The Wedding Girl Page 25

  She paused, then began to walk quickly off again.

  `Fuck dignity!' exclaimed Simon, hurrying after her. `I'm not going to just let you walk out of my life like that! Milly, I love you. I want to marry you. Don't you love me? Have you stopped loving me? If you have, just tell me!'

  `It's not that!' said Milly.

  `Then what's wrong!' His voice jabbed at the back of her head. `What's wrong?'

  'OK!' said Milly, suddenly stopping. 'OK!' She closed her eyes, then opened them and looked straight at him. `What's wrong is that . . . I haven't been honest with you. Ever.'

  `I told you, I don't care about that,' said Simon. `You can have ten husbands for all I care!'

  `I'm not talking about Allan,' said Milly desperately. `I'm talking about all the other lies I've told you.' Her words rose into the evening air like birds escaping. `Lies, lies, lies!'

  Simon stared at her in discomposure. He swallowed, and pushed his hair back.

  `What lies?'

  `You see?' cried Milly. `You have no idea! You have no idea who I really am! You don't know the real Milly Havill.'

  `Kepinski,' said Simon.

  Milly's eyes narrowed; she turned round and began to stride away.

  `I'm sorry,' said Simon at once. `I didn't mean it! Milly, come back!'

  `It's no good!' said Milly, shaking her head. `It won't work. I can't do it any more.'

  `What are you talking about?' exclaimed Simon, hurrying after her.

  `I can't be what you think I am! I can't be your perfect Barbie doll.'

  `I don't treat you like a fucking Barbie doll!' said Simon in outrage. `Jesus! I treat you like an intelligent, mature woman!'

  `Yes!' cried Milly, turning with a spatter of gravel. `And that's the trouble! You treat me like some thinking man's version of a Barbie doll. You want an attractive intelligent woman who wears expensive shoes and thinks soap operas are trivial and knows all about the effect of the exchange rate on European imports. Well, I can't be her! I thought I could turn into her, but I can't! I just can't!'

  `What?' said Simon, staring at her in astonishment. `What the hell are you talking about?'

  `Simon, I can't live up to your expectations any more.' Tears sprang to Milly's eyes and she brushed them away impatiently. `I can't play a part all my life. I can't be something I'm not. Rupert tried to do that, and look where it got him!'

  `Milly, I don't want you to be something you're not. I want you to be you.'

  `You can't want that. You don't even know me.'

  `Of course I know you!'

  `You don't,' said Milly despairingly. `Simon, I keep trying to tell you. I've been lying to you ever since we first met.'

  `About what?'

  `About everything!'

  `You've been lying to me about everything?'

  `Yes.'

  `Like what, for Christ's sake?'

  `Everything!'

  `Name one thing.'

  'OK.' Milly paused, and ran a shaky hand through her hair. `I don't like sushi.'

  There was a stupefied silence.

  `Is that it?' said Simon eventually. `You don't like sushi?'

  `Of course that's not it,' said Milly quickly. `Bad example. I .. . I never read the newspapers. I only pretend to.'

  `So what?' said Simon.

  `And I don't understand modern art. And I watch terrible TV.'

  `Like what?' said Simon, laughing.

  `Things you've never even heard of! Like . . . like Family Fortunes!'

  `Milly-' Simon began to walk towards her.

  `And I . . . I buy cheap shoes and don't show you them.'

  `So what?'

  `What do you mean, so what?' Angry tears started to Milly's eyes. `All this time, I've been pretending to be something that I'm not. At that party, where we first met, I didn't really know about vivisection! I saw it on Blue Peter!'

  Simon stopped still. There was a long silence.

  `You saw it on Blue Peter,' he said at last.

  `Yes,' said Milly tearfully. `A Blue Peter special.'

  With a sudden roar, Simon threw back his head, and began to laugh.

  `It's not funny!' said Milly indignantly.

  `Yes it is!' said Simon through his laughter. `It's very funny!'

  `No it's not!' cried Milly. `All this time, I've been feeling guilty about it. Don't you understand? I've been pretending to be mature and intelligent. And I fooled you. But I'm not intelligent. I'm just not!'

  Simon abruptly stopped laughing.

  `Milly, are you serious?'

  `Of course I am,' said Milly, in tears. `I'm not clever! I'm not bright!'

  `Yes you are.'

  `No I'm not! Not like Isobel.'

  `Like Isobel?' echoed Simon incredulously. `You think Isobel's bright? How bright is it to get knocked up by your boyfriend?' He raised his eyebrows at Milly and suddenly she gave a little giggle.

  `Isobel may be intellectual,' said Simon. `But you're the brightest star of your family.'

  `Really?' said Milly in a little voice.

  `Really. And even if you weren't even if you had only one brain cell to call your own I'd still love you. I love you, Milly. Not your IQ.'

  `You can't possibly love me,' said Milly jerkily. `You don't ...'

  `Know you?' said Simon. `Of course I know you.' He sighed. `Milly, knowing a person isn't like knowing a string of facts. It's more like . . . a feeling.' He lifted his hand and gently pushed back a strand of her hair. `I can feel when you're going to laugh and when you're going to cry. I can feel your kindness and your warmth and your sense of humour. I feel all that inside me. And that's what matters. Not sushi. Not modern art. Not Family Fortunes.' He paused, then said in a deadpan voice, "'Our survey said ... "'

  Milly gaped at him.

  `Do you watch it?'

  `I catch it occasionally.' He grinned. `Come on, Milly, I'm allowed to be human, too. Aren't I?'

  There was silence. In the distance a clock chimed. Milly exhaled shakily and said, almost to herself, `I could do with--'

  `A cigarette?' interrupted Simon. Milly raised her head to look at him, then gave a tiny shrug.

  `Maybe,' she said.

  `Come on,' said Simon, grinning. `Did I get that right? Doesn't that prove I know you?'

  'Maybe.'

  `Admit it! I know you! I know when you want a cigarette. That's got to be true love. Hasn't it?'

  There was a pause, then Milly said again, `Maybe.' She reached in her pocket for her cigarette packet and allowed Simon to cradle the flame of her lighter from the wind.

  `So,' he said, as she inhaled her first drag.

  `So,' said Milly.

  There was a still, tense silence. Milly took another drag, not meeting Simon's eyes.

  `I was thinking,' said Simon.

  `What?'

  `If you'd like to, we could go and get some pizza. And maybe ...' He paused. `You could tell me a little bit about yourself.'

  'OK,' said Milly. She blew out a cloud of smoke and gave him half a smile. `That would be nice.'

  `You do like pizza,' added Simon.

  Yes,' said Milly. `I do.'

  `You're not just pretending, to impress me.'

  `Simon,' said Milly. `Shut up.'

  `I'll go and get the car,' he said, feeling in his pocket for his keys.

  `No, wait,' said Milly, waving her cigarette at him. `Let's walk. I feel like walking. And . . . talking.' Simon stared at her.

  `All the way into Bath?'

  `Why not?'

  `It's three miles!'

  `You see, that just shows,' said Milly. `You don't know me. I can walk three miles. At school I was in the cross-country team.'

  `But it's bloody freezing!'

  `We'll warm up as we walk. Come on, Simon.' She put her hand on his arm. `I really want to.'

  'OK,' said Simon, putting away his car keys. `Fine. Let's walk.'

  `They're going into the garden,' said Isobel. `Together.' She turned back from the window. `But t
hey haven't kissed yet.'

  `Maybe they don't want an audience,' said Harry. `Especially a nosy older sister.'

  `They don't know I'm watching!' retorted Isobel. `I've been very careful. Oh. They've gone now.' She bit her lip and sat back on the window-seat. `I hope . . . you know.'

  `Relax,' said Harry from his seat by the fire. `Everything will be fine.' Isobel looked at him. He had a piece of paper in his hand and a pen.

  `What are you doing?' she asked. Harry glanced up and saw her gazing at him.

  `Nothing,' he said, and quickly folded the piece of paper in two.

  `Show me!' said Isobel.

  `It's nothing important,' said Harry, and began to put the paper in his pocket. But Isobel was across the room in a moment, and whipped it out of his grasp.

  `It's just a few names that sprang to mind,' said Harry stiffly, as she uncrumpled it. `I thought I'd jot them down.'

  Isobel stared down at the page and started to laugh.

  `Harry, you're mad!' she said. `We've got seven months to think about it!' She looked down the list, smiling at some of the names and pulling faces at others. Then she turned over the paper. `And what's all this?'

  `Oh that,' said Harry. A slightly shamefaced look came to his face. `That was just in case we have twins.'

  Milly and Simon were walking slowly through the gardens of Pinnacle Hall, towards a wrought-iron gate which opened onto the main road.

  `This isn't at all what I was supposed to be doing tonight,' said Milly, gazing up into the starry sky. `Tonight, I was supposed to be having a quiet supper at home and packing my honeymoon case.

  `I was supposed to be smoking a cigar with Dad and having second thoughts,' said Simon.

  `And are you?' said Milly. `Having second thoughts?'

  `Are you?' rejoined Simon.

  Milly said nothing, but continued to stare at the sky. They carried on walking silently, past the rose garden, past the frozen fountain and into the orchard.

  `There it is,' said Simon, suddenly stopping. `The bench. Where I proposed to you.' He glanced at her. `Remember?' Milly stiffened slightly.

  `Yes,' she said. `Of course I remember. You had the ring in your pocket. And the champagne ready in the tree stump.'

  `I spent days planning it,' said Simon reminiscently. He went over and patted the stump. `I wanted it to be perfect.'

  Milly stared at him, clenching her fists by her sides. Honesty, she told herself furiously. Be honest.

  `It was too perfect,' she said bluntly.

  `What?' Simon's head jerked up in shock and Milly felt a stab of guilt.

  `Simon, I'm sorry,' she said at once. `I didn't mean it.' She walked a little way away from him and looked into the trees. `It was lovely.'

  `Milly, don't pretend,' said Simon, his voice stiff with hurt. `Tell me the truth. What did you really think?'

  There was a pause.

  `Well, OK,' said Milly at last. `If I'm really going to be honest, it was beautiful but . . .' She turned round to face him. `Just a bit too planned. You had the ring on my finger before I could take a breath. The next minute, you're cracking open the champagne and we're officially engaged. I never . . .' She broke off and rubbed her face. `I never had time to think about it.'

  There was silence.

  `I see,' said Simon at last. `And if you'd had time to think, what would you have said?' Milly looked at him for a few long seconds, then turned away.

  `Come on,' she said. `Let's go and get that pizza.'

  'OK,' said Simon, his voice tinged with disappointment. 'OK.' He took a few steps, then stopped. `And you're quite sure you want to walk.'

  `Yes,' said Milly. `Walking always clears my head.' She held out her hand. `Come on.'

  Half an hour later, in the middle of the dark road, Milly stopped.

  `Simon?' she said in a little voice. `I'm cold.'

  `Well, let's walk more quickly then.'

  `And my feet hurt. My shoes are giving me blisters.'

  Simon stopped, and looked at her. She had wrapped her hands in the ends of her jersey sleeves and buried them under her armpits; her lips were trembling and her teeth were chattering.

  `Is your head clear?' he asked.

  `No,' said Milly miserably. `It's not. All I can think about is a nice hot bath.'

  `Well, it's not long now,' said Simon cheerfully. Milly peered ahead at the black, unlit road.

  `I can't go on any more. Are there any taxis?'

  `I don't think so,' said Simon. `But you can have my jacket.' He took it off and Milly grabbed it, snuggling into the warm lining. `Won't you be cold?' she said vaguely.

  'I'll be all right,' said Simon. `Shall we go on?'

  'OK,' said Milly, and began to hobble forward again. Simon stopped, and looked at her.

  `Is that the best you can do?'

  `My feet are bleeding,' wailed Milly. Simon's eyes fell on her feet.

  `Are those new shoes?'

  `Yes,' said Milly dolefully. `And they were very cheap. And now I hate them.' She took another step forward and winced. Simon sighed.

  `Come here,' he said. `Put your feet on my feet. I'll walk you for a bit.'

  `Really?'

  `Come here. Put your shoes in your pocket.'

  He grasped Milly firmly round the waist and began to stride awkwardly forward into the night, carrying her feet on his own.

  `This is nice,' said Milly after a while.

  `Yes,' grunted Simon. `It's great.'

  `You walk very quickly, don't you?'

  `I do when I'm hungry.'

  `I'm sorry about this,' said Milly in a subdued voice. `It was a nice idea though, wasn't it?' There was a pause, and she turned round, nearly throwing Simon off balance altogether. `Wasn't it, Simon?'

  Simon began to laugh, his voice hoarse from the evening air.

  `Yes, Milly,' he said at last, almost gasping with the effort of speaking. `One of your best.'

  When they finally arrived at the pizza restaurant, they were both nearly speechless with cold and effort. As they opened the door, the warmth of the air and the garlic-laden smell of food hit them in the face in an intoxicating blast. The place was full, buzzing with people and music; the cold dark road suddenly seemed a million miles away.

  `A table for two, please,' said Simon, depositing Milly on the floor. `And two large brandies.'

  Milly smiled at him, rubbing her cold, reddened cheeks.

  `You know, my feet feel a bit better now,' she said, trying them out experimentally on the marble floor. `I think I'll be able to walk to the table.'

  `Good,' said Simon, stretching his back. `That's great.'

  They were shown to a booth by a red-dressed waiter, who immediately returned with the two brandies.

  `Cheers,' said Milly. She met Simon's eyes hesitantly. `I don't quite know what we're toasting. Here's to . . . the wedding we never had?'

  `Let's toast us,' said Simon, looking at her suddenly seriously. `Let's toast us. Milly '

  `What?'

  There was silence. Milly's heart began to thump. Nervously, she began to shred her paper napkin.

  `I haven't planned this,' said Simon. `God knows I haven't planned this. But I can't wait any longer.'

  He put down his menu and sank to one knee on the floor beside the booth. There was a slight flurry around the restaurant as people looked over and began to nudge each other.

  I `Milly, please,' said Simon. `I'm asking you again. And I . . . hope beyond hope that you'll say yes. Will you marry me?'

  There was a long silence. At last Milly looked up. Her cheeks were tinged a rosy pink; her napkin was a red papery mess in her fingers.

  `Simon, I don't know,' she said. `I . . . I need to think about it.'

  As they came to the end of their pizzas, Milly cleared her throat and looked nervously at Simon.

  `How was your pizza?' she said in a dry voice.

  `Fine,' said Simon. `Yours?'

  `Fine.' Their eyes met very briefly; then Simon looked away
.

  `Do you ...' he began. `Have you ...'

  `Yes,' said Milly, biting her lip. `I've finished thinking.'

  Her gaze ran over him still kneeling on the floor beside the table, as he had been throughout the meal, his food spread around him like a picnic. A tiny smile came to her face.

  `Would you like to get up now?' she said.

  `Whatever for?' said Simon, taking a swig from his glass of wine. `I'm very comfortable down here.'

  `I'm sure you are,' said Milly, her lips trembling. `I'm sure you are. I just thought . . . you might want to kiss me.'

  There was a tense silence.

  `Might I?' said Simon eventually. Slowly he put down his wine glass and raised his eyes to hers. For a few moments they just gazed at each other, unaware of the waiters nudging one another and calling into the kitchen; oblivious of anything but themselves. `Might I really?'

  `Yes,' said Milly, trying to control her shaking voice. `You might.' She put down her napkin, slid down off her seat beside him onto the marble floor and wrapped her arms around his neck. As her lips met his, there was a small ripple of applause from around the restaurant. Tears began to stream down Milly's cheeks, onto Simon's neck and into their mingled mouths. She closed her eyes and leaned against his broad chest, inhaling the scent of his skin, suddenly too weak to move a muscle. She felt drained of all energy, emptied of all emotion; unable to cope with anything more.

  `Just one question,' said Simon into her ear. `Who's going to tell your mother?'

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  the next morning the air was bright and crisp. As Milly's little car pulled up outside 1 Bertram Street, the postman was about to push a bundle of letters through the letterbox.

  `Morning!' he said, turning round. `How's the bride?'

  `Fine,' said Milly, giving him a tight little smile. She took the letters from him, reached inside her pocket for her key then paused. Her heart was beating in a mixture of anticipation and dread, and a thousand introductory phrases whirled around her mind. She stared for a few seconds at the shiny gloss of the front door, then put her key into the lock.

  `Mummy?' she called as she entered, her voice high with nerves. `Mummy?' She put the letters down on the hall stand and took off her coat, trying to stay calm. But suddenly excitement was bubbling through her like soda, and she could feel a wide grin licking across her face. She felt like laughing and singing and jumping up and down like a little girl. `Mummy, guess what?'