Always and Only You

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Present Day

I pull my coat closer around my neck and edge nearer to the patio heater next to my table. This is my favourite place to have breakfast in Dartmouth. The inside portion of the café is the ground floor of a four-storey building tucked into the steep hillside, and the spacious covered courtyard is popular come rain or shine, thanks to the amazing fare made from locally sourced produce.

I check my phone. How on earth can Anjali be … thirty-three minutes late? When we met up in the hotel foyer, she told me she just had to nip back to her room because she’d left her phone charging on the bedside table, but that she’d be right behind me. I would have waited for her, but it’s first come first served here, so I said I’d run ahead to get a table.

To be honest, I’m a bit annoyed that the one time in my life it really should be all about me, I’m in danger of being late for my nail appointment because she can’t get here on time.

I take a sip of my coffee when it arrives and ponder that last thought. Should it be all about me? I’m getting married, not being crowned queen of the fricking universe. Oh, God. Am I turning into a total bridezilla? I am, aren’t I?

But then I remember how much I’m there for Anjali. Always. No questions asked. Like last month, when her dog was sick because she’d accidentally allowed it to eat something it shouldn’t, and she’d been so distressed while it was being treated at the vet that all she’d been able to do was sit on the sofa and cry, and I was the one who’d mopped up all the vomit and diarrhoea and made her cups of tea.

When she finally pushes her way through the queue outside the entrance and collapses into the chair opposite me, I cross my arms. ‘What took you so long?’

She stares back at me, her eyes huge, and then her face crumples. Without saying a word, she rests her elbows on the table, places her face in her hands, and sobs loudly.

The little headache that’s been pulsing in my left temple for the last week and a half drums more insistently. But then I see how hard she’s shuddering, and I get up and crouch beside her. ‘Hey …’ I say, rubbing her thigh gently. ‘It’s just a wedding. People do it every day. I shouldn’t make such a big deal. I’m sorry if I got salty with you.’

‘It … isn’t … that,’ Anjali manages between sniffles.

‘Then what is it?’

‘It’s Vincenzo. He’s … he’s … got a new girlfriend!’ And the crying shifts up a gear. Enough to make some people at the surrounding tables turn around and look quizzically in our direction.

I should have known it must have had something to do with Anjali’s scummy ex. I make soothing noises as she vents her heartbreak. And I order two huge bacon sandwiches for consolation. There’s not much that a good bacon sarnie can’t make you feel better about, I reckon. Once Anjali is on the way to being properly watered and fed, I try to help her regain her sense of perspective. ‘We had that bonfire,’ I remind her. ‘Deliberately added everything you had of his or everything he’d given you to the flames. There was a reason for that. And you broke up months ago.’

She nods sadly and takes another huge bite out of her sandwich. A little blob of ketchup drips down her chin, and I hand her a napkin so she can dab it away.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then I remember something that might cheer her up. ‘Actually, and don’t hate me for this, Anji, I may have done a little matchmaking on your behalf with one of Simon’s ushers.’

I’m pleased to see a promising glint in her eye as she washes down a bite of sandwich with a glug of hot tea. ‘The best man?’ she replies hopefully.

I wilt inside. Does the woman never learn anything? That would be out of the frying pan and into the fire. And there is no way I’m going on double dates with her and that man. Not until hell freezes over.

‘No, not Gil,’ I say firmly. ‘I was thinking of Lars. He’s one of Simon’s work friends. Norwegian. Tall. Very hot.’ And a total sweetie too. He writes poetry and cooks like a dream. All I need to do now is cure Anjali of her bad-boy addiction so she can see how perfect he is for her.

A flicker of a smile curves her lips. ‘Sounds promising. But why not Gil? What have you got against him?’

Ugh. Where do I start? ‘He’s moody.’

The glint in Anjali’s eye intensifies. ‘Brooding,’ she counters, ‘aka “hot”.’

The next word is on the tip of my tongue before my brain registers it. ‘He’s rude.’

‘How do you mean?’

I shrug. ‘He just stands around glaring at people, hardly saying a thing.’ At least, that’s how Gil behaves every time I see him. He’s consistent. I’ll give him that.

‘Strong and silent type,’ Anjali says, ‘aka—’

‘Don’t!’

‘Just sayin’ …’ she says with a wink.

‘You have rocks in your head,’ I tell her, resurrecting a phrase I’d heard recently in a black-and-white movie. Anjali and I love a girls’ film night in with wine and pizza. Anything from the 1940s to the 1960s will do, but Doris Day and the Hepburns are my favourite. Those women were just so neat and stylish. They had it all together.

‘He’s a dreamboat,’ Anjali counters, catching on.

‘Nuh-uh. He gives me the heebie-jeebies.’

‘I wouldn’t mind playing a little backseat bingo with him.’

‘He’s a fink!’

‘What, Erin? Are you seriously telling me he doesn’t razz your berries?’

I almost spit my tea out when she says that, and then we both get a fit of the giggles, drawing some curious looks from surrounding tables.

This is why I can never be mad at Anjali for too long. She’s just so much darn fun.

When we calm down again, I let out a long sigh. It’s not that I can’t see some of what my maid of honour is saying about Gil, but it’s not the entire picture. I know things about him she doesn’t. Things that would make even Anjali ‘I love ’em when they treat me mean’ Perrine run the other way. But I can’t tell her that. All I can do is gently steer her in another direction and hope she takes the bait.

‘Listen … Gil never seems to have long-term relationships and he’s never in one place for long, and ever since you broke up with Vincenzo, you’ve been saying you want someone who’ll stick around. Someone who’ll adore you and be in your corner, no matter what.’ I look her in the eyes, so she knows I’m saying this straight from my heart. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt again.’

Anjali’s smile is sappy. ‘I know you don’t … Besides, I was only yanking your chain to help you forget how late I am. Go on, then … Tell me about this Lars.’