Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

S tan

I climb into the taxi and settle back on the seat with a sigh of relief. "I love London cabs."

"I'll buy you one," Richard says. His posh voice has an undercurrent of amusement, as always. "Say the word, and we'll drive away into the sunset together."

I smile. "I don't wish to incur Leo's wrath; he might do something to my hair."

"Would he fish out the partridge, the pear tree, and the five gold rings? You could carry our honeymoon luggage in that mess of curls."

"Don't be rude," I say comfortably. I've loved Richard since the day Leo brought him to meet me. He's a good man, but I'd like him anyway because of how Leo's voice changes whenever he talks to him. My previously prickly friend softens whenever he's around Richard. "Having a sugar daddy buy me a taxi would probably be a waste anyway. I'd just use the bus."

"I cannot understand your and Rafferty's obsession with taking buses everywhere. It takes ages to get where you're going and at certain times of the day, they smell like week-old fish."

"They're quick and cheap."

"Like Rafferty," he says. I snort, and after giving me a nudge, he asks, "Why do you love taxis?"

"They have a yellow line inside their doors that's usually bright enough for me to see. And so they're easy to get in and out of. I've fallen into more Ubers than Rafferty has into strange men's beds. Plus, taxis have very light interiors because they have glass roofs, and they're big enough for Hump to sit comfortably."

"Where is he?"

I palm my stick. "At home. It's going to be busy tonight. He'll just get trodden on."

"He's coming to the wedding, though, because Leo's bought him his own corsage."

I smile. "Of course."

"Good, because he's much better behaved than Raff. If Hump could only organise weddings, we could dispense with the strawberry-blond fool altogether." His voice is full of affection.

"Is he at the party already?"

Raff had dashed out of the flat this evening in a fearful rush, pausing just long enough to say that Richard had called to say he'd pick me up on his way to the party.

"Yes. He wanted to check over the details. He's with Leo." The taxi slows to a stop, and Richard says, "We're here."

I turn in his direction. "Ready for your party? This is the last step before marriage."

"Stan, I think I was a goner when I cut up his credit cards, and he looked at me with those bright grey eyes of his and said, ‘I like a man who knows how to use his tools'."

I snort, and we exit the taxi. I extend my stick and walk steadily next to Richard. He's very good to walk with, as he makes no attempt to grab my arm and steer me like about fifty per cent of people I meet. Instead, he keeps up a low-paced helpful commentary of "doorway to the left, three steps upwards, don't walk into that plant pot," and so on.

The room where they're holding the party is warm and smells of the heady perfume of flowers. Flamingods "Dirty Money" is playing, so I know Raff is somewhere around because they're his latest obsession. "Are there double doors to the right?" I ask Richard. "It's very light over there."

"Yes, they're bi-folding doors which will be open. There's decking, tables, and chairs if you need some fresh air."

Footsteps sound, and a shadow moves across the light. "It's Leo. You've been ages. I thought you might have run off together," Leo says, his voice full of laughter.

"Well, he did offer to buy me my own taxi." I grin, accepting his hug. It's tight and warm and very familiar. I've known Leo since school, when we were seated next to each other in cookery class, and he blew up our oven. "It was like Pretty Woman ."

"Bloody awful film, but while I remember Richard Gere being particularly creepy, I don't recall any mention of taxis."

"Raff loves the film. He has to watch it every time it's on."

"If Richard Gere had met Rafferty instead of Julia Roberts, he'd have used that Lotus to run him over."

Rafferty's voice comes from behind me. "Did I hear someone taking my name in vain?"

"When don't you?" Leo says wryly.

I smile involuntarily at the sound of Raff's voice. Someone squeezes my arm, and when I smell his cologne, I know it's Raff. I pat his hand, glad he sounds so normal. It's been a bit weird since our episode in my childhood bedroom. A bit too formal and stilted. He sounds much easier now, probably because he's in his element.

"Do you want me to show you to your table?" he asks. "Or do you want to get a drink?"

"Table, I think," I say, hearing voices behind us. "Are people starting to come in?"

"Yeah."

"Definitely table."

He leads me across the room, his arm warm and strong beneath my hand. The impulse to caress him is so strong that I have to clench my fingers into a fist.

After helping me get settled, he offers to fetch me a drink. "Usual?"

I nod and hear Richard say, "My Aunt Betty just came in. I'll get Leo a mojito. He's going to need it."

"I love how he knows you, Leo," I murmur.

Raff says earnestly, "That's love and marriage, though, isn't it? Knowing your other half with all the good and the bad. It's lovely. Okay, I'll get you an apple and rhubarb cooler, Stan."

I nod and hear Raff and Richard walk away, talking.

Leo says, "He has more rosy ideals about marriage than David Foster."

"Are you surprised?"

Leo huffs. "Less endearing is his steadfast belief that it's not for him."

"He'll never get married."

"I've never understood how he can arrange all these weddings believing that they'll end happily, when you and I both know it's a crapshoot with the best relationships."

"He's quirky."

"That's certainly one way to put it."

I sigh. "He says he's too much like Rollo and Saoirse."

"He's nothing like them. He's certainly never done a line on the side of the sink like his mother did last week at the salon."

I snort. "They'll never change."

"It doesn't help that they're so fucking charming."

"Like their son."

"Hmm, his persistence in not taking what he wants is not quite so charming."

"Leo," I say warningly, and he tuts.

"I don't know why I'm bothering talking to you. You're just set on cheerful obliviousness." I frown, and he changes the subject. "Is Bennett coming?"

"I think so. He's at work so he might be late."

"Well, work's loss is our gain."

"Oh my god. Leo ."

"Last week, he told me that he hoped I would up my game when I married Richard, as his family had expectations of me."

I groan. "I'm so sorry." I hesitate. "Do I want to know your reply?"

"I told wee Charlie Dickens to fuck off and shove his great expectations up his arse."

"Oh god."

"Oh, Stan, chillax."

"Who says that apart from creepy millennials?"

"I'll be polite."

"In a spirit of complete honesty, you probably won't be."

"Okay, I probably won't, but I'll maintain a nice tone of voice when I insult him. Just tell me when you're dumping him and taking over the care of Rafferty?"

I inhale and end up choking on my own spit. He pats my back briskly. "What? You know you're the only one who's up to the job. He'd drive anyone else into an asylum within ten minutes."

"Tell that to three-quarters of London's men."

"It's probably more than that, given the way that boy has spread himself around over the last few months." I can't help but wince and feel him squeeze my hand. "You know it means nothing."

"Do I?"

"Yes, and you know why, but you bury your head in the sand like a camel."

"Do they bury their head in sand? Or do you mean ostriches?"

"The bird? Why would they be sticking their heads in the beach?"

I give up. "I'm not sure why you think?—"

"Ssh," he hisses. "They're coming back." Then he says brightly, " Lovely . Thank you so much for everything you've done for us, Rafferty."

There's a pause that can only be described as startled, and I smile. Eventually, Raff says somewhat warily, "Have you been drinking, Leo?"

"Can't I offer a compliment unless I'm drunk?"

"No," we all chorus.

He huffs. "I'm not one for idle flim-flam."

"Or compliments at all," Rafferty offers.

"But you know I love you both. And so does Richard."

"I do," he says obediently.

"You're just scared to disagree with Leo," Raff objects.

"Probably. Isn't everyone?"

"Fair point," Raff offers.

Someone says Richard's name, and the next few moments are spent listening to Leo and Richard greet family.

Someone kisses my hair, and I know from the cologne that it's Leo. "We're off to greet people. You, okay?"

"Course."

He moves away, and Rafferty says, "I'm just going to check the bar. Kem will be joining you here at the table, along with Richard's cousin Sarah and her wife, and Fleur Atkinson with her partner."

I wrinkle my brow. "That name rings a bell. Didn't she sleep with the groom at his wedding reception last year? She was famous for it."

"I know. It was like meeting Katie Price for the rest of the season. She's turned over a new leaf, apparently."

"She needs to turn over an entire tree if she wants people to forget that one. After the bride threw the cake, it took you six goes to get the cake out of our suits."

He snorts. "Funny boy," he murmurs, and I feel fingers running through my curls. "I like your hair this long," he says and then taps my shoulder. "I'll bring you another drink back. Be good."

"When am I not?"

He snorts. "The party will be over by the time I finish enumerating the occasions. See you in a minute."

I settle back in my chair, wishing Hump was here. It's awkward being on your own at these things, especially when you can't see anyone, and I can always talk to Hump to ease my awkwardness. He's a better listener than most people.

"Hello?"

I turn my head in the direction of the light voice. "Hello?" I say a little hesitantly.

"I think we're at the same table as you," a woman says.

"Lovely," I say faintly.

The chair beside mine pulls out, and there's a clatter and a curse.

I realise what's happened. "Sorry, that's my stick."

There are a few seconds of silence and then she says, "I'm Fleur."

Ah. The groom stealer and cake thrower.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Stan."

"You know, your face is very familiar. Have we met before?"

"I think I was at the same wedding as you last year."

There's a silence, and then she says cautiously, "Which wedding?"

"Oh, erm—" I can't fucking remember the couple's names. I attend so many weddings as Raff's guest. It's halved our weekly grocery bills. All I can recall is the flying cake. "The cake was very nice," I finally say and blanch. I rush on. "But then when isn't it? Although once there was this fruitcake with brandied raisins and icing and—" I realise I'm babbling. "Lovely to finally meet you," I finish quickly.

"Oh dear. Stan's mouth is moving. Not a good sign." Raff's voice comes from behind me, and I grimace in his direction. Save me , I say mentally, and I can almost feel his amusement.

"Rafferty." Fleur's voice is eager. It's either because Raff is exceptionally charming, or she's relieved to be free of my conversation. "How are you?"

"Same as usual."

"Ah, charming and pretty, then."

"And noisy," I add firmly. "Very, very noisy."

She ignores me. "I haven't seen you since Oxford and the Pattersons' wedding. That was a lovely wedding."

Raff and Fleur make small talk and after a moment, warm breath stirs my hair, and Raff whispers. "She didn't steal that groom." He presses a glass into my hand. "I've got to circulate. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Don't be long. You know how eternal the seconds are without you," I say grimly, and he chuckles.

I pass my hand cautiously over the top of my glass to check for straws or drink decorations. It's never a pleasant moment when they go up your nose or poke you in the eye. There's nothing there so I take a sip, savouring the tart taste. Fleur is now conversing with other people so others have obviously been seated at the table. They talk on, ignoring my presence, so I clutch my stick and attempt to look engaged. It's hard because they seem to be discussing a problem with a car park.

"And when I got in the lift, there was a couple shagging," Fleur the groom stealer says in a scandalised tone. "My partner Patrick objected, but the man told him to take another lift. I wouldn't have minded, but that was the only one."

I put my drink down and adjust my focus to the space around me. The room feels very full now. The temperature has risen, as has the volume of the music, and people's conversations are beginning to seem loud and far too close. Someone bumps into my chair, and I lurch forward, banging my elbow on the table. They offer a laughed apology, but my heart is hammering. I run a finger along my shirt collar, feeling hot and sweaty. My pulse continues to race, and I groan silently. Not now . I try to take slow breaths like my therapist taught me—breathing in for four and out for four—but it's not helping. The whole room feels like it will fall into me, and my breathing is starting to jag.

That quickly, I'm on the edge of a panic attack. I have them sometimes at events like this, but I haven't had one in ages. I've discussed them with my therapist many times— too many stimuli coming at me in one go cause a sensory overload, which triggers my fight-or-flight impulse. I know it's because I'm tired tonight, and my brain, as usual, is having to work hard to process all that's happening in the room. But acknowledging this does not help my feelings of anger and embarrassment.

I suck in a breath. It feels jagged and too short, like I can't get enough air. I fucking hate feeling like this. I hate being different, and I particularly despise that I will have to ask someone to help me find a quiet spot to try to recuperate. It's at times like this that I feel at my most isolated.

I close my eyes, focusing on my breath while spinning the leather bracelets on my arm. Raff and I bought a set from a market when we were eighteen—I wear two and he wears two. When I first started having these attacks, I found that spinning them helped a little, but tonight, nothing seems to help as the music gets even louder. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and I take in a deep gasp of air.

"Stan, can you come and help me with something please?" Raff's voice is like a lifeline in the darkness.

I draw in a shuddering breath at the feel of his hand on my shoulder. He's always careful to touch my shirt at times like this, as my skin can feel painful.

I nod, unable to form words, and climb to my feet, swaying a little before grabbing my cane. He wedges his hand under my arm, and I follow his guidance.

"Where?" I get out.

"Manager's office. It's got doors onto a private patio. You can be quiet there."

"His office?"

He gets me. He always has. There's no need for explanations with Raff. "I shot him fifty quid in case this happened."

He stops me, and I hear a door open. He guides me forward, saying, "There's a chair in about three steps on your left." My cane catches the edge of the chair and I fall into it gratefully. The door shuts, muting the music. There's a click, and I feel cool air on my face.

"Okay. The doors to the patio are open, and I've turned on the fan, too. Breathe, baby."

As a breeze tugs at my hair, I lift my face into it, visualising the noise and the heat being carried away. I spin the ring on my thumb while I take a proper breath for what feels like the first time in the last twenty minutes. It's a chunky platinum ring that Raff bought me with his first paycheck. There's a chain on it that I can spin around, which helps my brain turn off.

Raff settles next to me. He puts his hand next to mine on the chair's arm, so I know he's near. He says nothing, because he knows I can't string any words together. I hear the familiar sounds of him retrieving his phone, the rustling of fabric and soft breathing. He's probably doing what he usually does at times like these—reading a book on his phone.

Gradually, the panic eases, and my breaths come more naturally. Raff stays silent, but his comforting presence eases the crawling sensation on my skin. He's the only person who I would ever let see me like this when I'm weak.

Finally, I stir. "How did you know?" I mutter, my voice hoarse as if I've been screaming instead of locked in silence.

"I know you very well, Stanley. Enough to recognise when you're not feeling good. Better now?" His voice holds its usual warmth.

I nod, and there's a rustle and a rattle. A familiar metal tin is pressed into my hand. "Here you go."

I take a couple of mints—he always carries them—and suck on them. My stomach is often upset during one of these episodes, and the peppermint soothes it.

"Water's at ten o'clock on your right," he tells me.

I nod, and we fall silent again as I drink the water and eat a few more mints.

"Fuck," I finally say, exhaling a long, deep breath.

There's a rustle as he shifts in his chair. He can tell it's alright to talk now.

"That was a bad one, babe."

"I know." I pause. "I fucking hate it," I burst out. Sometimes the rage inside me feels like it could split my skin with fury.

His hand comes down on mine, and my fingers twine with his.

"I know," he says simply. He doesn't offer me platitudes or say he's sorry, and in his quiet acceptance and simple companionship, I don't think I have ever loved him more. I take a shaky breath.

The thunderous knock on the door makes me jump. " Shit ," I gasp, feeling for the table and putting the bottle of water back on it. I wipe my hand where the water has spilt on it.

I hear Raff jump up, and the door opens, letting in the sound of the music. "Do you have to hammer on the door like that?" Raff demands.

"Where's Stan?" Bennett's voice demands, and I sigh. I could do without this at the moment.

There's the sound of movement, and the door shuts.

"What are you both doing in here alone?" Bennett asks, the indignation in his voice a bit rich, considering he was shagging his assistant in Hamburg last week.

"The hokey cokey," Raff responds, flippancy dialled up an extra notch. "But Stan's shit at the steps."

I snort, which is entirely the wrong thing to do, as I can practically feel Bennett swell with rage.

"Thank you so much, Rafferty. If I were looking for a sensible answer, I'd never have glanced your way."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

I sigh. "I had a panic attack," I say softly. "Raff was looking after me."

" Another one?"

I blink at the astonishment in his voice. "They're not rationed, you know. I can have more than one a year."

"Yes, I know," he snaps. "It's just I thought you'd got a handle on them now."

"You thought he'd got a handle on it? He's not a fighter pilot." Raff's voice is full of disdain.

"Oh, fuck off, Rafferty."

"Can you both please stop this shit?" I say wearily. I struggle to stand.

"Stan?" Raff places his hand on my arm.

"I'm alright," I say softly.

"Yes, he's fine," Bennett snaps. "So maybe don't manhandle him like that."

I reach out for Raff's hand, and he immediately obliges. "Can you give us a minute, Raff?"

There's a startled silence, and then he says, "Yes, of course, if you feel up to it."

"It's a conversation with me, not an appointment with the guillotine," Bennett snaps.

"If I had the choice between you and the guillotine," Raff says in a sweet voice, "I would have danced up those steps and asked them to get on with it."

"Thank you, Raff," I say quickly. I hear the sound of the door closing, and an awkward silence fills the room.

"So, you came?" I finally say as I listen to Bennett pace the room. "Bennett?"

"I hate the closeness between the two of you. It cuts you off from everyone else in your life."

" What ?"

"How can you form a proper relationship when he's always around?"

"What are you talking about?"

There's a pause, and I hear him come close. He puts his arms around me, and I stiffen. "The two of you are completely co-dependent, and it isn't good for you." It stuns me that he can twist a true and deep devotion so badly. "Maybe you should move out of the flat. Raff's never going to offer you anything you need. He can't even form an adult relationship. Good luck to anyone seeking commitment from that one. You'd have a better chance with a goldfish."

I shrug his arms off me, my temper sparking. "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. No."

"Listen—"

I bat his hands off my arms. "No, you listen. He's my best friend, and he will always be in my life. It is completely and utterly non-negotiable, and if you can't get on with him, then you should be the one to bugger off." I hesitate. "Bennett, I don't think this is working?—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"But I have to. Listen, I?—"

There's a knock on the door, and Bennett curses. " What ?" he shouts.

I hear the door open. "It's Leo, Stan." Leo's voice is sharply sweet. "I do apologise for my wedding party interrupting your life, Bennett, but Richard is about to make a speech, and we need Stan if he's okay." His voice softens. "How are you, lovely?"

"Fine," I say grimly. "We're coming now."

"You sure?"

"Positive, babe."

The door closes, and I turn in Bennett's direction. "Listen?—"

"No, come on. We're needed outside."

I grab my cane and let him tug me to the door and out into the main room. Someone thrusts a glass into my hand, and when I raise it, I smell the sharp, fizzing scent of champagne. This is what happens when you make impulsive gestures like dating a stranger, I think gloomily. It leads to conversations like the one Bennett and I are going to have as soon as possible.

I don't hear much of what Richard is saying. I know he's funny, because people laugh loudly all around me, but it feels like I'm marooned on an island. I laugh a few times when everyone else does and even raise my glass promptly when Richard says something nice about me. But all the time, I'm fighting the urge to shrug Bennett's arm off my shoulders. He has a way of leaning on me like I was born to be a line prop for him.

Cheers and clapping ring out, and I realise that Richard has finished his speech. "Right, I won't go on any longer," he says. "Let's get back to having a good night and?—"

"Excuse me," someone says, and I blink when I realise it's Bennett. "Could I possibly have everyone's attention?"

I turn in his direction warily. What the fuck is going on?

I can hear the sounds of people turning towards us, and then there's a loud gasp.

I frown. Has Bennett collapsed?

I put out a hand warily and almost recoil when I touch his hair. I pat again and realise he's kneeling. What the fuck is going on…

Oh!

I open my mouth to stop this wreck from happening, but it's too late. The train is headed for a collision.

"I wanted to take this special occasion to ask my boyfriend a question," Bennett says.

What special occasion? I want to ask. Is it someone else's fucking wedding party?

"Stan," Bennett continues. "I've been seeing you for a few months, and I've never been happier."

I have , I think morosely.

"So, I wanted to ask if you will marry me?"

Oh. My. God. You could hear a pin drop in the room, and I want to shout: Help me! Why is this happening?

"Stan?" Bennett asks, a hint of cool warning in his voice. "Darling?" he quickly amends. "Will you marry me?"

"Ungh." I unstick my tongue from my mouth. "Erm."

"Stan?" his voice sounds angry now.

"Yay," I say faintly. I don't know what everyone else hears, because a cheer fills the room, and Bennett grabs me.

He kisses me hard, mashing my teeth against my lips, and I taste blood. I pull away.

"Take note that I'm the one who's offering you commitment," he whispers into my ear.

"I need to talk to you," I say grimly. This break-up just got exponentially worse.

Taking the glass someone hands me, I throw it back and then gasp. "Oh, whisky," I say, coughing. "Lovely. I thought it was champagne. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure the burning will go away."

We're subsumed under a wave of congratulations, and I hear them all while searching for the voice of the person I need the most.

Finally, he's here, and his arms enfold me in a tight hug. "Congratulations," he whispers in my ear.

"Raff, no. I need to tell you something," I say, but he's gone, replaced by another person who wants to hug me.

It seems to take forever before Bennett and I walk back into the office. God help the manager. Maybe he'll be able to get back to work sometime in the next millennium.

The door closes, and I spin towards him. "I don't know what to say."

"You said it. You said yes."

"I didn't," I correct him. "I said yay."

"Same thing."

"Erm, no, it's not. It has one similar letter, but that's it." His clothing rustles as he moves around the room, and I get dizzy as I pivot to where I hear him. "I can't believe you just did that at Leo and Richard's party."

"Oh, they'll be fine with it. Everyone loves love."

His voice has that cavalier tone in it that I hate. I've heard it used a lot with waiting staff and hotel workers over the months we've been together, while Bennett insisted on doing what he wanted regardless of any rules.

"I don't think Leo would agree." I take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, but I can't marry you."

" What ? Why?"

The blatant astonishment is so strong that I hesitate for a second. "Because I don't love you, and you don't love me." I cock my head to one side. "I think you want to take care of someone, but that can't be me, Bennett. I don't like being babied. I don't think I fit into your worldview. You need someone very malleable, and even on a good day, I'm not that."

There's a long pause, and when he speaks, his voice is low. "I do care."

I soften a little towards him. I hate this. "Not enough."

I hear a rustle as he shifts position. "No, probably not," he mutters. His voice is silky and completely cold when he speaks next, the change in emotion making me feel dizzy. "What would be the point when you love someone else, Stan?"

I flush hot. " What ?"

I hear him start to pace again. "Let's not play games. You're in love with Rafferty. You always have been."

"I am not." It's too weak and he laughs angrily.

"Yes, you are. I'd feel sorry for you if it weren't so fucking ridiculous. You're passing up the chance to marry me because of that manchild."

My mouth drops open as realisation dawns. "Is that why you asked me? To get one over on Rafferty ?"

"Don't be so ridiculous."

He sounds both patronising and incredulous. It's not a good mix. And I know I'm right. He's used Raff's fear of commitment to try to separate us as friends.

"I'm not being ridiculous. You are." The simple statement seems to stall him for a second, and I continue in a softer voice. "Marriage is about loving someone enough to spend your life with them, and I'm sorry, but I don't feel that way about you." I hesitate. "And you don't feel that way about me."

"So, you really won't marry me?" He sounds incredulous.

"No, I'm sorry."

"It's because of him , isn't it?" His voice is poisonous. "This is all Rafferty's fucking fault."

"Leave him out of this." I pause to take a steadying breath and then say in a rush, "I can't marry you and I don't think we should even be together."

"You're dumping me when we just got engaged ?"

"We didn't get engaged," I say with gritted teeth.

There's a long pause. "You're really finishing it? With me ?"

"Yes, I'm sorry." I hesitate. "I'll tell everyone. Don't worry about doing that."

"No!"

I cock my head at the abrupt note in his voice. "No?"

"I mean, could we possibly delay telling everyone?"

"Until when?" I ask cautiously.

There are a few uncomfortable beats of silence before he speaks. "Until after Richard's wedding is over. I work with a lot of those people out there, and I can't face them if they know we're not engaged."

I hesitate. I feel so guilty that this has happened. If I hadn't been trying to get over Raff I'd never have gone out with Bennett. This is my fault. "So, you want to what? Pretend we're engaged?"

"Yes," he says eagerly. "Would that be okay? Just until after the wedding, and then you can tell people."

There's a note in his voice that I can't work out, and unbidden, my sister's warning about him floats across my brain. She'd said that he doesn't like to lose and had been very spiteful to his ex when they split up. I push that thought away. If this pretence means we can get through Leo and Richard's special day without drawing attention to ourselves and then split nicely, it might be a good move.

I sigh. "Fine. Let's not add any more excitement to my friends' wedding. We've already attained Dynasty levels of drama as it is."