Amanda's Wedding Read Free Page A

liked tall.
    I tugged on Fran’s sleeve. ‘Look –’s Nicholas.’
    Fran looked roughly over. ‘Wanker,’ she said.
    Had Fran not said wanker about every bloke we’d mentioned for the last hour and a half I might have listened to her and saved myself some trauma. Instead, I waved at him in huge circular motions. ‘Knickerless!’ And I dissolved in giggles. He flew over and gave me a big kiss. Oh, we must have been old friends, then.
    â€˜Melanie, fantastic to see you. I’ve just been having another crazy night out with the accountants.’
    I squinted to make out anyone else who’d been at the other end of the bar, but they all seemed to have mysteriously disappeared.
    â€˜God, we’re mad. Can’t see us getting home tonight without a police caution! Chaw chaw chaw!’
    â€˜Buy’s a drink, Nicklas! You’re loaded!’
    â€˜Sure, babe.’ And he did so with the fervour of a man who knew only too well just how much alcohol he usually had to get down a woman to get her to sleep with him.
    In normal circumstances I would have run six miles from Nicholas, whom I had accidentally slept with at a party once because he was, er, very tall. He’d phoned me up constantly since and I’d realized that, tall though he might be, he was also the most boring bastard who’d ever lived. In fact, he was the most boring accountant who’d ever lived. After the inevitablegrilling I’d caught from Fran when he turned up to pick me up in stonewashed jeans and pink cowboy boots, I’d made Linda answer the phone for a month. Now here he was again, and he was desperate, and I was desperate for attention – a deadly combination.
    Ensconced in a corner next to Fran – who looked half-asleep, but with a drowsy look that said she could still bite you on the face if you thought about trying anything – Nicholas started telling me all the latest pranks him and his fantastic accounting mates had been up to. By the time they’d finally got on the coach they’d hired to go see Bryan Adams, I was about to gnaw off my own hands in despair. With impeccable drunk logic, I decided I’d better kiss him to get him to shut the fuck up. It wasn’t the easiest of tasks; almost on a par with climbing a tree. While pissed out of your head. So, once I got to the top, I decided I’d better stay until the tree fell asleep. I’d crawled from under the wreckage the following morning.
    â€˜So now what am I going to do?’ I complained to Fran. ‘There’s a big stinky man in my bedroom, whom I hate, and if I go in and wake him he’ll start telling me hysterical stories about tax again.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜So, ehm, could you go … like, ask him to move?’
    â€˜Me! Why me? You’re the one with all his saliva! Anyway, plus, what if he’s naked?’
    â€˜Oh, right, you’ve never seen a naked man before?’
    â€˜Not one that’s six foot seven. It’ll put me right off my sausage sandwich.’
    Suddenly my ultra-loud doorbell rang, which made us both jump. Fran and I looked at each other and I limped dourly towards the door to stop the infernal noise.
    WHOP! Straight out of my bedroom, an absolutely starkers, very hungover, six foot seven man ran full into me in panic, and it didn’t look like he had the faintest idea what galaxy he was in.
    â€˜IS THERE A FIRE?!’
    We stood for a while, looking straight at each other like rabbits caught in headlights. Then my psyche made an independent decision to turn me into my mother for as long as necessary.
    â€˜No, Nicholas, of course there’s not. Go get dressed immediately! Now! – before I open the door.’
    He blinked and retreated without saying a word, headed for the bedroom, then did a quick U-turn and made a bolt for the loo, where I could soon hear him having a six foot seven pee. Well, it was either him or a