Max nodded slowly. “Noted.”
“Well, we’re actually on the way to the ladies,” said Josie, deciding that avoidance was probably the best policy.
“Yes,” said Bia immediately. “So sorry not to be able to chat.” Jesus, Bia could at least try to be subtle.
They left Max standing there, and just in time—when Josie glanced back she saw Erin gliding over to him, perfectly swanlike, her blond hair pretty much shimmering in the bloody sunlight. Josie must have made some kind of noise, because Bia frowned up at her, then glanced back too. “Ah,” she said. “So that’s the girl.”
Josie sighed. “So it would appear.”
“She’s not that pretty,” said Bia, and Josie laughed.
“So convincing.”
Bia downed the rest of her gin in one. “Well, regardless of what she looks like, I’m fully on board for hating her, don’t you worry.”
Josie managed to avoid Max for the rest of the afternoon, and was grateful that, when the party moved into the pavilion, where everything was white, with fairy lights on the ceiling and flowers on each circular table, the seating plan had her and Bia on different tables from Max and Erin today. Different tables from Tom and Jess, too, and when Josie saw that both she and Bia were next to a guy each, Josie wondered if they’d been put on the obligatory singles table. A quick scan of the names told her that Graeme, at least, was not included.
Bia and Josie sat, Bia stumbling slightly on her heels, and Josie glanced around. From what she could gather, the majority of the two hundred or so guests were on John’s side—the Scottish accents seemed to grow thicker, taking up more of the space. She was looking up when a guy with horn-rimmed glasses, hair with a copious amount of gel, and a slightly protruding belly took a seat next to her. He gave a contented sigh, as if happy to be off his feet, though he had to be only in his thirties. He smiled at her. “Well, hello there.” The accent was thick—definitely one of John’s friends then. “I’m Rob.”
Josie nodded politely. “Josie.” She’d forgotten this about weddings—the endless introductions. She glanced round to see that Bia was already deep in conversation with the man the other side of her—a blond, tanned guy who already had Bia giggling. Giggling, for God’s sake.
“So, Josie. What is it that you do?”
She took a sip of her elderflower and Prosecco cocktail, which she and Bia had moved on to after the gin. “I’m, err, just in between things at the moment.” No need to mention that the “in between” involved mindlessly answering phones at a car dealer reception. “How about you?” she asked quickly, before he could press her further. And so he entered into the most mind-numbingly boring explanation of what he did, which was apparently something to do with “statistical analysis”—something he seemed to feel the need to demonstrate with the frequent use of statistics. More than once, she tried to nudge Bia to get her attention, but Bia was oblivious, occasionally letting out bursts of high-pitched laughter—a sure sign that she was on her way to being well and truly hammered—at something her guy was saying. Briefly, Josie wondered if this was the guy Laura had implied she should dress up for and, if so, whether she should be offended by that. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max at a nearby table, and tried not to notice the way Erin was touching his hand. Tried not to remember how that warm, strong hand had felt holding hers last December.
Bia finally turned her attention to Josie, just as Rob broke off his explanation of his job to enter into a description of what he did for hobbies—which included rock climbing, something that Josie didn’t quite buy, rock collecting, which she did believe, and butterflies. She wasn’t entirely sure how “butterflies” were a hobby, but decided it was safest not to ask. Bia gave Josie a look, but there was nothing either of them could do. “And what about you?” Rob asked, in between a mouthful of venison that had been served with dauphinoise potatoes, and actually tasted impressive, considering the mass catering.
“Oh, I’m actually into the javelin.” Josie wasn’t sure what made her say it—maybe it was the most recent glass of white wine—but it was out before she could think better of it. Next to her, Bia spluttered so hard that she started coughing, and had to take several gulps of water, waving off her guy’s concern at the same time.
Rob seemed to notice nothing odd about that, and only raised his eyebrows fractionally. “Really?”