Wedding Night

thumping and I have a head full of questions. Lottie, on the other hand, has a basket full of underwear. No, not underwear,
sex kit
. She’s standing looking at a transparent basque as I hurtle toward her, almost knocking over a rail of Princesse Tam Tam teddies. As she sees me, she holds it up.
    “What do you think?”
    I eye the stuff in her basket. She’s clearly been at the Agent Provocateur concession. There’s lots of black see-through lace. And is that an eye mask?
    “What do you think?” she says impatiently, and jiggles the basque at me. “It’s quite expensive. Shall I try it on?”
    Isn’t there a slightly bigger question we should be discussing?
I want to yell.
Like: who is this Ben and why are you marrying him?
But if I know one thing about Lottie, it’s that I need to play things carefully. I need to talk her down.
    “So!” I say as brightly as I can. “You’re getting married. To someone I’ve never met.”
    “You’ll meet him at the wedding. You’ll love him, Fliss.” Her eyes are shiny as she tosses the transparent basque into her basket and adds a teeny thong. “I can’t believe everything’s worked out so perfectly. I’m so happy.”
    “Right. Wonderful! Me too!” I leave a tiny pause before adding, “Although—just a thought—do you
need
to get married so soon? Couldn’t you have a long engagement and plan everything properly?”
    “There’s nothing to plan! It’s all going to be so easy. Chelsea Register Office. Lunch at some lovely place. Simple and romantic. You’re going to be bridesmaid, I hope.” She squeezes my arm, then reaches for another basque.
    There’s something extra-weird about her. I survey her, trying to work out what’s different. She’s got that post-breakup manic air about her—but even more than usual. Her eyes are overbright. She’s hyper. Is Ben a dealer? Is she
on
something?
    “So, Ben just contacted you out of the blue?”
    “He got in touch and we had dinner. And it was as though we’d never been apart. We were so in tune with each other.” She sighs blissfully. “He’d been in love with me for fifteen years.
Fifteen years
. And I’d been in love with him too. That’s why we want to get married quickly. We’ve wasted enough time already, Fliss.” Her voice throbs dramatically, as though she’s in a TV true-life movie. “We want to get on with the rest of our life.”
    What?
    OK, this is bollocks. Lottie has not been in love with someone called Ben for the last fifteen years. I think I might know if she had.
    “You’ve been in love with him the last fifteen years?” I can’t help challenging her. “Funny that you never mentioned him. At all.”
    “I loved him
inside
.” She clasps a hand to her side. “
Here
. Maybe I didn’t tell you about it. Maybe I don’t tell you everything.” She defiantly throws a garter belt into her basket.
    “Have you got a photo of him?”
    “Not on me. But he’s gorgeous. I want you to give a speech, by the way,” she adds blithely. “You’re chief-bridesmaid-slash-best-woman. And Ben’s best man is his friend Lorcan. It’ll just be the four of us at the ceremony.”
    I stare at her in exasperation. I was planning to be tactful and go softly, softly, but I can’t. This is all too crazy.
    “Lottie.” I plant a hand on the packet of stockings she was about to pick up. “
Stop
. And listen a moment. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have to.” I wait until she reluctantly turns her eyes toward me. “You split up from Richard about five minutes ago. You were about to commit to
him
. You’d bought him an engagement ring. You said you loved him. Now you’re rushing off with some guy you barely know? Is this really a good idea?”
    “Well, it’s a good thing I did split up from Richard! A very good thing!” Lottie is suddenly bristling like a cat. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, Fliss. And I’ve realized Richard was all wrong for me.
All
wrong! I need someone romantic. Someone who can
feel
. Someone who’ll put himself out there for me, you know? Richard’s a nice guy and I thought I loved him. But now I realize the truth: he’s limited.”
    She spits out “limited” as though it’s the worst insult she can come up with.
    “What do you mean, ‘limited’?” I can’t help feeling a bit defensive on Richard’s behalf.
    “He’s narrow. He has no style. He’d never make some huge, reckless, wonderful gesture. He’d never come and find a girl