says.
‘My money is on Eighties – bloody hell, how many flights of stairs are there? This place is like a labyrinth.’
‘These are the last few steps,’ he tells me. ‘Actually, there’s a door here that leads straight into the marquee. I’ve seen the staff using it.’
‘We’re probably not supposed to use it,’ I reply. ‘Let’s just walk around.’
‘Listen though, music … it sounds like we’re missing their dance.’
‘But if it’s closed …’
‘Luca, it’s just a door,’ Tom says, followed by one of his easy laughs. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘OK,’ I say as we approach the door. ‘If you think it’s better for slinking in …’
I follow Tom through the doorway, which leads straight onto the dance floor. It only takes me a second to realise that we are just a few feet away from Matt and Kat, who are currently in the middle of their first dance. We are so close to them, in fact, that we’re actually standing in their spotlight.
Everyone’s eyes were on them; now, they’re on us too. Our audience looks confused, seeing us burst onto the scene like this. And Tom thought we were so clever, sneaking in through the staff door … that’s the last time I listen to him.
I just stand there, awkwardly frozen on the spot. I don’t know what do but it doesn’t matter, Tom has this. He takes me by the hand and places the other on the small of my back.
‘Are we … are we crashing their first dance?’ I ask him quietly.
‘Looks like it,’ he replies. ‘But if we own it, it will look like it was on purpose.’
‘Will it though?’ I reply in disbelief.
‘I’m the best man and you’re the only bridesmaid without swollen feet,’ he whispers back as we slow dance. Finally Matt and Kat notice us next to them. For a moment they look confused, but they carry on dancing. To be honest, I don’t think they care that we’ve joined in. They look so in love and so happy.
‘It’s practically a requirement that we dance together.’
‘Hmm,’ I reply with a smile. ‘I daren’t even look at our audience. I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be,’ Tom says, pulling me closer. ‘Have you noticed what song we’re dancing to?’
For a second, I forget my embarrassment, or how fast my heart is beating being so close to Tom (coupled with the four flights of stairs I just hurried down) and I listen to the music. We’re dancing to a cover of REO Speedwagon’s ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’ and, as soon as I realise, I take a deep, sharp breath.
‘It’s …’
‘It’s our song,’ he replies with a smile. ‘You remember that night?’
‘I do,’ I reply. How could I forget it? Tom pulled me close – close like we are now – and slow danced with me. I remember melting into his arms, feeling so safe and happy, until we were interrupted. Then it was like someone pulled the rug from under us. But this time we’re on a dance floor – we’re supposed to be dancing. There’s nothing to stop us this time.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, erm … the bride and groom would like to invite you onto the dance floor with them,’ the DJ says. He sounds a little confused, reading the announcement when he’s supposed to, because we’ve definitely jumped the gun.
As soon as we’re joined by plenty of others, I feel myself relax. Without really thinking about it, I rest my head on Tom’s chest. He gives me a squeeze. We couldn’t be physically closer right now if we tried. It’s a shame we feel so far apart otherwise. It’s a horrible thing, to run into the person you’ve always believed you’re supposed to be with when you’re both with other people … it’s even worse when only the other person is probably going to end up with someone else, and you’re so very, very alone.
‘Tell me this isn’t fate,’ he whispers into my ear.
‘Everyone keeps talking about fate today,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘Like everything happens for a reason, and everything happens exactly as it is supposed to, to ensure we all end up where we’re supposed to be.’
‘What if that’s true?’ he asks.
I lift my head to look at him. He’s deadly serious.
‘Where’s my sceptic, atheist, cynical friend gone?’ I ask him.
‘He’s under the influence of an Eighties power ballad,’ he replies. ‘Or a cover of one, at least. Hey, I suppose we were both right.’
‘We were?’
‘Yeah. You said Eighties, I said modern. This cover sounds like both, so we’re both right.’
‘That’s the key to a perfect relationship, right?’ I reply.
‘What, us both being right?’ he asks.
I laugh.
‘No, compromise. They compromised on a song they’d both love.’
‘Well, I didn’t expect you two to be dancing with us,’ Kat says.
I was so caught up in Tom, I forgot there was anyone else in the room. But the song has ended and Matt and Kat are standing next to us.
‘We wondered through the wrong door,’ Tom says. ‘Best cover-up I could think of.’
Kat smiles. I’m relieved she isn’t mad at us for ruining it.
‘Luca, what did you think of the song?’ Matt asks.
‘One of my favourites,’ I reply. ‘I hadn’t heard the cover before though.’
‘It’s from Glee,’ he laughs. ‘Kat loves Glee, I love the song … you’d never know, right?’
‘Wow, you wouldn’t,’ I reply. Well, I definitely wouldn’t, because I haven’t seen any Glee.
‘Buddy, maybe don’t tell anyone else that,’ Tom tells him with a chuckle.
‘Right,’ he replies. ‘Well, I think we’re going to have another dance, so we’ll catch you two later.’
‘Fancy another dance?’ Tom asks me.
The DJ is playing ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ by Whitney Houston.
‘Erm …’
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘What if we don’t see each other for another ten years?’
There’s something about his face, about his smile, about his eyes … I can’t say no.
‘OK,’ I reply.
‘Unless you do want to go for that drink with me in Manchester,’ Tom eventually says as we move to the music.
‘We’ll see.’
‘Did you always play so hard to get?’
‘I might be moving to London,’ I tell him.
‘Since when?’ he asks, taken aback.
‘It’s a recent development,’ I admit. ‘Pete said he’d put me forward for a job.’
‘Oh.’
I watch the smile fall from his face and the colour drain from his cheeks.
‘So, you’re just going to leave? Just like that?’
‘I mean, it’s of no concern to you and yours, is it?’
Tom pulls me close to him again. I feel like he’s about to say something when, for the second time in ten years, our dancing is interrupted by the rug being pulled from under me, but this time it’s literal. I catch a glimpse of Tom as I slowly and clumsily make my ungraceful descent and I see the look on his face change. He reaches out to grab me, and I try to grab his hand but it’s no use, he can’t get a hold of me – and isn’t that just the story of my life? As I’m about to hit the ground I wonder to myself just how much more embarrassing this scenario can get. And then I hit my head on the speaker on the floor next to us.