I always thought things like this happened in slow motion – at least that’s what the movies led me to believe.
In reality, when you fall down in such a spectacular manner, it’s over before you even realise it has happened. You go from arguing on a bridge with your oldest friends to bobbing around in a dirty pond with them in the blink of an eye.
The tension breaks easier than the bridge did, when one of us starts laughing no more than a split second after the water has settled. Soon enough, we’re all laughing.
It’s amazing, how things appear a certain way until you get to see them from a different perspective. For example, the first time I saw the pond it looked gorgeous; warm, sparkling, deep water – weirdly inviting, in an impractical way. In reality, the water is cold, dirty, and not more than four feet deep.
Clarky tries to get to his feet a little too quickly and slips on something at the bottom of the pond. As he falls backwards he make another splash, which Matt bears the brunt of. He playfully slaps some water back at him. Well, we’re all already soaking wet, it’s not like anyone can make the situation worse, is it?
‘Luca,’ I hear a voice bellow from afar. I hear it again, only this time it’s louder.
I twirl around in the water to see Al Atlantic charging towards the pond. As he gets closer he rips his shirt open – Superman style – kicks off his trousers, and jumps into the water.
‘Al, what on earth are you doing?’ I ask.
‘I’m saving you,’ he replies.
‘Al!’ I protest as he hooks an arm around my body and drags me to shore.
He puts me down on the grass, laying me flat on my back.
‘If you try and give me mouth-to-mouth I will punch you in the face,’ I say as he looms over me, so close he’s blocking the dim light of the garden lanterns. It’s so dark now, without them, his face is hidden in his shadow. It really is getting dark now. Chilly too.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks me.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say – not that I needed saving.
Alan takes my hand in his and attempts to take my pulse. I snatch my hand back with a laugh.
‘Alan, honestly, I’m fine,’ I insist.
‘Alright, Alan, calm down,’ Clarky shouts over. ‘Any excuse to take your bloody top off.’
I lift myself up on to my elbows.
‘I’m not showing off,’ he protests to me.
I look him up and down as he kneels on the grass next to me. Water rolls down his alarmingly hard body, washing off his fake tan as it navigates the contours of his muscles.
‘You’re literally making your pecs dance right now,’ I point out.
‘Luca, I saved you,’ he insists.
‘From what, a few feet of water? This pond is shallow – even for Clarky,’ Zach calls back. Teasing Alan has always come naturally to my friends. I think they knew he was wrong for me from day one. ‘What are you saving her from?’
Al turns to the water with a grave seriousness.
‘There are snakes in there,’ he bellows.
I watch as my friends scramble for the shore, fighting against each other, against the slippery pond floor, against the weight of the water.
They join me in lying on the grass.
‘They’re only a threat if you’re a vampire,’ I tell them, remembering what Alan said earlier about garlic.
‘You’re screwed then, aren’t you, goth?’ Clarky says before placing a finger to his nostril and blowing the contents out of the other one onto the grass.
‘Leave her alone,’ Alan replies, jumping to my defence.
‘It’s OK, Al, he can’t hurt me,’ I say. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend he can sleep with.’
‘No, you don’t have anyone,’ he replies.
This rubs me up the wrong way.
‘I’d rather have no one than take advantage of someone who is only sleeping with me because she’s upset,’ I snap.
‘OK,’ Fi says pulling herself to her feet. ‘Let’s not get back into this.’
‘Yeah, let’s pretend it never happened,’ Zach says sarcastically. ‘Except Luca is right.’
‘No, she isn’t,’ Clarky says, standing up, the anger in his words and the volume of his voice intensifying. ‘I’m in love with her, OK?’
‘What?’ Fi replies, collecting her jaw from the floor.
‘Well, at least I thought I was, until now. I always thought there was something between us, but now … I’m starting to think you were just using me, flirting with me and kissing me to make Zach jealous …’
‘You think?!’ Fi replies.
‘And then sleeping with me … forgive a guy for getting the wrong end of the stick. And I didn’t dump Bella, she dumped me. She dumped me because I didn’t want to marry her, because I kept thinking about you, thinking maybe you still had feelings for me, and that night, and what might’ve happened if Zach hadn’t turned up.’
‘If I’d had the good manners to die in the car accident you thought I’d had, you mean?’ Zach replies. ‘You don’t love her. You don’t love anyone.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ Fi shouts over their bickering.
‘What?’ Zach says weakly. If he weren’t already on the floor, he’d be straight back down there.
Fi doesn’t answer him, she runs back towards the party.
‘Wait,’ Zach calls as he struggles to his feet on the slippery, wet grass.
He runs after her, leaving the rest of us in stunned silence.
Clarky slowly begins to walk away too.
‘Where are you going?’ Ed calls after him.
‘I’m going to put in a complaint about that shitting bridge,’ he calls after him.
‘He’ll be fine,’ I tell Ed. ‘He’s always happy when he’s complaining.’
‘My new wife won’t be happy with me when she gets invoiced for a bridge,’ Matt says as he stands up. ‘Or when she sees that my £600 suit is ruined.’
He storms off too, leaving me, Ed and Al.
‘I feel … responsible,’ Ed says softly.
‘Doubt it, mate,’ Al replies.
‘Yeah, you didn’t tell Zach what happened,’ I point out. ‘He overheard me talking to Fi about it.’
‘Plus, you’ve always been kind of boring – no offence,’ Al adds. ‘What could you have done?’
‘I’m boring?’ Ed replies. ‘I’m boring?’
‘Right, OK, we’re not doing this,’ I say, using Al’s arm as a handrail to pull myself up. ‘I’m not doing any of this shit anymore.’
‘Luca, wait,’ Al calls after me.
‘Nope,’ I reply. ‘Nope, nope, nope.’
I’ve had enough. I’ve really, truly had enough.
I expected to come to the wedding and – worst case scenario – feel like crap about my life and be reminded of all my failures as a woman. This though … this is too much. It’s like everyone has reverted to being a student and everything is trying to go back to how it was then. You know what, my life might not be up to much now, but it’s certainly better than it was back then. I’d rather be a sad single than a messy twenty-something changing her significant other more often than I changed my hair colour. We’re supposed to be adults – adults don’t all end up angry and wet at the bottom of a pond. I’m sure most students manage to graduate without doing so too.
I feel the dirty water squelching in my trainers as I meaningfully tread the ground back across the lawn to where the party is. With my eyes fixed on the door that leads into the hotel, I march through the party without so much as peeping to see if anyone is staring at me, the drowned rat in the designer dress she can’t afford, with water leaking from her trainers and a face like thunder. I really, really don’t care what people think of me, all I can think about now is making a change – a big one. I have emerged from that pond a whole new woman, and as I crawl from the grass, drip through the party, and finally strut through the bar, I feel myself evolving into something better, something lighter. Someone who grabs life by the balls, instead of being repeatedly kicked in her own metaphorical ones.
‘Luca, oh my God,’ I hear Tom’s voice behind me.
‘Not now,’ I reply.
‘Wait, what happened?’ he asks, taking me gently by the arm, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn to face him. Great, Cleo is with him.
‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ she says. ‘Because … you look like something a cat dragged in.’
‘Hilarious,’ I reply sarcastically. ‘I’m sure normally I’d be annoyed or upset or blah blah blah.’
‘Lord, she’s drunk,’ Cleo says. ‘Why are you wet?’
‘I’ve been in the pond,’ I reply, as my only explanation.
‘Do you have spare clothes with you? I’d lend you some of mine, but I doubt they’d fit.’
I roll my eyes.
‘Because I’m pregnant and you’re not, duh,’ she points out.
Maybe it was a fat joke – maybe it was a boast about her being pregnant – I. Don’t. Care.
‘Luca, you’re bleeding,’ Tom says, rushing towards me, raising his hand to my neck.
He reaches up to touch my wound, but as he pulls his hand away I notice something.
‘That’s not blood, it’s orange – it’s fake tan from Alan, from when we were in the pond.’
‘Ooh, Luca and Alan in the pond,’ Cleo sings.
‘Mmm,’ I reply insincerely. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Nope, nothing going on between me and Alan. But I am going upstairs to shag Pete’s brains out and accept his job offer in London. You two have nice lives.’
My parting gift to my dear, dear frenemy Cleo, is to give her the finger as I head for the stairwell. I am going to make an active effort to be more mature … just, starting now I guess.
I was so annoyed with myself when I left my clutch in the reception office earlier – it just felt like another crappy feature of the unreliable Luca Wade brand – but now I’m so happy I did because it would’ve been ruined in the water.
I arrive at reception and ring the bell, but no one appears. I wait a few seconds and try again … still nothing.
I glance at the door. I don’t think you need anything special to open it – I’m pretty sure Ed and I walked freely through it. Oh, I don’t have time for this. I’m just going to grab it. Well, it’s my bag, right? I can’t get in trouble for stealing my own bag. If they are in any doubt as to whether it is my phone, I’ll just show them the thirty-five failed selfie attempts I took this morning. I’d hoped for at least one belter, even if it needed a little ‘postproduction’ to make it acceptable, but they were all duds. Still, those kinds of selfies are arguable the ones with the best likeness to our real faces, right?
I open the door slowly and pop my head through to make sure no one is around. If they are, I’ll pretend I was poking my head through the door to ask for it, rather than just helping myself.
‘Oh God,’ I blurt, more than announcing my entrance.
‘Oh, hey Luca,’ Clarky replies.
He’s standing there, in the middle of the office, in nothing but a towel. The receptionist – the one who sassed him earlier – is kneeling on the floor in front of him, patting his legs dry with a towel.
‘I’ve got us some compo, for the bridge thing,’ he says.
‘Us, or just yourself?’ I reply nodding towards the receptionist.
‘All of us,’ he replies.
Wow, it’s been fifteen minutes. That’s got to be a new consumer complaint record for Clarky. It’s probably a new record for him getting a girl to touch him too.
I grab my clutch and my shoes and turn to leave. I just have my Everest (AKA the stairs) to conquer and then I’m done.
It is definitely harder climbing up the stairs than it is walking down them, and I don’t suppose my waterlogged clothes are helping. Perhaps I should have gone to my own room first, but I don’t plan on keeping these clothes on for long anyway.
When I get to the top, I pause for a few seconds to get my breath back. As I steady my breathing, I notice my reflection in the glass of the door. Wow, I look like a swamp monster. It will be a miracle, if Pete even lets me through the door.
I walk along the corridor and take one last deep breath before knocking. It might sound pathetic to some, but this is a big deal for me. I don’t take chances like this with my job, my life or, least of all, my heart.
Now all I have to do is wait for Pete to open the door.