Waking up, being spooned by Tom, with the speaker outside my bedroom window playing Elvis’s ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ – I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. I don’t know when it happened, maybe it was in the pond, or maybe it was in the lift, but this isn’t my life. This has to be a dream.
I reach over to the bedside table and grab my clutch. I carefully take out my phone with one hand, making an effort not to wake Tom. I still have a little battery luckily, and I can see that Clarky sent me a message last night.
Compo breakfast at 10 a.m. Whole gang. Meet in the dining room.
I smile at my phone.
I could carefully lift Tom’s arm, wiggle out from under it without waking him, but I’ve waited ten years for this – the last thing I want to do is move.
‘Mmm,’ Tom says as he squeezes me tightly.
I roll over to face him. Of course he looks amazing on a morning, even with his hair sticking up in all directions and red lines on his face from resting on his arm.
Tom opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light in the room.
‘Morning,’ he says.
‘Morning,’ I reply. ‘So … last night happened.’
‘You noticed it too?’ he replies with a grin.
‘I did,’ I say. ‘I just wasn’t sure if I’d hallucinated …’
‘From the head injury?’ he replies.
‘What head injury?’ I joke, acting confused.
Tom smiles.
‘Would you be offended if I got up and left?’ I ask.
Tom’s smile drops.
‘Oh, no, not like that,’ I insist. ‘It’s not you.’
‘It’s not me, it’s you?’
‘It’s Clarky actually,’ I tell him. ‘He’s arranged for us all to have breakfast together.’
‘You’re all getting together in a room with knives?’ he jokes.
‘I’m going to take my chances,’ I reply. ‘I think maybe we all need this.’
‘I understand,’ Tom says, stroking my cheek. ‘I hope you guys figure things out, you’ve all been friends forever, it would be a shame.’
‘It would,’ I reply.
I would love to stay here, wrapped up in Tom’s arms, enjoying the music drifting in from outside, talking about what happens next. But in twenty minutes my friends – practically my family – will be gathering in the dining room and, even if I didn’t think I needed to be there to referee, I want to be there. I want to figure all this out. If we don’t, the best-case scenario is that Fi and Zach’s wedding will be incredibly awkward but, worst-case scenario, Fi and Zach might not be getting married at all.
I begrudgingly climb out of bed, self-consciously wrapping one of the duvets around my body because now that I’ve got Tom in my bed (or these two hotel beds pushed together, at least), I don’t want to scare him off with my squashy bits – which is silly really, because he probably saw everything last night. I was terrified when he got in the shower with me because we’re all capable of a little strategic positioning when we’re lying down, but when we’re standing up, there aren’t too many shapes you can make to disguise a combination of an average thirty-something body and gravity.
I grab a long black sundress, split up to the thigh on both sides, a pair of black caged heeled sandals, and a pair of sunglasses. Well aware I’ll have to take the glasses off inside, I layer on the make-up to disguise my tired face. Unfortunately there’s no amount of priming, foundation-laying, concealing, baking, or highlighting that can hide the raised cut on my cheek, but I do them all anyway, to try and overcompensate for my injury – my injury, and the fact that going to bed with wet hair has left me with inconsistent natural waves. A quick of spritz of perfume and I’m ready to face the world.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Tom says when I finally emerge from the bathroom.
‘So do you,’ I reply.
He’s still lying in bed, watching TV. He has the covers pulled up to his waist and as much as I want to get back in with him, I need to go and do this.
‘I’ll try make it quick,’ I tell him.
‘Don’t worry. I think breakfast finishes at 11, so I’m going to pop down anyway. See you there?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘Good luck,’ he calls after me as I walk out the door.
‘Thanks.’
I’m going to need it.