Mark’s cheeks grew pink with anger. “So, what? You want me to smile? Pretend everything is great? Act like happy little Mark, the way I was before he…” Mark swallowed heavily. “Sorry, Gracie, I can’t. No, I won’t! I like hanging out with Cathal and his mates. It’s not hurting anyone, so mind your own business.”
“Jesus, are you serious? After everything you’ve put this family through already—” Grace bit her tongue, but it was too late.
“I knew it!” Mark’s eyes filled with tears. “You blame me, don’t you? You and Mum, you blame ME—”
“Oh, God, no—Mark, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry—”
“No, go on, I wanna hear you say it, Gracie! Don’t stop. SAY IT! It’s ALL my fault—all of it. If it wasn’t for me—”
“Don’t do this to yourself…not again.” Grace began to cry. She leaned over and pulled her brother to her chest. “Nobody blames you, Mark.”
In her embrace, Mark’s expression turned from fury to anguish and a flood of hot tears overwhelmed his cheeks. The Keegan siblings crumpled to the living room floor, sobbing in each other’s arms, their loss still raw.
After a few minutes, Grace broke through their tears.
“It wasn’t anybody’s fault, Fappy. It was God’s will or fate or something.”
Mark wiped his nose with his sleeve. “What do you know…you’re only fifteen.”
“I know more than you do.” She handed him a tissue. “So, you better listen to me, or I’ll box your ears again, you little eejit.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Gracie, do you ever wish you were someone else?”
She snickered. “Sure, Britney bloody Spears.”
“Not popstars, just a normal everyday person…but with a happier life.”
“No, not really. I wish I could’ve swapped places with you, though, just for five minutes…”
“Me? Why?”
“I would give anything to have talked to Dad like you did, one last time. You were so lucky, being awake that morning. What did he say exactly? Tell me again, Mark.”
“Gracie, you know what he said. You’ve asked me a hundred times, and I’ve told you a hundred times.”
“But tell me again.”
Mark told her for the one hundred and first time.
Grace smiled. “There you go. You made a sacred promise, and Keegans never break their promises, right? Please, Mark, promise you’ll keep your word to Dad, from today onwards?”
Mark nodded solemnly. “I promise.”
Three
London, Saturday, November 4, 2017
A congregation of uninvited guests—a dozen teenage girls—loitered across from All Saints Church, a quaint Victorian building draped by mature trees in Hackney, East London. Fuelled by coffee and hormones, they giggled and fidgeted, ready to pounce. A pack of parka-cloaked paparazzi kept them company, yawning beneath their long-lensed cameras.
“Hey guys!” Alex zigzagged through a slow-moving parade of shiny SUVs on Livermere Road and caught up to her friends on the church’s doorstep. “Mark just texted!” she whispered to Lucy, Freddie, and Simon as she eyed the crowd across the street. “He’s landed. He’s on his way!”
“Lovely jubbly!” Freddie tossed his wavy fringe out of his eyes and hugged Alex. “I’ve all but forgotten what my bezzie mate looks like.”
“Bride or groom?” An usher foisted a cluster of wedding programs under their noses.
“We’re friends with both,” said Simon, his Canadian accent standing out. “The groom’s side, I guess—”
“No, bride. Definitely bride,” Alex interrupted. “Let’s sit on her side…just in case.” She looked past the usher and smiled at the clusters of tall glass vases that held burning white candles at the end of each pew. The amber glow danced along the wood floor, creating a romantic, fairy-tale setting.
The usher swept his hand towards the centre aisle of the Gothic church.
Freddie put on his glasses and glanced over the program. He hunched his shoulders, shrinking his six-foot frame to whisper in Alex’s ear. “It’s criminal! I mean, who doesn’t have bridesmaids?” The twenty-five-year-old barely paused to catch his breath, pulling Lucy into the conversation. “Do you reckon it’s some weird tradition…not being British? Weddings shouldn’t be messed with. Go full-on traditional or don’t bother.”
“Is that what you’re gonna do, you big girl?” teased Lucy.
“Steady on! I won’t become Mr. Desjardins anytime soon.” He raised his voice, ensuring that his fiancé could hear. “We can’t plan anything until Simon tells his parents he’s gay.”
Looking up from his program, Simon gave Alex a tight-lipped smile.
The four friends surveyed the left side of the church. Eager aunties wrapped in autumn hues sat beside fidgety uncles. Accents from around the United Kingdom and abroad echoed against the old walls, and the scent of hairspray and aftershave hung in the damp air.
“I think this is the best we can get and still sit together.” Freddie pointed at two back-to-back rows. “Four seats here, two seats there.”
“You guys take that row.” Lex nodded, glancing at her phone. “I’ll sit behind you, save a place for Mark.”
Simon scooted along the bench. “If he shows,” the thirty-five-year-old whispered to his fiancé. The old wooden pew groaned under their weight despite Simon’s yoga-toned physique and Freddie’s tall, waif-like figure.
“I bagsie the aisle.” Lucy sat down beside Freddie and slipped out of her cape, showing off the silk tiers of her aqua dress and a twisted silver bracelet cuff, a family heirloom from Jamaica.
Freddie looked over at Lucy and squinted. “What’s that?”
Lucy hunched her shoulders, looking at her program. Her dark curls tumbled over her neck. “What’s what?”
“You know. Stop hiding it. Move your hair.”
“It’s nothing.”
Freddie smiled wildly. “Oh, no, it’s definitely something.” He glanced up at Alex for support, but she was still in the aisle, texting.
Simon twisted around Freddie, desperate for a peek.
“It’s a burn from three days ago.” Lucy’s nose dove deeper into her program. “Never straighten your hair in a rush.”
“No, it’s not. I know a love bite when I see one, lady!” Freddie licked his lips. “Lucy Hardy, who did you shag—”
“Crap!” Alex brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Mark had to ditch his cab…traffic’s a nightmare. He’s walking here!” She ducked into the pew behind her friends and shrugged off her wool coat. Her hands smoothed the skirt of her tea-length plum dress.
Simon turned around. “Pretty dress, Lex.” The up-and-coming womenswear designer nodded his approval.
“Thanks!”
Freddie joined in with a grin. “I love the subtle sparkle, but the Lady of the Forest thing you’ve got going on is a bit too… Galadriel.”
“Forest, what?” Alex ran her fingers along the band of chiffon that nipped in at her waist.
Lucy pivoted to face her friend. “There’s an oak leaf stuck in your fascinator.”
“You’re kidding?”
Freddie leaned over, plucking the crunchy leaf from her hair.
A flush reddened Alex’s face. “Ergh, thanks.” She patted her updo for any additional accoutrements courtesy of Mother Nature.
Freddie twirled the leaf in his fingers and playfully tucked it in Simon’s jacket pocket.
A new arrival invaded Alex’s peripheral vision. “Harry!” She leapt to her feet.
“Hi!” He happily kissed her on both cheeks and bent down to do the same with Lucy. “Hello, you!”
Harry Manville looked immaculate, every inch of his navy suit tailored exquisitely, like he had stepped out of a Tom Ford advert in GQ. “Can I squeeze in beside you, Lex?”
“Sorry, I’m saving a spot for Mark.”
“We’ve got room.” Simon shifted to his left and motioned for Freddie to follow, fr
eeing up space on Lucy’s left.
“Where’s your plus one, then?” Lucy asked as Harry slipped past her knees.
“Stood me up. A friend needed her today more than I did. You?”
“Chickened out—didn’t ask him.” The twenty-four-year-old rolled her eyes.
“You? Chicken?” Harry smirked.
“Aw, there he is.” Alex leaned onto Lucy’s bench. “Tom looks like he belongs on a wedding cake.”
The groom took his place at the front of the church, snapping his knuckles under the cuffs of his morning suit while he chatted with the vicar. Even on his wedding day, Tom Chadwick-Smythe looked raffish and chic, like he had just rolled out of bed. He raked a hand through his tousled brown hair. Alex caught his eye and matched the thespian’s crooked grin with a soppy smile.
Freddie’s right hand crept into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Why so fidgety?” Simon scratched his neatly trimmed beard. “Cut it out.”
Crinkle. Freddie ducked his head. Crinkle. “But…I’m staaarving.”
Lucy chuckled into her hand. “You didn’t?!”
Simon’s eyes shifted from his fiancé to Lucy and back again. “Didn’t what?”
“He’s packing snacks,” said Lucy.
Harry and Alex laughed.
“Cheese and onion crisps.” Freddie revealed the package with a flourish, winking over his shoulder at Alex. “Want one?”
“Freddie Ryan, bloody hell. How old are you—five?” Simon looked around, making sure no one had noticed. “Put them away.”
Freddie frowned, his hand landing heavily in his lap. “Yes, Dad.”
“Are we’re cramping your style, Si?” Lucy shifted in her seat, giving her butt a break from the rock-hard oak bench. “I’d hate to be blamed for damaging your reputation as London Field’s most stylish shopkeeper.” Being snarky to Simon was becoming Lucy’s favourite pastime.
Simon sneered, staring at the colourful Cyberman tattoo on Lucy’s bicep. “Shopkeeper? I’m so much more than that.”
Harry ignored their snippy exchange and twisted around, resting his right arm on the back of the bench. Alex was looking at the weathered leather Bibles slotted in front of her knees, and he flicked one of the bowing purple feathers in her fascinator. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that thing.”
“I’m channeling Kate Middleton.” Alex snuck a peek at the right side of the church. She swallowed heavily and widened her eyes.
Freddie turned to eavesdrop.
“No need to worry, Lex.” Harry scratched a dark blond eyebrow. “Their cousin told me at the door—Olivia’s a definite no-show.”
Alex’s shoulders relaxed. “Really?”
“Whoo, Lex!” Freddie raised a fist in triumph. “You’ve scared that play-stealing clothes horse away for good!”
Harry nodded. “Up until this morning, Tom didn’t know if his sister was flying over. Apparently, she just started a theatre arts program for at-risk youth in the Bronx.”
Lucy snorted. “Poor kids have had a tough life already—why make them suffer more, dealing with that stuck-up bitch?”
Harry shrugged.
Alex raised her eyebrows. “Thank God you didn’t marry her.”
“Lucky escape, mate, lucky escape.” Freddie nodded.
Harry sighed. “Tell me about it.”
A parade of wealth and excess filled up the pews behind Tom. Trust-fund supported Chadwick-Smythe cousins, plastic surgery mavens, and men of bloated self-importance were joined by a clique of twenty-something women, all angular shoulders and protruding hip bones, draped in the latest designer creations. They perched delicately among the groom’s former school chums from Harrow.
Freddie laughed. “I bet when the vicar says ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ most of Hackney and half of Chelsea will stand up. It’s funny how chlamydia brings people back together. Tom never did shy away from a casual shag.” He leaned over Harry. “Lucy, speaking of shags—”
“Check her out,” Lucy interrupted. “That blonde over there, the loud one with…” Lucy rounded her fingers into two large cups in front of her chest.
“The fake tan?” Alex stretched to look past Harry and Lucy. “That’s Caprice, Olivia’s friend. She used to be one of Tom’s regular booty calls.”
Harry nodded in agreement.
“Yikes. Is she drunk? In church?” Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Oh, Tom, your former fuck buddy is nasty. Her skin is orange.”
“It’s fighting with her tangerine frock,” Freddie joined in. “Orange is the new blechhh.”
Laughing, Lucy turned around, her attention drifting over Alex’s head. A smirk tightened her lips. “Well, well, well! Cutting it close, Mr. Keegan.”
Alex broke out into a grin worthy of a lottery win.
“Hey guys…Lex.” Mark paused, his eyes savouring every inch of the girlfriend he had been away from in Austria for the past six weeks. He swept his unruly hair off his forehead and slipped into the pew beside Alex, his hands reaching instinctively for her face. “God, I’ve missed you.”
His lips joined hers, breathing her in and delivering a firm kiss, his dark stubble—still damp with perspiration from his rush from the airport—tickling her skin.
Not as much as I’ve missed you! Alex was torn between discretion and the ache in her heart to kiss Mark’s face off. Her hands brushed down his neck, landing on his shoulders and pulling him closer. If only they were anywhere but there—their flat, his Lairds dressing room, even a restaurant bathroom—but she would have to wait. They both would; this kiss was just a restrained preview of what was to come later.
Freddie cleared his throat, hesitant to interrupt his friends’ clinch. “Any later, Keegs, and you’d have been walking Naomi down the aisle.”
Mark eased back from Alex’s lips and smiled, shrugging off his backpack and wrapping his left arm around her waist. “I almost didn’t make it. My flight left Salzburg an hour late, and then my Uber got stuck in traffic just south of London Fields. I walked the rest of the way here.” His eyes returned to Alex. “C’mere, gorgeous.” He held her cheek and kissed her softly, keeping their contact respectful and PG-rated.
“Is that the guy from that show?”
“It IS true—Tom and Naomi are friends with Mark Keegan.”
Whispers rose from across the aisle, the soon-to-be-wed groom no longer the main attraction.
“Psst, guys.” Lucy winced, catching a woman on the groom’s side holding up a phone, pointed in their direction. “You’ve got an audience.”
Mark grinned against Alex’s lips and pulled away. “What else is new?”
Hesitant to look away from her boyfriend, Alex glanced across the church. Several people pointed, a few uttered “Oh, my God” too loudly, but Alex didn’t care. The love of her life was here, clutching her tightly, his fingers playing with an escaped tendril of her hair. She turned back to Mark and straightened his purple tie. “I can’t believe you made it!”
“Neither can his fan club outside.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Or the paparazzi. Who invited them?”
Mark shrugged. “Sorry it took me so long. I had to sign for the girls, otherwise they’d freeze waiting out there.”
“Nice ego boost, though.” Harry smiled. “Fans wherever you go.”
“It’s fun, but they were a bit freaked. Two of the girls looked like they were gonna throw up, and one had an asthma attack. She had to dig out her puffer.”
Alex slipped her hand into Mark’s. “Being a Keeganite should come with a health warning.”
“You’ve always had a magical touch with the ladies.” Freddie laughed.
“But only one counts.” Mark tugged Alex closer.
The gentle strains of Ed Sheeran’s “Kiss Me” filled the room. The guests rose to their feet as one and looked to the church’s entrance where statuesque Naomi, dressed in a stunning silk gown, appeared with her father. Mr. Khan held her arm tightly, proud to walk his youngest daughter down the ais
le. An excited giggle escaped her lips as she took her first step towards her groom.
Alex stole a peek at Tom. His blue-green eyes sparkled and his lips parted, breathless at the sight of his beautiful bride. Just two years earlier, he had been sleeping with a different woman most nights of the week, but here he was, committed to Naomi, starting a future together, ‘forsaking all others.’ Alex had never seen him so happy or entirely focused. She glanced tearily at Mark, and his eyes were already locked on her. He squeezed Alex’s hand and mouthed, “I love you.”
Four
A privately booked double-decker bus rumbled through East London, carrying twenty-two of Tom and Naomi’s wedding guests to their reception three miles away in Clerkenwell. Missing from the bus were most of Tom’s posh friends and family, who deemed riding on the Routemaster slumming it.
Laughing and holding plastic flutes of complimentary champagne, Alex and Mark surfed each bone-shaking bump from the front seat of the half-full upper deck, careful not to slop fizz on their wedding finery. Lucy slurped her glass in the seat immediately behind them while Harry, Freddie, and Simon were out of sight, satisfied with holding court on the bus’s lower level.
Lucy leaned forward, resting an arm on the back of Alex and Mark’s seat. “I’m pissed. Naomi stole my wedding.”
Confused, Alex finished her champagne and glanced at Mark, her eyes watering.
“Ah-choo! Ah-chooooo.” Relief—finally. Alex’s nose had been twitching for the past five minutes, the dust spit out by the bus’s cranked-up heating system probably to blame.
“Allergic to weddings, much?” Mark’s thumb gently brushed a lost eyelash from Alex’s cheek.
“This double-decker bus…I’ve always wanted a totally London-centric wedding,” said Lucy. “I told Naomi months ago. Remember last spring at the Cat and Mutton when her stupid royal wedding answer cost us the pub quiz?”
Alex wasn’t sure she did remember, but she nodded anyway, her affirmation punctuated with a slight grimace. The fascinator’s headband was digging into her scalp with its prickly claws. Jeez, how does Kate Middleton wear these things? She stashed her empty plastic flute behind her on the seat.
London, Can You Wait? Page 3