by Zoe May
‘I know!’ Will replies guiltily.
I look at him, trying to think of something to say, something to acknowledge that kiss, but I don’t know where to begin. I can’t bring myself to ask him outright whether he was acting or if he felt something. And even if I did ask, do I even want to know the answer? Do I actually want something more with Will? I’d sworn off men before I came on this trip, and even though that kiss has just stirred everything up – my feelings, my desire, the past – I’m still not sure how I’d feel about getting involved with someone, even if they were my childhood sweetheart. And anyway, I have Hera to worry about these days, I can’t just recklessly follow my heart like I used to.
‘So, what shall we do now?’ I ask.
Will is squinting at something in the distance. A small sign. He steps closer towards it.
‘It’s in Arabic, but I think it says something is a kilometre in that direction,’ Will says, pointing into the distance.
‘What’s that way?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know.’ Will shrugs. ‘Let’s find out!’
‘Okay,’ I agree, figuring we have nothing better to do.
We grab our stuff and wander down the path, which grows increasingly less grotty the further away we get from the street. I suppose there are less scraps of food to attract vermin and fewer people coming in off the street to leave rubbish. After walking along the path, further and further away from the street, and talking about how much we both hope we never see Susan and Geoff again, the path finally gives way to a surprisingly beautiful lake. The water is a gorgeous chalky blue shade and it’s surrounded by reeds and wild flowers.
‘Oh my God, talk about a diamond in the rough!’ I enthuse, taking it all in. ‘Do you think this is what the sign was pointing to?’
‘Must be! It’s beautiful,’ Will comments. ‘We should’ve done the pictures down here!’
‘Ah well,’ I sigh. ‘We can still take some. Wedding selfies.’
‘True. Let’s sit down for a bit,’ he suggests. ‘It’s lovely here.’
He’s right, it really is lovely. Butterflies dart between the flowers and dragonflies skim over the surface of the water. It’s like a serene untouched enclave in the midst of a bustling city. I spot a grassy patch of ground beneath a nearby tree and suddenly remember the Moroccan pastries we bought earlier.
‘I’ve got those pastries in my bag! Let’s have a picnic,’ I suggest.
We settle down on the grass, using my pashmina as a rug. I take the pastries out of my bag and tear open the bag they’re in, laying it on the pashmina like a makeshift plate. I sit cross-legged opposite Will and take a bite of the crumbling pasty.
‘So, what were your wedding pictures like? Must have been better than those,’ I venture, unable to resist finding out a little bit more about Will’s marriage.
‘My wedding pictures!’ Will leans back on his elbows as he gazes out over the lake. ‘They probably couldn’t have been more different to the ones we just took, that’s for sure.’ Will laughs.
‘What do you mean? I guess you didn’t go for the boho pigeon shit look?!’
‘No, not at all! It was very fancy. We got married in an old seventeenth-century church in Cornwall, then had our reception in a five-star hotel nearby – a spectacular converted old castle. We hired a top photographer; he knew exactly how to get the right shots. We had so many pictures taken. It didn’t stop, from the church to the reception, it was just constant. To be honest, I think we spend the whole reception taking photos, I don’t really remember talking to many of our guests,’ Will adds, a little regretfully. I take in what he’s said. The Will I used to know was hardly the fancy five-star top photographer type. Was it his wife’s influence or did he just want to make a big fuss out of his special day?
‘Top photographer, eh?’ I comment.
‘Yeah, not exactly Susan and Geoff with an iPhone,’ Will jokes. ‘My ex was like that. Always wanted the best of the best. She came from a very wealthy family.’
‘Right …’ I utter. ‘I was thinking that didn’t sound very us.
I’d heard on the grapevine that Will’s ex-wife was pretty posh, but I didn’t realise just how posh. Most people who get married in Chiddingfold tie the knot at the local church with Blake – a barber from the village with a passion for photography – taking the pictures. We’re not really five-star converted castle and fancy photographer type people.
‘No, it felt a bit weird at the time, to be honest, but I just went along with it. It was like Elsa had all these ideas already of how she wanted the photo album to look and we just had to create that vision. It was a bit like the pictures were shaping us, rather than what we were doing and feeling shaping the pictures,’ Will muses, reaching for a pastry.
‘I shouldn’t be hard on Elsa though,’ he says, picking up a crumbly pastry with a glazed clementine on it. ‘We’re from Chiddingfold where people aren’t really like that, but she was from a much more competitive world. All her friends were getting married and there was definitely an element of competitiveness about the whole thing: who had the best wedding, the best cake, the best dress, the best pictures. Even the best husband.’
I snort. ‘The best husband?!’
Will laughs. ‘Yeah, I’d like to think of myself as having been one of the best, if not the best, but she divorced me, so what can you do?’
He takes a bite of his pastry.
I try not to laugh, yet I can’t help giggling. Will’s attitude to his marriage is undeniably comical.
‘Sorry Will, sucks to be you, eh?’ I reach over and squeeze his arm.
Will laughs. ‘It was mutual, but now she’s with a millionaire finance guy. They seem like a much better match. They’re getting married in the Bahamas!’
‘Wow!’ I comment. ‘She can’t really have just left you for an upgrade though?’
‘No, it wasn’t quite that ruthless! It’s a bit of a sad story really, in the sense that it wasn’t really very dramatic at all. I was working a lot, travelling a lot. Elsa was also really busy with work and we just became like ships passing in the night. And when we were together, we were just kind of …’
Will pauses, searching for the right word. ‘Flat’.
‘Flat?’ I echo.
‘Yeah, I know this sounds bad, but it felt like we were bored. The spark had just gone.’
‘God.’ I pull a face. ‘That is a bit depressing.’
‘I know!’ Will sighs.
‘So you just drifted apart?’
‘Yeah, basically, but we plodded along like that for far, far too long. Then Elsa got offered a really great job in New York and that was the catalyst for us splitting up. I was still working for the paper back then and we talked through the options – flying back and forth to see each other or me applying for a VISA and trying to find work in the States, but all of those ideas just seemed a bit far-fetched. In the end, we both admitted that the best thing to do was just part ways,’ Will tells me.
‘I see. I see what you mean about it being a bit of an anticlimactic story,’ I comment.
‘Yeah. Sometimes a big external event just puts everything into perspective. It was for the best really. In retrospect, I kind of rushed into marriage after my dad died. A weird sort of panic set in. And I think Elsa rushed into marriage with me, but probably more for the sake of it than because of loneliness, like me,’ Will says.
‘Loneliness?’ I echo.
‘Yeah. I felt quite lonely when my dad died. Really lonely. That’s why I’ll always have a fondness for Elsa even if we are divorced. She was my companion. Through that time and even though it wasn’t meant to be. She still helped me get through it,’ Will says.
He wipes the crumbs off his shirt and casually reaches for another pastry as though unaware of how heart-wrenching his words are. The Chiddingfold grapevine never revealed to me just how cut up Will was after losing his dad, or that his grief might have influenced his urge to get married. He’s been through so much and yet it
’s clear he’s come out on the other side. He doesn’t seem bitter about any of it – his dad’s death, his failed marriage, even losing his job. He seems to have adopted a philosophical stance, learning from everything he’s been through and being grateful for what he has. I can’t help noticing how Will’s emotional maturity is world’s away from Leroy, whose idea of a heart to heart was a box of chocolates and make-up sex. He made the people on Jeremy Kyle look eloquent.
Will takes another of the clementine pastries. ‘It’s funny. If Elsa hadn’t got that job in New York, we might still be together, pretending everything was okay while secretly being really quite unhappy together.’
‘Oh well, it all worked out okay in the end. Now you’re here with me!’ I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Exactly! Thank God for my failed marriage,’ Will jokes.
A moment’s silence passes between us, while we watch fireflies darting over the surface of the water.
‘How did you meet?’ I ask, curiously, still feeling bemused at how different Will’s life with Elsa must have been.
‘At a press conference. I was covering a story on the collapse of a global bank and she was doing the PR. We swapped cards and the rest is history!’ Will tells me.
‘Swapped cards, so romantic,’ I tease.
Will smirks. ‘Beats Tinder though, I guess,’ he says, rolling onto his front and reaching for another pastry. ‘What about you and Leroy?’
‘What about us?’ I grumble.
‘How did you two meet?’ Will asks.
I tell him how we were both working out in the gym one Sunday afternoon. The gym was deserted and as I sat on the rowing machine, Leroy caught me checking him out as he was weightlifting at the other side of the gym. Then he came over and we got talking. It’s hardly the stuff of fairy tales and relaying the story to Will, it hits me how unsurprising it probably seems that Leroy would have eventually chatted someone else up the same way he approached me.
‘And you were engaged?’ Will says.
‘Yeah. He proposed to me in Pizza Express,’ I tell him. ‘I think we even paid for the meal with a voucher.’
Will snorts with laughter. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh!’ he says, covering his mouth.
‘It’s okay! You had high end, I had bargain bucket,’ I joke.
Will sniggers. ‘Oh my God. And what was the wedding going to be like? Do they do vouchers for them too?’
I poke him. ‘It would have been like the wedding I described on the plane, actually. Steel drums, the village church, a summer’s day,’ I admit, a little sheepishly. ‘It was my dream wedding to be honest, I just didn’t have the dream guy to match.’
Will smiles, a sad sympathetic smile. ‘One day, we’ll get it right. Dream people and dream weddings,’ he says sweetly.
‘Yeah, fingers crossed!’ I reply, reaching for another pastry.
Chapter 13
‘You look wonderful!’ Amira enthuses, taking in the photos, which thanks to Lauren have been artfully tweaked and now look like genuinely gorgeous album-worthy snaps.
They’re so gorgeous, in fact, that I found myself sitting on the balcony of our hotel room earlier just gazing at them. The kiss Susan captured looks as intense as it felt and the whole vibe between me and Will is so romantic, with Will in his suit and me in my wedding dress, enveloped in his strong arms. I’ve spent so long, since Leroy, pushing down my romantic side and focusing only on Hera and my business, that it feels a little unsettling to be kissed and not only to be kissed, but to have photographic evidence of the kiss to pour over.
‘Medhi! Come and have a look at this.’ Amira beckons Medhi over, who seems equally enamoured with mine and Will’s wedding shot.
‘You can see the love between you,’ Medhi says, smiling sweetly.
‘Yes!’ I laugh, glancing at Will, who has an awkward smile plastered over his face.
‘Where is all this passion at the hotel?’ Medhi asks, his eyes flickering with warmth and good humour. ‘I know we are in Marrakech and we don’t do public displays of affection, but you’re allowed to touch! Especially at the hotel.’
‘Oh, haha!’ I look over at Will, who is also laughing awkwardly. We’re clearly nowhere near tactile enough for newlyweds.
‘Good to know!’ he says, reaching over and giving me a bro-style slap on the back, like I’m his mate in the pub.
I raise an eyebrow. What was that?
Medhi and Amira exchange a glance. They must think we’re the weirdest couple.
Amira hands my phone back to me. ‘Thank you for sharing this. It must have been a perfect day.’
‘It was,’ I reply.
‘Oh yes, definitely,’ Will echoes.
I place my phone in my bag and slip my arm through Will’s as we say goodbye to Amira and Medhi and head off to dinner. Our honeymoon package includes a romantic candlelit dinner for two at a fancy restaurant in the centre of Marrakech. Fortunately, the restaurant isn’t run by Amira and Medhi, so we won’t have to lie all evening.
‘Why did you slap me on the back?’ I laugh once we’re out of earshot.
‘I panicked!’
‘You didn’t panic earlier when we kissed?’ I blurt out.
‘No, I didn’t,’ Will says, giving me a tender, lingering look.
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of his body next to mine. I’ve still got my arm through his and I can feel his body heat. I still want to ask if he wanted to kiss me or if it was all an act for the photos. I want to know, and yet at the same time, I don’t. Part of me is enjoying believing that it was real. Maybe I’m starting to get seduced by my own lies because now I feel like I almost want to believe in the fantasy that Will and I are this loved-up couple.
Will reaches into his pocket, pulls a map out and peers at it, making sure we’re heading the right way to the restaurant.
We walk down a few more side streets until we arrive at a tall, palatial building. The restaurant is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s certainly worlds away from anywhere I’ve eaten in England. It doesn’t feel remotely like a restaurant; it’s such an architectural wonder that it could be a tourist destination in its own right. It’s an ancient Mughal temple with intricately carved marble walls lined with pillars and tall archways. The walls are so tall that they defy ordinary dimensions. They must be at least forty feet high. The ceiling is covered in carved stars adding to the dream-like otherworldly feel.
Will looks equally awestruck as the waiter leads us to our table. It’s been decked out with candles and even our napkins have been artfully folded in the shape of hearts. I glance at Will, who smiles wryly as we sit down.
The waiter hands us menus and even though we had tagines at Jemaa el-Fnaa, they sound so delicious that neither of us can resist ordering them again. We order a few salads too and a bottle of red wine and clink glasses.
‘To fake marriages,’ I joke, once the waiter is out of earshot.
Will laughs. ‘To fake marriages, and old friends,’ he says, clinking his glass against mine.
I echo his toast, even though I can’t help feeling a twinge of unease as I sip my wine. Old friends? Is that really all we are? That kiss earlier didn’t feel like a kiss between old friends, it felt like something much more. I place my glass on the table and force myself to stop obsessing over the kiss. Am I still 16 for goodness’ sake?
‘I thought we’d peaked with the Dom Perignon on the plane, but this is something else,’ I comment.
‘I know, I can’t believe it,’ Will replies, seeming equally stunned by our good fortune.
We sip our wine and chat away, taking a few pictures of each other in the beautiful surroundings before our food arrives.
I’ve opted for a vegetarian tagine. It’s served in a traditional pointed tagine dish and I lift the lid to discover glistening aubergine, chickpeas, carrots, peppers with figs and black olives, adorned with a garnish of coriander. Will’s gone for lamb, which looks equally good, served in a rich sauce garnished with
flaked almonds and chopped herbs. The waiter tops up our wine, before heading back to the kitchen.
We tuck into our food and it tastes just as delicious as it looks. Even more so, in fact. My vegetables have been cooked in a spicy honey sauce that’s both sweet yet tangy, with the black olives giving it a salty edge. It’s fresh and simple but ridiculously moreish.
‘This is so good,’ I comment between mouthfuls.
‘It really is,’ Will agrees, taking another bite.
Once we’ve made a significant dent in our tagines, we finally start talking properly again.
‘Who’d have thought we’d end up in a place like this, eating tagine together,’ I laugh, reaching for my wine.
‘I know, life has a funny way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?’ Will replies, glancing up from his tagine.
‘Totally.’ I meet his gaze. I take him in, viewing him as a stranger would. I don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but I appraise him as though I don’t know him or the context of this holiday at all. I see a handsome man in a wedding ring. A man in a navy shirt with a strong-boned face, a content expression and slightly dishevelled hair. Looks-wise, he still ticks all the boxes. Perhaps he created the boxes. He was my first love after all, he probably defined the blueprint of what I go for in a man.
Will glances up. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he asks, a little warily.
‘I was just thinking,’ I tell him, taking another sip of wine. ‘Do you ever wonder what might have happened between us if everything hadn’t gone so wrong when we were teenagers?’ I ask, the thought tumbling out of me.
Will finishes the last bite of his mean and places his knife and fork down.
‘Yeah,’ he says, eyeing me with an almost unnerving intensity. ‘I’ve thought about that a few times.’
A few times? What the hell?
‘Really?’ I utter.
The notion just popped into my head and yet apparently, Will’s thought about it a few times. Despite having been married for the best part of his twenties. Ever since I was 16, I’ve pushed Will out of my mind and yet he’s been thinking of me. I lean a little closer.