She strolled over to the nearest row of stands, but Josh was nowhere to be seen. Behind one table, a gangly lad with raging spots glared at her like she’d just walked into the men’s toilets. ‘Can I help you? This is the stag zone,’ he said, gesturing to a poster of two bikini-clad girls on a quad bike, which hardly seemed like the most practical racing attire.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was looking for the hen section,’ she said sweetly. ‘Though I could use a second opinion … Do you think I should go for the pole-dancing party or the mud-wrestling weekend?’
As his jaw dropped, she turned and walked off in the opposite direction, hoping Josh hadn’t wandered too far. After passing a caricaturist, a cellist and a woman dressed in medieval costume (she didn’t stop to ask why), she finally spotted him emerging from what looked like a taxi.
‘Lizzie! Lizzie! Hey, you’ve got to see this.’ He pulled her inside and onto his lap, shutting off the outside world with a slam of the door. She could feel his belt buckle digging into her back, so she shuffled sideways into the space beside him. ‘It looks like a normal cab, but really it’s a photo booth in disguise!’
‘Is this part of your Bond man-crush?’
His laughter reverberated around the shiny interior. ‘I was thinking we could have it at the reception,’ he said. ‘Guests can pose for photos, then they get a copy to take home and we get one as a souvenir. We can get everyone to sign them instead of a boring old guest book. And …’ he rummaged around in a box of props on the floor, ‘you haven’t seen the best bit yet.’ He donned a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, and placed a sailor’s hat on her head. ‘What do you think? You on board?’
Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. It’s very … Josh. ‘I don’t know,’ she said diplomatically. ‘I mean, it’s cool and everything, but do we need it? We’ve already booked the photographer.’
‘Nah, this is totally different. We’ve got to do it!’
‘Why? Because the wedding will be doomed unless we all don fancy dress?’
‘Because it’ll be a laugh. Go on …’ He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to live dangerously.’
His words stung unexpectedly, as though she’d been jabbed again by his buckle. It had been more than ten years since anyone had said that to her, but suddenly she could remember it like it was yesterday. She rubbed the faint line on the inside of her wrist, as though that might somehow erase the memory.
‘You OK?’ asked Josh, for the hundredth time that week.
‘Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something. So you really like the taxi, huh?’
‘Not as much as I like you,’ he said, cranking up the charm. ‘But I do think it’d be great.’
‘How much?’ She could feel herself relenting. After all, she had spent months trying to persuade him to have more input into the wedding, so it seemed mean to veto the first thing he’d asked for. And besides, it did look kind of fun.
‘Normally it’d be £500, but if we sign up today there’s 20 per cent off.’
‘Can we afford it?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Especially if we don’t hire the Aston Martin.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lizzie was happy to forgo the fancy car, but she knew that was a major sacrifice for Josh.
‘Yeah, we’ll find some other way of getting there. Or you’ll have to haul your arse on the bus …’
She slapped his arm playfully. ‘Hey, this bride doesn’t do buses!’
‘Fair enough. Maybe they’d let you hitch a ride in the photo booth?’
‘Stop it!’ Lizzie was giggling so hard now that her eyes began to water.
‘Well, there’s no need to cry about it,’ said Josh. He stared ahead at the high-tech screen. ‘Do you want to try it out?’
‘I guess we should.’
‘OK, when I press the button do happy face, sad face, poker face and scary face.’
‘Ooh, I like it when you’re bossy.’
‘Hey, do you want this to look good or not?’
She adjusted his oversized glasses, kissed his cheek and hit the flashing button.
‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ she said.
Lizzie took another sip of wine as she read the coffee-stained dessert menu. She was almost too full to think about a third course, but she was having such a good time with Alex that she didn’t want their date to come to an early end. Maybe I could squeeze in a scoop of gelato, she persuaded herself. Possibly even two.
Before she could make up her mind, a sticky dough ball came flying through the air and landed on the red and white checked tablecloth with a thud. She looked around the Italian restaurant, and noticed two small boys laughing hysterically in the corner. ‘Will you two stop it?’ hissed their mortified mother from across the table. ‘Sit down and behave yourselves!’ She looked over at Lizzie and waved both hands apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry, really I am. I don’t know what’s got into them today.’ She glared back at the boys, who were now pulling faces at one another. ‘When their dad hears about this they’re going to be in big trouble.’
‘It’s OK. No harm done,’ smiled Lizzie. She turned back to face Alex and they both burst out laughing. ‘Are we still getting dessert?’
‘Only if we can get it before those little terrors,’ he joked. ‘Otherwise we might end up covered in chocolate next.’
Lizzie tried hard not to visualise that thought, but for a split second her mind went off on a dirty tangent. Alex was looking even fitter tonight than she remembered, dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, with a well-worn leather jacket strewn over the back of his chair. He was different from her usual clean-cut type, but there was something about him that she found intriguing, more than any of the lads she had briefly dated before.
The cheerful manager came over to take their order. ‘What will you like?’ he asked in loud broken English, the words resonating almost musically around them. ‘You have one of my speciale desserts?’
‘I’m pretty full,’ said Lizzie, patting the front of her cream fine-knit dress. ‘But I think I can manage some lemon gelato.’
‘Molto bene,’ he replied. ‘We have the saying, like there are two stomachs: one for the main and one for the dessert. Always little room for dessert.’
‘Quite right, too,’ said Alex. ‘In that case, I’ll have the tiramisu, thanks.’ The manager nodded approvingly and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.
Alex turned his attention back to Lizzie. ‘So, where were we?’
‘You were telling me about your adventures.’
Though they were in the same year at university, Alex was 18 months older, and had spent his gap year in Australia taking part in all kinds of adrenaline-inducing activities. He’d been bungee-jumping in Cairns, climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge and gone sky-diving in Melbourne. Lizzie found his stories both fascinating and terrifying. She