Page 13 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
I plug my iPhone into the hotel-room speakers, crank up a bit of Britpop and throw some shapes. Summer pours two glasses of Merlot from the minibar and we sit side by side, companionably finishing off our make-up. As Summer rustles around in her tote in search of her favourite mascara, an envelope falls out of the bag and onto the carpet. It’s thick and seashell-coloured, with Summer’s name written on it in gold-embossed script. A wedding invitation.
‘Ooh, who’s getting mawwied?’ I lean over to get a better look. Summer snatches the envelope up and holds it to her chest.
‘Oh, no one you know,’ she says nonchalantly.
‘Sum, we know all the same people.’
‘Um …’ She starts to shove the envelope back into her bag.
A secret wedding!
‘Oi! What the bloody hell are you hiding?’ I rugby-tackle her and grab the envelope from her manicured hands. ‘Let me see it!’
‘Jess, you freak! You’ll mess up my hair. Give me that back.’
I chuckle and open the envelope. ‘Now, now, let me see, who is Summer’s new friend? Summer’s special secret wedding friend!’
I pull out the creamy invitation and unfold the stiff paper. It’s an invite for Amy Keyplass’s wedding to Mark Chunder. Old friends of ours from uni.
‘Oh, it’s just Amy and Mark. Should be a good knees-up. Why wouldn’t you show me this? Is there an RSVP date?’ I scan the text. ‘Remind me to find my invite when we get back − must be somewhere in the post pile. Actually, have you got a pen? I’ll write it on my hand.RSVP Amy and Mark.’
‘You haven’t got one.’ Summer coughs.
‘Huh?’
‘An invitation. You haven’t got an invitation. You’re kind of not invited to the wedding.’
‘Oh … just the reception bit then?’
‘Yeeeaaah … no. You’re not invited to any of it.’
‘Just like Amy, forgetting. She’d forget her own head if it wasn’t screwed on.’ I roll my eyes. ‘They must be dead busy with all the planning. I’ll give her a ring over the weekend!’
Summer puts down her mascara and sighs. ‘You’re not getting it, petal. Amy hasn’t forgotten. They … just don’t want you there.’
I frown, confused. ‘Whaaat? Why on earth wouldn’t they want me there? I’m thelifeof the party. A wedding isn’t a proper wedding until I’ve cha-cha slid solo on the dance floor. Everyone knows that. Amy and me are top mates! I introduced her to Mark!’
‘You got her arrested, Jess.’
‘Er, that was a year ago. And it’s not likeIlifted her top up and flashed her boobs at the cast of Corrie on their Christmas meal out. She did that all by herself. Tyrone loved it, but Rita had to go and call the police, didn’t she? Typical fucking Rita.’
‘You provided the tequila and double-dared Amy to do it. Mark thinks you’re a bad influence.’
‘Mark Chunder’s a ginormous dork. Just because I haven’t got a stick lodged up my bum like he has. Jeez. Amy was such a good giggle at uni.’ I sigh nostalgically at the lovely fun times Amy and I once had.
Summer shakes her head delicately. ‘We’re not at university any more, though, Jess. They’re, like, gettingmarried. They’re renovating a town house in Surrey. You know − growing up, committing, being responsible. You might want to try it sometime.’
I feel the familiar uncomfortable itch spread across my body.Renovating a town house in Surrey?Gross.
I think of Amy and what fun she was back in the day. Totally mental and giggly and up for anything. And now she’s just like the rest of them. It’s likeThe Walking Dead, but instead of a zombie apocalypse, it’s a boring person apocalypse. Everybody’s changing.
‘Yeah, well,’ I say breezily, feeling an odd lurch in my stomach, ‘weddings suck anyway. I’mgladI’m not invited. It’ll probably be full of shithead couply couples talking about babies and stamp duty and the garden centre. Chuh. Pledging to spend your entire life with one boring person for ever and ever? It’s so daft, when you think about it. You never know what’s going to happen. How do you know that you won’t get fed up of them? That they won’t leave you? That you won’t get shafted? It’s absurd.’
Summer rolls her eyes at me in the mirror. ‘It’s not absurd, Jess. Most people don’t get “shafted” by falling in love. Most people don’t … well, they don’t end up like your mum.’
I tut. Summer reckons that every bloody thing I think or do has some woo-woo subconscious connection to my mum. Which is blatantly daft and annoying, not to mention downright untrue. I wouldn’t mind, but the extent of Summer’s psychological knowledge is that she once saw Dr Linda Papadopoulos offThis Morningin M&S Food.
I swallow, and it feels like there’s an annoying little splinter stuck in my throat. ‘Pass us my wine, will you, Sum. What time is it? We should probably get a move on. We can’t be late for Davis Arthur Montblanc! Ooh, wonder if they’ll have a posh buffet on … ’
