The Wedding Girl Page 9

  `Wait,' said Milly, groping inside. She pulled out a smaller bag then, from that, produced a box tied tightly with string. She tugged at the string and wrenched it off, taking the lid off with it. For a few moments she stared at the open box. Then she held it out to Isobel.

  'OK,' she said. `This is what's happened.'

  `Blimey,' said Isobel. Staring up at them from inside the box was a photograph of Milly in a wedding dress, beaming through a cloud of confetti. Isobel picked it up and stared at it more closely. Glancing at Milly, she put it down, and picked up the photograph underneath. It was a picture of two men standing side by side, one dark-haired, the other fair. Beneath that was a shot of the darkhaired man kissing Milly's hand. Milly was simpering at the camera. Her veil was tossed over her shoulder; she looked wildly happy.

  Without speaking, Isobel leafed through to the end of the pile of pictures. Underneath the photographs were some old faded confetti and a little flowered card.

  `Can I?' said Isobel, touching the card.

  `Go ahead.'

  Silently, Isobel opened the card and read the inscription: `To the best bride in the world. Yours ever, Allan.' She looked up.

  `Who the hell is Allan?'

  `Who do you think he is, Isobel?' said Milly in a ragged voice. `He's my husband.'

  As Milly came to the end of her faltering story, Isobel exhaled sharply. She got up, strode to the fireplace and stood for a moment, saying nothing. Milly, who was sitting in an armchair, hugging a cushion to her chest, watched her apprehensively.

  `I can't quite get my head round this,' said Isobel eventually.

  `I know,' said Milly.

  `You really married a guy to keep him in the country?'

  `Yes,' said Milly. She glanced at the wedding pictures, still spread over the floor; at herself, young and vibrant and happy. As she had told the story, all the romance and adventure of what she'd done had flooded back into her, and for the first time in years she'd felt a nostalgia for those heady, magical Oxford days.

  `Those bastards!' Isobel was shaking her head. `They must have seen you coming!' Milly stared at her sister.

  `It wasn't like that,' she said. Isobel looked up.

  `What do you mean, it wasn't like that? Milly, they used you!'

  `They didn't!' said Milly defensively. `I helped them because I wanted to. They were my friends.'

  `Friends,' echoed Isobel scathingly. `Is that what you think? Well, if they were such great friends, how come I never met them? Or even heard about them?'

  `We lost touch.'

  `When did you lose touch? As soon as you'd signed on the dotted line?'

  Milly was silent.

  `Oh, Milly,' said Isobel. She sighed. `Did they pay you?'

  `No,' said Milly. `They gave me a necklace.' Her hands reached for the little pearls.

  `Well, that's a lot of compensation,' said Isobel sarcastically. `Bearing in mind you broke the law for them. Bearing in mind you could have been prosecuted. The Home Office investigates phoney marriages, you know! Or didn't you know?'

  `Don't go on about it, Isobel,' said Milly in a trembling voice. `It's done, OK? And there's nothing I can do about it.'

  'OK,' said Isobel. `Look, I'm sorry. This must be awful for you.' She picked up one of the pictures and stared at it for a few moments. `I have to say, I'm surprised you risked keeping these.'

  `I know,' said Milly. `It was stupid. But I couldn't bear to throw them out. They're all I've got left of the whole thing.' Isobel sighed, and put the photograph down.

  `And you've never told Simon about it.'

  Milly shook her head, lips clamped together tightly.

  `Well, you've got to,' said Isobel. `You do know that?'

  `I can't,' said Milly, closing her eyes. `I can't tell him. I just can't.'

  `You're going to have to!' said Isobel. `Before this Alexander character decides to say something to him.'

  `He might not say anything,' said Milly in a small voice.

  `But he might!' retorted Isobel. `And it's not worth the risk.' She sighed. `Look, just tell him. He won't mind! Plenty of people are divorced these days.'

  `I know they are,' said Milly.

  `There's no shame in it! So you're divorced.' She shrugged. `It could be worse.'

  `But I'm not,' said Milly tightly.

  `What?' Isobel stared at her.

  `I'm not divorced,' said Milly. `I'm still married.'

  There was a still silence.

  `You're still married?' said Isobel in a whisper. `You're still married? But Milly, your wedding's on Saturday!'

  `I know!' cried Milly. `Don't you think I know that?' And as Isobel gazed at her in horror, she buried her head in the cushion and sank into blinding tears.

  The brandy was in the kitchen. As Isobel opened the door, hoping no one was about, Olivia raised her head from the phone.

  `Isobel!' she said in a stage whisper. `The most ghastly thing's happened!'

  `What?' said Isobel, feeling a beat of fear.

  `There aren't enough orders of service. People are going to have to share!'

  `Oh,' said Isobel. She felt a sudden, terrible desire to cackle. `Well, never mind.'

  `Never mind?' hissed Olivia. `The whole event will look shoddy!' Her eyes narrowed as she watched Isobel pour out a glass of brandy. `Why are you drinking brandy?'

  `It's for Milly,' said Isobel. `She's a bit tense.'

  `Is everything all right?'

  `Yes,' said Isobel, backing away. `Everything's just fine.'

  She went back up to the bedroom, closed the door and tapped Milly on the shoulder.

  `Drink this,' she said. `And calm down. It'll be OK.'

  `How can it be OK?' sobbed Milly. `It's all going to come out! Everything's going to be ruined.'

  `Come on,' said Isobel. She put an arm round Milly's shoulders. `Come on. We'll sort it out. Don't worry.'

  `I don't see how we can,' said Milly, looking up with a tearstained face. She took a sip of brandy. `I've completely messed things up, haven't I?W

  `No,' said Isobel. `Of course you haven't.' Milly gave a shaky laugh.

  'Nice try, Isobel.' She took another sip of brandy. `God, I need a cigarette. Do you want one?'

  `No thanks,' said Isobel.

  `Come on,' said Milly, pushing open the sash window with shaking hands. `One cigarette won't give you bloody lung cancer.'

  `No,' said Isobel after a pause. `No, I suppose one cigarette can't hurt.' She sat down on the windowsill. Milly passed her a cigarette and they both inhaled deeply. As the smoke hit her lungs, Milly felt her whole body expand and relax.

  `I needed that,' she said with a sigh. She blew out a cloud of smoke and wafted it with her hand out of the window. `Oh God. What a mess.'

  `What I don't understand,' said Isobel carefully, `is why you didn't get a divorce.'

  `We were always going to,' said Milly, biting her lip. `Allan was going to sort it out. I even got some papers from his lawyers. But then it all fizzled out and I didn't hear any more. I never went to court, nothing.'

  `And you never chased it up?'

  Milly was silent.

  `Not even when Simon asked you to marry him?' Isobel's voice sharpened. `Not even when you started planning the wedding?'

  `I didn't know how to! Allan left Oxford, I didn't know where he was, I lost all the papers ...'

  `You could have gone to a lawyer, couldn't you? Or the Citizens' Advice Bureau?'

  `I know.'

  `So why-'

  `Because I didn't dare, OK? I didn't dare rock the boat.' Milly puffed quickly on her cigarette. `I knew what I'd done was dodgy. People might have started poking around and asking questions. I couldn't risk it!'

  `But Milly ...'

  `I just didn't want anyone else to know. Not a single person. While no one else knew, I felt . . . safe.'

  `Safe!'

  `Yes, safe!' said Milly defensively. `No one in the world knew about it. No one asked any questions; no one suspected
anything!' She raised her eyes to Isobel's. `I mean, did you suspect anything?'

  `I suppose not,' said Isobel reluctantly.

  `Of course you didn't. No one did.' Milly took another shaky drag. `And the more time went on, the more it was as though the whole thing had never happened. A few years went by, and still nobody knew about it, and gradually it just . . . stopped existing.'

  `What do you mean, it stopped existing?' said Isobel impatiently. `Milly, you married the man! You can't change that.'

  `It was three minutes in a registry office,' said Milly. `One tiny signature, ten years ago. Buried on some legal document which no one's ever going to see again. That's not a marriage, Isobel. It's a piece of dust. A nothing!'

  `And what about when Simon asked you to marry him?'

  There was a sharp silence.

  `I thought about telling him,' said Milly at last. `I really did. But in the end, I just couldn't see the point. It's got nothing to do with us. It would just have complicated things. He didn't need to know.'

  `So what were you going to do?' said Isobel incredulously. `Commit bigamy?'

  `The first one wasn't a proper marriage,' said Milly, looking away. `It wouldn't have counted.'

  `What do you mean?' exclaimed Isobel. `Of course it would have counted! Jesus, Milly, how can you be such a moron? I don't believe you sometimes!'

  `Oh shut up, Isobel!' cried Milly furiously.

  Fine. I'll shut up.'

  `Fine.'

  There was silence for a while. Milly finished her cigarette, then stubbed it out on the windowsill.

  `Aren't you going to smoke yours?' she said, not looking at Isobel.

  `I don't think I want the rest of it. You can have it.'

  'OK.' Milly took the half-burned cigarette, then glanced at her sister, momentarily distracted. `Are you OK?' she said. `Mummy's right, you look awful.'

  `I'm fine,' said Isobel shortly.

  `You're not anorexic, are you?'

  `No!' Isobel laughed. `Of course I'm not.'

  `Well, you've been losing weight ...'

  `So have you.'

  `Have I?' said Milly, plucking at her clothes. `It's probably all this stress.'

  `Well, don't stress,' said Isobel firmly. 'OK? Stressing is useless.' She pulled her knees up and hugged them. `If only we knew how far your divorce had actually got.'

  `It didn't get anywhere,' said Milly hopelessly. `I told you, I never went to court.'

  `So what? You don't have to go to court to get a divorce.'

  `Yes you do.'

  `No you don't.'

  'Yes you do!' said Milly. `They did in Kramer versus Kramer.'

  `For God's sake, Milly!' exclaimed Isobel. `Don't you know anything? That was for a custody battle.'

  There was a little pause, then Milly said, `Oh.'

  `If it's just a divorce, your lawyer goes for you.'

  `What lawyer? I didn't have a lawyer.)

  Milly took a final drag on Isobel's cigarette, then stubbed it out. Isobel was silent, her brow wrinkled perplexedly. Then suddenly she looked up.

  `Well, maybe you didn't need one. Maybe Allan did all the divorcing for you.'

  Milly stared at her.

  'Are you serious?'

  `I don't know. It's possible.' Milly swallowed.

  `So I might be divorced after all?'

  `I don't see why not. In theory.'

  `Well, how can I find out?' said Milly agitatedly. `Why didn't I hear? Is there some official list of divorces somewhere? My God, if I found out I was actually divorced ...'

  `I'm sure there is,' said Isobel. `But there's a quicker way.'

  `What?'

  `Do what you should have done bloody years ago. Phone your husband.'

  `I can't,' said Milly at once. `I don't know where he is.'

  `Well then, find him!'

  `I can't.'

  `Of course you can!'

  `I don't even know where to start! And anyway-' Milly broke off and looked away.

  `What?' There was silence as Milly lit another cigarette with trembling hands. `What?' repeated Isobel impatiently.

  `I don't want to speak to him, OK?'

  `Why not?' Isobel peered at Milly's downcast face. `Why not, Milly?'

  `Because you're right,' said Milly suddenly, tears springing to her eyes. `You're right, Isobel! Those two were never my friends, were they? They just used me. They just took what they could get. All these years, I've thought of them as my friends. They loved each other so much, and I wanted to help them ...'

  `Milly ...'

  `You know, I wrote to them when I got back,' said Milly, star ing into the darkness. `Allan used to write back. I always planned to go back one day and surprise them. Then gradually we lost touch. But I still thought of them as friends.' She looked up at Isobel. `You don't know what it was like in Oxford. It was like a whirlwind romance between the three of us. We went punting, and we had picnics, and we talked into the night . . .' She broke off. `And they were probably just laughing at me the whole time, weren't they?'

  `No,' said Isobel. `I'm sure they weren't.'

  `They saw me coming,' said Milly bitterly. `A naive, gullible little fool who would do anything they asked.'

  `Look, don't think about it,' said Isobel, putting her arm around Milly's shoulders. `That was ten years ago. It's over. Finished with. You have to look ahead. You have to find out about your divorce.'

  `I can't,' said Milly, shaking her head. `I can't talk to him. He'll just be . . . laughing at me.' Isobel sighed.

  `You're going to have to.'

  `But he could be anywhere,' said Milly helplessly. `He just vanished into thin air!'

  `Milly, this is the age of information,' said Isobel. `Thin air doesn't exist any more.' She took out a pen from her pocket and tore a piece of card off one of the wedding present boxes. `Now come on,' she said briskly. `Tell me where he used to live. And his parents. And Rupert, and Rupert's parents. And anyone else they used to know.'

  An hour later, Milly looked up from the phone with triumph on her face.

  `This could be it!' she exclaimed. `They're giving me a number!'

  `Hallelujah!' said Isobel. `Let's hope this is him.' She gazed down at the road map in her lap, open at the index. It had taken Milly a while to remember that Rupert's father had been a headmaster in Cornwall, and another while to narrow the village name down to something beginning with T. Since then they had been working down the index, asking Directory Enquiries each time for a Dr Carr.

  `Well, here it is,' said Milly, putting down the receiver and staring at the row of digits.

  `Great,' said Isobel. `Well, get dialling!'

  'OK,' said Milly, taking a deep breath. `Let's see if we've got the right number.'

  I should have done this before, she thought guiltily, as she picked up the phone. I could have done this any time. But even as she dialled, she felt a painful dismay at what she was being forced to do. She didn't want to speak to Rupert. She didn't want to speak to Allan. She wanted to forget the bastards had ever existed; wipe them out of her memory.

  `Hello?' Suddenly a man's voice was speaking in her ear and Milly gave a jump of fright.

  `Hello?' repeated the man. Milly dug her nails into the palm of her hand.

  `Hello,' she said cautiously. `Is that Dr Carr?'

  `Yes, speaking.' He sounded agreeably surprised that she should know his name.

  `Oh good,' said Milly, and cleared her throat. `May I ... may I talk to Rupert, please?'

  `He's not here, I'm afraid,' said the man. `Have you tried his London number?'

  `No, I haven't got it,' said Milly, amazed at how natural her voice sounded. She glanced over at Isobel, who nodded approvingly. `I'm an old friend from Oxford. Just catching up.'

  `Ah, well he's in London now. Working as a barrister, you know, in Lincoln's Inn. But let me give you his home number.'

  As Milly wrote down the number, she felt a bubble of astonishment expanding inside her. It was that si
mple. For years she'd thought of Rupert and Allan as people out of her life for ever; misty figures who might be anywhere in the world by now, whom she would never see again. And yet here she was, talking to Rupert's father, a phone call away from talking to Rupert himself. In a few minutes she would hear his voice. Oh God.

  `Have I met you?' Rupert's father was saying. `Were you at Corpus?'

  `No, I wasn't,' said Milly hurriedly. `Sorry, I must go. Thank you so much.'

  She put the receiver down and stared at it for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath, lifted it again and, before she could change her mind, tapped in Rupert's telephone number.

  `Hello?' A girl's voice answered pleasantly.

  `Hello,' said Milly, before she could chicken out. `May I talk to Rupert, please? It's quite important.'

  `Of course. Can I say who's calling?'

  `It's Milly. Milly from Oxford.'

  While the girl was gone, Milly twirled the telephone cord round her fingers and tried to keep her breathing steady. She didn't dare meet Isobel's eye in case she collapsed with nerves. Ten years was a long time. What was Rupert like now? What would he say to her? She could hear faint music in the background, and pictured him lying on the floor, smoking a joint, listening to jazz. Or perhaps he was sitting on an old velvet chair, playing cards, drinking whisky. Perhaps he was playing cards with Allan. A dart of nerves went through Milly. Maybe, any moment, Allan would be on the line.

  Suddenly the girl was speaking again.

  `I'm sorry,' she said, `but Rupert's a bit tied up at the moment. Can I take a message?'

  `Not really,' said Milly. `But maybe he could call me back?'

  `Of course,' said the girl.

  `The number's Bath 89406.'

  `Got it.'

  `Great,' said Milly. She looked down at the doodles on her notepad, feeling a sudden relief. She should have done all this years ago; it was easier than she'd thought. `Are you Rupert's flatmate?' she added, conversationally. `Or just a friend?'

  `No, I'm neither,' said the girl. She sounded surprised. `I'm Rupert's wife.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  by the fire of his Fulham house, shaking with fear. As Francesca put down the phone she gave him a curious look, and Rupert felt his insides turn to liquid. What had Milly said to his wife? What exactly had she said?