at my former best friend and plaster on what I hope is a vaguely convincing smile.
“Hi Serena! The venue looks gorgeous, you must be so excited!”
She gives me a long, cold look. I’m suddenly struck by the realisation that I don’t recognise the woman standing in front of me.
“Where have you been? I’ve had so much to do over the last few weeks and you totally ditched me!”
“It may have escaped your attention Serena, but I have had rather a lot to deal with lately,” I say bluntly. This is going to be much harder than I thought. If I wasn’t looking for it, I’d have missed the flash of something resembling triumph in her eyes.
“Fine, well you’re here now. I need you to go speak to the idiots in the kitchen and sort out the timings for the courses tomorrow, do me a seating chart then call up the band to run through the songs that they are not, under any circumstances, allowed to play. This is a sophisticated, elegant affair and I need the music to reflect that!” she snaps.
Without complaint, I nod and turn away from her. It’s going to be a busy afternoon but hopefully I won’t have to see much of her.
I spend a happy half an hour on the phone to the band leader telling him that Serena’s favourite song is ‘Agadoo’ and that they must, must play all of the dance classics, such as ‘YMCA’, the ‘Birdie Song’ and ‘Oops up side your head’. The thought of everyone doing the dance to the latter really tickles me as I imagine everyone sat on the floor, legs akimbo rocking backwards and forwards. As I hang up I feel a pang of guilt for my actions; I know that the band will get an almighty bollocking for this, but it’ll soon be traced back to me. Hopefully by this time tomorrow Serena will have chilled out enough to think it’s funny. This thought stops me in my tracks as I realise that whilst her inner Bridezilla may disappear, the evil bitch that tried to ruin my life will remain. Whatever happens, I really have lost my best friend.
I toy with the idea of spending the rest of the day changing details of the wedding to really annoy her. I’m so close to speaking to the organist and asking him to substitute ‘Pachelbel's Canon’ for something more fitting, like ‘Devil Woman’ for Serena’s entrance but just manage to stop myself; tomorrow is going to be enough of a massive farce without my interference.
My mobile phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out to see who is trying to get hold of me. It’s a text message from Cassie:
‘Are you ok? The police have just been in Chambers!’
Intrigued, I instantly call her back, but am dismayed when I am connected to her voicemail. I hang up, desperate to know what she means. Of course I immediately think it’s to do with the information I gave them, but knowing my luck they’ve come to re-arrest and charge me.
I pace up and down the long room and wonder what to do. Could I try and call someone else from work? I grab a bottle of champagne that is resting in a crate on top of a grand piano and hurriedly remove the cork. Forgoing the need for a glass I take a few huge gulps, barely pausing for air and trying not to notice that it is luke warm. Slightly fortified I scroll through my contacts and press ‘dial’ before I have time to mentally talk myself out of it. After a couple of rings, I’m connected.
“Yes?” barks the familiar voice of my senior clerk.
“Roger?” I venture, “It’s Lauren.”
There is silence on the end of the line and I quickly check the display to make sure that I haven’t accidentally put myself on ‘mute.’ I can hear a raspy breathing coming from his end. After what seems to be an age, he speaks.
“Ah, yes. I was wondering how long it would take Miss.”
“Don’t even start with that. You know I’m persona non grata in Chambers. It’s not like I can pop in for a friendly chat!”
He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. “Not what I meant Miss. Not what I meant at all.”
It takes a few seconds for this to sink in.
“You mean?” I try, my brain working at a speed of knots.
“Yes Miss. It would seem that the police have finally got their