Beauty and the Bridesmaid

Chapter Seventeen

I spend my Saturday morning Facebook stalking Josh Graves, Lela’s ex. For someone who doesn’t have any interest in social media, this is a relatively new phenomenon. I can’t believe how much private stuff people post online. And it’s not like they’re selective about it either. There are zero privacy blocks on Josh’s profile. I can see all his recent activity, information, pictures, everything. I don’t know if I’m expecting to find a very public posting from Lela declaring their affair, but what I do find is even more suspicious. Because I can’t find anything. Not even a cryptic status update that would hint at any reconciliation between him and Lela.

Annoyed that my snooping hasn’t paid off, I slam my laptop lid down. I’m almost starting to think that whatever Damien saw wasn’t the markings of an illicit affair at all. But Lela still cheated with someone, and Josh is the perfect candidate. I don’t know why I didn’t think of him before. I suppose I just assumed that they weren’t in contact anymore, much like me and Ash. But people bump into friends they haven’t seen in years all the time, don’t they? Maybe they met up innocently just for a chat about old times but realised that they still had feelings for each other. And what’s Lela supposed to do? She’s engaged to somebody else.

I think about why Lela broke up with Josh in the first place. He had a good job in Wakefield and wanted to stay, wanted his girlfriend to move in with him and start their lives together. I thought they’d do that because neither of them had applied to go to university. But then Lela announced that she’d accepted a job offer in York. All I know is that she went, and Josh never went with her.

A part of me wonders why it was my ex she chose to get in contact with when she moved back home. She must still feel something for Josh if, a year and a fancy engagement ring later, she’s willing to cheat on Ash with him.

Squinting at the time display on my mobile, I realise that I have less than an hour before I’m supposed to be at a spa in Huddersfield for Lela’s hen party. I don’t even have time to think about what I’m going to say to her or how I can possibly forget about what Damien told me.

The spa is decorated with pink balloons to signify that a special event is going on, and a bored-looking woman with long, glossy brown hair in a neat ponytail hands me a glass of champagne without even asking who I am or if I’m part of the hen party. I sip the fizzy liquid and the woman points a manicured fingernail past the empty reception desk and towards a tall wooden door on the right.

I follow her silent directions and find myself in a room with a sparkling green mosaic floor and tranquil music playing softly from the wall-mounted speakers.

“You must be the head bridesmaid!” A fresh-faced girl with a looming athletic frame and short blonde pixie cut appears from nowhere and beams at me.

“Is everyone else already here?” I guess. It’s not like my bone structure screams ‘head bridesmaid’.

“Yup.” The woman’s head bounces up and down. “They’re just changing into their swimwear. You did bring yours, didn’t you?” Her eyes scan the black handbag I’m clutching as though she has x-ray vision.

My cheeks start to burn. I recall Kerry saying something about bringing one now, but I didn’t realise it was an integral part of a spa trip. It’s not like they provide underwater beauty treatments, is it? “Um…no, actually. I forgot. Is that a problem?”

“It’s not a problem.” She fiddles with the breast pocket on her white tunic.  “If you want to join in with the treatments, you’ll need to borrow one of our spares.”

If I want to join in with the treatments? I’m not paying just to stand around, am I? Borrowing a bathing suit won’t be that bad anyway. They’ve probably got loads of nice ones in my size. Maybe I’ll find one that looks a bit sexier than my usual floral bikini.