The wedding crasher, p.10
The Wedding Crasher, page 10
‘Hardly my fault that you decided to book an early train the morning after my birthday.’
‘It’s hardly my fault that our government failed to protect student fees from escalating.’
‘I forgot how much fun you are,’ he said, nodding in greeting to someone over Poppy’s left shoulder.
Poppy stepped away from the throng of people that had squeezed into the booth. ‘Josh. Come on. This is important to me.’
‘And I’m not?’
‘It’s not like those two things are mutually exclusive.’ Poppy felt a twist of anxiety. She didn’t want to be an uptight girlfriend or the reason they’d fallen out on his birthday.
‘Come here, you,’ he said, slipping behind her to hook his arms around her waist. He kissed her neck. It sent a warm current down her spine, tingling in the base of her stomach.
‘I’ll square up with you later,’ he said. ‘You know what the boys are like.’ Poppy nodded, but she knew it wouldn’t happen. She’d have to bring up money another day when Josh was post-hangover and more likely to listen.
Josh’s friends each took a shot glass, leaving her with an empty plank of wood and feeling all the more stupid for it.
An hour later, Poppy’s right foot was sore from the number of times it had been stood on now that they were sitting on the edge of a bulging dance floor.
‘Weeeeeee like to drink with Josh because Josh is our mate! We like to drink with Josh because he gets it down in eight, seven, six, five…’ Poppy stifled a yawn as Josh drained his glass with a grimace. He tipped it upside down, placed it on his head, and stuck his tongue out to catch a dribble of liquid as it ran down his cheek. As Dan ducked beneath the table to top up the empty pitcher of cocktail with shop-bought vodka, Josh draped his arm lazily across Poppy’s shoulders. ‘You look really fit tonight,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
He dropped his voice an octave lower. ‘Can’t wait to get you home.’
Poppy didn’t say anything. He must have forgotten that she wasn’t going back to theirs tonight, but it didn’t seem worth bringing up. She slipped out from the booth, her shoulder warm from where his armpit had been. The boys drummed a beat into the table.
‘Weeeeeee like to drink with Poppy, ‘cos Poppy is our mate! We like to drink with—’
‘No, no, not me!’ said Poppy, grinning apologetically.
‘Oh, here comes the fun police,’ said Dan. ‘Why did you come if you’re not going to get battered with your boyfriend on his birthday?’
‘Who else is going to fetch things from the bar?’ said Josh.
The table erupted with laughter. Poppy looked down at Josh, her chin wound tight.
‘Excuse me?’ said Poppy.
‘I’m joking!’
‘He’s joking, Poppy,’ said Dan, his eyes watery from a laugh he could barely contain.
‘Dan, I say this with love, but isn’t it about time you stopped buying your shirts from the children’s section of H&M?’ She smiled through gritted teeth.
‘You know your West Country accent gets stronger when you’re angry?’ said Josh with a look of pride. Poppy picked up her handbag from underneath the table.
‘I need to head off,’ she said.
‘What?’ said Dan, biting his lip in an unconvincing performance of regret. ‘No, sorry Poppy, I’m being a dick. Ignore me. I’ve had too much Red Bull.’
‘Dan, you do realise your heart is going to explode one day, don’t you? Thanks for the open admission, but don’t take it personally. I’m doing a shoot tomorrow. The protest.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Josh roll his eyes.
‘What was that for?’
Josh blinked. ‘Nothing, babe.’
‘Seriously?’
Josh stretched his arms along the booth and tilted his head to the side. ‘Well, it’s not like anyone is forcing you to go, is it?’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘You keep talking about it like you’re going to let someone down if you don’t show up.’
Poppy crossed her arms and gripped her elbows, nails digging into her skin. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard about this thing called being self-employed?’
‘Don’t you have to earn money to be classed as self-employed?’ said Josh.
Dan snorted into his drink whilst the others fell quiet and fiddled with soggy coasters. Realising he had pencil-dived into a problem of his own making, Josh rocked forward, the bravado pulled from beneath him.
‘That came out wrong,’ said Josh.
‘You think?’
Josh slid out of the booth and walked Poppy into an alcove beside the men’s toilets. ‘Hey, forget that. Poppy? Look at me. I think what you’re doing is really cool. You know you’re a good photographer; you hardly need me to tell you that. Just… everyone knows I had to retake my final exams over summer and when you inevitably go on about how many followers your blog has, it doesn’t make me feel great, does it?’
‘I didn’t even bring it up! I’ve maybe mentioned it… once?’
Josh’s eyes glazed over. She couldn’t tell if it was alcohol that softened the edges of his otherwise sharp observations or if he had managed to successfully detach from anything she said that was remotely accusatory.
‘I feel like I’m doing something wrong,’ said Poppy, anxiety crawling up her throat. ‘I don’t know why, but I get the impression your friends think I’m a boring bitch.’
‘No, no, no. They don’t. They’re just bantering you. If anything, it means the opposite. You’re three times as intelligent as all of them put together. Fuck, you’re way cleverer than me.’ Josh smiled and swept Poppy’s French braid over her shoulder.
A woman stumbled out of a disabled toilet, one hand slapping the wall to keep herself from falling over. She tugged at the fly of her skinny jeans, hair a curtain of curls as she squinted at Josh.
‘There you are!’ she said ‘Happy fucking birthday! Sorry we’re late, Katie got us kicked out of the cab for spilling a bottle of Zinfandel in the footwell.’ She took Josh’s chin in her manicured hand and planted a pink rimmed kiss on his cheek. Fran. She always appeared in a cloud of Nina Ricci perfume, like the banished genie of an understaffed TK Maxx.
Josh loosened his grip on Poppy, grinning as a shimmering gaggle of Fran’s friends dragged him back to the booth. Poppy went on her tiptoes to tell Josh she was leaving, but stopped when she heard her name from behind.
‘Poppy?’
She turned, her heel sticking to the floor. Holding a trifecta of plastic cups, his wallet clamped between his teeth, stood her first-year housemate, Will.
‘Will? Oh my God, hey! It’s been an age.’
He nodded, wallet flapping like a duck’s bill. Behind her, he balanced his cups on a thin rail that ran along the back wall and pulled her into a hug.
‘Shit, I can’t believe it. Poppy! She’s real! I’ve seen your stuff online. You’re basically famous.’
‘Pfft, hardly.’
‘What? You’re being modest. How many followers has your blog got now? The one with all the portraits and interviews? The World’s Eye?’
Poppy pretended to look modest. ‘Three hundred thousand.’
‘See! Famous,’ said Will, bumping her with his hip. Buoyed by his enthusiasm, she elaborated. ‘I’m going to London tomorrow to cover the march.’
‘Of course you are, big shot.’ Will grinned, his eyes bright. ‘Lola still your sidekick?’
‘I think I’m more her sidekick, actually. She does all the talking, I do the clicking. The whole concept came together when we started interviewing people alongside the pictures. Teamwork makes the dream work and all that.’
‘I saw her at the door. She seems a bit frantic.’
‘It’s her imposter syndrome shining through, but I don’t know what she’s worried about. She was basically a club promoter when she wasn’t getting paid to do it.’
‘Lola was always quite persuasive, wasn’t she? I remember missing at least half of my nine o’clock lectures in first year because of her impromptu nights out. She’d be a very successful cult leader. In a good way.’
‘Is there any good way to be a cult leader?’
‘I don’t know. Jesus seemed all right.’
‘Controversial.’
Will laughed. Poppy couldn’t help but mirror him. Her time on social media was largely spent uploading her photoblog, but when she did look him up, Will only featured in posts others had tagged him in. Some people made a statement about having no digital footprint, but Will didn’t exist online because he was busy existing in real life.
Will clicked his fingers to fill the silence that had opened up between the bass that thrummed from subwoofers.
‘How’s Josh?’ he said, gesturing to the booth.
‘Yeah, good, good. It’s his birthday,’ said Poppy.
‘Twenty-two?’
‘Yep, twenty-two. He stayed on to do a PGCE. Our wardrobe is now full of shirts. He’s who I live with. We live together, I mean.’
Will nodded, the threat of a broader conversation tucked behind his dark eyes.
Poppy bit her lip hard. ‘I was actually just about to leave—’
‘Do you want to come outside?’ asked Will. ‘Smoking area? Bit quieter?’
Poppy glanced back at Josh, surrounded by friends and empty shot glasses. She nodded.
Will shimmied through a growing crowd on the dance floor. Down a corridor lined with indie tour posters and imitation Banksys, they reached a fire door that opened out onto a concrete courtyard, fake ivy wound through gaps in mesh fencing that flanked them on three sides. Will spluttered into the crook of his elbow as a woman exhaled a cloud of smoke over her shoulder. Poppy wafted the space between them.
‘How’re you?’ asked Poppy.
Will looked back towards the club, his jaw tight. ‘Yeah, good. Bit stressed. Too many deadlines. You?’
‘Same. The joys of third year, eh? How’s Lily?’
‘Ah. Another stressful subject.’
‘Did something happen?’ said Poppy, recalling the long-legged, red-haired girl she had last seen hooked on his shoulder at a house party.
‘I took her to Paris for our six-month anniversary. In short, she liked it so much she applied to do a year abroad and left me for a French guy called Julien who wears a lot of black and never smiles.’
‘How annoyingly cool of him,’ said Poppy.
‘I know. Hey, sounds like you’re nailing the photography. I can’t believe my degree is nearly finished and I still haven’t got a clue what to do. I took one of those online career tests in an act of desperation and it’s not looking good for me.’
‘Why, what did you get?’
‘Dog groomer, choreographer, or paediatric nurse. How is that a natural career path after a geography degree?’ He shook his head and leant against the wall. ‘I might volunteer for a while. At least then I’m doing some good. What’s going on with you? Other than being the world’s next best photojournalist.’
‘Ha, well. I don’t think there’s much else to report. I don’t really know what’s happening next year either. I’ve entered a few competitions and applied for a couple of scholarships, but there’s such a slim chance that anything will come from it. I’ve got to earn some money, so if you need any promotional shots for your interpretive-dog-dancing-children’s-hospital entertainment business, hit me up.’
Will pretended to consider it, nodding sagely. ‘It’s niche, but I think we can make it work.’
They tucked closer, Poppy’s back arched as a group of students pushed past. Will glanced at the door again. ‘Do you think you and Josh will live together after graduation?’
‘Ah, well. That’s a conversation we’re yet to have.’
‘Just tell me to mind my own business if you want.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Poppy pondered the question. Since Josh had started ironing his clothes on a Sunday evening and setting an early alarm, Poppy had the keen sense that adulthood was just around the corner, rather than the bouncy-castle version of it she currently experienced. It excited and terrified her in equal measure, not that she’d ever admit it. When she contemplated her future aloud, Poppy could viscerally see the panic rise behind Josh’s eyes, as though she might ask him to give up his fledgling teaching career to spend a year trekking across Mongolia.
Will gave her time to think. Poppy pulled at the hem of her bandeau skirt and folded her arms.
‘I do want to live together, obviously. We do now, but there are three other housemates. Six if you count girlfriends and boyfriends, but they change semi-frequently. Apparently, it’s inappropriate to ask them to contribute towards bills, even though I know Lauren and her girlfriend frequently empty the hot water tank to fuel their inclination for shower sex.’ Poppy bit her thumbnail and waited to see if Will would laugh. He didn’t. ‘I don’t know. I guess I’m a bit torn. I feel like there’s two angry cats inside me swiping and hissing at each other. One wants to settle down and buy sofa throws; the other wants to climb the garden wall and go on a mad adventure. Josh knows what he wants, and he knows where I fit into that. I can’t say the same.’
Will smiled, but he stared down at the ground.
‘Why did we stop hanging out?’ he said, blinking. Poppy had seen this look before. It usually happened after he’d chewed something over that didn’t sit right.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, her words measured. If she was honest with herself, the closer she and Will became as flatmates, the more confused her feelings had got. Eighteen months ago, they danced around the edge of a friendship that had verged on something else, but Poppy had never been able to line up with the gaps between Will’s sporadic relationships. Lola always said that everything happened for a reason, but Poppy didn’t believe in fate. If it existed, Will would have noticed her to begin with. In reality, he hadn’t. Josh had. How could she explain all that now?
‘One of those things, isn’t it?’ said Poppy. ‘You went off to Croatia when term finished and by the time you got back, we were moving in different circles.’
‘You’d started seeing Josh,’ said Will, his tone accusatory.
‘You were abroad a lot,’ said Poppy, matching him.
‘I catch up with our old housemates. They say you don’t go out anymore.’
‘It’s true. I don’t. Between my dad, work, and photography assignments, there hasn’t been space for much else.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Josh?’
‘No, your dad. I remember you saying he doesn’t cope well on his own.’
‘He’s got a job, so at least he opens the curtains now. Most days.’ Poppy scratched the back of her neck, irritated. ‘I should get going. I’ve still got to prepare for tomorrow and—’
‘Our timing was off, wasn’t it?’ said Will, his warm hand reaching out to rest gently on her forearm.
Poppy closed her eyes and smiled in disbelief. ‘Timing,’ she repeated. For a moment, she stopped scrolling through her list of worries: how likeable she was around Josh’s friends; how much it would cost to repair her broken camera lens; whether her dad was eating properly.
She put her hand over his knuckles, ignoring the shrieks of shouted conversation behind her. Will tipped his head back and looked skyward.
‘Why are you with him?’ he said.
Poppy pushed his hand off her arm. ‘I’m sorry… what?’
‘Why are you with him?’ he repeated, his voice stronger this time.
‘I heard you before. I was giving you a chance to think about what you just asked.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘What did you anticipate I would say now? Would you like a list of his attributes? Because if this is a question that’s actually about you and me, it’s a weird entry point.’
‘I heard how he was talking to you.’
‘It’s his birthday, Will. He’s drunk and he’s acting macho around his mates. So what? I don’t care.’ Poppy folded her arms and scuffed the floor with the toe of her boot. ‘The point is, why do you care? And why now? We’ve been together for well over a year. If it’s timing you’re on about—’
‘I might be wrong,’ said Will, holding his hands up, ‘but we weren’t exactly strangers in first year, were we? Do you think things would have been different if we’d given it a go? Properly?’
Poppy exhaled sharply. ‘Why are you asking me this?’ she said, desperation slipping into her voice.
‘Because I care about you!’ said Will. His eyes darted across her face, looking for proof that she felt the same way.
Feelings that Poppy had almost forgotten about rippled in her chest like they were floating on an underground stream. No sooner had they appeared, frustration followed. ‘It’s taken you this long to realise, has it?’ she said.
‘What? No. I did before, but I never knew if you were on the same page.’
‘Is that why you always came to me for advice on your girlfriends? For pep talks when things were rough? Correct me if I’m wrong, but that doesn’t sound like an efficient way to tell someone you like them.’
‘What? When was that obvious? You have to admit that you’re a closed book when it comes to what’s going on up here,’ said Will, tapping his temple.
‘That’s a cop-out and you know it. What was I supposed to do? Barge in on your dates to confess my feelings and risk living next door to someone who rejected me in favour of bendy fucking Gabriella? I’m not a homewrecker. I’m not that person and I never will be.’
‘I wouldn’t have rejected you,’ said Will, quietly.
‘You did. You might not have said so explicitly, but it wasn’t just days we spent together, was it? There were nights too, followed by sporadic weeks where you barely spoke to me.’
‘You’ve never brought this up before,’ said Will.
‘Snap! Don’t blame me for not moving at the same speed as you. Did I have a timeframe? Tell you how I feel within ten minutes of a break-up, otherwise, whoosh! Will is gone, onto the next one.’
‘We could have made it work. We still could.’
‘You’re too late.’ Poppy shrugged. She tried to appear detached, but seeing how hurt Will looked made her feel a bit sick. ‘I wasn’t going to wait around for you. Josh keeps his word and he loves me, without question. Whatever we had doesn’t have oxygen. Not anymore.’
