Bridget’s mates love her too much to force a full-blown hen weekend on her if she really doesn’t want one, but there’s no way we’re allowing her to tie the knot without doing something together. So, on the Saturday night before her impending nuptials, we head into Padstow for dinner and a pub crawl. Apparently, one of the pubs is hosting a karaoke night, and Charlie has made me promise to video Bridget doing Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself’. We’ve never done karaoke together before – he claimed with a grin that it’ll be one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed.
Some of Bridget’s local friends have joined us, including her former across-the-road mummy friend Jocelyn, who seems very likeable. Then there’s Bridget’s best mate Marty, Maria, who’s doing Bridget’s make-up and is also an old friend of mine, plus the lovely Laura, whom I’m so happy to meet after hearing so much about her over the years. Rachel was doing a wedding in Hertfordshire today, so she couldn’t make it, but she’s coming here on Monday to catch up.
Poor Laura is a little jet-lagged after arriving from Florida only a couple of days ago. She’s been visiting her parents in Cambridgeshire with six-month-old baby Max and came to Cornwall earlier today.
Max is unbelievably cute. He has a full head of dark hair, big brown eyes with ridiculously long lashes and chubby cheeks that expand twofold when he smiles. I keep picking him up for cuddles, and then struggle to put him down again.
Laura said I won’t like him nearly as much when he wakes me during the night. In the words of Lucy’s husband Nathan, jet lag is a bitch.
Charlie has very kindly offered to babysit, despite his hangover – he had his stag do last night, organised by his younger brother, Adam, who is hilarious and a complete flirt. He’s been over a couple of times in the last few days to hang out with us, and, although Bridget has warned him quite vocally – albeit unnecessarily – not to mess with me, his attentions have done my confidence a few favours.
‘Here’s to Bridget and Charlie!’ Marty exclaims, raising a glass to our bride-to-be. ‘You guys were meant for each other!’
We all drink to that.
‘You know what?’ Bridget says later, when we’ve lucked into finding an outdoor table at a pub that seats us all. ‘You say that Charlie and I were meant to be together, but it terrifies me how close we came to never crossing paths.’ We lean in to listen as she speaks. ‘When I look at the series of events that brought me to him, I feel completely freaked out.’ She turns to me. ‘If I hadn’t bumped into Elliot when I did, he never would’ve given me the idea to write that book. And, although I didn’t get a deal, my writing landed me the job that brought me to Charlie. And if I hadn’t met you,’ she adds, still meeting my eyes, ‘then you wouldn’t have led me to Australia, which in turn led me to Elliot.’
‘Well, if I hadn’t met Lachie,’ I say, ‘then I probably would’ve come back to England instead of staying with him in Australia.’ I even might’ve caved and gone back to Alex after he told me he’d split up with Zara. My head spins at the thought.
Where would Alex and I be now, if I’d given us that chance? Maybe we’d still feel tainted by how we’d got together. Would his friends and family be over it by now? Would Zara have felt happy enough to move on with someone else, or would she have felt so bitter about Alex getting together with me that it would have poisoned her, and in turn poisoned those who care about her?
Would Alex and I have lasted through all of the stress and the emotional turmoil? What if we had?
Would we have children by now?
Maria puts her arm around my shoulders, startling me back to the present. ‘And if you hadn’t agreed to cover Sally that weekend in Scotland,’ she says, referring to Rachel’s former unreliable assistant, ‘then you never would’ve met Lachie.’
‘Why did Sally cancel again?’ Bridget asks.
‘She had a new boyfriend,’ Maria reminds her.
‘So, basically,’ I say, grinning at Bridget, ‘you are marrying Charlie, the undisputed love of your life, because Rachel’s former assistant hooked up with a new man.’
‘The world works in mysterious ways,’ Marty says when we’ve all calmed down from laughing.
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Bridget raises her glass and the rest of us happily follow suit.
When Rachel arrives in Cornwall, she and I go out for a coffee together to catch up on old times, while Bridget stays behind to talk flower arrangements with her mum.
Bridget has been totally relaxed about the wedding on Wednesday, insisting on keeping it simple and doing a lot of the work herself and with Charlie – although I’ve also been helping out, obviously – but now her mum wants in on the action. Bridget is trying her best to indulge her, but I think she wants to tear her own hair out.
‘It’s so good to see you again!’ Rachel enthuses when we’re sitting opposite each other in a cosy café in Padstow with windows overlooking the sailing boats in the tiny harbour. The town is gorgeous, full of quaint buildings painted in shades of green, blue and white, narrow winding streets and a hilly backdrop.
‘I’m so glad to be working with you again,’ Rachel says.
‘Me too,’ I reply. ‘Although I’m a bit nervous.’
‘There’s absolutely no need to be. You always were a natural,’ she says, trying to reassure me. She furrows her brow. ‘Why did you stop, if you don’t mind me asking? Was it because of that last wedding? I was worried it had traumatised you for life.’
Rachel didn’t know beforehand that Alex and I had a connection – she never would have asked me to step into Sally’s shoes if she had.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Sure, I was traumatised, but I think I stopped pursuing wedding photography because it felt so intrinsically linked to England and my time here. I don’t think I could bear to face up to how much I missed it. It felt safer to go back to what I knew, and, when I was offered the job at Hebe Australia, it seemed too good to be true. I guess life ran away with me after that.’
I glance out of the window at the estuary, titchy in comparison with Sydney’s vast, beautiful, blue harbour, but, for some reason, I feel a pang at the idea of going home.
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if I stayed, if I didn’t go back to face my horrible new boss and long working hours. What if I didn’t have to deal with packing up the flat or finding somewhere new? What if I didn’t have to see Lachie again and feel the intense pain of our break-up? What if I could just bury my head in the sand and run away from it all?
But no. I’m not doing that again. I need to follow through cleanly and properly so I might actually stand a chance of closure this time around. I want to move on with my life without a dark cloud hanging over me, and then, hopefully, I will meet someone new and wonderful and we’ll do all of the things that I dream about doing.
This doesn’t mean that I won’t come back to England one day. There’s nothing stopping me.
Apart from a visa, obviously.
But it’s something I could look into, once I’ve picked up the broken pieces of my life and attempted to put them back together.