The Guest List by Lucy Foley Read Online (FREE)
‘So,’ I say, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘You ready to be a married man?’
He grins, nods. ‘I am. What can I say? I’m head over heels.’
I was surprised when Will told me he was getting married, I’m not going to lie. I’ve always thought of him as a lad about town. No woman can resist that golden boy charm. On the stag he told me about some of the dates he went on, before Jules. ‘I mean, in a way it was crazy good. I’ve never had so much action with so many different women as when I joined those apps, not even at uni. I had to get myself tested every couple of weeks. But there were some crazy ones out there, some clingy ones, you know? I don’t have time for all that any more. And then Jules came along. And she was … perfect. She’s so sure of herself, of what she wants from life. We’re the same.’
I bet the house in Islington didn’t hurt either, I didn’t say. The loaded dad. I don’t dare rib him about it – people get weird talking about money. But if there’s one thing Will has always liked, maybe even more than the ladies, it’s money. Maybe it’s a thing from childhood, never having quite as much as anyone else at our school. I get that. He was there because his dad was headmaster, while I got in on a sports scholarship. My family aren’t posh at all. I was spotted playing rugby at a school tournament in Croydon when I was eleven and they approached my dad. That sort of thing actually happened at Trevs: it was that important to them to field a good team.
A voice comes from down below us. ‘Hey hey hey!’ What’s going on up here?’
‘Boys!’ Will says. ‘Come up and join us! More the merrier!’
Bollocks. I was quite enjoying it being just Will and me.
They’re climbing up out of the trapdoor – the four ushers. I shift over to make room, giving each a nod as they appear: Femi, then Angus, Duncan, Peter.
‘Fuck me, it’s high up here,’ Femi says, peering over the edge.
Duncan grabs hold of Angus’s shoulders and pretends to give him a shove. ‘Whoa, saved you!’
Angus lets out a high-pitched squeal and we all laugh. ‘Don’t!’ he says angrily, recovering himself. ‘Jesus – that’s fucking dangerous.’ He’s clinging on to the stone as though for dear life, inching his way along to sit down next to us. Angus was always a bit wet for our group, but got social credit for arriving in his dad’s chopper at the start of term.
Will hands out the cans of Guinness I’d been eyeing up for seconds.
‘Thanks, mate,’ Femi says. He looks at the can. ‘When in Rome, hey?’
Pete nods to the drop beneath us. ‘Think you might have to have a few of these to forget about that, Angus mate.’