had dug out and scanned and put on the PowerPoint fired up. Videos from nights out, photos from school right up to those in our shared flat. There was even one of us sitting on a stone in Dartmoor, both weighed down by huge backpacks, hair tied back with matching bandanas, heads cocked together, grinning at the camera. ‘D of E!’ Amy squealed, snorting as she pointed at the screen.
It finished and there was a thick silence in the room as I got up to get the memory stick back.
Finally Amy looked across at me. ‘Thank you, Lottie.’
She seemed to be on the verge of saying more and I mentally bit down on my tongue, not wanting to push things or start apologising over again. The silence extended and I found myself bursting with it. ‘I am so sorry, Amy, about the brooch, but also I just haven’t been there for you at all and that is not cool—’
She was shaking her head and holding her hand up and I tailed away as I realised I was being forgiven. ‘Lottie, I know. And I love you for your mad apology and I’m so relieved. I’ve really missed you.’
Then suddenly we were reaching across and hugging each other and I felt tears swim in my eyes as I realised how much I’d missed her too.
‘And obviously you still need to be my bridesmaid,’ she said into my hair. ‘I need you there to tell me it’s going to be OK and drink champagne with me and sort my sister out.’
‘Of course, of course.’ It came out muffled and in a rush.
Wiping at my eyes I sat back. ‘You need to catch me up on everything. Has your mum made any more demands on your seating plan and is your sister still threatening to dress Tom in knickerbockers?’
Amy rolled her eyes.
I held up a hand. ‘Wait. I’ll get wine first.’
‘I thought you weren’t parched?’
‘Shut up.’
I’d just got to the kitchen when she asked the question, ‘Won’t Luke be back soon? Have you got time?’
Not really wanting to ruin the atmosphere or shift the focus back on to me, I mumbled something as I rootled in the fridge for a bottle of wine and then reached up to the cupboard for two glasses.
‘Oh I’m, um, he, well . . . ’
Amy was already giving me her X-ray look as I returned. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, sensing immediately something was up.
‘Oh nothing, I want to hear about the wedding,’ I gushed, unscrewing the bottle.
Amy wouldn’t stop staring. ‘Lottie?’
Sitting back down on the sofa I poured two glasses of wine, avoiding eye contact for as long as possible. As I handed her a glass it seemed she probably hadn’t blinked for the last five minutes.
‘Lottie? Where is he?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘What do you mean nowhere? You don’t know?’
‘No, I do know. It’s really not important, fine actually.
Sooooo, your wedding.’
‘Lottie!’ Amy squealed.
‘He’s just staying with a friend.’ I tried to sound breezy, added a small shrug of the shoulders, which caused me to spill a bit of my wine. I leapt up to get a cloth.
Amy asked me more questions. ‘Just for the night? So you two are OK?’
Returning, I realised she wasn’t going to drop this any time soon. ‘Well, he’s been staying there for a little while.’
Amy sipped wine and seemed to be waiting for me to say more. If she wasn’t a deputy headmistress she could easily be a detective. She’d be insane at making people talk: leaving them to fester in their own silence, her watchful eyes on them, soaking up their body language and getting to the heart of the matter in an instant. No one would stand a chance.
‘We had a bit of a row, not major, well, quite major, I mean, he sort of moved out for a bit but, you know, nothing that can’t be fixed.’ My voice sounded strangled, around ten tones higher than normal. Oh God, could it be fixed? I’d said that so easily but felt a crushing weight as I realised I wasn’t sure. Had I lost him? Of course, these thoughts made me well up and then it was easy for Amy, detective extraordinaire, to worm the rest of the story out of me. By the end of my confession I was dabbing at my eyes, pouring myself a second glass of wine and feeling as if my world was slowly coming to an end.
‘I’m not sure when he’ll come back and I don’t dare phone