“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 after fifteen years and tell her that life was darkness without her and now he wants to turn on the switch.” Her chin juts defiantly and I give an inward grimace. Was that Ben’s line? He wanted to turn on the switch?
I mean, I do sympathize. I had a couple of terrible, misjudged rebound flings after Daniel and I separated. But I didn’t marry one of them.
“Look, Lottie.” I try a different tack. “I do understand. I know what it’s like. You’re hurt. You’re confused. An old boyfriend comes along out of the blue—of course you’re going to fall into bed with him. It’s natural. But why do you have to get married?”
“You’re wrong,” she retorts with a triumphant look. “You are so, so wrong, Fliss. I didn’t fall into bed with him. And I’m not going to. I’m saving myself for the honeymoon.”
She …
What?
Of all the things I was expecting to hear, it wasn’t this. I stare at Lottie blankly, unable to find an answer. Where is my sister and what has this man done with her?
“You’re saving yourself?” I echo at last. “But.… why? Is he Amish?” I suddenly fear the worst. “Is he from some kind of cult? Did he promise you enlightenment?”
Please don’t tell me she’s handed over all her money. Not again.
“Of course not!”
“So … why?”
“So I’ll have the hottest sex ever on my honeymoon night.” She grabs the stockings. “We know we’re good together, so why not save up for the moment? It’s our wedding night. It should be special. As special as it can possibly be.” She gives a sudden wriggle, as though she can’t contain herself. “And believe me, it will be. God, Fliss, he’s so hot. We can hardly keep our hands off each other. It’s like we’re eighteen again.”
I stare at her, all the pieces falling into place. Her shiny eyes make sense. The basket of underwear makes sense. She’s raring to go. This engagement is one great big session of fore-play. Why didn’t I realize this straightaway? She is drugged up—on lust. And not only lust, teenage lust. She has the same look about her as teenagers snogging at the bus stop, as though the rest of the world doesn’t exist. For a moment I feel a stab of envy. I wouldn’t mind disappearing into a bubble of teenage lust, quite frankly. But I have to stay rational here. I have to be the voice of reason.
“Lottie, listen.” I’m trying to speak slowly and clearly, to penetrate her trance. “You don’t have to get married. You could just take a hotel suite somewhere.”
“I want to get married!” Humming to herself, she chucks another expensive negligee into her basket, and I suppress a desire to scream. It’s all very well. But if she took off the lust goggles for one bloody moment, maybe she’d see how much this escapade is potentially going to end up costing her. A shed-load of underwear. A marriage. A honeymoon. A divorce. All for one epic night of shagging? Which she could have for free?
“I know what you’re thinking.” She looks up at me resentfully. “You could be happy for me.”
“I’m trying to be, I really am.” I rub my head. “But it makes no sense. You’re doing everything the wrong way round.”
“Am I?” She turns on me. “Who says so? Isn’t this the traditional way?”
“Lottie, you’re being ludicrous.” I’m starting to feel angry. “This is no way to start a marriage, OK? A marriage is a serious, legal thing—”
“I know!” She cuts me off. “And I want to make it work, and this is the way. I’m not stupid, Fliss.” She folds her arms. “I have thought about this, you know. My love life has been a disaster. It’s followed the same old pattern, with man after man. Sex. Love. No marriage. Over and over. Well, now I have a chance to do it differently! I’m reversing the strategy! Love. Marriage. Sex!”
“But it’s nuts!” I can’t help erupting. “The whole thing’s nuts! You must see that!”
“No, I don’t!” she retorts hotly. “I see a brilliant answer to the whole problem. It’s retro! It’s tried and tested! Did Queen Victoria have sex before she married Albert? And was their marriage a huge success? Did she love him desperately and build a great big memorial to him in Hyde Park? Exactly. Did Romeo and Juliet have sex before they got married?”
“But—”
“Did Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy have sex before they got married?” Her eyes flash at me as though this proves everything.
Oh, please. If she’s going to use Mr. Darcy to prop up her arguments, I give up.
“Fair enough,” I say at last. “You got me there. Mr. Darcy.”
I need to back off for now and come up with a different angle.
“So, who’s this Lorcan?” A new idea has come to me. “Who’s this best man of Ben’s you mentioned?”
Presumably Ben’s best friend won’t be any wilder than I am about this sudden, out-of-the-blue marriage. Maybe we can join forces.
“Dunno.” She waves vaguely. “Some old friend. Works with him.”
“Where?”
“The company’s called something like … Decree.”
“And what does Ben do, exactly?”
“Dunno.” She holds up a pair of knickers that untie at the back. “Something or other.”
I resist an urge to yell, You’re getting married to him and you don’t even know what he does?
I get out my BlackBerry and type in Ben—Lorcan—Decree?
“What’s Ben’s surname?”
“Parr. I’ll be Lottie Parr. Isn’t that lovely?”
Ben Parr.
I tap at my BlackBerry, peer at the screen, and do a fake gasp. “Oh goodness. I forgot all about that. Actually, Lottie, I’m not sure I’ve got time for lunch, after all. I’d better go. Have fun shopping.” I give her a hug. “Talk to you later. And … congratulations!”