something interesting on the carpet and even Andy appears embarrassed.
‘Well, cheers everyone,’ Brian says and downs his whiskey in one.
‘Whoops, best get another, greedy me,’ he giggles and is off again to the bar.
‘Shouldn’t we say something, tell him he’s had enough?’ Sharon says.
‘Why not tell him the Armchair Bride thinks he’s had enough?’ I say.
‘Oh yeah, well about that.’ Sharon stares at the carpet again. ‘It sort of slipped out at the New Year’s Eve thing.’
‘What, you’d all had a few drinks and all of a sudden the topic of me being single came up?’
‘ He said it.’ Sharon points at Andy.
‘It seemed funny at the time. And I’m sorry but there are worse things to be called.’ Andy makes his defence.
I put down my drink and pick up my bag and coat. ‘Lisa I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Just leave me alone. I’m going home. You go see if you can find someone else to bore the arse off with tales of how you’re this great actor waiting to be discovered. I’m sick of hearing it. And you, Sharon, I thought we were friends. I expected better of you. Maybe I do spend too much time on-line with old friends, but at least none of them have stabbed me in the back.’
They both go to say something, but I’m away, propelled by self-righteous indignation. As I storm past the bar, someone grabs my arm - Brian, blissfully unaware of the situation he ignited.
‘Off already?’ he says. ‘Was it something I said?’
‘Actually, Brian, it was.’
He looks shocked. He’s probably never seen me like this. Boss or no boss, I’m furious and don’t give a stuff. I shake my arm free, stomp out of the bar and wave down a cab, half hoping Andy or Sharon or even Brian might run after me to tell me to stop being so silly.
Now I’ve had my moment, my anger subsides.
‘Where to love?’ the driver says.
I look behind me one more time and get in.
In our flat, I check the machine certain by now someone will have called to say sorry. There’s a message waiting. I hit play.
‘Hello. This is a message for Lisa Doyle. This is Helen I’m sorry to ring up out of the blue like this. I hope you’re OK, I feel so guilty about not calling sooner and sending you an email with my big news. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I want to ask you a big favour. You are still the one person I can truly call a friend, so would you be my matron of honour? Say you will. I don’t know who else to ask. Certainly none of the bitches from school, and although I get on great with the girls at work, I’m not that close to anyone. I’d still rather ask you. After all, you’ve been through the whole wedding thing recently, so you’re not only the obvious choice, but you’re an expert, the other thing is, as matron of honour, you need to….’
The machine cuts her off. I already know what she was about to say.
‘Organise the hen night.’ I say out loud.
A day that started badly grew gradually worse and ended with a silly argument. Now fate has conspired to potentially make me look even more of a fool. What the hell do I know about hen parties?
What does she mean about me recently going through the whole wedding thing? The last person I know who got married is Sharon. She didn’t even have a hen night and the wedding itself was a low-key registry office affair. All I was called upon to do was act as witness. Then it dawns on me. Helen’s obviously checked on PlaceTheirFace and seen my recent shift from single to newly-wed. After all in two years a lot can happen. Helen got engaged and it isn’t beyond believable I could have married. But wouldn’t she be angry at me for not telling her first? I consider calling her back to encourage her to take exception to my getting hitched in secret. It might encourage her to withdraw my invite. Then I remember. I’m not actually married to anyone. I’m just the Armchair Bride. How do you tell someone who is supposed to be a mate you’ve made
‘Well, cheers everyone,’ Brian says and downs his whiskey in one.
‘Whoops, best get another, greedy me,’ he giggles and is off again to the bar.
‘Shouldn’t we say something, tell him he’s had enough?’ Sharon says.
‘Why not tell him the Armchair Bride thinks he’s had enough?’ I say.
‘Oh yeah, well about that.’ Sharon stares at the carpet again. ‘It sort of slipped out at the New Year’s Eve thing.’
‘What, you’d all had a few drinks and all of a sudden the topic of me being single came up?’
‘ He said it.’ Sharon points at Andy.
‘It seemed funny at the time. And I’m sorry but there are worse things to be called.’ Andy makes his defence.
I put down my drink and pick up my bag and coat. ‘Lisa I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Just leave me alone. I’m going home. You go see if you can find someone else to bore the arse off with tales of how you’re this great actor waiting to be discovered. I’m sick of hearing it. And you, Sharon, I thought we were friends. I expected better of you. Maybe I do spend too much time on-line with old friends, but at least none of them have stabbed me in the back.’
They both go to say something, but I’m away, propelled by self-righteous indignation. As I storm past the bar, someone grabs my arm - Brian, blissfully unaware of the situation he ignited.
‘Off already?’ he says. ‘Was it something I said?’
‘Actually, Brian, it was.’
He looks shocked. He’s probably never seen me like this. Boss or no boss, I’m furious and don’t give a stuff. I shake my arm free, stomp out of the bar and wave down a cab, half hoping Andy or Sharon or even Brian might run after me to tell me to stop being so silly.
Now I’ve had my moment, my anger subsides.
‘Where to love?’ the driver says.
I look behind me one more time and get in.
In our flat, I check the machine certain by now someone will have called to say sorry. There’s a message waiting. I hit play.
‘Hello. This is a message for Lisa Doyle. This is Helen I’m sorry to ring up out of the blue like this. I hope you’re OK, I feel so guilty about not calling sooner and sending you an email with my big news. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I want to ask you a big favour. You are still the one person I can truly call a friend, so would you be my matron of honour? Say you will. I don’t know who else to ask. Certainly none of the bitches from school, and although I get on great with the girls at work, I’m not that close to anyone. I’d still rather ask you. After all, you’ve been through the whole wedding thing recently, so you’re not only the obvious choice, but you’re an expert, the other thing is, as matron of honour, you need to….’
The machine cuts her off. I already know what she was about to say.
‘Organise the hen night.’ I say out loud.
A day that started badly grew gradually worse and ended with a silly argument. Now fate has conspired to potentially make me look even more of a fool. What the hell do I know about hen parties?
What does she mean about me recently going through the whole wedding thing? The last person I know who got married is Sharon. She didn’t even have a hen night and the wedding itself was a low-key registry office affair. All I was called upon to do was act as witness. Then it dawns on me. Helen’s obviously checked on PlaceTheirFace and seen my recent shift from single to newly-wed. After all in two years a lot can happen. Helen got engaged and it isn’t beyond believable I could have married. But wouldn’t she be angry at me for not telling her first? I consider calling her back to encourage her to take exception to my getting hitched in secret. It might encourage her to withdraw my invite. Then I remember. I’m not actually married to anyone. I’m just the Armchair Bride. How do you tell someone who is supposed to be a mate you’ve made
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