Lockdown on London Lane [PUBLISHED w/ WATTPAD BOOKS]

PART 6: Chapter 4 - Olivia

Maid of Honour's log, day WHO CARES IT'S FINALLY OVER OHMIGOD I AM FREE AT LAST HALLE-BLOODY-LUJAH SOUND THOSE CHURCH BELLS I AM FREE THEY ARE LEAVING.

I'm trying very hard not to get in the way of everyone, but it's difficult.

The flat has been chaotic all week – between the wedding stuff, the air bed, all the extra blankets and pillows where Lucy and I were staying in the living room, everyone's things, and the fact that there are, in case I hadn't mentioned it enough yet, four people in my little flat, it would've been impossible to keep it under control – hard as we all tried.

But right now, it's like a bomb went off in here. The place is a wreck.

The air bed is still inflated, and standing propped up against one wall. My laundry basket is in the middle of the room, overflowing with this week's sheets and blankets. As I watch, Lucy starts rummaging through it, looking for her other bra and muttering to herself. There's a cluster of mugs on the coffee table – some of them empty, one of them still steaming hot, others half-drunk and forgotten. The boxes of wedding favours and centrepieces are pushed under the dining table, although Kim has promised to take them with her.

It shouldn't be this difficult for three girls to pack their weekend bags up.

And yet.

Here we are, having all been awake for hours, and they're still packing.

Addison was convinced she couldn't find her phone anywhere, and it was only after we all went deathly silent and called it, listening carefully for the tell-tale buzz, that we found it had somehow ended up in the bottom of Lucy's immaculately packed bag – which Addison promptly upended onto the sofa. Kim has been running back and forth, suddenly remembering something else of hers that either she brought, or Jeremy packed for her, that is now floating around my flat somewhere.

The entire morning has been punctuated with calls of –

"Liv, is this yours? I don't remember mine having this mark on it."

"Ads, will you move? You can't possibly need all this space. I'm trying to pack here."

"Has anybody seen my other slipper?"

"Luce, where did you say you saw my skirt? Yes, I'm sure I didn't pack it already, I... Oh, no, I did. Never mind."

I've been trying to hang at the edge of the room, surveilling the carnage. There's not a lot I can do to help, after all. This is absolutely one of those 'too many cooks' situations.

But God, if I could help, I would. If I could shove all their things into a bin bag and toss them out onto the curb to get the sanctuary of my flat back, I absolutely would.