The Wedding Girl Page 11

`I know I should have told him in the first place,' interrupted Milly. `I should have told him months ago, and sorted it all out.' She paused. `But I didn't. And I can't change that. It's too late.'

  `So? You could tell him now.'

  `But everything's different now! Our wedding is in three days' time. Everything's perfect. Why ruin it all with . . . this?'

  Isobel was silent and Milly looked round defensively. `I suppose you think I should tell him anyway. I suppose you think you can't have secrets from someone you love.'

  `No,' said Isobel. `Actually, I don't think that.' Milly looked at her in surprise. Isobel's gaze was averted; her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. `You can easily love someone and still keep a secret from them,' she said.

  `But-'

  `If it's something that would trouble them needlessly. If it's something they don't need to know.' Isobel's voice grew slightly harsher. `Some secrets are best left unsaid.'

  'Like what?' Milly gazed at Isobel. `What are you talking about?'

  `Nothing.'

  `Have you got a secret?'

  Isobel was silent. For a few minutes Milly stared at her sister, scanning her face, trying to read her expression. Then suddenly it came to her. A thunderbolt of horrific realization.

  `You're ill, aren't you?' she said shakily. `God, it all makes sense. That's why you're so pale. You've got something terrible wrong with you and you're not telling us!' Milly's voice rose. `You think it's best left unsaid! What, until you die?'

  `Milly!' Isobel's voice snapped curtly across the car. `I'm not going to die. I'm not ill.'

  `Well, what's your secret, then?'

  `I never said I had one. I was talking theoretically.' Isobel pulled into the station car park. `Here we are.' She opened the car door and, without looking at Milly, got out.

  Reluctantly, Milly followed. As she reached the station concourse, a train pulled out from one of the platforms, and a trail of arriving passengers began to appear. Unconcerned, happy people, holding bags and waving to friends. People to whom the word `wedding' meant happiness and celebration.

  `Oh God,' she said, catching up with Isobel. `I don't want to go. I don't want to find out. I want to forget about it.'

  `You've got to go. You haven't got any choice.' Suddenly Isobel's face changed colour. `Get your ticket,' she said in a gasp. `I'll be back in a moment.' And to Milly's astonishment, she began running towards the Ladies. Milly gazed after her for a moment, then turned round.

  `A day return to London, please,' she said to the girl behind the glass. What on earth was wrong with Isobel? She wasn't ill, but she wasn't normal, either. She couldn't be pregnant she didn't have a boyfriend.

  `Right,' said Isobel, reappearing by her side. `Got everything?'

  `You're pregnant!' hissed Milly. `Aren't you?' Isobel took a step back. She looked as though she'd been slapped in the face.

  `No,' she said.

  `Yes you are. It's obvious!'

  `The train goes in a minute,' said Isobel, looking at her watch. `You'll miss it.'

  `You're pregnant, and you didn't even tell me! Bloody hell, Isobel, you should have told me. I'm going to be an aunt!'

  `No,' said Isobel tightly. `You're not.'

  Milly stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then, with a sudden shock, she realized what Isobel was saying.

  `No! You can't do that! You can't! Isobel, you're not serious?'

  `I don't know. I don't know, OK?' Isobel's voice rose savagely. She took a couple of paces towards Milly, clenched her hands, then took a couple of paces back, like a caged animal.

  `Isobel '

  `You've got a train to catch,' said Isobel. `Go on.' She looked up at Milly with glittering eyes. `Go on!'

  `I'll catch a later train,' said Milly.

  `No! You haven't got time for that. Go on!'

  Milly stared at her sister for a few silent seconds. She had never seen Isobel looking vulnerable before; it made her feel uneasy.

  'OK,' she said. 'I'll go.'

  `Good luck,' said Isobel.

  `And we'll talk about . . . about it when I get back.'

  `Maybe,' said Isobel. When Milly looked back from the ticket barrier to wave goodbye, she had already gone.

  Isobel arrived back home to find Olivia waiting for her in the kitchen.

  `Where's Milly?' she demanded.

  `She's gone to London for the day,' said Isobel.

  `To London? What on earth for?'

  `To get a present for Simon,' said Isobel, reaching for the biscuit tin. Olivia stared at her.

  `Are you serious? All the way to London? She can get a perfectly good present for him in Bath!'

  `She just felt like going to London,' said Isobel, ripping open a packet of digestives. `Does it matter?'

  `Yes,' said Olivia crossly. `Of course it matters! Do you know what day it is today?'

  `Yes, I do,' said Isobel, biting into a biscuit with relish. `It's Thursday.'

  `Exactly! Only two days to go! I've a thousand things to do, and Milly was supposed to be helping me. She's such a thoughtless girl.'

  `Give her a break,' said Isobel. `She's got a lot on her mind.'

  `So have I, darling! I've got to organize extra orders of service, and check all the place settings and to top it all, the marquee's just arrived. Who's going to come with me to see it?'

  There was silence.

  `Oh God,' said Isobel, stuffing another biscuit into her mouth. `All right.'

  Simon and Harry were walking along Parham Place. It was a wide road, civilized and expensive and, at this time in the morning, busy as its residents left for their jobs in the professions and the law and the higher echelons of industry. A pretty brunette getting into her car smiled at Simon as they walked by; three doors down a group of builders sat on the doorstep and drank steaming cups of tea.

  `Here we are,' said Harry as he stopped by a flight of stone steps leading to a glossy blue door. `Have you got the keys?'

  Silently, Simon walked up the steps and put the key in the lock. He stepped into a spacious hall and opened another door, to the left.

  `Go on then,' said Harry. `In you go.'

  As he stepped inside, Simon immediately remembered why he and Milly had fallen in love with the flat. He was surrounded by space; by white walls and high, distant ceilings and acres of wooden floor. Nothing else they'd looked at had come close to this; nothing else had been so prohibitively expensive.

  `Like it?' said Harry.

  `It's great,' Simon said, wandering over to a mantelpiece and running his hand along it. `It's great,' he repeated. He didn't trust himself to say any more. The flat was more than great. It was beautiful, perfect. Milly would adore it. But as he stood, looking around, all he could feel was resentful misery.

  `Nice high ceilings,' said Harry. He opened an empty, panelled cupboard, looked inside, and closed it again. As he wandered over to a window, his steps echoed on the bare floor. `Nice wooden shutters,' he said, tapping one appraisingly.

  `The shutters are great,' said Simon. Everything was great. He couldn't locate a single fault.

  `You'll have to get some decent furniture,' said Harry. He looked at Simon. `Need any help with that?'

  `No,' said Simon, `thank you.'

  `Well anyway, I hope you like it.' Harry gave a little shrug.

  `It's a beautiful flat,' said Simon stiffly. `Milly will love it.'

  `Good,' said Harry. `Where is she today?'

  `In London. Some mysterious mission. I think she's buying me a present.'

  `All these presents,' said Harry lightly. `You'll be getting quite spoilt.'

  'I'll bring her round this evening to see it,' said Simon, `if that's OK?'

  `Your flat. Do what you like.'

  They wandered out of the main room into a light, wide corridor. The biggest bedroom overlooked the garden: long windows opened onto a tiny wrought-iron balcony.

  `You don't need more than two bedrooms,' said Harry. There was a slight question mark in his voi
ce. `Not thinking of having children straight away.'

  `Oh no,' said Simon. `Plenty of time for that. Milly's only twenty-eight.'

  `Still . . .' Harry turned a switch by the door and the bare bulb swinging from the ceiling suddenly came alive with light. `You'll need lampshades. Or whatever.'

  `Yes,' said Simon. He looked at his father. `Why?' he said. `Do you think we should have children straight away?'

  `No,' said Harry emphatically. `Definitely not.'

  `Really? But you did.'

  `I know. That was our mistake.'

  Simon stiffened.

  `I was a mistake, was I?' he said. `A product of human error?'

  `You know that's not what I meant,' said Harry irritably. `Stop being so bloody touchy.'

  `What do you expect? You're telling me I wasn't wanted.'

  `Of course you were wanted!' Harry paused. `You just weren't wanted right then.'

  `Well, I'm sorry for gatecrashing the party,' said Simon furiously, `but I didn't exactly have a choice about when I arrived, did I? It wasn't exactly up to me, was it?' Harry winced.

  `Listen, Simon. All I meant was '

  `I know what you meant!' said Simon, striding to the window. He stared out at the snowy garden, trying to keep his voice under control. `I was an inconvenience, wasn't I? I still am.'

  `Simon '

  `Well, look, Dad. I won't inconvenience you any more, OK?' Simon wheeled round, his face trembling. `Thanks very much, but you can keep your flat. Milly and I will make our own arrangements.' He tossed the keys onto the polished floor and walked quickly to the door.

  `Simon!' said Harry angrily. `Don't be so fucking stupid!'

  `I'm sorry I've been in your way all these years,' said Simon at the door. `But after Saturday, I'll be gone. You'll never have to see me again. Maybe that'll be a relief for both of us.'

  And he slammed the door, leaving Harry alone, staring at the keys winking in the winter sunlight.

  The Family Registry was large and light and softly carpeted in green. Rows and rows of indexes were stored on modern beechwood shelves, divided into births, marriages and deaths. The marriage section was by far the busiest. As Milly self-consciously edged her way towards the shelves, people milled around her, clanking in dexes in and out of the shelves, scribbling notes on pieces of paper, and talking to each other in low voices. On the wall was a notice headlined WE WILL HELP YOU TRACE YOUR FAMILY TREE. Two middle-aged ladies were poring over an index from the 1800s. `Charles Forsyth!' one was exclaiming. `But is that our Charles Forsyth?' Not one person looked anxious or guilty. For everybody else, thought Milly, this was a pleasurable morning's occupation.

  Without daring to look anyone in the eye, she headed towards the more recent indexes, and pulled one down, scarcely daring to look inside. For a moment, she couldn't see it, and she was filled with ridiculous hope. But then, suddenly, it jumped up at her. HAVILL, MELISSA G KEPINSKI. OXFORD.

  Milly's heart sank. In spite of herself she'd harboured a secret, tiny belief that her marriage to Allan might have slipped through the legal net. But there it was, typed in black and white, for anyone to look up. A few thoughtless minutes in a registry office in Oxford had led to this lasting piece of evidence: an indelible record which would never, ever disappear. She stared down at the page, unable to tear herself away, until the words began to dance in front of her eyes.

  `You can get a certificate, you know.' A cheery voice startled her and she jumped up in fright, covering her name with her hand. A friendly young man wearing a name badge was standing opposite her. `We provide copies of marriage certificates. You can also have them framed. They make a very nice gift.'

  `No thank you,' said Milly. The idea made her want to laugh hysterically. `No thanks.' She looked at her name one last time, then slammed the book shut, as though trying to squash the entry and kill it. `I was actually looking for the list of divorces.'

  `Then you've come to the wrong place!' The young man grinned at her, triumphant at her ignorance. `You want Somerset House.'

  It was the biggest marquee Isobel had ever seen. It billowed magnificently in the wind, a huge white mushroom, dwarfing the cars and vans parked next to it.

  `Bloody hell!' she said. `How much is this costing?' Olivia winced.

  `Quiet, darling!' she said. `Someone might hear.'

  `I'm sure they all know how much it costs,' said Isobel, staring at the stream of young men and women coming in and out of the marquee. They looked busy and purposeful; many were carrying crates or lengths of flex or pieces of wooden boarding.

  `Over there we'll have a tube linking the marquee to the back of Pinnacle Hall,' said Olivia, gesturing. `And cloakrooms.'

  `Bloody hell,' said Isobel again. `It looks like a circus.'

  `Well, you know, we did think of having an elephant,' said Olivia. Isobel goggled at her.

  `An elephant?'

  `To take the happy couple away.'

  `They wouldn't get very far on an elephant,' said Isobel, beginning to laugh.

  `But they're having a helicopter instead,' said Olivia. `Don't tell Milly. It's a surprise.'

  `Wow,' said Isobel. `A helicopter.'

  `Have you ever been in a helicopter?' asked Olivia.

  `Yes,' said Isobel. `A few times. It's quite nerve-racking, actually.'

  `I haven't,' said Olivia. `Not once.' She gave a small sigh, and Isobel giggled.

  `Do you want to take Milly's place? I'm sure Simon wouldn't mind.'

  `Don't be silly,' snapped Olivia. `Come on, let's look inside.'

  The two of them picked their way over the snowy ground towards the marquee and lifted a flap.

  `Blimey,' said Isobel slowly. `It looks even more enormous on the inside.' They both gazed around the massive space. People were everywhere, carrying chairs, setting up heaters, fixing lights.

  `It's not so big,' said Olivia uncertainly. `Once the chairs and tables are all in, it'll be quite cosy.' She paused. `Perhaps not cosy, exactly ...'

  `Well, I take my hat off to Harry!' said Isobel. `This is something else.'

  `We've contributed too!' exclaimed Olivia crossly. `More than you might realize. And anyway, Harry can afford it.'

  `I don't doubt that.'

  `He's very fond of Milly, you know.'

  `I know,' said Isobel. `Gosh ...' She looked around the marquee and bit her lip.

  `What?' said Olivia suspiciously.

  `Oh, I don't know,' said Isobel. `All this preparation, all this money. All for one day.'

  `What's wrong with that?'

  `Nothing. I'm sure it'll all go swimmingly.'

  Olivia stared at her.

  `Isobel, what's wrong with you? You're not jealous of Milly, are you?'

  `Probably,' said Isobel lightly.

  `You could get married, you know! But you've chosen not to.'

  `I've never been asked,' said Isobel.

  `That's not the point!'

  `I think it is,' said Isobel, `very much the point.' And to her horror she suddenly felt tears pricking her eyes. What the hell was she crying for? She turned away before her mother could say anything else, and stalked off, towards the far end of the marquee. Olivia hurried obliviously after her.

  `This is where the food will be,' she called excitedly. `And that's where the swans will be.'

  `The swans?' said Isobel, turning round.

  `We're going to have swans made out of ice,' said Olivia. `And each one will be filled with oysters.'

  `No!' Isobel's laugh pealed around the marquee. `Whose idea was that?'

  `Harry's,' said Olivia defensively. `What's wrong with it?'

  `Nothing. It's just the tackiest thing I've ever heard of.'

  `That's what I said,' said Olivia eagerly. `But Harry said he thought weddings were such tacky affairs anyway, there was no point trying to be tasteful. So we decided to go for broke!'

  `He will be broke,' said Isobel, `by the time he's finished feeding all his guests oysters.'

  `No he won
't!' snapped Olivia. `Stop saying things like that, Isobel.'

  `All right,' said Isobel in mollifying tones. `Truthfully, I think it's going to be a lovely wedding.' She looked around the vast tent and, for the hundredth time that day, wondered how Milly was getting on. `Milly will have the time of her life.'

  `She doesn't deserve the time of her life,' said Olivia crossly. `Rushing off to London like this. There are only two days to go, you know! Two days!'

  `I know,' said Isobel. She bit her lip. `I know. And believe me, so does Milly.'

  By the time Milly reached the Strand, a winter sun had begun to shine and she could feel an optimistic excitement rising through her. Within minutes she would know, one way or the other. And suddenly she felt sure she knew which way the answer would be. The burden which had been pressing down on her for the last ten years would be lifted. At last she would be free.

  She sauntered along, feeling her hair lifted slightly by the breeze, enjoying the sun on her face.

  `Excuse me,' said a girl suddenly, tapping her shoulder. Milly looked round. `We're looking for hair models. I work for a salon in Covent Garden.' She smiled at Milly. `Would you be interested?'

  A sparkle of delight ran through Milly.

  `I'm sorry,' she said regretfully, `but I'm a bit busy.' She paused, and a faint smile came to her lips. `I'm getting married on Saturday.'

  `Are you?' exclaimed the girl. `Are you really? Congratulations! You'll make a lovely bride.'

  `Thanks,' said Milly, blushing. `Sorry I can't stop. But I've just got some things to tidy up.'

  `No, no,' said the girl, rolling her eyes sympathetically. `I know what it's like! All those tiny things that you always leave till last!'

  `Exactly,' said Milly, walking away. `Just a few last-minute details.'

  As she entered Somerset House and found the department she needed, her spirits were lifted further. The man in charge of divorce decrees was round and cheerful, with twinkling eyes and a quick computer.

  `You're in luck,' he said, as he tapped in her details. `All records since 1981 are on computer file. Before that, and we have to search by hand.' He winked at her. `But you would have been just a baby then! Now, just bear with me, my dear ...'