In Bed With Lord Byron

back.
    ‘No, she’ll come, she’ll come,’ I said, trying to cheer him up. He looked so sad I almost wanted her to arrive. I rubbed his shoulder. ‘Anthony, are you OK? You
really do look like you need some Nurofen or something.’
    ‘It’s Morrison’s fault,’ Anthony groaned, drawing out a handkerchief and swabbing his forehead. ‘He organised the stag night from hell.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘Oh – the works. Beer. Stupid jocks. Music. Strippers. Fuck – I
hate
strippers. None of it was at all how I wanted to celebrate the night before my wedding. And then I
woke up feeling . . .’
    ‘Feeling?’ I swallowed.
    ‘I don’t know – hungover. But there was also a bad feeling inside me. And now the vicar’s ill. And Kerry isn’t going to turn up. And I know she’s been having
doubts about the wedding . . .’
    ‘She told you that?’ I cried, trying not to sound too excited.
    ‘Yes, but she said she was just incredibly nervous. And I’m nervous too – I mean, fuck, it’s not every day you get married. I . . . What about you? You have to keep
talking to me, Lucy,’ he jabbered, ‘to take my mind off all this.’ He began chewing a fingernail and I softly slapped his hand away. ‘Hang on,’ he suddenly noted.
‘You’re not wearing your bridesmaid’s dress. What’s happened?’
    ‘Well,’ I said, gulping and twitching my hem with nervous guilt. ‘I woke up feeling really sick . . .’ I waited for him to get mad, but he seemed surprisingly calm. I
took another breath. OK, here goes, I thought. Time to confess everything.
    I decided I had to tell him the worst bit first.
    ‘Last night I did something really, really crazy.’
    ‘What?’ Anthony blinked. ‘You didn’t murder Kerry at the hen night, did you? Is that why she’s not here?’
    I laughed slightly shrilly, punching him on the shoulder.
    ‘Well, I went to the hen night with Casanova, and then—’
    ‘Wait. I can’t believe your boyfriend’s called Casanova!’ Anthony spluttered. Then he saw my face and his laughter dissipated. ‘What? What happened,
Lucy?’
    I held up my hand. The light, fractured by the stained-glass windows, fell on the ring. Anthony looked stunned. He let out a splutter of incredulous laughter. Then he shook his head.
    ‘I was drunk,’ I gabbled. ‘The drunkest I’ve ever been in my life.’
    ‘Yes, but – you
got married
? Shit. Fuck. Look, you don’t need to panic, Lucy. It’s easy to get these things annulled. Kerry’s family has got a really good
lawyer.’ He broke off, ruffling my hair affectionately. ‘God, this is such a Lucy situation.’
    Suddenly I felt a spurt of frustrated misery. Here was I, hopeless Lucy with her clownish marriage, and here were Anthony and Kerry, about to be so grown up and sophisticated with their perfect
match.
    ‘Hang on a minute,’ I said hotly. ‘Who says I want to annul it?’
    ‘But you said you never wanted to get married. I always thought that . . .’
    ‘Of course I want to get married,’ I cried passionately. ‘I wanted to get married and have a wonderful wedding and now I’ve completely screwed up with the wrong
guy.’
    ‘Oh, Lucy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take the piss. Oh God, come here.’
    He pulled me into another rib-crunching hug. I held him tightly, and found I couldn’t let go. I closed my eyes and nestled into the dark of his suit, breathing in his sweet scent, trying
to imprint it on my memory, knowing this might be the last time that we would be together. Because I knew that I wasn’t going to tell Anthony that I loved him. Casanova had pumped me full of
false hope. It was crazy; Anthony was about to marry another woman. If I said anything, I would just make a total fool of myself; I could imagine him and Kerry on their honeymoon, giggling
together, Kerry crying, ‘Oh God, I can’t
believe
she told you that – just before I turned up, too! She’s crazy!’
    As my hope faded into sad embers, a despair came over me. I knew that I was going to spend the rest of my life watching and waiting for something to go wrong with their marriage. Which was
selfish and horrible of me, but I couldn’t help it. I had a feeling that the rest of my life was going to pass by very slowly . . .
    ‘This feels kind of weird . . .’ Anthony whispered.
    ‘Weird? Why?’
    ‘Well,’ he whispered, his breath warm and ticklish in my ear, ‘you’re married, and I’m about to get married. It feels, standing here,