"Are you ready, yet?" I called through to Melanie and Andrew.
"Nearly!" shouted Mel back to me. I checked my watch: fortunately, I know what Mel's like; had planned ahead; and we had plenty of time. I watched Emma adjust her earrings, and tweak her hair into a satisfactory form.
It never ceases to amaze how much primping can be accomplished. It wasn't surprising, though, that the girls would be trying to look their best: we were heading for their friend Marie's wedding. It could have been worse: if Marie had made them bridesmaids, we'd have been preparing since last week.
"Right, I'm sorted," claimed Emmy, "Have you got everything?"
She came across and planted a kiss on my cheek as I checked my pockets: phone, keys, map, wallet.
"Yup. You look good," I smiled, as I looked her over. Playfully, she did a spin for me, swinging out her auburn hair. It complemented her green skirt and black top, and was set off by the haematite jewellery she wore. I grinned, and kissed her as she posed in front of me.
"Ready!" interrupted Andrew's call through the door. Breaking apart, we went out into the hall, finding them waiting.
"I persuaded her to make a final decision on footwear," explained Andrew, "and stop prevaricating."
"It's tricky!" grumbled Mel, "They need to be comfy for standing, dancing, and walking around the grounds. I had to try the different options."
"Well, you have so many pairs, it must be hard to keep track of which one's good for what," I suggested.
"Exactly!" she agreed, smiling but otherwise ignoring my sarcasm. "Shall we go?"
Marie's wedding was at a country house, one in fact I'd been to before, as it also runs the occasional small conference. It took about an hour to drive there in the warm summer weather, past the bright yellow rapeseed fields that cover that bit of East Anglia. The girls chattered away, and I quietly followed the instructions on the sat nav screen, listening to them and Andy's occasional interjection.
We pulled up and found a space to park. I was pleased that we were about half an hour earlier than needed, and Mel suggested we look around the house's grounds before making our way inside.
Taking her boyfriend by the hand, Mel practically scurried off, down a path into a garden, leaving Em and me to amuse ourselves.
"She's always in charge," Emmy chuckled at the sight of Andy under tow. "She'll want to find a quiet spot to make out for a while, no doubt."
"Poor boy," I joked. Taking her hand, we wandered down a different path, through a walled garden.
"If it stays this warm, I won't need the wrap," mused Em.
"It'll be cooler this evening, though," I pointed out. "Keep it in your bag 'til then?"
She nodded, and we paused at a bench for her to fold it and tuck it away. We continued on, through a herb garden, and out into long herbaceous border. When about halfway along, Mel and Andrew emerged at the far end, and turned to come down towards us. Mel smiled angelically at us.
"Didn't get lost, then? Shall we go inside?"
She linked her arm with mine, and the four of us headed as one towards the house. Finding the main entrance, we went in and sat down, about halfway back, on the left of the room. Mel chattered energetically at Andrew, and Emmy struck up conversation with a couple in the row ahead of ours, while I watched the fidgeting groom and groomsmen at the front, and familiarised myself with the ceremony.
Modern, civil, very Marie: that was my conclusion.
Mel dragged me into their conversation, as we talked about the house and grounds; they'd gone along the edge of a copse, and spotted a summerhouse, before finding us in the long borders. I recommended the walled garden to them, in turn.
Eventually, the music shifted to the inevitable march, and our attention followed; Em broke off her chat, and we turned to watch Marie enter.
Civil ceremonies always seem to fly past, I think, and so it was with this one. No sooner had she entered, it seemed, than vows were exchanged, and out they were processing.
We loitered in the courtyard, sipping and nibbling while the photos were taken, making small talk with other guests, a good number of whom we knew. That tedium over, we made our way to our table: the four of us, fortunately, on one with two other couples Em and Mel knew.
There are worse ways to spend a couple of hours, than enjoying a delicious, paid for, multi-course meal, sandwiched between two pretty girls. I'm not the best at finding conversation with strangers, so it was rather a relief to have Em to my right, and the ever talkative Mel on my left.
Dishes came and went; wine flowed; speeches were made; tears welled. Not mine, you understand.
I was enjoying a rather fine tart for my dessert, when Em's leg nudged against mine. Glancing over, she seemed deep in conversation, but I pushed gently back. Without a break in her flow, her leg rubbed softly along mine, and a bare foot wound round the back of my trouser.
The sound of a knife against a glass rang out, and she was interrupted by a toast, though she winked at me as we stood.
Emmy went back to her conversation, and I to my tart: I put it from mind, but picked up the thread of Mel's debate with Andy about some film they'd seen the previous week.
The meal finished, and we meandered back to the courtyard, enjoying the warm sun, while the set was changed for the early evening. Andrew collected a round of drinks from the bar, and we nursed them while lined up on a stone bench. Emmy snuggled under my arm, my hand dangling, I felt, precariously close to her breast. Sandwiched again—it's a hard life—between her and Mel to my left, I couldn't do much about it. And why would I?
I let it drift, slowly, to graze the side of her right breast, and she shifted infinitesimally, pressing slightly back against me, under the guise of a sip of Kir Royale. She smiled at me, but the contact was lost. A moment later, Mel asked my opinion, and I was distracted.
After an hour or so outside, we decided to go in for a bit—I think Emmy was conscious of her redhead's pale skin under the sun. She and Mel accompanied one another to the ladies' room, while Andy and I acquired further drinks.
The girls re-emerged, and I passed Em her recharged glass. Mel led us to a table where we had a good view of the dance floor. Barely giving Andy a chance to put his glass down, she took charge again, and pulled him off to join the dancing. I couldn't help but smile, he looked so mournfully at his pint as he left it.
Undeterred by their substantial difference in height, Mel and Andy had been going to dancing classes for about six months, which they both seemed to be enjoying immensely: this was an ideal opportunity to put the classes to use. For someone 6'3" tall, Andrew's surprisingly light and quick on his feet; and Mel's diminutive frame makes some tricks and lifts very easy for the pair.
They were good, even to an untrained eye, and ended the number with an enormous grin across Mel's face. Andy was happy to be reunited with his pint, and Mel seemed content to take a breather. A slow track came up before long, and Emmy took her chance, in turn, to take me up on the floor.
I try to find the silver lining in things like this: it was a great opportunity to get Em into my arms and under my hand. I ran my hand down her back and over her arse; then back up to hold her waist. For her part, she pressed her breasts against me, and leant her face into my neck most cooperatively.
We got back to our table to find Mel whispering into Andy's ear. He grinned as she finished and we arrived.
"Yeah," he replied, enigmatically. "Another drink, Chris? Em?"
I demurred, as I still had half of my last drink; Emmy mulled it over, and agreed.
"We'll get them, this time," announced Mel, grabbing Em by the wrist. As they snaked through the tables to get to the bar, I turned to Andy.
"What's she planning now?" I asked.
