In Bed With Lord Byron

regret.’
    ‘You really think I should do it?’ I quavered. ‘Just go in there and tell him? Oh God . . . I mean, if he says no, it will be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
And if he . . . if he says yes . . .’ I could hardly dare to hope. Then I bunched into a ball. ‘Oh Casanova, I can’t do it, I just don’t have the nerve.’
    ‘Lucy, you must take the risk. Jump off the cliff and love will catch you!’
    ‘Well it’s too late now anyway,’ I said, feeling my mood slide back downhill again. Talking to Casanova had momentarily elevated me, but now I reminded myself of the cruelty of
reality. ‘The wedding will be starting, like, now. Oh God, I wish the time machine wasn’t broken.’ Suddenly time seemed like a prison; the present a rope around my neck,
strangling me. ‘Maybe I could fix it . . .’
    ‘No, Lucy!’ Casanova cried. ‘You don’t need the machine. You are going to get up and get dressed and we are going to that wedding.’ And he hauled me out of bed,
ignoring my screams of protest.
    ‘I can’t – there’s nothing I can do. Let me
go
.’
    ‘Well at least you can turn up. And at the very sight of you, Anthony may change his mind!’
    ‘Oh yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’ve just texted to say I’m sick!’
    ‘But imagine how dedicated you will look if you have battled sickness and still turned up!’ Casanova said charmingly.
    ‘But my dress . . .’
    ‘Wear your little black number.’
    I had a feeling he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
    Ten minutes later, as we ran out of the hotel, my little black dress flapping about my knees, I found my stomach fizzing with excitement and new hope.
    ‘So tell me,’ Casanova asked casually as we dived breathlessly into a cab, ‘will there be any beautiful bridesmaids? What?’ he cried as I thumped him cheerfully.
    iii) The wedding
    The taxi pulled up at the church and we shoved a note into the driver’s hand and tumbled out. I stumbled in my high heels, praying we weren’t too late . . .
    To my surprise, the oak doors of the church were still wide open. We edged in discreetly, to discover . . .
    That nothing much seemed to be happening. The church was perfumed with flowers and the pews were a sea of pastel hats. But there was a fraught tension in the air, and I sensed at once that
something was wrong. After all, I thought, checking my watch, the ceremony should have begun twenty minutes ago.
    What if Kerry hadn’t turned up? Or better, if Anthony hadn’t?
    Or worse – if something had happened to Anthony?
    To my relief, I spotted him. He was standing at the front of the church. Seeing me, he frowned and then gave a little wave. I waved back, feeling quite concerned by his appearance.
    So: Kerry was the one who hadn’t arrived yet. But there still wasn’t time for me to transform into a bridesmaid, and I just wanted to lie low and squeeze into a back pew.
    Casanova, however, was determined to get a good view. He dragged me down the aisle, stopping three pews from the front. Oh God, there was Grandma Rose – she gave me a little wave, thank
God. And – shit – there was Mrs Prendeghast! I ducked my head quickly, hissing at Casanova to jolly well
sit down
.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said Casanova, forcing a glamorous, Botox-faced woman in her fifties to squash up. She muttered crossly and her frozen face struggled hard to form a frown, then gave up
in resignation, as though the last time it had succeeded in such a miracle was 1985. Casanova shot her a winning smile and, suddenly, adopted an aristocratic British accent.
    ‘Good morning – goodness, what a pleasure it is to meet such a beautiful woman.’
    She melted at once.
    ‘Love your outfit,’ she said, eyeing up Casanova’s ruffled shirt.
    ‘It was made for me by Manon Balletti,’ said Casanova proudly, puffing up his chest and rippling the ruffles.
    ‘Oh? I know him intimately. He has a boutique in New York, right?’
    ‘Lucy, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Kerry?’ a voice cried.
    It was Mrs Prendeghast. She came bustling up, her enormous peach hat bobbing.
    ‘I’m sorry – I don’t think I can be a bridesmaid today. I mean – I woke up this morning and I was feeling, er, terribly ill, and I did leave a message saying I
couldn’t make it . . . but anyway, then I kind of, um, made a miraculous recovery.’ I laughed weakly; she didn’t laugh at all. ‘I mean, maybe I could join in when she gets
here . . .’ I trailed off