Hi everyone - back again with the next instalment of Lockdown on London Lane, but before we get to that: WOW. Just wow. Today it hit 100,000 reads and I'm honestly ecstatic. Thank you so much. I'm really glad so many of you are enjoying this - and glad so many of you got involved commenting on Part 3. (It was pretty entertaining to see all the opinions on pineapple on pizza, and who was taking Serena or Zach's side in the argument.)

HUGE thanks, everyone, for all the support - and now, on with Part 4! You might even spot a few familiar names cropping up this week...

Captain's – er, Maid of Honour's – log, day six. The lounge is littered with the remains of broken wedding favours. The bride is clutching a mascara-streaked pillow, face dismal even in her sleep. Someone is snoring in the bedroom – they're the reason I'm awake so early. Recycling box in the kitchen is overflowing. Stepped on some of the broken glass and sort of hoping it does turn out bad enough that I need to go and get stitches just so I can leave this godforsaken flat and –

            I shake myself.

            Definitely, definitely losing my mind.

            I lift up my foot, taking a peek. It wasn't even a big cut, and it's not even bled through the plaster I put on last night. No stitches required.

            Bitterly, I think that Lucy probably would've announced she was a trained nurse and able to do that for me to save me a hospital visit, but I quickly remind myself that's not fair, either. She was very sweet last night, the first one to hop up and go looking under my kitchen sink for a dustpan and brush to clean it all up, and then gently advising me to clean the cut on my foot with an antiseptic wipe and some cream before I put a plaster on.

            I definitely shouldn't be getting annoyed at Lucy right now.

            Besides me, she might be the only rational person in this damn flat.

            God, I wish I'd never agreed to this all.

            We'd had this weekend planned for months. It was only six months until the wedding, and four until the hen do (although right now, it's looking like that weekend up in York going from club to club in neon pink feather boas and draping Kim in L-plates and a cheap veil isn't going to happen if all this carries on... Or if the wedding even still goes ahead...)

            Kim always swore she wouldn't be a bridezilla, but those of us who knew her all laughed and reassured her that we were fully prepared for her to lose her mind to wedding prep. She's the kind of person who was born to get married. She's so dreamy-eyed, such a romantic... She and Jeremy have even already started working out when they want to start trying for babies, and how they'll manage it when babies do come along.

            Kim was definitely going to be a bridezilla.

            It was never a matter of if, but of when.

            She's had her moments, throughout the last year since Jeremy proposed. There was the meltdown when her mum and grandma got stuck in traffic and missed the wedding fair, and another when she decided she'd found 'The Dress' but it was double the cost of the wedding dress budget, so she and Jeremy had a big row about whether it was worth it or if they should cut costs elsewhere and did she really expect them not to pay for the absurdly expensive hotel room for his grandparents the weekend of the wedding? Oh, and there was the time she actually screamed at the hairdresser who did a trial run, because it didn't look the way the picture on Pinterest did...

            I held her hand and consoled her through all of it, and reassured her that she wasn't overreacting while apologising to people behind her back on her behalf.

            It was all my job, my duty, as maid of honour.

            (Admittedly, I'd quite enjoyed it all. Kim and I had always joked about me being her maid of honour since we were little kids, and I loved having a project to sink my teeth into. And Kim's wedding was a pretty bloody big project.)

            I dared not complain.

            I did, however, dare to float the idea that we should cancel this weekend.

            After all, there was a pandemic going on. You shouldn't be travelling, they said, unless you had to. You should stay at home.

            "Don't be ridiculous," she blustered over the phone, puffing and panting because she was out power-walking at the time. (Part of a strict pre-wedding exercise regime, to counter all the cake testing.) "We've had this planned for ages. How else am I going to get all the wedding favours and the centrepieces done? Don't you remember we had to cut the entire budget almost to nothing, after I agreed to let Jeremey plan that ludicrous weekend in Budapest for his stag do?"

            It was hardly a budget of nothing, I thought at the time, looking at the boxes of dried rose petals, netted bags, and individually wrapped chocolates and sweets that had just shown up at my flat that day, ready to be tied into little wedding favours.

            "And besides, Addison's not been out anywhere, and you've not been out anywhere, and you both live alone, and Lucy's been living with her parents but she's not been out anywhere else and honestly, Liv, I cannot deal, this whole thing is just – it's such a pain. It's not like they'll even be taking public transport to get to your place! And if Jeremy loses all that money on the stag do when I had to go and get a cheaper dress, I'll be absolutely furious. It'll be fine. If anyone gets so much as a sniffle, we'll rearrange, but right now everything is fine."

            She said it so venomously, like she could fix this entire thing just by sheer willpower alone, that I didn't really have it in me to protest. I did message her future sister-in-law, Lucy, and her friend from her year abroad and current job, Addison, outside of the group chat, saying that I wouldn't blame them if they didn't want to come over...

            Obviously, Kim had already got to them, or they'd already expressed their doubts to her, because the messages I got back from them were a little too enthusiastic...

Lucy Kingsley:

Oh, don't worry about it! I know how important this weekend is to Kim and really excited to meet you both properly and spend some time together! We've all being very careful right now so sure it'll be fine x

Addison Goldstein:

GIRL, don't even! I haven't hung out with people in aaaaages, I need this weekend! (And think Kim will actually have an aneurysm if we don't do those centrepieces... LOL!) Thanks again for putting us all up for the weekend hon – see you both in a few days!

Olivia Barton:

Sure! No worries! Just thought I'd check :) Got the champers all ready and can't wait! xxx

I look now at the clutter of empty champagne (well, fine, buy-one-get-one-half-price prosecco) bottles in my recycling box and sigh. My head is throbbing just looking at them, although I'm not sure the booze is the real reason for my headache this morning.

            The whole weekend, it had been flowing freely. I'd over-bought, just to be on the safe side, and last night we'd decided to break into the rest of the stash.

            It had been such a great idea at the time.

            Now...

            I wince, remembering the sound of the bottle smashing against the wall, Kim wailing.

            It was probably the worst idea in the world, to open the prosecco.

            (I'm not quite willing to admit it was mine.)

            I'm quietly fixing myself some cereal, not daring to use the toaster in case the 'pop' of it wakes any of the others up. Hosting this little weekend for the bridal party in my equally little one-bedroom flat had seemed like a cute idea at the time.

            Two days, just the one night. No big deal! They'd be gone soon enough.

            Oh, God, I wish they were gone.

            This is the most peace and quiet I've had in the last six days. It really was fine over the weekend. I actually enjoyed it, even though I had half a mind on all the mess I'd have to tidy up once my houseguests vacated.

            Surely this is way too much to expect of a maid of honour, though.

            It's not my fault I lost my temper and said those things last night.

            It's not like most of them weren't true.

            And Kim definitely had no right to say some of the things she had, no matter how upset she'd been...

            I chomp down angrily on a spoonful of cornflakes, scowling out of the window when I hear someone walking into the kitchen behind me, yawning loudly, her neck popping as she rolls it.

            I really hate when Addison does that.

            It was a weird party trick, the first time she did it, on Saturday afternoon. She's done it a dozen or more times, since then, though, and the novelty quickly wore off

            I grimace, turning around. But instead of, Can you maybe not do that?, I say, "Morning. Didn't hear you get up."

            "Oh, sure," she says, too loudly, in her thick southern-American drawl, "I'm an early bird after I've had a few drinks! It's like, the main reason I can go out drinking on a work night, ha-ha!"

            I offer up a weak smile, trying not to freak out as I watch her rummage around my kitchen to find the bagels, which she promptly puts in the toaster. Could she make any more noise? She'll wake the whole bloody building up at this rate.

            She starts to make coffee, and after setting a mug out for herself, she gestures at me with another. "You want one?"

             "Yeah, go on then. Please," I add, as an afterthought.

            I take the mug off her when she hands it over. Her bright purple manicure is chipped, her fingers brushing against mine, and once she's passed over my drink she runs her hand through her hair, effortlessly pulling out the hairband and shaking out her long blonde waves. I have to admire how soft and smooth her hair looks right now.

            The stress of this week has had even my back break out in pimples.

            Speaking of skin, Addison's face is no longer the angry, blotchy pink it was this weekend, after her allergic reaction to our homemade facemasks. (Definitely not my idea, I'm relieved to say, though the cold flannel was.)

            She stands munching on her cream cheese smothered bagel while I sip my coffee, both of us leaning against the kitchen counter in our pyjamas.

            "I know all this wedding stuff has been stressing her out, but I really didn't expect her to lose it like that last night," Addison mumbles, this time quiet enough that there's no chance of her voice carrying out to the bedroom, where Kim's still fast asleep (we hope). "I mean, it's not like you were being that unreasonable. It might all get cancelled. Even Jere said so."

            "Wait, he did?"

            "Sure he did. When we went to get the food off him, on Tuesday."

            Addison shrugs, like this is no big thing.

            We hadn't seen the note under the door about the building lockdown until late on Sunday afternoon, and the websites kept timing out when we tried to get a delivery slot for more food. It wasn't like my kitchen was understocked, but I wasn't sure it had enough to feed four of us for a whole week... Plus, I definitely didn't have enough milk to see us through (and I was anticipating needing a lot of that, with all the consolatory cups of tea we'd need this week).

            Jeremy, Kim's lovely groom, fiancé of a year and boyfriend of five years before that, had been our saviour. Our knight in shining disposable face mask and latex gloves, to do and do a supermarket run and bring us several bags of food.

            Addison and Kim had gone downstairs to collect it – at a safe social distance, and watched carefully by the building caretaker, of course. After, she told us she'd cried and just said how much she'd miss him this week, but that was it.

            "You guys didn't say he said anything about calling off the wedding," I say now, barely daring to whisper it out loud.

            "Oh, I mean, calling it off is a little strong. He just said maybe with all of this going on, they might have to end up postponing it all. Which is exactly what you said last night. Kim just asked me not to mention it to you or Luce. She said she didn't want to bring the mood down."

            "She managed that all by herself," I mutter, remembering the way she'd so suddenly erupted into floods of tears last night.

            "For the record, I think it's totally fair, what you were saying. You were just being realistic."

            "Would've been nice to have a little of that support last night," I snap, forgetting to keep my voice down this time. I check myself, whispering, "Instead of you just cuddling her and telling her you were sure it wouldn't come to that."

            "What did you want me to do, tell her you were right and that the whole thing would get cancelled and she was being a bitch? She hurled a bottle at the wall, for Christ's sake, Livvy."

            "It's just Liv," I say, a reflex now, after six days. I've never liked 'Livvy' as a nickname.

            Addison seems faintly amused by my insistence over her not using that name for me, but tosses her hair and carries on, "If the two or three of us had ganged up on her she'd have probably thrown herself off the damn balcony. Sor-reee for trying to make things a little better and diffuse the tension."

            I huff, but know she's got a point.

            After all, isn't that exactly what I've been doing with Kim for the last year, exactly that? Except this time, Addison was me, and I was the Evil Bringer of Wedding Tragedies she had to apologise to while Kim lost her shit.

            "You're right," I tell her instead, "she really lost it last night. If it does all get cancelled, it might be a blessing in disguise. I genuinely don't know how much more of this I can take. You know, part of me is sorry I ever got involved in this whole damn thing in the first place."

            And then there's a gasp, and both our heads snap to the doorway, where Kim stands there, her hair a huge, tangled mess and her face still streaked with yesterday's makeup. My heart plummets to somewhere in the pit of my stomach and Addison whispers, "Shit," under her breath.

            Kim's face contorts and I think she's going to start bawling again, but instead, her eyes flash and she spits out words like poison.

            "If that's what you think, Olivia, maybe I made a mistake in making you my maid of honour. Maybe I made a mistake in making you my best friend."