Cover Story - 63

Bel left the dry ice and hubbub of the reception disco and walked into the calm oasis of the lavender-scented, pink-plastic filled Ladies. As she checked which stalls were free, she saw two cubicles at the far end were in use, one clearly by the bride: a swathe of ivory shot silk poked out from under one of the doors. An alcoholically amplified conversation was in progress.

‘… Seen the guy Bel is with? Oh, my life. He’s stunning!’ Bel heard Verity say. She held her breath.

‘Yeah, though Tim says he’s blatantly a colleague she’s roped in as a favour so she’s not here alone,’ Rhiannon’s voice replied.

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah. Tim says look at their body language, they aren’t a couple,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It’s all very hands-off platonic.’

‘Oh wow, I’ll be studying them now, hahaha.’

Bel broke into a self-conscious sweat.

‘Would Bel really do that, though? She never seems very bothered about appearances to me,’ Verity continued.

‘Tim says Bel was definitely seeing someone behind his back towards the end. He thinks she was going to leave for him, and it didn’t work out. She’s got to repair her self-esteem by asking this implausible hot guy to pretend to be Mr Bel today. Tim’s conclusion is he’s a killer good-looking gay.’

Implausible hit Bel like a roundhouse kick to the chin. It was a Tim word, she could hear him saying it. And once again, Tim was cruel, yet right in almost every respect.

Bel rapidly exited the facilities, feeling like a spectacle, a foolish one. Implausible . It wasn’t credible that Connor would punch below his weight to be with Bel? Or perhaps it referred to Connor being implausibly attractive, full stop. Either way, it made her worry that Tim had spread this word and everyone had been snickering at her. And it had arrived at the very worst possible moment regards her feelings for Connor: it couldn’t have hurt as much, even an hour ago. This was drone strike precise. Tim’s greatest revenge and he’d never know.

Her ego was part architect of her downfall. She had initially expected to attend this event single and been pretty fine with that. It was the specific one-two punch of Verity putting her in social quarantine on Tim’s orders, and mistakenly thinking she had a plus one, that had impetuously provoked her. Now she was a target for mean-spirited sniping, when Tim was happy with a mutual friend and Bel had turned up in good faith to a Hornby mob celebration.

She knew the root of it was Tim still being wrecked over her finishing things, and knowing she wasn’t in the same way. Her crime wasn’t Connor, or even Anthony: it was being fine.

But Tim had exhausted her sympathy, and her guilt.

Despondent, she found Connor chatting to her brother by the dance floor. His ease with her family was so rewarding. A classic example of ace-ing the job interview because you don’t want the job.

‘Can I have a word?’ she said, through her teeth.

Connor leaned in and she updated him on what had been said. He laughed heartily at killer good-looking gay.

‘That’s flattering, at least. I’m not well dressed enough, my best wedding suit is in Stoke Newington.’

‘As long as you come out of this well,’ Bel said, pulling a sulky trout face that was both comic and sincere.

‘You know what pisses me off?’ Connor said. ‘I’ve actually been conscious that he was in love with you, probably still is in love with you. Pawing you in front of him felt like gratuitous cruelty. That’s where this has come from.’

Bel was extremely grateful for this reading, when hers was: should’ve picked a fake date that wasn’t a whole division different.

‘You all right?’ Connor said, quietly, studying her expression. ‘Tim has a grudge, he was never going to give your attendance a good review?’

‘I know. But I feel like everyone’s laughing at me.’

‘Because they don’t believe we’re together?

‘Yeah. That I couldn’t stand on my own two feet.’

Connor gazed at her.

‘There’s an obvious fix if you want to shut them up, but I don’t know if you’ve got the stomach for it.’

‘Oh?’

‘We could kiss. I don’t think anyone thinks you’d do that with your gay stooge workmate, especially if you do it right.’

Connor looked at her steadily. Bel swallowed, her heart pumped faster. She had to say a quick yes and not think about how overwhelming this would feel. Do it right.

‘I’m up for it if you think it’ll do the trick.’

Cool Girl indifference, when she was crucified by its secret appeal. What if he thought she was a bad kisser? She abruptly had the worries of a fifteen-year-old.

‘Not here, then,’ Connor said.

‘Why?’

‘Too obvious. It’ll look like we’re kissing to be seen kissing.’

‘We will be doing it to be seen,’ Bel said.

‘Duh! My point is, it needs to look spontaneous and like they’re spying on us when we feel like we’re alone.’ Connor listened to the song change. ‘This’ll do. Follow me.’

In her mid-thirties, Bel was humiliatingly forced to Shazam the music more often than she’d admit to, but she recognised it: FKA Twigs’ ‘Two Weeks’. It was intense and carnal and she was now scared shitless at what she’d set in motion. She wanted to kiss Connor so much it was like every cell of her body was ablaze, but in the act of kissing him, she couldn’t have him figure that out. It was a logic pretzel and a phenomenal task, and frankly so impossible she’d just have to try to enjoy it.

Bel was glad it was happening too rapidly for her to properly break a sweat.

Connor stopped, stationing them by a pillar.

‘Let me check we’re in their eyeline. You keep looking at me,’ Connor said. ‘… Yep they’ll probably see us.’

‘I’m actually scared. Is it normal to be scared?’ Bel babbled.

‘Is this your first time kissing someone?’ Connor said.

‘I’ve never snogged the intern for a dare.’

She had to be self-protectively dismissive or she’d not be able to do this.

‘Don’t be sick in my mouth, that’s all I ask,’ Connor said.

‘I have better control over my gastric contents than to—’

‘Bel. Stop talking.’

Connor pushed his fingers into her hair, hand clasping the side of her face, and moved in, but not without a split second of hesitation as he looked into her eyes that was somehow the most heart-jolting moment of all. As their mouths met, Bel thought if she’d not already admitted to herself how she felt about him, she’d have had no chance of her determined obliviousness surviving this experience.

It was easily the greatest kiss of her life, slow but purposeful, hard but gentle, her hand on the back of his neck as she stood on tiptoes. It shouldn’t be legal to kiss like that when you looked like that. The man was a dangerous intoxicant.

For a few seconds after they parted, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Bel’s powers of second-guessing Connor disappeared entirely. She was momentarily too lost in her own response to even begin to gauge what his might be.

Where I come from, that was a once-in-a-lifetime kiss, is it in yours? Or do you call this ‘having to work on a Saturday’?

‘Are they looking over?’ Bel whispered, and Connor replied, in a low voice that turned her insides upside down: ‘I have no idea.’