by Paige Toon
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
A week later I fly to Paris to meet with his family’s dressmaker.
It all spirals out of my control in the end. I don’t know whose wedding I’m going to, but it doesn’t feel like mine. I’m detached as I sit in my room at Lukas’s house – yes, in the guest wing – and it still feels lonely, even though my parents are next door and Lizzy and Callum are across the hall. That relationship has been tempestuous, to say the least. But they’re back on again at the moment and are even talking about moving in together. They both still live in Edinburgh, but I know Lizzy misses London.
There’s a knock at my door. ‘Come in!’ I call.
Frieda pushes the door open. ‘Rise and shine,’ she says, proffering a tray laden with cups, a milk jug, a teapot and extra hot water.
I sit up in bed and smile at her. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘I stole it from Mariella on the way up.’
Mariella is the family’s longest-serving staff member.
‘How are you feeling?’ She places the tray on a table under one of the grand arched windows. There are four in my room alone.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘No,’ I admit. It’s only six thirty now, but I’ve been awake since five.
‘It’s a big day.’ Even though she’s speaking quietly, I can hear the excitement in her voice. She’s one of my bridesmaids. Lizzy is my chief bridesmaid, and I have three others, one of whom I met only yesterday. Like I said, I’m going with the flow.
Well, trying to. Lukas and I did have a bit of a row – if it’s possible to have a bit of a row – about Emily. I said if I was going to have five bridesmaids then she should be one of them. But his family is bigger than I realised and there are so many politics . . . In the end I gave in, only because I had to concede that he’s right: I do hardly see her these days.
‘The hairdresser is already here,’ Frieda tells me.
‘Is she?’ I ask with alarm, getting out of bed.
‘Don’t worry!’ she exclaims. ‘There’s no rush.’
If my room was on the other side of the house I would have seen her arrive, but I face the lake.
Lizzy, Callum and my parents were all completely blown away by the house. The gardens are so lush and green at the moment, although they’re not as pretty as they were back in April when Lukas and I came here for Easter. That trip was supposed to involve some serious wedding planning, but his mother had organised practically every last detail by then. Like I said, this doesn’t really feel like my wedding. But that’s not to say it won’t be spectacular. You should see the size of the marquees that have been erected on the back lawn overlooking the lake. They’re dripping with fairy lights and I know it will look beautiful. But right now everything feels very surreal. I hope I’ll feel more connected to the proceedings when it comes to saying, ‘I do.’
There’s another knock at my door.
‘Come in,’ I call again.
Lizzy pushes open the door. My face falls when I see her expression, but then she spots Frieda and quickly recovers.
‘Oh, hello!’ she says.
‘Guten Morgen,’ Frieda says with a grin.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her with concern.
‘Nothing,’ she replies dismissively, her eyes flitting towards Frieda.
‘The hairdresser is already downstairs,’ Frieda tells her. ‘Would you like a quick cup of tea?’
‘Sure.’
They try to make small talk, but I’m distracted. Her face . . . She looked . . . terrified.
The hours whizz past like minutes. The wedding is at one o’clock today, but there’s so much to do, so much to think about. Not that I need to do or think about anything – it’s all being done for me. I keep wishing I had five minutes to myself to collect my thoughts, but there are bridesmaids, make-up artists, hairdressers, dress designers and God knows who else permanently buzzing around my room. I feel so abstract and so disconnected from all of it – I’m craving time and space to get my head together, but neither is forthcoming. I keep catching Lizzy looking at me with a strange expression on her face, but if I ask her what’s wrong she rearranges her features. Finally my hair and make-up are sorted and there’s nothing left for me to do other than force down a light snack so I don’t faint at the altar. I’ll be buttoned into my dress after that – I’m currently still in my dressing gown. I take Lizzy to one side.
‘You’re going to have to tell me what’s bothering you before I walk down the aisle,’ I say gravely. She regards me with that expression again: fear.
‘Can we go to my room?’ she asks quietly, her eyes darting around at all the people.
I grab my mum and confide that I’m going to escape with Lizzy for some quiet time.
‘I think I’ll do the same with your father,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll let everyone know not to bother you for a while.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
I give her a kiss and follow Lizzy out of my room. Callum is getting ready at the hotel where Jessie and Emily are staying, so as to keep out of the way. He and Lizzy had a few drinks with them after the rehearsal dinner last night, while I came back here to get an early night.
Lizzy gently closes the door behind me and I turn on her immediately.
‘What is it?’
She takes a deep breath. Her expression has changed. Now it’s . . . pity?
‘It might not be him,’ she starts.
I’m confused. ‘Who?’
She walks to her dressing table and picks up a DVD case. She turns around and hands it to me. It’s a movie called Strike. I vaguely remember hearing something about it. On the front there’s a picture of a man’s muscled back, partly cast in shadow.
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘It’s a documentary about kick-boxing. Jessie lent it to Callum for us to watch last night.’
Now I remember. This is the film that Jessie wanted to see last autumn. It hadn’t come out yet so we saw something else instead.
‘What about it?’ I have no idea what’s going on.
‘The guy in it . . . He looked like . . . Joe.’
I knew she was going to say his name a split second before she said it. I sink down onto the bed and stare at the DVD case.
‘Put it on,’ I say in a monotone.
She doesn’t say another word; she just gets her laptop out of a drawer and places it on my lap. The DVD is still inside and the movie is halfway through, so all she has to do is press Play.
I recognise his voice instantly. He’s talking about fighting, but I can’t see his face. All I can see is a figure in a dark-grey hoodie punching a punch bag, while his commentary plays over the top. And then suddenly the hooded figure attacks the bag with a high, powerful kick and his hoodie flies back to reveal his face. I nearly knock the computer off my knees in shock. Lizzy swiftly takes it from me before I break it.
‘It’s Joe!’ I gasp.
My friend’s face is wracked with anxiety. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know if I should show it to you . . .’
‘It’s Joe,’ I say again. ‘It’s him.’ I feel breathless and dizzy, like I’m going to faint.
‘I’m so sorry, Alice.’ She’s fretful and worried.
‘You’d better get Jessie,’ I say.
She looks perplexed. ‘Why?’
‘You’d better get him.’ I don’t know why. I just need him here. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. She calls him on her phone, but I don’t take in what she’s saying. I’m staring at the laptop on the dressing table. I daren’t put the movie back on again.
She ends the call and comes to sit next to me. She takes my hand. Mine is limp.
‘I thought I recognised him, but I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure,’ she says. ‘He looks . . .’
‘Different,’ I interject. He’s cut his hair – it’s short and black – and his body is more muscular and toned. ‘What happened t
o him?’ I whisper.
‘I don’t know.’ She shakes her head.
‘Why didn’t he come for me?’ My eyes fill with tears.
She squeezes my hand. There’s nothing she can say about that.
‘I know this is all really big.’ She waves her hands around her. ‘But you don’t have to go through with it. It’s not too late. You could still track him down.’ She picks up the DVD case. ‘It says on the credits his name is Joseph Strike,’ she tells me.
‘Joseph Strike?’ I ask with dulled surprise. ‘Not Joe Strickwold?’
‘No. Joseph Strike. I guess it sounds better. It’s more showbiz.’
I don’t know him anymore. It hits me like a ton of bricks. The Joe I knew wouldn’t have changed his name. Maybe he’s altered beyond all recognition. He won’t be the boy I once knew. I know Lukas. I know where I stand with him. I’m not going to hurt him like Joe hurt me.
‘Tell Jessie not to come,’ I say in a flat voice.
‘What? Why?’
‘I need to get dressed.’
She looks startled as I calmly stand up. ‘Alice,’ she says.
‘And you need to get dressed too,’ I add. I can’t meet her eyes.
‘Don’t you want to watch any more of it?’ she asks in a gentle voice.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘There’s no point.’
I’m not me as I walk in a daze down that long, long aisle lined with over four hundred guests – most of whom I don’t know. I see Jessie’s red hair in my peripheral vision as I pass him, but I don’t look his way; I don’t want his sympathy. I hold my dad’s slightly shaking arm tightly as he guides me towards married life with my new husband. My husband who is not and who will never be my first love, and that’s got to be okay because I can’t turn back now.
I see Lukas up at the end watching me solemnly as I approach and I remind myself that I love him. It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel it right now, right this second. At this very moment, I feel numb. I don’t feel anything at all.
Twenty minutes later we’re married.
It’s like someone drugged me the day I got married. I wasn’t me. I managed to shut out that DVD and barely think of Joe as I flittered around like a social bloody butterfly, making small talk in a foreign language and ignoring my friends because they knew way, way, way too much about the old Alice. That Alice was dead and buried. And I didn’t even mourn her.
Not at first, anyway. And certainly not for the first four days of our honeymoon. Then reality started to set in. I had to nurse Lukas because he got ‘food poisoning’, which turned out to be a stomach bug. Naturally I caught it and consequently spent a miserable day throwing up my guts in our suite-on-stilts in the Maldives while he went on a full-day’s dive trip. Sitting there in a cold sweat on our immaculate bathroom floor in front of a vomit-stained toilet was bizarrely the most human I had felt since weeks before our wedding. And it struck me – finally – that I was married.
And I had found Joe.
I threw up again.
When I was done being sick I gingerly went outside to sit on the porch overlooking the crystal clear ocean. I needed air to clear my head – even if the air was a bit muggy.
How did Joe end up filming a kick-boxing documentary? What happened to him after we both left Dorset? Did he fall into a black hole like I did? Or did he pick himself up and move on, never to look back? I knew one thing: I had to try to speak to him. Now more than ever I needed answers. Without them I didn’t think I could give myself wholly to building a life with my new husband.
The thought of contacting Joe ate away at me over the course of our honeymoon, but it wasn’t until we returned home that I decided to confide my intentions to Lukas. I thought honesty was the best policy – I didn’t want our marriage to be founded on deceit – but as I told him about the DVD, his stare grew harder and colder until it chilled my bones.
‘If you ever try to contact him again, our marriage is over.’
Those were the first words he said to me. I desperately tried to explain I wasn’t seeking a reunion with Joe, just some answers so I could move on, but he was resolute.
A few days later I came home from town to find Lukas watching Strike on DVD. I’ve never seen him so jealous. When he saw my face he got to his feet and kicked the DVD player. Not the DVD, the actual player. He kicked it again and again, paying no attention to my screams as he picked it up and threw it across the room. When he’d finally stamped open the machine to find a still-intact disc he very coldly, very calmly, snapped it in two before demanding I give him my wedding ring.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Give it to me.’
‘No,’ I said more strongly, backing away from him as he started to come towards me. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door until he’d calmed down.
That was three and a half years ago. So much has changed since then.
Lukas and I bought a house in Newnham, near the city centre. He got a promotion and I continue to work as a teacher in a local school. I adore my current class, a group of six- and seven-year-olds with so much character and energy that they keep me constantly on my toes. I love children, but I’m not ready to have one of my own just yet. Unlike Lukas. He’s been talking about trying for a baby ever since Rosalinde had a son two years ago. Sometimes it feels like a competition.
My parents are great. My dad took early retirement and has never seemed better. Mum’s latest art collection sold incredibly well and they’ve been talking about relocating to Brighton to open a B&B.
Sadly, I can’t say the same of Lizzy’s mother. Susan’s cancer returned in force, and this time she lost her battle. Lizzy was devastated. She moved back to London to be with her father and sister in her mum’s last few months. Callum wasn’t very supportive and Lizzy finally called time on their relationship, but not before they had one last stint of make-up sex which got her pregnant. She gave birth eighteen months ago to a beautiful baby girl known as Eleanor Susan McCall, who has grown into a chubby-cheeked toddler called Ellie, with blue eyes and wavy brown curly hair like her mother’s. I try to be there for my friend as much as I can. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a child so soon after losing your mother. Just the thought of it makes a lump form in my throat. Lizzy currently lives with her father and sister at home, but is wondering if it might be time to stand on her own two feet.
As for Jessie and Emily, their relationship is going from strength to strength. They’re in London now and I try to catch up with them when I can, which isn’t as often as I’d like. Jessie tried to ring me a couple of times over Christmas, but I still haven’t had a chance to return his calls.
Frieda did get married, and her wedding was even more spectacular than ours. I shouldn’t admit it, but I enjoyed it more. I still don’t feel at ease in Lukas’s house, but it’s better now that we’re married. At least we’re allowed to sleep in the same room. We went there for Christmas and Markus announced that Eva is pregnant with their third baby. This gave Lukas another excuse to pile on the pressure. But I’m not ready. Not yet.
‘Be careful, Bennie.’ I’m on playground duty and my class has returned to school after the Christmas holidays with even more energy than usual. I’m blaming all the sugar. It’s had the opposite effect on me. It’s a cold and dreary January and I feel lethargic and bloated after eating too much gingerbread in Germany. I’ve become oddly addicted to the stuff.
Bennie continues to karate-kick an imaginary villain near the climbing frame.
‘POW! POW!’ he shouts.
‘You’ll need a cold compress for your foot if you’re not careful,’ I warn him again. ‘Cold compress’ has been part of my everyday vocabulary since I became a teacher. Something which greatly amuses Lukas.
He continues to ignore me. He’s one of my more challenging pupils. Another child comes a bit too close so I hurry over to him. ‘Bennie.’
‘No!’ he shouts. ‘I’m Joseph Strike! POW! POW!’ Kick! Kick!
That im
aginary villain might as well be my stomach.
‘Who did you say you were?’ I feel like someone has just walked over my grave as I bend down to speak to him.
‘Joseph Strike. POW! POW!’
I try to regain my composure and stand up. ‘Go and play on the slide. Now!’
His shoulders slump dejectedly and he sulks off.
I don’t know how I get through break time, but as soon as I’m in the staff room I make a beeline for a computer and type the name Joseph Strike into Google. I feel light-headed as a gazillion links come up. I click on one which takes me to the IMDb: the Internet Movie Database.
It’s his actor page. My stomach cartwheels when I see his head-shot. He’s unbelievably good-looking, his jawline appearing more defined than it was at the age of eighteen, and there’s a shadow of stubble across his tanned features. His hair is short, his eyes are as black as night, and he’s looking past the camera, only half-smiling.
‘Look at you, checking out pictures of Joseph Strike.’
I jolt at the sound of my colleague’s voice. It’s Roxy. She teaches the eight-year-olds.
‘He’s well hot, isn’t he?’
‘How . . . how do you know about him?’ I stammer.
She laughs in disbelief. ‘Where have you been for the last few weeks? Haven’t you seen Sky Rocket?’
‘We’ve just got back from Germany,’ I say weakly.
‘Don’t they have cinemas over there, love?’ She’s teasing me, but I can’t smile. Lukas’s family aren’t into film or watching TV. It’s all about walking, skiing, reading and, when I’m lucky, playing snooker.
Sky Rocket does sound familiar. ‘I have heard of it,’ I murmur.
‘I should think so. That movie has been an even bigger hit than Santa this Christmas. You’ve got to check it out,’ she urges.
Roxy leans forward and nudges my hand off the mouse, scrolling down to reveal a film poster. There are five actors in the picture, but Joe is almost unrecognisable. He’s wearing a futuristic outfit and is looking up, so I can’t see his face properly. I vaguely remember seeing this image now, but I wouldn’t have known this was him.