‘No, of course not!’
‘A one-night stand?’ asked Rose.
‘Yes, of course a one-night stand.’ Sal jumped; a high-speed train coming in the opposite direction shot past them in dramatic fashion, making the windows rattle. Rose automatically breathed in. ‘You don’t think I’d make a habit of it, do you?’
‘Depends how good he was!’ laughed Wendy. Sal laughed too, but Rose knew she would do everything in her power not to make a habit of anyone. She was OK now, after what had happened to Guy, but she wasn’t ready to let anyone into her heart. Not again. Sal had said more than once that the pain simply wasn’t worth it.
The conductor came, punched their tickets; made unnecessary small talk. Rose willed him to hurry up and move on – they were trying to have an in-depth catch-up here! Finally, he shuffled down to the next seats.
‘Wow!’ said Wendy. ‘Your chef. Now that is gossip!’
‘Yup,’ said Sal. ‘And rather unsavoury, if you excuse the pun. I shouldn’t have gone there. Now,’ she said briskly, ‘let’s move on from my love life. JoJo, any men on the horizon for you?’
‘Nope.’ JoJo shrugged happily. ‘No men. Not interested, don’t have the time. I’m married to my work, as you know.’ A very apt choice of phrase, decided Rose, and so ironic: JoJo was so busy helping other women have perfect weddings she could never meet someone to provide her with her own. ‘I’ll keep my life plain and simple, thank you.’ She smiled serenely and picked her BlackBerry off the table to give it a composed glance.
Yes, that was JoJo, thought Rose. Married to her work and so eternally unruffled. She always had been. Even in university halls, where they first met, JoJo’s bed was always immaculately made, her room spic and span, her shoes – always heels; she wore them at university, when no one else did – lined up neatly against the wall. It would be nice if a man could come along and unruffle JoJo, Rose thought, but she couldn’t see it happening.
‘Speaking of which,’ said Wendy, draining the very last of her miniature. ‘How are my last-minute alterations coming along?’
JoJo had made Wendy’s wedding dress, to Wendy’s very precise specifications: a simple, silk, empire line dress with lace, capped sleeves. No loud, blingy embellishments, none of what Wendy called ‘unnecessary frou-frou’.
‘I know you only do class and sophistication, but nothing too over-the-top please,’ she had reportedly said to JoJo, when it was first mooted. ‘I don’t want to look like a toilet roll holder or a fairy on top of a Christmas tree.’ Wendy had also said she wanted to look like ‘herself’ on her wedding day and that she would do her own hair and make-up as ‘nobody wants a one-off orange fright with ringlets for the day’. But, the dress had to be white; that was a given. Frederick’s family were very conservative and very, very traditional; it was a huge white wedding and it was going to be very, very posh.
It was a shame Wendy couldn’t have what she really wanted, thought Rose – a good splash of colour, some zany touches, a more lightened-up, casual approach to the day, but on this momentous occasion she knew Wendy was willing to toe a more conservative line for the man she loved.
‘Coming along swimmingly,’ JoJo said, placing her BlackBerry back on the table and ignoring them all looking at it as though it were kryptonite. ‘Just a few areas of hand-stitched panelling to finish off then all done. Are you still going to let me add the beading? It’ll be subtle, I promise, and slightly vintage. It’ll really make the dress.’
‘Yes, I trust you,’ said Wendy. ‘Whatever you think. Go for it.’
JoJo was an incredible seamstress. She’d studied law at university, something her parents had pushed her into, but her first love was sewing, and after having Constance (a baby Rose had been highly jealous to discover slept all the time – her girls had all been nightmares) she took it up again. She made baby clothes, at first, then the most beautiful christening dresses – as her skills and confidence grew – then, with her friends’ excited encouragement, wedding dresses. They would never forget the first one she made: it was a silky, hand-embroidered slip dress she’d sold to a gushingly grateful bride in North Wales and it had been absolutely stunning.
‘You’re going to look wonderful, Wendy,’ said Rose. ‘I can’t wait to see you in it.’
‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Wendy. ‘And is it still next Wednesday, JoJo, for the final fitting?’
‘Absolutely,’ said JoJo. ‘I’ll have the champagne waiting.’
‘Booze,’ said Sal, nodding emphatically. ‘We need more of it now. There’s a bar on this train, right?’ She picked up the veil from the table and stuck it on her head, before standing up. ‘I’m off to track it down.’
Sal ambled up the swaying carriage towards the front of the train, the veil fluttering in the breeze from the open windows. Rose looked out of hers. They were in real patchwork-quilt country now and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a really beautiful evening.
Sal came back with two half-bottles of red wine and some plastic cups. ‘It was all they had,’ she said. ‘Chateau de Plonk, and I got mistaken for the bride, which was quite hilarious. Told some old bloke I was getting married in the south of France and honeymooning on safari in South Africa.’
They all laughed. Sal was a hoot. Rose wondered what this chef of hers was like. She hadn’t even told them his name. Still, if it was a one-night stand, never to be repeated, what did it matter?
‘Hey, what’s your chef’s name?’ she asked.
‘Niall,’ said Sal, ‘and I’m not blushing.’ She handed round the cups. ‘I’m just a bit pissed.’
‘Ooh,’ they all chorused, ‘Niall,’ and Sal had to shush them and whack them all in turn with her veil until they shut up.
By the time they arrived at Chippenham Station they were more than a little bit drunk and very giddy and excited. They’d corralled the poor conductor as he’d made his way back up the carriage and regaled him with how Wendy was getting married and could he make an announcement about it over the tannoy. He’d refused, but wished Wendy lots of luck and chatted to them for a while about Norfolk, where the wedding was being held. He knew it very well, he said. He was from Thetford and knew Sumberley Hall where Wendy was getting married, as well as the Donnington-Blacks, Frederick’s family – he’d described them as almost like Norfolk royalty and Wendy had looked slightly scared. They’d also got chatting to the people on the table the other side of the aisle to them – four quite hilarious ladies off for a hillwalking weekend, who shared stories of being lost on the moors and eating cheese and pickle sandwiches on the sides of mountains, surrounded by hungry goats.
They’d got off the train, waving merrily goodbye to their new friends as it pulled away from the platform to continue its journey to Bristol Temple Meads, then crossed the footbridge over to the station building. Rose, now wearing the veil, tripped up one of the steps; Wendy, in the L-plates, hooted with laughter, startling a passing mother and toddler, who started to cry in his pushchair. JoJo had to apologise to them both while Sal picked up the pair of deely boppers that had got dropped in front of one of the wheels, squashing a penis. Spirits were so high by the time they reached their waiting taxi (JoJo, thinking of everything, had pre-booked one) that the driver looked reluctant to take them.
‘Had a bit to drink, have we?’ he commented drily as he manoeuvred out of the car park.
‘Yes, and it’s fabulous!’ replied Rose.
It really was. Reunited with her oldest and bestest friends for a whole three nights away, home and Jason and the girls seemed a million miles away and, at this moment in time, that was fine by her. She was ready to let her hair down, swing it around a bit and then have it wrapped in a big white towel while she had her toenails buffed.
They