Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

R afferty

Rain falls outside the window of Confetti Hitched. I watch drops slide down the pane while beyond the glass, shoppers unfurl bright umbrellas or make dashes for the protection of shop doorways. I track the progress of one raindrop, aware of the hum of conversation behind me, the photocopier's whirr, and the phone's constant ringing. The chaos is warmly familiar to me, and I usually savour it. My workplace is like my home, but I'm not in the mood today.

I hardly slept last night, my mind racing, and now my eyes feel scratchy and tired. I can't stop seeing the image of Bennett and Stan in the middle of the crowd of people congratulating them. I think of the moment that Stan first told me about meeting Bennett. It was when we'd been sleeping together for a couple of months, and the memory is still painful enough to make me wince. It was when everything went wrong…

"Raff, are you busy?"

I look up from the kitchen table where I'm trying to organise my diary. Pieces of paper are spread everywhere, and there are more sticky notes on the wooden surface than anything WH Smiths could rustle up.

"Not for you," I say, smiling at him as he traces his hand over the chair back before he settles into the chair opposite me. "Never for you."

"What are you doing?"

"Ah." I turn a piece of paper over that's filled with dates in my scrawling handwriting. "I think I'm double booked for a couple of weddings, so unless we can perfect cloning me in the next twenty-four hours, then I'm in deep shit with Jed tomorrow."

"When aren't you?"

"Fair point."

"As is the fact that no one is ready for a clone of you. The world's noise level would be deafening."

His head is down, one finger stroking the edge of the sticky notes pad, and I have a sudden flash of him when we came home from the club last night. We'd come perilously close to shagging in the stairwell, and we'd barely got through the door before clothes came off, and he fucked me on the floor. It had been well worth the telling off about noise from Mrs Flynn in the upstairs flat.

I smile at him. "You weren't saying that last night. Mrs Flynn says she's reporting us to animal control."

"What? Why? Hump wasn't being noisy while we were out, was he?"

"No, but apparently, our cats were yowling and kept her awake."

"What cats? Oh !" A flush spreads across his cheeks, but I frown when he doesn't joke or say anything else.

"What's up?"

He scratches the back of his neck. Then he takes a deep breath, and his head comes up. I automatically brace, but his next words still leave me reeling.

"Do you remember that bloke at the guide dog charity event last weekend? He made the biggest bid of the night."

I bite my lip. "The one who chatted to you for ages?"

Stan would usually have been standing with me, but lately, a funny distance has sprung up between us. Our bodies might be closer than they ever have been, but it feels like he's moving further away, and whatever I do, I can't grab him.

"That's the one. Bennett."

He pauses, and my eyes narrow. "What about him?"

"Erm." He hesitates, and then his next words come out in a rush. "He rang and asked me out."

I stare at him, unable to break the awkward silence filling the room, mainly because I'm lost for words.

"Raff?" he finally asks.

"You gave him your number?" I whisper.

"Yeah." He licks his lips. "I didn't think you'd mind."

There's something in his tone that I can't quite parse. It's almost like he's asking me a question silently, but I can't think of the right answer because I suddenly feel sick.

"What do you think, Raff?"

I think it's the worst idea ever. I think my stomach is churning, and it feels like the end of my world is approaching. I think you should tell him to throw away your number and come to bed with me and stay there forever.

The thoughts pass quickly through my brain, visceral in their clarity and need, but I don't say any of them. How can I? The truth is that this was always going to happen. It was inevitable that Stan would back out of this casual arrangement we have as soon as someone better appeared on the horizon. Someone who isn't chained into a single life by their childhood. I have nothing to offer him beyond friendship. And his happiness has been my main concern since the day I met him.

"Raff?"

"Is he nice?" My voice is hoarse, and he cocks his head, his expression concentrated.

"Erm, probably," he says almost hesitantly. "He seemed very interested anyway."

"Of course he did," I say bitterly and then shake myself. Stop being selfish, I berate myself. "I think—" I stop and clear my throat. "I think you should go for it then, Stan."

His head comes up, and an expression passes quickly over his face that I can't understand. He almost looks devastated. Then it passes, and he says in a wooden tone of voice, "You would be okay with that?"

No .

"Yes, of course, babe." I'm proud of the evenness of my voice. "We always said we'd do this until—" I stop suddenly, unable to complete the words. My eyes feel hot, like I might cry.

"Until someone special comes along." Stan finishes our promise, his voice completely flat. He taps the table and then stands up so suddenly that I jump. "I'll go and give him a ring then, yeah?"

"Yeah," I whisper and watch him go. If his image is blurred, then that's no one else's business.

"Rafferty Albert Kendrick."

I jump and spin around in my chair.

"Ah, he is with us," Ingrid says. She and Joe are perched on the side of his desk, sharing a bag of white chocolate toffees.

"Sorry?"

"We've been talking to you for the last five minutes," Joe adds. "Where were you?"

I look back at the window. "I was just thinking," I finally say, aware that the silence has gone on too long.

"Ah, I wondered where the sense of impending doom had come from."

I glare at him. "I'll have you know I do a lot of thinking."

"Usually guided by your penis," Ingrid offers helpfully. She looks in the empty chocolate bag and makes a sound of disapproval before hunting around on Joe's desk.

I roll my eyes. "You won't find any in there. Mr Perfect actually gives them out."

"That's actually what you're supposed to do with sample packs," Joe protests.

I open my desk drawer and chuck her a packet of lavender and rose chocolates. "Try those. They're lush."

"What were you thinking about?" Joe asks as Ingrid tears open the bag and descends on the contents in a manner last seen in a wildlife documentary narrated by David Attenborough. "Rafferty?"

I look up at him. "Thoughts?" he prompts.

"Oh, I was just wondering if Leo and Richard were happy with last night. I need to give them a ring."

"They were ecstatic about the party," Ingrid says with her mouth full. Joe and I utter sounds of disgust, and she swallows before adding, "I think they were less happy with Bennett's marital grandstanding."

"That twat," Joe says, ever my loyal friend. "What a cunty thing to do."

" Lovely office language," Jed calls through his open office door. "I do hope Mrs Bellington-Smythe is visiting. You know how she embraces counterculture."

"Like it's a coat hanger connected to the mains," I say gloomily. "She pulled my hair last week to emphasise that it needed cutting."

Joe raises an eyebrow. "She wasn't wrong."

"Yes, but usually hairdressers have scissors. They don't rip out the offending article by the roots with their horrible pointy fingers."

The doorbell chimes, and Ingrid goes to get up.

"I'll get it," Jed says. "I need to grab my printing."

He walks out of the office, and we all take a moment to admire his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and an arse that's displayed to its best advantage in pinstripe tailoring.

"Yummier than one of these chocolates," Ingrid says, and we nod.

"And probably cheaper per bag," I offer. "It's like the chocolatiers imagined that they'd coated them in gold."

She turns to me. "So?"

I blink. "So what?"

"So, did you congratulate the happy couple?"

I swallow, feeling my stomach turn over. "Yes."

I still can't believe this is happening. Bennett proposed, and Stan— my Stan—accepted. I'd watched it happen thinking that Stan would just smile and refuse him kindly. When he said yes, I'd felt like the ground had opened up beneath my feet. My vague fears about him leaving were confirmed, and I'm still reeling. I won't see him every day. I won't hear his laugh or carry his records for him, which, to be honest, Bennett would have a problem carting about without getting a hernia.

I won't get to be the one Stan turns to.

I won't get to love him.

I realise they're both watching me, their eyes full of sympathy.

"Twat," Joe offers.

I blink. "Bit harsh. I thought you were my friend."

He rolls his eyes. "I meant Bennett. I can't believe Stan said yes to him."

"Me neither," I say hollowly.

"Actually, I don't think he did."

We all turn to Artie, who's just gotten off the phone.

"What?" I ask.

He offers me his sweet smile. "Stan didn't actually say yes."

"He did. We all heard him," Ingrid says.

Artie shakes his head. "He said yay."

Silence falls for a few seconds. "And your point is?" Joe says slowly. "Doesn't yay mean yes or at least a hearty appreciation for a point of view, or have I been using it wrong?"

Artie shrugs. "We say yay to lots of things like hot chocolate on a cold day or the decision to go to the fair."

"You're so wholesome, you should be in a BBC sitcom," Ingrid offers.

He gives her a crooked grin. "It's just different than yes. Yay is an exclamation. Not a lifetime commitment."

I stare at him, feeling hope kindle in my chest. Then I slump. "Stan still went off with him."

"Did he come back to the flat after the party?" Joe asks.

I shake my head. "He stopped off for Hump, and then I didn't see him for the rest of the night." I'd lain awake for hours listening out for his key in the door, but nothing. I'd finally fallen asleep to utter silence, and he wasn't there this morning.

"I don't think you've got anything to worry about, Raff," Artie says kindly.

"You don't?" I stare at him like he's the owner of the last lifejacket on the Titanic.

He smiles. "No."

We all jump as Jed clears his throat behind us. "Rafferty, you have someone here to see you."

I turn around and my jaw drops when I see Bennett coming through the door behind Jed. He's dressed in a navy pinstriped suit and looks tanned and handsome. And smug. So smug.

The silence has gone on a bit too long, so I clear my throat. "Bennett," I say.

"Rafferty," he says, shooting me a smile that's a little too wide. "I apologise for popping in unannounced, but I needed to see you."

"Why?"

He winks, which makes him look more of a douchebag than usual, if that's possible. "Well, you're a wedding planner, and I'm getting married."

I swallow bile. "Are you asking me to organise your wedding?"

He smiles. "Of course. Who else?"

"Mr Tumble," Ingrid offers.

He chuckles and then turns to me. "Well? Would you do us the honour of organising it? I know Stan would want his best friend at the helm."

"Does Stan know you're here?" Joe asks in a conversational tone. The fierce look in his eyes slightly mars the politeness.

"I'm sure he'll be very happy," Bennett says smoothly.

"Did he say yay or yes to it?" Artie asks. When we all turn to him, he offers Bennett a saccharine smile. "It makes a difference, you see. Words have power."

Bennett looks slightly stunned. It must be like being bitten by a fluffy hamster.

Jed clears his throat and offers Artie a pointed glance. "Thank you so much, Mr Wordle." He looks at me. "Would you like me to do it?"

I must look very pathetic if he's making that offer. I sit up straight and run a hand through my hair. There's no way I'll show myself as being pathetic to Bennett. I have my pride, if not my best friend.

"Of course not," I say hoarsely. "I'd be thrilled."

Jed looks at me searchingly but then nods almost reluctantly. "Why don't you take Mr Sinclair into the meeting room? You can make a start."

"Thank you so much," Bennett says charmingly. "Please call me Bennett."

"How lovely," my boss says in a vague voice. He turns to me. "Start a file for Mr Sinclair."

I love my friends' loyalty, but I don't want to do this in front of them, so I stand up and shoot my cuffs. "Let's go," I say smoothly, enjoying Bennett's blink of shock. "Would you like a coffee?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll get it," Ingrid says.

I gesture Bennett towards the meeting room and stop in front of Ingrid to hiss at her, "Do not use the old coffee grains."

"I'm very clumsy. I can't help it if sometimes my hand slips."

"Just don't let it slip towards the rat poison."

"We do not have any of that ," Jed says, horrified, coming up behind us with that catlike quiet he's famous for. "Because this wedding planning business does not have any rats."

"Only the one in the meeting room at the moment," Joe calls.

I grimace at him and then head into the meeting room. Bennett sits at the massive oak table, his hands folded neatly over his leather diary. When I enter, he smiles. "Thank you for doing this. I appreciate it."

I shake my head and sit down opposite him. "Cut the crap. You don't like me, and I certainly don't like you. Our common denominator is Stan, so let's think of him instead."

He sits back in his chair. "Do you treat all your customers in this way?"

"Only the super special ones." I open my diary. "What date are you both thinking of getting married?"

"August the twelfth."

I blink. "Next month ?"

He nods. "I want to nail him down now I've got him."

"That sounds more like a crucifixion than marital harmony."

He rolls his eyes. "I want to do it as soon as possible."

"Does Stan agree with that? Because the only reason for doing it so quickly would be because Edward is after you with a shotgun for compromising Stan's virtue. And that's unlikely because it disappeared many moons ago, and Edward would be more likely to use his baton."

"Stan has put me in charge of everything. He says he's happy with whatever I choose."

Something in his voice makes me narrow my eyes at him, but he gazes blandly back at me. "That doesn't sound like Stan," I say slowly. "He's not one for going with the flow."

He examines his fingernails. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you think, Rafferty."

"Maybe not," I say hollowly. "Okay, let's get to what you want. I can go over the details with Stan when I get home."

"No," he says quickly. "This is to be a surprise."

"Your wedding is a surprise ?"

"It's my present to him. And I must insist you don't speak to him about it."

I lick my lips. It doesn't happen very often—in fact, it's only happened once in my career—but I have been asked to keep arrangements a secret before. I brighten slightly as I remember the repercussions of that incident. "Okay," I say finally, just wanting him to leave. "Let's look at venues."

Half an hour later I collapse into my chair.

Joe looks up from his desk. "How did that go?"

"Depends. Is a ten worldwide Armageddon?"

"Probably."

"Then that was a twenty."

"Ouch."

"Yep. I've had to listen to his wedding plans and even the honeymoon arrangements. I'm grateful we ran out of time, or he might have gone into his plans for the wedding night."

"I'm surprised Stan wasn't with him."

"Ah. Bennett's organising the whole thing as a surprise for him."

Joe blinks. "Is he marrying another Stan we don't know? Because our Stan is not known for enjoying letting someone else lead."

I have a flash of exactly how much Stan likes to be in control and push it away. "Exactly." I lower my face to the desk. "This is a very shit week," I say into the wood.

I look up to see Ingrid walking towards me. "Leo rang. He wants to see you at the salon after work."

"What for?"

"He didn't say. Maybe he wants to hang, draw, and quarter you for not issuing Bennett with a gag at the party."

"Good job, he didn't. I might have tied it too tight and choked him with it."

"Maybe Leo's going to stick your hair back on," Joe offers helpfully, and Artie chuckles.

Ingrid wanders off, and Artie puts his pen down and looks over at me. "Are you alright?" he asks sweetly.

I grimace. "Nope."

He bites his lip. "It'll be okay."

"How do you know?"

He shrugs. "I just do. I watch people."

"That makes you sound like Sergeant Stalker."

"It'll be fine."

"You're more optimistic than Julie Andrews," Joe says in an awed voice.

"Not really. Raff just needs to talk to Stan. Miscommunication is a terrible plot device in romance novels."

I roll my eyes. "This isn't a romance novel. It's more like a horror story in twenty acts. Anyway, it's not possible to talk to Stan. I'm on a vow of silence imposed by his beloved."

He blinks. "Why?"

"Better ask Bennett. He's displaying rather gorilla-ish tendencies at the moment. He just needs a tyre to swing on and a bigger chest to beat."

"Ouch," Joe mutters.

Artie taps his desk thoughtfully. "Maybe you'd better ask why that is."

"The tyre?"

"No, the secrecy."

I shake my head. "I have so many things to question that I could host Mastermind ."

Two hours later I back through the door of Leo's salon, hefting a cardboard box. "A little help, please. I don't have the build for weightlifting."

"You're more of a snowflake than the white stuff that falls out of the sky," Micky says, coming to my aid. "Jesus, what is in this? A dead body?"

"No, it's gift-bag samples I just picked up for the office, but I admire how your mind went to that. Does this outfit look like a grave robber's?"

He studies my purple checked suit. "Not really," he says rather doubtfully. "But then the dead are probably the only ones who'd appreciate your fashion sense."

"Lovely," I huff.

We heft the box onto the reception desk, and I look around. "Where's Leo?"

"They're in the staffroom."

"They? I thought I was just meeting Leo."

He doesn't answer, as a customer comes in behind me, so I make my way to the staffroom. I pause at the door at the sound of ominously familiar laughter.

I take a breath and throw the door open a little too hard. The bang it makes as it hits the wall covers the sound of all the breath leaving me as three people turn to face me. Leo and Richard are here, but my attention is all on Stan. He's wearing old jeans, a thin green jumper, and black Converse hi-tops, and his face is full of lovely laughter.

"Fucking hell, Rafferty," Leo says, jumping up. "If you've damaged that wall, you're repairing it."

Richard rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that'll go swimmingly, darling. Do you remember the painting party at our house?"

"When he stepped in a tray of paint and tracked it all through the house?" Leo says.

Stan laughs, and I put my hands on my hips. "You should have been sued for false advertising. A party implies a social gathering full of laughter and joy, which is the furthest thing away from the salt mine air of that particular shindig."

"Don't worry. It only took fifty thousand tins of paint remover to repair the damage, and we got a rug to cover up the bit that still bears your mark. Coffee?" Leo asks.

"Yes, please."

"I'll help you," Richard says, leaping out of his seat so quickly that it looks like the springs have ejected him.

They head over to the other side of the room to the coffee machine, and I turn to Stan. "Hello," I mutter, feeling awkward in a way I've never felt with him before.

He cocks his head. "You alright? Your voice sounds funny."

"Oh, fine, fine," I say, dialling down the heartiness to less Brian Blessed and more Brian Cranston. "Congratulations."

"For what?"

I blink. "For your upcoming wedding?" I say in more of a question than a statement.

"Oh. Oh yes. Lovely." He looks as if he's bursting to tell me something, so I'm stunned when he sits back and says nothing. I don't think there's ever been a moment in our lives when he hasn't said what was on his mind.

"You, okay?" I finally say almost tentatively.

"Of course ," he says so emphatically that I blink.

"Well, that's good." I run my finger along my trouser leg. "It's just that I didn't see you after the party."

"I went back to my mum and dad's."

Relief flows through me like a river. He wasn't with Bennett.

"I bet Rowena and Edward are thrilled," I say.

"Not the word I'd have chosen."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence follows, and when Leo returns, we greet him as though he's Robbie Williams at a Take That reunion.

He blinks. "I know I'm fabulous, but not quite that much."

He hands me my coffee, and I cradle the cup, letting it warm my suddenly cold hands. "What's this meeting in aid of?"

"The commitment ceremony."

"Didn't we cover everything yesterday? Has something else happened? And why is Stan here?"

"My sunny personality," Stan offers. "It seems extraordinarily suited to marital harmony."

"Yeah, that's not working."

He laughs, and for a second, I grin at him before I remember that I'm about to fucking lose him. I swiftly revert to moroseness. "So, why are we here?"

Leo blinks. "Your people skills are second to none. I commend you."

"Thank you so much."

Richard clears his throat. "The commitment ceremony is in a couple of days."

"I am aware. It's been in my diary for two years."

Leo says, "And you won't be at the wedding in Devon because it's just close family. You're flying ahead of us to Greece."

"I also know this. I am a wedding planner, Leo, and in particular, your wedding planner."

"So snippy," he marvels. "Anyway, we need to ask both of you for a huge favour."

"Anything," Stan says immediately.

"Both of us?" I say somewhat more warily.

"Yes. We talked to the hotel manager last night, and we're a bit worried about the arrangements."

I dig out my diary from my messenger bag. "What did he say?" I demand.

"He was rather evasive on things like the group activities and room arrangements."

"I must say I'm surprised by that. We've used that hotel before, and they're usually very good. Well, I'm flying out tomorrow anyway, so I'll check up on everything. It'll be fine. I promise you."

"Ah," Leo says. "We want you both to go over."

A stunned silence falls. Luckily Stan interjects because I've lost the power of speech.

" Both of us?"

Richard shoots a look at Leo, which is hard to parse.

Leo abruptly turns to Stan and says, "Yes, babe. You're my best man. We trust you both, and it would calm my nerves if I knew you were both over there early taking care of things for us."

Nerves? Since when? I stare at him. What is going on here?

Leo glances over at Richard, and some sort of subliminal message passes between them. Whatever it was, it must have been irritating, because Richard gives a deep and rather aggrieved sigh and says, "Yes, we want you to check the rooms, and the walking excursion they've arranged and the—" He falters slightly. "—and the food," he finishes somewhat desperately.

"The food ?" I echo.

He nods and then nods some more before seemingly making a conscious decision to stop before he ends up resembling a nodding dog car decoration. "Yes."

Leo rolls his eyes, and then, catching me watching them, he offers a crooked smile. "You know how I am with organisation," he says in an alarmingly fake apologetic voice.

"You're more of a micro-manager than a Borrower," I offer helpfully, and Stan snorts.

Leo's eyes narrow. "Well, be that as it may, we wondered if you'd both go. Stan, could you manage it?" Stan hesitates, and Leo says quickly, "For us, babe."

Ever kind-hearted, Stan nods. "I suppose Kem could manage the shop for an extra day. We haven't got much in the diary this week anyway because we knew the wedding was coming up."

Leo claps his hands. "I'm so happy. Thank you."

Richard coughs and mutters something that sounds like, "Too much."

Leo subsides, and I look between them.

"How happy I am," Leo says again. "Are you happy?" he asks me.

"I'm more confused and slightly suspicious," I confess, but they're all talking now and ignoring me.