April 14
Dear diary,
Emily called me bright and early, her voice buzzing through the phone as if shed already slipped into wedding mode. Harriet, get your best outfit readyIm getting married, and I want you to be my maid of honour, she declared, confident as ever.
I was still halfasleep when she dropped that bombshell. Your wedding already? Whens the ceremony? I asked, genuinely surprised.
In ten days, she replied, almost giddy. Can you believe it? I jumped on the last train home, James and I are already expecting our first childI’m thirtynine, after all, the perfect age for a baby. Im over the moon!
Emily, youre going to leap into motherhood and marriage all at once are you sure? I warned, halfjoking.
Dont worry, she laughed, Ill have a limousine, a white gown fit for a princess, everything. Ive never actually worn a bridal dress before, but nows the time. And you, as my maid of honour, need to look the part, she said, cackling into the receiver.
What about a best man for James? I inquired.
Oliver, his mate. Youll probably never have met himtall, darkhaired, a proper stud, she replied, humming the old tune of our university days.
Wed been friends since the first year at Leeds. Id married right after graduating, spent six years with Tom, and then called it quits when our son arrived and I realised Tom was more interested in nights out than fatherhood. After that, a few brief flings, but none ever blossomed into something lasting. My son now studies at university in Manchester, living with his grandmothermy motherwhich suits me just fine.
Emily and I shared a tiny flat in the university hall of residence; I was a year older, yet she always seemed the more seasoned one, like a greenhousegrown flower too trusting of the sunshine. She was the warrior typenever backing down, always ready to defend a friend. I was the more cautious, softer side, often saying, You cant change a person, love, you just have to accept them.
Life went on. Emily hadnt married yet, though a steady bloke was always around, but shed never found a man who truly captured her heart. Then, out of the blue, she fell for a former footballer turned businessman. We drifted apart for a while, meeting only occasionally, until she rang me with the wedding invitation.
Harriet, I need youdont fall for Oliver, hes a bit of a lothario! she warned, halfserious.
I smiled. You know Ive never been into handsome men anyway.
She insisted Id see. Youll understand once you meet him, she said.
I spent the afternoon at the town centre mall, hunting for a dress that felt right. After much browsing, I settled on a floorlength beige gown with a daring back cut. Relieved, I booked an appointment at the salon, feeling a little spark of excitement.
Emily called again, reminding me of the date and venue, joking that even from a distance I could feel her happiness. The next morning, she rang once more.
Oliver will pick you up at eleven, she said.
Ill be at the salon then, I replied.
Tell him the address, hell swing by, she answered, chuckling. Dont worry, Ive already sent him your photo. He thinks youre gorgeous.
Sure enough, Oliver turned out to be exactly as described: broadshouldered, tall, dark hair, with a gaze that could melt butter. He greeted me with a theatrical bow.
Beautifuldangerous force, he declared, extending his hand. Im Oliver, delighted to meet a reallife fairy.
My knees trembled. Harriet, I managed, feeling oddly dazed. He chatted away for the whole drive, while I smiled politely, my mind drifting to Emily.
The registry office ceremony was lovely, though nerves still fluttered in my stomach. I was genuinely thrilled for Emily. At the reception, Oliver and I sat at the centre table beside the newlyweds. After a series of heartfelt toasts, a slow song began, and Oliver asked me to dance.
I hope being your maid of honour earns me the first dance, he whispered.
I took his hand, and we glided to the middle of the room. As we swayed, he leaned in, murmuring, Your perfume is intoxicatingstronger than any wine.
My heart raced. I tried to convince myself, Hes not the one for you, Harriet. Dont fall for him. Easy to say, harder to feel.
Later, Emily nudged me, I warned you, didnt I? Keep him at arms length.
But I like him, I admitted, a little embarrassed.
She smirked, Hes a proper cadcharming, slick, and greedy. Women get burned by him. Just have a bit of fun, nothing serious.
Im not planning to move in with him, I replied.
Dont be sure, she warned. Youll blink and hell be on your sofa, spinning stories and taking advantage. Trust me, Ive seen it before.
A few days later Oliver suggested we stop for a coffee after work. He lingered at my flat, and Emily called, her voice a mix of amusement and concern.
Didnt listen to me, huh? If he ever complains about money, dont give him a penny.
Where does Oliver work, anyway? I asked, halfcurious.
He says his dad runs a business, that he helps out and travels to France often. That shiny car isnt his; its his fathers. He just uses the power of attorney, Emily explained, a hint of warning in her tone.
I thought, Maybe Im being too harsh. He does seem attentive.
Weeks later Oliver asked for a loanten thousand pounds to cover a car repair and some firmrelated cash flow issues. I dug into my savings and handed it over, telling him to repay when he could.
The following Friday, Emily, James, and I met at a café. Before we entered, I asked Oliver if he had enough cash for his share.
Blimey, he said, patting his pockets. I only have three hundred pounds on me, maybe a bit more.
I shrugged, pulling out a twothousandpound note from my wallet. Here, keep it. Its gentlemanly for a man to pay his way, I joked, handing it over.
The night was wonderfulwine, dancing, laughter. The next weekend Emily suggested a getaway to a cosy cottage by the lake for some fishing and rest.
Lets get away, love. You work too hard, she said to James, eyes soft.
Oliver replied proudly, Im my own boss, after all.
At the cottage, Oliver realised hed left his wallet at home. I saw through his ruse and asked, What now, Oliver? Were you planning to go?
He sheepishly admitted, I have no idea how that happened. I feel so embarrassed.
I kept quiet, observing him from my seat.
A pretty blonde approached Oliver, tapping his shoulder. Hey, Oliverchasing another bird? she taunted.
What? Who are you? he stammered, turning to Emily, who gave a knowing smile.
The girls are going to freshen up, she said, then leaned toward me. Hes found another golden goose, you see? He lives off women, loses his money, boasts about foreign trips and a dads empire, but never actually works. Hes a leech.
Emily whispered, Now you see, dont you? I tried to warn you.
I felt a knot tighten. What now? I asked, upset.
Nothing, she replied. Just push him away. We dont need freeloaders. Ill help you.
Back at the café, Emily stared straight at Oliver and told him flatly who he was, then suggested he leave. He muttered something about unfairness, stood up, and shouted, Youre all rubbish! as he stormed out, tossing a halfhearted apology at me.
Emily shouted after him, Well remember you, you pompous git!
I laughed, grateful for her fierce loyalty. Thanks, Emily. Youve always got my back.
Tonight, as I write this, Im still pondering Olivers charm and his empty promises. Emilys warnings echo in my mind, but part of me cant help feeling a flutter whenever he smiles. Perhaps Ill keep my distance, as she says, and enjoy the occasional glimpse of his reckless sparklejust not enough to let it consume me.
Harriet.
