The Wedding Girl Read online

  `I think I'll have a cup of coffee,' he said, not looking up. `A double espresso.'

  `I've been waiting for your call,' Martin said. `Allan told me a great deal about you. I always hoped that one day you might start to look for him.'

  `What did he tell you?' Rupert raised his head slowly. Martin shrugged.

  `Everything.'

  A fiery red came to Rupert's cheeks and he put the menu down on the table. He looked at Martin, ready for a surge of humiliation. But Martin's eyes were kind; he looked as though he wanted to understand. Rupert cleared his throat.

  `When did you meet him?'

  `Six years ago,' said Martin.

  `Did you . . . have a relationship with him?'

  `Yes,' said Martin. `We had a very close relationship.'

  `I see.'

  `I don't think you do.' Martin paused. `We weren't lovers. I was his counsellor.'

  `Oh,' said Rupert confusedly. `Was he-'

  `He was ill,' said Martin, and looked straight at Rupert.

  A flash of deadly understanding passed through Rupert and he lowered his eyes. So here it was, without warning. His sentence; the end of the cycle. He had sinned, and now he was being punished. He had committed unspeakable acts. Now he was to suffer an unspeakable disease.

  `AIDS,' he said calmly.

  `No,' said Martin, the tiniest note of scorn creeping into his voice. `Not AIDS. Leukaemia. He had leukaemia.'

  Rupert's eyes jerked up, to see Martin staring sadly at him. He felt suddenly sick, as though he'd entered a nightmare. White stars began to dance around his field of vision.

  `I'm afraid so,' said Martin. `Allan died, four years ago.'

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  there was silence. A waiter came up and Martin discreetly ordered, while Rupert stared ahead with glassy eyes, trying to contain his pain. He felt as though something inside him was splitting apart; as though his whole body was filling up with grief and guilt. Allan was dead. Allan was gone. He was too late.

  `Are you OK?' said Martin in a low voice.

  Rupert nodded, unable to speak.

  `I can't tell you much about his death, I'm afraid. It happened in the States. His parents came over and took him home. I understand it was quite peaceful at the end.'

  `His parents,' said Rupert in a cracked voice. `He hated his parents.'

  `They came to an understanding. Everything changed, of course, when Allan became ill. I met them when they came over. They were decent, compassionate people.' He looked up at Rupert. `Did you ever meet them?'

  `No,' said Rupert. `I never met them.'

  He closed his eyes and imagined the two elderly people Allan had described to him; imagined Allan being carted back to a town he'd always hated, in order to die. A fresh pain swept over him and suddenly he felt as though he might break down.

  `Don't think it,' said Martin.

  `What?' Rupert opened his eyes.

  `What you're thinking. What everybody thinks. If only I'd known he was going to die. Of course you would have done things differently. Of course you would. But you didn't know. You couldn't have known.'

  `What ...' Rupert licked his lips. `What did he say about me?'

  `He said he loved you. He said he thought you loved him. But he wasn't angry any more.' Martin leaned forward and took Rupert's hand. `It's important you understand that, Rupert,' he said earnestly. `He wasn't angry with you.'

  A waiter suddenly appeared at the table, carrying two cups of coffee.

  `Thank you,' said Martin, without taking his hand from Rupert's. Rupert saw the waiter's gaze run over the pair of them, and, in spite of it all, stiffened slightly.

  `Will there be anything else?' said the waiter.

  `No thank you,' said Rupert. He met the waiter's friendly eye and a painful embarrassment flooded him like hot water. He felt like running for cover; denying everything. But instead he forced himself to leave his hand calmly in Martin's. As though it were normal.

  `I know this is hard for you,' said Martin as the waiter left. `On all levels.'

  `I'm married,' said Rupert roughly. `That's how hard it is.' Martin nodded slowly.

  `Allan thought you might be.'

  `I suppose he despised me,' said Rupert, gazing into his cup of coffee. `I suppose you despise me, too.'

  `No,' said Martin. `You don't understand. Allan hoped you were married. He hoped you were with a woman, rather than-' Rupert looked up.

  `Rather than a man?' Martin nodded.

  `He agonized over whether to contact you. He didn't want to rock the boat if you were happy with a woman. But equally, he couldn't face discovering that you were with some other man. What he wanted to believe was that if you had ever changed your mind, you would have come back to him first.'

  `Of course I would,' said Rupert, his voice trembling slightly. `He knew I would. He knew me like no other human being has ever known me.'

  Martin shrugged diplomatically.

  `Your wife '

  `My wife!' exclaimed Rupert. He looked at Martin with pained eyes. `My wife doesn't know me! We met, we went out to dinner a few times, we took a holiday together, we got married. I see her for about an hour every day, if that. With Allan it was-'

  `More intense.'

  `It was all day and all night,' said Rupert. He closed his eyes. `It was every hour and every minute and every single thought and fear and hope.'

  There was silence. When Rupert opened his eyes, Martin was pulling a letter out of his bag.

  `Allan left you this,' he said. `In case you ever came looking.'

  `Thank you,' said Rupert. He took the envelope and looked at it silently for a few moments. There was his name, written beautifully in Allan's handwriting. He could almost hear Allan's voice, speaking to him. He blinked a few times, then tucked the letter away in his jacket. `Do you have a mobile phone?' he said.

  `Sure,' said Martin, reaching into his pocket.

  `There's someone else who needs to know about this,' said Rupert. He tapped in a number, listened for a moment, then switched the phone off. `Busy,' he said.

  `Who is it you're going to tell?' asked Martin.

  `Milly,' said Rupert. `The girl he married to stay in Britain.'

  Martin frowned.

  `Allan told me about Milly,' he said. `But she ought to know. He wrote to her.'

  `Well if he did, she never got the letter,' said Rupert. 'Because she doesn't know.' He tapped in the number again. `And she needs to.'

  Isobel put down the telephone and ran a hand through her hair. `That was Aunt jean,' she said. `She wanted to know what we're going to do with the present she sent.'

  She leaned back in her chair and surveyed the cluttered kitchen table. Lists of names, address books and telephone books were spread over the surface, each covered in a pattern of brown coffee cup rings and sandwich crumbs. Shoe boxes filled with wedding bumf, brochures and catalogues were stacked high on a kitchen chair: from one box protruded a glossy black and white print; from another had spilled a length of lace. Open in front of her was a sample bag of pastel-coloured sugared almonds.

  `It takes so long to put a wedding together,' she said, reaching out for a handful. `Months and months of time and effort. And then it takes about five seconds to dismantle it all. Like jumping on a sandcastle.' She crunched on the sugar almonds, and pulled a face. `God, these things are disgusting. I'm going to break my teeth.'

  `I'm very sorry, Andrea,' Olivia was saying into her mobile phone. `Yes, I do realize that Derek bought a morning suit especially. Please give him my apologies . . . Yes, perhaps you're right. Perhaps a lounge suit would have done just as well.' There was a pause and her hand tensed around the phone. `No, they haven't set a new date as yet. Yes, I'll let you know . . . Well, if he wants to take it back to the shop, then that's really up to him. Yes, dear, goodbye.'

  She turned the phone off with a trembling hand, ticked off a name and reached for the red book. `Right,' she said. `Now, who's next?'

  `Why don't you t
ake a break?' said Isobel. `You look whacked.'

  `No, darling,' said Olivia. `I'd rather carry on. After all, it's got to be done, hasn't it?' She smiled brightly at Isobel. `We can't all just sit around feeling sorry for ourselves, can we?'

  `No,' said Isobel. `I suppose not.' She stretched her arms into the air. `God, my neck's aching from all this phoning.'

  As she spoke, the phone rang again. She pulled a face at Olivia and picked it up.

  `Hello?' she said. `Oh, hello. Yes, it is true, I'm afraid. Yes, I'll give her your best wishes. OK then. Bye.' She slammed the phone down, then took it off the hook.

  `Everyone has to ring back and gloat,' she said irritably. `They all know she isn't ill.'

  `Perhaps we should have given some other excuse,' said Olivia, rubbing her brow.

  `It doesn't matter what excuse we give,' said Isobel. `They'll all guess. Horrible people.' She pulled a face. `Bloody Aunt jean wants us to send her present back straight away. She's going to another wedding in two weeks' time and she wants to use it. I'm going to tell her we thought it was so hideous we threw it away.

  `No,' said Olivia. She closed her eyes. `We must try to act with dignity and poise.'

  `Must we?' Isobel peered at Olivia. `Mummy, are you OK? You're acting very weirdly.'

  `I'm fine,' whispered Olivia.

  `Well, OK,' said Isobel doubtfully. She looked down at her list. `I also had a call from the florist. She suggested that as Milly's bouquet is already made up, we might like to have it pressed and dried. As a memento.'

  `A memento?'

  `I know,' said Isobel, beginning to shake with giggles in spite of herself. `Who are these people?'

  `A memento! As if we'll ever forget! As if we'll ever forget today!'

  Isobel glanced up sharply. Olivia's eyes were open and glittering with tears.

  `Mummy!'

  `I'm sorry, darling,' said Olivia. A tear landed on her nose and she smiled brightly. `I don't mean to be silly.'

  `I know how much you wanted this wedding,' said Isobel. She reached over and took her mother's hand. `But there'll be another one. Honestly, there will.'

  `It's not the wedding,' whispered Olivia. `If it were just the wedding ...' She broke off as the doorbell rang. They both looked up.

  `Who the hell can that be?' said Isobel impatiently. `Don't people realize we're not in the mood for visitors?' She put down her list. `Don't worry, I'll go.'

  `No, I'll go,' said Olivia.

  `Let's both go.'

  The couple on the front doorstep were strangers, dressed in shiny green Barbours and carrying matching Mulberry holdalls.

  `Hello,' said the woman brightly. `We'd like a room, please.'

  `A what?' said Olivia blankly.

  `A room,' said the woman. `A bed and breakfast room.' She waved a copy of the Heritage City guidebook at Olivia.

  `I'm afraid we're full at the moment,' said Isobel. `Perhaps if you try the Tourist Board ...'

  `I was told we would be able to have a room,' said the woman.

  `You can't have been,' said Isobel patiently, `because there aren't any rooms.'

  `I spoke to someone on the phone!' The woman's voice rose crossly. `I specifically checked that we would be able to stay here! And I might add, you were recommended to us by our friends the Rendles.' She looked impressively at Isobel.

  `What an honour,' said Isobel.

  `Don't take that tone with me, young woman!' snapped the woman. `Is this the way you usually conduct business? The customer comes first, you know! Now, we were told we could have a room. You can't just turn people away at the door with no explanation.'

  `Oh, for God's sake,' said Isobel.

  `You want an explanation?' said Olivia in a trembling voice.

  `Mummy, don't bother. just--'

  `You want an explanation?' Olivia took a deep breath. `Well, where shall I start? Shall I start with my daughter's wedding? The wedding that was supposed to be taking place tomorrow?'

  `Oh, a family wedding!' said the woman, disconcerted. `Well that's different.'

  `Or shall I start with her first wedding, ten years ago?' said Olivia, ignoring the woman. `The wedding we didn't even know about?' Her voice began to rise dangerously. `Or shall I start with the fact we're having to call the whole thing off, and that our entire family and all our friends are mocking us behind our backs?'

  `Really, I didn't ' began the woman.

  `But come in anyway!' cried Olivia, pulling the door open wide. `We'll find you a room! Somewhere among all the wedding presents we're going to have to send back, and the wedding cake we're going to have to eat, and the clothes that will never be worn, and that beautiful wedding dress ...'

  `Come on, Rosemary,' said the man awkwardly, tugging his wife's sleeve. `Very sorry to have disturbed you,' he said to Isobel. `I always said we should have gone to Cheltenham.'

  As the pair backed away, Isobel looked at Olivia. She was still gripping the door, her face streaked with tears.

  `I really think you should have a break, Mummy,' she said. `Keep the phone off the hook. Watch the telly. Or go to bed for a bit.'

  `I can't,' said Olivia. `We need to keep telephoning.'

  `Rubbish,' said Isobel. `Everyone I've spoken to has already heard. Gossip travels fast, you know. We've called the most important people. All the others will keep.'

  `Well,' said Olivia after a pause. `I do feel a little bit weary. Maybe I'll lie down for a bit.' She closed the front door and looked at Isobel. `Are you going to have a rest, too?'

  `No,' said Isobel. She reached for her coat. `I'm going to go out. I'm going to go and see Milly.'

  `That's a good idea,' said Olivia slowly. `She'll be pleased to see you.' She paused. `Be sure ...'

  `Yes?'

  `Be sure to give her my love,' said Olivia. She looked down. `That's all. Give her my love.'

  Esme's drawing room was warm and tranquil; a haven of quiet civilization. As Isobel sat down on a pale, elegant sofa she looked about her pleasurably, admiring the collection of silver boxes heaped casually on a side table; the applewood dish filled with smooth grey pebbles.

  `So,' said Milly, sitting down opposite her. `Is Mummy still furious?'

  `Not really,' said Isobel, screwing up her face. `She's weird.'

  `That probably means she's furious.'

  `She isn't, honestly. She said to give you her love.'

  `Really?' said Milly. She curled her feet underneath her and sipped at her coffee. Her hair was tied up in a dishevelled pony-tail and, under her jeans, she was wearing a pair of ancient ski socks.

  `Here you are,' said Esme, handing a mug of coffee to Isobel. `But I'm afraid I'll have to steal Milly in a little while. We're going out to lunch.'

  `Good idea,' said Isobel. `Where are you going?'

  `A little place I know,' said Esme, smiling at them both. `About ten minutes, Milly?'

  `Fine,' said Milly. They both waited for Esme to close the door.

  `So,' said Isobel, when she'd gone. `How are you really?'

  `I don't know,' said Milly slowly. `Sometimes I feel fine and sometimes I just want to burst into tears.' She took a shuddery breath. `I keep thinking, what would I have been doing now .. . and what would I have been doing now?' She closed her eyes. `I don't know how I'm going to get through tomorrow.'

  `Get drunk.'

  `I'm doing that tonight.' A flicker of a smile passed over Milly's face. `Care to join me?'

  `Maybe,' said Isobel. She sipped at her coffee. `And Simon hasn't been in touch?'

  `No.' Milly's face closed up.

  `Is it really all over between you two?'

  `Yes.'

  `I can't believe it.' Isobel shook her head. `Just because ...'

  `Because I deceived him about one thing,' said Milly in sharp, sarcastic tones. `So obviously I'm a pathological liar. Obviously, no one can trust anything I say ever again.'

  `Bastard. You're better off without him.'

  `I know.' Milly looked up and
gave the tight smile of someone battling with pain. `It's for the best, really.' Isobel looked at her and suddenly felt like crying.

  `Oh Milly,' she said. `It's such a shame.'

  `It doesn't matter,' said Milly lightly. `Come on. It's not as if I was pregnant. Now, that really would be a disaster.' She took a sip of coffee and gave Isobel a half-grin.

  Isobel met her eyes and gave an unwilling smile. For a while there was silence.

  `Do you know what you're going to do?' said Milly at last.

  `No.'

  `What about the father?'

  `He doesn't want a baby. He's made that very plain.'

  `Couldn't you persuade him?'

  `No. And I don't want to! I don't want to push someone into fatherhood. What chance would our relationship have then?'

  `Maybe the baby would bring you together.'

  `Babies aren't glue,' said Isobel. She pushed her hands through her hair. `If I had the baby, I would be on my own.'

  `I would help you!' said Milly. `And so would Mummy.'

  `I know.' Isobel's shoulders twitched in a shrug. Milly stared at her.

  `Isobel, you wouldn't really get rid of it.'

  `I don't know!' Isobel's voice rose in distress. `I'm only thirty, Milly! I could meet some fantastic guy tomorrow. I could be swept off my feet. But if I've already got a kid ...'

  `It wouldn't make any difference,' said Milly stoutly.

  `It would! And you know, having a baby is no picnic. I've seen friends do it. They turn into zombies. And they're not even doing it on their own.'

  `Well, I don't know,' said Milly, after a pause. `It's your decision.'

  `I know it is,' said Isobel. `That's exactly the problem.'

  The door opened and they looked up. Esme smiled at them from under a huge fur hat.

  `Ready to go, Milly? Isobel, sweetheart, do you want to come too?'

  `No thanks,' said Isobel, getting up. `I'd better get back home.'

  She watched as Milly got into Esme's red Daimler and suddenly wished that her own godmother might suddenly appear and whisk her away, too. But Mavis Hindhead was a colourless woman living in the north of Scotland who had not acknowledged Isobel's existence since the eve of her confirmation, when she'd sent her a knobbly, ill-fitting jersey and a spidery, handwritten card of which Isobel had never managed to make sense. Not many godmothers, thought Isobel, were like Esme Ormerod.