Jon is the only one laughing at his joke.
“I need to use the bathroom,” says Ola, throwing daggers at her husband. “Rach, is your front door open?”
Rachel shakes her head. “The key’s under the mat. Actually, I’ll come with.” The two of them link arms, and I wait for Rachel to invite me, but instead they strut away.
“Wait, did I say something wrong?” says Jon after they’ve departed.
Gavesh pats him on the shoulder. “Remind me to never take marriage tips from you, yeah. Anyway, let me fix you a drink. Yinka, what do you fancy?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry, I’ll grab one later.” And with that, I scamper to the back to hide.
So, how do you know the engaged couple?
After two failed attempts to get hold of Nana—she’s probably on the Tube—I lean against the wall and exhale. I don’t know how I’m going to meet a guy tonight. I feel so unattractive. Maybe I should start my plan another day.
“For goodness’ sake, Yinka, stop being so closed-minded.” I’m hearing Ola’s voice in my head. Then I imagine the worst—Aunty Debbie praying over my singleness at Rachel’s wedding.
I inhale through my nose. No. I’m not going to back out.
I lift my chin high and do a full sweep of the rooftop. Similar to the crowd at All Bar One, most of the guys are standing in huddles, though there are a handful that are dancing. Hmm. How awkward would it be for me to slide right in and join them? Maybe not. I don’t want any of the women on the dance floor to rip my hair out.
With a sigh, I turn to the left and almost jump out of my skin. A man has suddenly appeared, standing against the wall a couple of feet away from me. Ooh, he’s quite cute. He’s wearing a Budweiser T-shirt which makes me feel ten times better, and he looks like someone I’d happily introduce Mum to. And he’s not wearing a ring. Thank you, Jesus.
As I glance away, I remember the Daily Mail article. Oh, yeah. I’m supposed to hold eye contact and smile.
I turn my head slowly, hoping I don’t look like a creepy Chucky doll. But the man is scrolling through his phone now, taking sips of his 7up while he bops along to the music.
Fab.
After five excruciating seconds of staring, I decide to abandon steps one and two. On to step three—comment on the surroundings.
“So, you’re a fan too?” I raise my voice, and thankfully, the man looks up. I bop my head, hopefully on beat.
He frowns.
“J. Cole.” I take a step forward. “I saw you bopping along.”
The man’s face lights up and he smiles. “Ohhh, right,” he says, and I grin, pleased that I’ve broken the ice. “Yeah. Cole’s music is dope, right? So what’s your favorite album, then? I’m torn between Forest Hills Drive and The Blow Up. Although, The Warm Up is pretty sick too. How about you?”
The smug smile I had on my face now feels frozen in place. Okay. That was a bad move. Yeah, I know a couple of J. Cole hits, but I’m not going to pretend that I’m a hip hop head.
“Err . . . the last one,” I say, nodding. “That album was the bomb, right?” Seriously, Yinka. The bomb? “Anyways, I’m Yinka.” I stick out my hand and the man shakes it.
“Karl,” he says with a bright smile.
“So, how do you know the engaged couple?”
“Through my girlfriend.”
My heart plummets to my knees.
“She works with Rachel,” Karl is now saying. “Speaking of which, here she comes now.”
Just when I think my heart can’t sink any lower, a stylishly dressed woman joins us. She’s wearing an expensive-looking leather jacket and one of those bold patterned topknot head wraps that I tried to pull off once but couldn’t because I was rubbish at tying it. Honestly, it looked like a deformed pineapple.
Karl does the introductions. Her name is Taleesha.
“Sorry to interrupt.” She places a hand on my elbow and turns to Karl. “Can you take a photo of me and the couple, real quick? Actually, you should join us.” She turns to me and proffers her phone. “Sorry, Yinka. Do you mind?”
After being photographer for five whole minutes and then reluctantly joining one of the group photos, I retreat to my spot by the wall, no longer in the mood to go man scouting. I rest my elbows on the concrete brick. Despite the dark sky and the distance, I can just about make out Godfrey & Jackson’s shiny high-rise building in London’s skyline, Canary Wharf, next to the tower with the flashing beacon.
My lips wobble.
No, I won’t be upset. I roll my shoulders. I won’t be upset at my cousin’s engagement party. Besides, I’ve applied for a couple of jobs already; I’m sure I’ll get one soon. I just have to pray, have faith and be optimistic.
“Yinka! What are you doing here?”
I wrench away my view of the skyline and glance to the right.
“Derek?”
Derek throws himself at me and gives my shoulders a squeeze. I give his back two ineffectual pats.
“Hey! We’re both Game of Thrones fans!” He points at his own T-shirt. It’s exactly the same design as mine.
“I guess we are,” I reply, wanting to rip the damn thing off. I fold my arms. “So, how do you know Rachel and Gavesh?”
“Gavesh and I work at the same hospital.” Derek flashes me a smile.
“Wow! Small world.” I clear my throat. “You work as a nurse, right?”
Derek smiles. “You remember.”
Bugger. People are always confusing my weirdly good memory with being a stalker. Or fancying them. My brain is like superglue. Things stick.
“How ’bout you? How do you know the couple?” He touches a bald spot on his head. “Let me guess. You work with Rachel, right?”
“Actually, Rachel’s my cousin,” I correct him.
Derek leans back. “No way! Your mum’s side?”
“No, my dad’s, actually.”
He nods a few times. “So . . .” He leans against the wall. “When are you next planning to visit All Welcome?”
It’s a simple question, and yet I’m floundering.
“Not for the foreseeable future,” I say, wincing at my own formality. “I attend a new church now. It’s just down the road from where I live in Denmark Hill. Actually, Derek, are you thirsty? Because I am. Can I get you a drink?”
“Let me get it. Anything in particular?”
“Er, G&T, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Derek shoots me the finger gun and stupid me does one back. At last, he wanders away.
It’s going to be a long night. I exhale and look up at the sky. God, I wanted to meet a new guy, not spend my evening talking to Derek!
Frustrated, I whip out my phone and I’m about to text Nana when I spot a very attractive woman hanging by the entrance in the way that people do when they show up to a party alone. She’s curvy, wearing a mustard-colored dress, and her complexion is so, so light. She’s stroking her hair, looking all Nicole Scherzinger–esque in that shampoo ad.
Suddenly, she heads in my direction, and in the same way that Moses split the Red Sea, the crowd parts.
“Oh, shit,” I hear a guy say as he eyes her from behind.