The Wedding Girl Page 8

  `Lovely,' said James, still gazing at the screen. He couldn't quite make out what Bette Davis was saying. She had unbuttoned her gloves; was she about to challenge the square-jawed man to a fight? He looked up. `I wanted to talk to you.'

  `And I wanted to talk to you,' said Olivia. She picked up a red exercise book lying near her chair and consulted it. `First, have you checked the route to the church with the council?'

  `I know the route,' said James. Olivia sighed exasperatedly.

  `Of course you do. But do you know if any road-works or demonstrations are going to spring up on Saturday? No! That's why we have to ring the council. Don't you remember?' She began to write in the exercise book. `Don't worry. I'll do it myself.'

  James said nothing. He looked around for somewhere to sit, but there were no other chairs. After a pause he sat down on the edge of the bed. Olivia's duvet was soft and smelt faintly of her perfume. It was spread evenly over her bed and anchored down with lacy cushions, neat and sexless as though she never slept in it. For all he knew, she didn't. James had not seen the underside of Olivia's duvet for six years.

  `The other thing,' said Olivia, `is about presents for the guests.'

  `Presents for the guests?'

  `Yes, James,' said Olivia impatiently. `Presents for the guests. Everyone gives their guests a present these days.'

  `I thought it was the other way around.'

  `It's both. The guests give presents to Milly and Simon, and we give presents to the guests.'

  `And who gives presents to us?' asked James. Olivia rolled her eyes.

  `You're not helping, James. Milly and I have already organized for each guest to receive a champagne flute.'

  `Well then, that's fine.' James took a deep breath. `Olivia '

  `But I was wondering, wouldn't a flowering rose bush be more original? Look.' She gestured to an open magazine on the floor. `Isn't that pretty?'

  `A flowering rose bush for each guest? The place will be a bloody forest.'

  `A mini rose bush,' said Olivia impatiently. `Purse-sized, they call it.'

  `Olivia, haven't you got enough to do without organizing lastminute purse-sized rose bushes?'

  `Maybe you're right,' said Olivia regretfully. She reached for her pen and scored out an entry in her exercise book. `Now, what else was there?'

  `Olivia, listen for a moment,' said James. He cleared his throat. `I wanted to talk about-' He broke off. `About what's going to happen. After the wedding.'

  `For goodness' sake, James! Let's just get the wedding safely over before we start talking about what happens next. As if I haven't got enough to think about!'

  `Just hear me out.' James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. `I think we both realize that things will be different when Milly's gone, don't we? When it's just the two of us in this house.'

  `Fees for the choir . ..' murmured Olivia, ticking off on her fingers. `Buttonholes ...'

  `There's no point pretending things are the same as they were.'

  `Cake stand ...'

  `We've been drifting apart for years, now. You've got your life, I've got mine . . .'

  `Speech!' said Olivia, looking up triumphantly. `Have you composed your speech?'

  `Yes,' said James, staring at her. `But no one seems to be listening.'

  `Because what I suggest is that you write two sets of notes. Then I can keep one, just in case.' She smiled brightly at him.

  `Olivia ...'

  `And I'm going to suggest the same to Simon. Let me just write that down.'

  She began to scribble and James's eyes drifted towards the television screen. Bette Davis was falling into the arms of the squarejawed man; tears glistened on her lashes.

  `Right,' said Olivia. `Well, that's it.' She looked at her watch and stood up. `And now I must pop along to see the choirmaster. Was there anything else?'

  'Well-'

  `Because I am running a little late. Excuse me.' She gestured to James to stand up, and laid the pink silk carefully on the bed. `See you later!'

  `Yes,' said James. `See you later.'

  The door closed behind him and he found himself staring again at Olivia's little plaque.

  `So what I'm saying,' he said to the door, `is that after the wedding, I want to move out. I want a new life. Do you understand?'

  There was silence. James shrugged, turned on his heel and walked away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  at the offices where Simon worked, there was a small shriek from the reception desk.

  `She's here!' cried Pearl, one of the middle-aged receptionists. `Milly's here!' She beamed as Milly approached the desk. `How are you, dear? Not too nervous about Saturday?'

  `There's nothing to be nervous about,' exclaimed another of the receptionists, a woman in a pale blue cardigan and matching eye shadow. `Just make sure you enjoy the day, darling. It'll go by so fast!'

  `It'll be a blur,' said Pearl, nodding seriously. `What you need to do is, every so often, stop still and look around, and say to yourself: this is my wedding day. Just say it. This is my wedding day. And then you'll enjoy yourself!' She smiled at Milly. `I'll buzz Simon for you, then I'll take you up.'

  `It's all right,' said Milly. `I know the way.'

  `No trouble!' exclaimed Pearl. She tapped at her keyboard. `Margaret, keep trying Simon, will you? And tell him I'm on my way up with Milly.'

  To a chorus of good lucks, the two of them walked across the reception area to the lifts.

  `We're coming to watch you on Saturday,' said Pearl, as the lift doors closed behind them. `Outside the church. You don't mind, do you, dear?'

  `Of course not,' said Milly confusedly. `You mean you're just going to stand there and watch?'

  `Beryl's bringing camp-chairs!' said Pearl triumphantly. `And we'll have a thermos of coffee. We want to see everyone arrive. All the VIPs. It'll be just like a royal wedding!'

  `Well,' said Milly, embarrassed. `I don't know about-'

  `Or that lovely wedding on the television,' said Pearl. `On EastEnders the other day. Did you see it?'

  `Oh, yes!' said Milly enthusiastically. `Wasn't it romantic?'

  `Those two little bridesmaids,' Pearl sighed fondly. `Weren't they a picture?'

  `Gorgeous,' agreed Milly. `Not,' she added quickly, as the lift approached Simon's floor, `that I really knew who any of the characters were. I don't normally watch EastEnders. I prefer . . . documentaries.'

  `Do you, dear? I couldn't live without my soaps,' said Pearl comfortably. `Your Simon teases me about them. Quizzes me on all the plots.' She smiled at Milly. `He's a lovely boy really. So downto-earth. You wouldn't think he was who he is. If you know what I mean.' The lift pinged. `Here we are.' She peered down the carpeted corridor. `Now, where's he got to?'

  `Here I am,' said Simon, suddenly appearing round the corner. He held out a bottle of wine and some plastic cups to Pearl. `Take these down for everyone on reception.'

  `That's very kind!' said Pearl. `And make sure you come down and show us your present.' She took one of Milly's hands and pressed it hard. `Good luck, my dear,' she said. `You deserve nothing but happiness.'

  `Thank you,' said Milly, feeling tears prick the backs of her eyes. `You're very kind.'

  The lift doors closed, and Simon grinned at Milly. `Come on,' he said. `They're all waiting for you.'

  `Don't say that!' said Milly. `You're making me nervous.'

  `Nervous?' Simon laughed. `There's nothing to be nervous about!'

  `I know,' said Milly. `I'm just . . . a bit on edge at the moment.'

  `Wedding jitters,' said Simon.

  `Yes,' said Milly. She smiled at him. `That must be it.'

  Simon's department had clustered self-consciously in the office he shared with four other advertising salespeople. As they arrived, bottles of fizzy wine were being passed around in plastic cups, and a woman in a red jacket was hastily collecting some last-minute signatures on an outsize card.

  `What shall I put?' a girl was wailing as Milly passed
. 'Everyone else has been really witty.'

  `Just put your name!' snapped the woman in the red jacket. `And hurry up.'

  Milly clutched her plastic cup and fixed a smile to her face. She felt vulnerable under the gaze of so many people, so many strangers. She sipped at the fizzy wine and took a crisp from the plate offered to her by one of Simon's cheery colleagues.

  `Aha!' A deep voice interrupted the general chatter, and she looked up. A man in a brown suit with receding hair and a moustache was bearing down on her. `You must be Simon's fiancee.' He grasped her hand. `Mark Taylor. Head of publications. Very pleased to meet you.'

  `Hello,' said Milly politely.

  `Now, where's he got to? We've got to get this presentation done. Simon! Over here!'

  `Have you two met?' said Simon, coming up. `Sorry, I should have introduced you properly.'

  Mark Taylor was clapping his hands.

  `All right, everyone. Hush up, hush up. On behalf of us all here at Pendulum, I'd like to wish Simon and Mandy all the very best for their future together.' He raised his glass.

  `Milly!' shouted someone.

  `What?' said Mark Taylor, screwing up his face puzzledly.

  `It's Milly, not Mandy!'

  `It doesn't matter,' said Milly, going red.

  `What are they saying?' said Mark Taylor.

  `Nothing,' said Milly. `Carry on.'

  `To Mandy and Simon! May they have a long, happy and prosperous life together.' A telephone began to ring in the corner of the room. `Get that, somebody, would you?'

  `Where's the present?' shouted someone.

  `Yes,' said Mark Taylor. `Where is the present?'

  `It's being delivered,' said a woman to Milly's left. `It's off the list. A covered vegetable dish. I've got a picture of it.'

  `Very nice,' said Mark Taylor. He raised his voice. `The present is a covered vegetable dish off the list! Sally's got a picture, if anyone's interested.'

  `But there should be a card,' said Sally. `Where's the card?'

  `Here it is!' said the woman in the red jacket.

  There was a small silence as Simon ripped open the huge envelope and opened a large card with two teddy bears on the front. He scanned the signatures, laughing every so often; looking up and nodding to people as he read their messages. Milly looked over his shoulder. Most of the jokes were about targets and quarter-pages and, bewilderingly, something called Powerlink.

  `Great,' said Simon eventually. `I'm really touched.'

  `Speech!' yelled someone.

  `I'm not going to make a speech,' said Simon.

  `Thank the Lord!' interjected someone else.

  Simon took a sip of fizzy wine.

  `But I just wanted to say,' he said, `for those of you who thought the most important thing in my life was beating Eric's insane monthly targets' there was a small laugh-'or demolishing Andy at darts ...'

  There was a bigger laugh, and Simon smiled.

  `For all of you,' he said, `I've got some news. You're wrong.' He paused. `The most important thing in my life is standing next to me.' He took Milly's hand, and there was a small sigh from some of the girls. `This woman,' he said, `for those of you who don't know her, is the most beautiful, sweet-natured, open and giving woman in the world and I'm truly honoured that, on Saturday, she will become my wife. I feel very lucky.'

  There was a short silence, then in muted tones someone said, `To Milly and Simon.'

  `To Milly and Simon,' chorused the others obediently. Milly looked up at Simon's happy, unaware face and felt a sudden misery come over her.

  `I'll see you all in the pub!' added Simon. The crowd began to disperse and he smiled down at Milly.

  `Did I embarrass you?'

  `Just a bit,' said Milly, trying to smile back. Her skin was prickling with guilt and her insides felt clenched by a strong, bony hand.

  `I just had to tell everyone how I feel,' said Simon. He stroked her hair tenderly. `Sometimes I can't believe how much I love you.' A sudden rush of tears came to Milly's eyes.

  `Don't,' she said. `Don't.'

  `Look at you!' said Simon, tracing her tears with his thumb. `Oh, sweetheart. Do you want a hanky?'

  `Thanks,' gulped Milly. She mopped at her face and took a couple of deep breaths.

  `Simon!' A cheerful voice interrupted them. `Your round, I believe!'

  'OK!' said Simon, grinning. `Give me a minute.'

  `Simon,' said Milly quickly. `Would you mind if I didn't come to the pub?'

  `Oh,' said Simon. His face fell.

  `I'm just feeling a bit tired,' said Milly. `I don't really feel up to' she gestured-'all of this.'

  `Simon!' yelled someone. `You coming or what?'

  `Hang on!' called Simon. He touched Milly's face gently. `Would you rather we went off somewhere, just the two of us?'

  Milly looked at him and had a sudden vision of the two of them in a secluded restaurant. They would sit tucked away at a corner table. They would eat risotto and drink mellow red wine. And slowly, quietly, she would tell him the truth.

  `No,' she said. `You go and have fun. I'll have an early night.'

  `You're sure?'

  `Yes.' She pulled his face down and kissed it. `Go on. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

  She arrived home wanting to go straight to bed. As she took off her coat she heard voices in the kitchen, and winced as it occurred to her that Aunt Jean might have arrived early. But when she pushed open the door, it was Isobel she saw, standing on a kitchen chair, wearing a pink bridesmaid's dress and with a garland of dried flowers in her hair.

  `Isobel!' she exclaimed, feeling sudden, almost tearful relief. `When did you get back?' Isobel looked up and grinned.

  `This afternoon. I got back home, and what do I find? My bloody pipes have gone.'

  `Pipes?'

  `Water pipes,' said Isobel. `What did you think I meant? Bagpipes?'

  'Isobel's going to stay here until the wedding,' said Olivia, with a mouthful of kirby grips. `Although of course we'll be a bit squashed when Aunt Jean and the cousins arrive ...'

  `Get rid of Alexander,' said Milly. She sat down at the table and began to fiddle with a stray rosebud. `Then there'll be room.

  `Don't be silly, darling,' said Olivia. `He's got to stay here.' She shoved another kirby grip into Isobel's hair and poked at the garland. `There. That's better.'

  `If you say so,' said Isobel. She grinned at Milly. `What do you think?'

  Milly looked up and for the first time registered what Isobel was wearing.

  `What happened to your dress?' she asked, trying not to sound appalled.

  `I added some silk roses,' said Olivia. `Aren't they pretty?' Milly met Isobel's eye.

  `Beautiful,' she said. Isobel grinned.

  `Be honest. Do I look like an idiot?'

  `No,' said Milly. She looked at Isobel and frowned. `You look . . . tired.'

  `That's what I said!' exclaimed Olivia triumphantly. `She looks washed-out and peaky.'

  `I don't look washed-out and peaky,' said Isobel impatiently. Milly gazed at her sister. Isobel's skin was almost grey; her fair, straight hair was lank. The flowers in her hair only emphasized the lack of bloom in her cheeks.

  `You'll look fine on the day,' she said uncertainly. `Once you're wearing some make-up.'

  `She's lost weight, too,' said Olivia disapprovingly. `We could almost do with taking this dress in.'

  `I haven't lost that much,' said Isobel. `Anyway, it doesn't matter what I look like. It's Milly's day, not mine.' She looked at Milly. `How are you doing?'

  `I'm OK,' said Milly. She met her sister's eyes. `You know.'

  `Yup,' said Isobel. She began to slip the pink dress off. `Well, I might go upstairs and get sorted out.'

  'I'll come and help you,' said Milly at once.

  `That's right,' said Olivia. `Good little girl.'

  Isobel's room was next door to Milly's, at the top of the house. Now that she had left home it was occasionally used by bed and breakfast guests, b
ut more often than not remained empty, clean and neat, waiting for her return.

  `Jesus!' said Isobel, as she opened the door. `What's all this?'

  `Wedding presents,' said Milly. `And this is just a few of them.'

  They both looked silently around the room. Every spare piece of floor was piled high with boxes. A few had been opened: they spilled shredded paper and bubble wrap; glimpses of glass and china.

  `What's this?' said Isobel, prodding one of them.

  `I don't know,' said Milly. `I think it's a soup tureen.'

  `A soup tureen,' echoed Isobel disbelievingly. `Are you planning to cook soup when you're married?'

  `I suppose so,' said Milly.

  `You'll have to, now you've got a special tureen to put it in.' Isobel caught Milly's eye and she began to giggle, in spite of herself. `You'll have to sit in every night, and ladle soup out of your soup tureen.'

  `Shut up!' said Milly.

  `And drink sherry out of your eight sherry glasses,' said Isobel, reading the label on another parcel. `Married life is going to be a riot.'

  `Don't!' said Milly. She was shaking with giggles; her eyes were bright.

  `Electric breadmaker. Now, I wouldn't mind one of those.' Isobel looked up. `Milly, are you OK?'

  `I'm fine,' said Milly. `I'm fine.' But her giggles were turning into sobs; suddenly a pair of tears landed on her cheeks.

  `Milly! I knew there was something.' Isobel came over and put her hands on Milly's shoulders. `What's wrong? What did you want to talk to me about in Paris?'

  `Oh God, Isobel!' More tears landed on Milly's face. `It's all gone wrong!'

  `What?'

  `I'm in real trouble!'

  `What do you mean?' Isobel's voice rose in alarm. `Milly, tell me! What's happened?'

  Milly looked at her for a long time.

  `Come here,' she said at last. She went back into her own room, waited until Isobel had followed her inside, and closed the door. Then, as Isobel watched silently, she reached up inside the chimney, scrabbled for a bit, and pulled down an old school shoebag, drawn tightly at the neck.

  'What-'