“It’s hardly the same thing!”
“It’s exactly the same thing. Becky, you think the chancellor should dress more smartly, don’t you? All this lounge suit nonsense.”
“I don’t know,” I say vaguely. “Maybe.”
“You see? Becky agrees with me. Now, let me have a look at you, darling.” She puts down her knife and surveys me properly, and I feel myself glowing a little, because I know I look good. I’m wearing a shocking pink dress and jacket, a Philip Treacy feathered hat, and the most beautiful black satin shoes, each decorated with a single gossamer butterfly. “Oh, Becky,” says Mum at last. “You look lovely. You’ll upstage the bride!” She reaches for my hat and looks at it. “This is very unusual! How much did it cost?”
“Erm… I can’t remember,” I say vaguely. “Maybe… fifty quid?”
This is not quite true. It was actually more like… Well, anyway, quite a lot. Still, it was worth it.
“So, where’s Luke?” says Mum, popping my hat back on my head. “Parking the car?”
“Yes, where’s Luke?” says my father, looking up, and gives a jocular laugh. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting this young man of yours at last.”
“Luke’s coming separately,” I say — and flinch slightly as I see their faces fall.
“Separately?” says Mum at last. “Why’s that?”
“He’s flying back from Zurich this morning,” I explain. “He had to go there for business. But he’ll be here, I promise.”
“He does know the service starts at twelve?” says Mum anxiously. “And you’ve told him where the church is?”
“Yes!” I say. “Honestly, he’ll be here.”
I’m aware that I sound slightly snappy, but I can’t help it. To be honest, I’m a bit stressed out myself about where Luke’s got to. He was supposed to be ringing me when he landed at the airport — and that was supposed to be half an hour ago. But so far I haven’t heard anything.
Still. He said he’d be here.
“Can I do anything to help?” I ask, to change the subject.
“Be a darling, and take these upstairs for me,” says Mum, cutting the sandwiches briskly into triangles. “I’ve got to pack away the patio cushions.”
“Who’s upstairs?” I say, picking up the plate.
“Maureen’s come over to blow-dry Janice’s hair,” says Mum. “They wanted to keep out of Lucy’s way. You know, while she’s getting ready.”
“Have you seen her yet?” I ask interestedly. “Has she got a nice dress?”
“I haven’t seen it,” says Mum, and lowers her voice. “But apparently it cost £3,000. And that’s not including the veil!”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. And for a second I feel ever so slightly envious. A £3,000 dress. And a party… and loads of presents… I mean, people who get married have it all.
As I go up the stairs, there’s the sound of blow-drying coming from Mum and Dad’s bedroom — and as I go in, I see Janice sitting on the dressing-room stool, wearing a dressing gown, holding a sherry glass, and dabbing at her eyes with a hanky. Maureen, who’s been doing Mum’s and Janice’s hair for years now, is brandishing a hair dryer at her, and a woman I don’t recognize with a mahogany tan, dyed blond curly hair, and a lilac silk suit is sitting on the window seat.
“Hello, Janice,” I say, going over and giving her a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, dear,” she says, and gives a sniff. “A little wobbly. You know. To think of Tom getting married!”
“I know,” I say sympathetically. “It doesn’t seem like yesterday that we were kids, riding our bikes together!”
“Have another sherry, Janice,” says Maureen comfortably, and sloshes a deep brown liquid into her glass. “It’ll help you relax.”
“Oh, Becky,” says Janice, and squeezes my hand. “This must be a hard day for you, too.”
I knew it. She does still think I fancy Tom, doesn’t she? Why do all mothers think their sons are irresistible?
“Not really!” I say, as brightly as I can. “I mean, I’m just pleased for Tom. And Lucy, of course…”
“Becky?” The woman on the window seat turns toward me, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is Becky?”
And there’s not an ounce of friendliness in her face. Oh God, don’t say she thinks I’m after Tom, too.
“Erm… yes.” I smile at her. “I’m Rebecca Bloomwood. And you must be Lucy’s mother?”
“Yes,” says the woman, still staring at me. “I’m Angela Harrison. Mother of the bride,” she adds, emphasizing “the bride” as though I don’t understand English.
“You must be very excited,” I say politely. “Your daughter getting married.”
“Yes, well, of course, Tom is devoted to Lucy,” she says aggressively. “Utterly devoted. Never looks in any other direction.” She gives me a sharp glance and I smile feebly back.
Honestly, what am I supposed to do? Throw up all over Tom or something? Tell him he’s the ugliest man I’ve ever known? They’d all still just say I was jealous. They’d say I was in denial.
“Is… Luke here, Becky?” says Janice, and gives me a hopeful smile. And suddenly — which is rather bizarre — everyone in the room is completely still, waiting for my answer.
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” I say. “I think he must have been held up.”
There’s silence, and I’m aware of glances flying around the room.
“Held up,” echoes Angela, and there’s a tone to her voice that I don’t much like. “Is that right? Well, there’s a surprise.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“He’s coming back from Zurich,” I explain. “I should think the flight’s been delayed or something.” I look at Janice and, to my surprise, she flushes.
“Zurich,” she says, nodding a little too emphatically. “I see. Of course. Zurich.” And she shoots me an embarrassed, almost sympathetic look.
What’s wrong with her?
“This is Luke Brandon we’re talking about here,” says Angela, taking a puff on her cigarette. “The famous entrepreneur.”
“Well — yes,” I say, a bit surprised. I mean, I don’t know any other Lukes.
“And he’s your boyfriend.”
“Yes!”
There’s a slightly awkward silence — and even Maureen seems to be gazing at me curiously. Then, suddenly, I see a copy of this month’s Tatler lying on the floor by Janice’s chair. Oh God.
“That article in Tatler, by the way,” I say hastily, “is all wrong. He didn’t say he was single. He said no comment.”
“Article?” says Janice unconvincingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”
“I… I don’t read magazines,” says Maureen, who blushes bright red and looks away.
“We just look forward to meeting him,” says Angela, and blows out a cloud of smoke. “Don’t we, Janice?”
I stare at her in confusion — then turn to Janice, who will barely meet my eye, and Maureen, who’s pretending to root about in a beauty case.
Hang on a minute.
They surely don’t think—
“Janice,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You know Luke’s coming. He even wrote you a reply!”
“Of course he did, Becky!” says Janice, staring at the floor. “Well — as Angela says, we’re all looking forward to meeting him.”
I feel a swoosh of humiliated color fill my cheeks. What does she think? That I’ve just made up that I’m going out with Luke?
“Well, enjoy your sandwiches, won’t you?” I say, trying not to sound as flustered as I feel. “I’ll just… see if Mum needs me.”
When I find Mum, she’s on the top-floor landing, packing patio cushions into transparent plastic bags, then suctioning all the air out with the nozzle of her vacuum cleaner.
“I’ve some of these bags on order for you, by the way,” she shouts over the noise of the vacuum. “From Country Ways. Plus some turkey foil, a casserole
dish, a microwave egg poacher…”
“I don’t want any turkey foil!” I yell.
“It’s not for you!” says Mum, turning off the vacuum. “They had a special offer — introduce a friend and receive a set of earthenware pots. So I nominated you as the friend. It’s a very good catalogue, actually. I’ll give it to you to have a browse.”
“Mum—”
“Lovely duvet covers. I’m sure you could do with a new—”
“Mum, listen!” I say agitatedly. “Listen. You do believe I’m going out with Luke, don’t you?”
There’s a slightly too long pause.
“Of course I do,” she says eventually.
I stare at her in horror.
“You don’t, do you? You all think I’ve just made it up!”
“No!” says Mum firmly. She puts down her hoover and looks me straight in the eye. “Becky, you’ve told us you’re going out with Luke Brandon, and as far as Dad and I are concerned, that’s enough.”
“But Janice and Martin. Do they think I’ve made it up?”
Mum gazes at me — then sighs, and reaches for another patio cushion.
“Oh, Becky. The thing is, love, you have to remember, they once believed you had a stalker. And that turned out to be… well. Not quite true. Didn’t it?”
A cold dismay creeps over me. OK, maybe I did once kind of pretend I had a stalker. Which I shouldn’t have done. But I mean, just because you invent one tiny stalker — that doesn’t make you a complete nutcase, does it?
“And the trouble is, we’ve never actually… well, seen him with you, have we, love?” Mum’s continuing, as she stuffs the cushion into its transparent bag. “Not in the flesh. And then there was that piece in the paper saying he was single…”
“He didn’t say single!” My voice is shrill with frustration. “He said no comment! Mum, have Janice and Martin told you they don’t believe me?”
“No!” Mum lifts her chin defiantly. “They wouldn’t dare say a thing like that to me.”
“But you know that’s what they’re saying behind our backs.”
We stare at each other, and suddenly I see the strain in Mum’s face, hidden behind her bright facade. She must have been so hoping we’d pull up together in Luke’s flash car, I suddenly realize. She must have been so wanting to prove Janice wrong. And instead, here I am, on my own again…
“He’ll be here,” I say, almost to reassure myself. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“Of course he will!” exclaims Mum brightly. “And as soon as he turns up — well, then everyone will have to eat their words, won’t they?”
The doorbell rings and we both stiffen, staring at each other.
“I’ll get that, shall I?” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Why don’t you?” agrees Mum, and I can see a tiny shine of hope in her eyes.
Trying not to run, I hurry down the stairs and, with a light heart, fling the front door open. And it’s… not Luke.
It’s a man laden with flowers. Baskets of flowers, a bouquet of flowers, and several flat boxes at his feet.
“Wedding flowers,” he says. “Where do you want them?”
“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “Actually, you’ve got the wrong house, I’m afraid. They need to go next door. Number 41.”
“Really?” The man frowns. “Let me just look at my list… Hold that, would you?”
He thrusts the bridal bouquet at me and starts rooting around his pocket.
“Honestly,” I say, “they need to go next door. Look, I’ll just get my—”
I turn round, holding Lucy’s bouquet with both hands, because it’s quite heavy. And to my horror, Angela Harrison is just arriving at the foot of the stairs. She stares at me, and for a moment I almost think she’s going to kill me.
“What are you doing?” she snaps. “Give me that!” She wrenches the bouquet out of my hands and brings her face so close to mine I can smell the gin on her breath. “Listen, young lady,” she hisses. “I’m not fooled by the smiles. I know what you’re up to. And you can just forget it, all right? I’m not having my daughter’s wedding wrecked by some deranged little psychopath.”
“I’m not deranged!” I exclaim furiously. “And I’m not going to wreck anything! I don’t fancy Tom! I’ve got a boyfriend!”
“Oh yes,” she says, folding her arms. “The famous boyfriend. Is he here yet?”
“No, he isn’t,” I say, and flinch at the expression on her face. “But he… he just called.”
“He just called,” echoes Angela with a little sneer. “To say he can’t make it?”
Why won’t these people believe that Luke’s coming?
“Actually… he’s half an hour away,” I hear myself saying defiantly.
“Good!” says Angela Harrison, and gives me a nasty smile. “Well — we’ll see him very soon, then, won’t we?”
Oh shit.
By twelve o’clock, Luke still hasn’t arrived, and I’m beside myself. This is a complete nightmare. Where is he? I loiter outside the church until the very last minute, desperately dialing his number, hoping against hope I’m suddenly going to see him running up the road. But the bridesmaids have arrived, and another Rolls-Royce has just pulled up, and he’s still not here. As I see the car door open and a glimpse of wedding dress, I hastily retreat into the church before anyone can think I’m waiting outside to disrupt the bridal procession.
As I creep in, trying not to disturb the organ music, Angela Harrison darts me an evil look, and there’s a rippling and whispering from Lucy’s side of the church. I sit down near the back, trying to keep composed and tranquil — but I’m well aware that all Lucy’s friends are shooting surreptitious glances at me. What the hell has she been telling everyone?
For a second I feel like getting up and walking out. I never wanted to come to this stupid wedding anyway. I only said yes because I didn’t want to offend Janice and Martin. But it’s too late, the bridal march is starting, and Lucy’s walking in. And I have to hand it to her, she’s wearing the most drop-dead gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen. I stare wistfully after it, trying not to imagine what I would look like in a dress like that.
The music stops and the vicar starts talking. I’m aware that people on Lucy’s side of the church are still darting me little looks — but I adjust my hat and lift my chin and ignore them.
“… to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” intones the vicar, “which is an honorable estate…”
The bridesmaids have got really nice shoes, I notice. I wonder where they’re from?
Shame about the dresses, though.
“… reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God…”
He pauses to look around the congregation, just as I hear a little trilling sound coming from my bag.
Shit. It’s my phone.
I pull at the zip — but it’s stuck. I don’t believe this. You buy an expensive bag, and the bloody zip sticks.
There’s another, louder trill. At the front of the church, Angela Harrison turns round in her pew and gives me the evil eye.
“Sorry,” I mouth. “I’m just trying to get it…”
As it trills for a third time, the vicar stops talking. And oh God, now Tom and Lucy are turning round, too.
“I’m sorry,” I gulp, giving another frantic tug at the zip. “I’ll just… try to…”
Face burning, I stand up, squeeze my way past the row of people, and hurry out of the church. As the door clangs shut behind me I wrench so hard at the zip that I pull the stitching undone. I scrabble inside for the phone, and jab at the green button.
“Hello?” I say breathlessly into the mouthpiece. “Luke?”
“Good morning!” says a cheery voice. “Would you be interested in adding a hundred minutes to your monthly plan?”
After carefully turning off my phone I creep back into the church, where the rest of the service goes by in a blur. When it’s all over, Lucy and
Tom process out, studiously ignoring me as they do so — and everyone gathers around them in the graveyard to throw confetti and take photos. I slip away without anyone noticing, and hurry feverishly up the road to the Websters’ house. Because Luke must be there by now. He must. He must have arrived late, and decided not to come to the church, but go straight to the reception. It’s obvious, when you think about it. It’s what any sensible person would do.
I hurry through the Websters’ house, which is full of caterers and waitresses — and head straight for the marquee. There’s already a joyful smile on my face at the thought of seeing him, and telling him about that awful moment in the church, and seeing his face crease up in laughter—
But the marquee’s empty. Completely empty.
I stand there, bewildered, for a few moments — then quickly head out again and hurry toward my parents’ house. Because maybe Luke went there, instead, it suddenly occurs to me. Maybe he got the time wrong, or maybe he had to get changed into his wedding outfit. Or maybe—
But he’s not there either. Not in the kitchen, not upstairs. And when I dial his mobile number, it clicks straight onto messages.
Slowly, I walk into my bedroom and sink down onto the bed, trying not to let myself think all the bad thoughts which are creeping into my mind.
He’s coming, I tell myself again and again. He’s just… on his way.
Through the window I can see Tom and Lucy and all the guests starting to arrive in next door’s garden. There are lots of hats and morning suits, and waitresses handing round champagne. In fact, it all looks rather jolly. And I know I should be down there with them, but I just can’t face it. Not without Luke, not all on my own.
But after sitting there for a while, it occurs to me that by staying up here, I’ll just be fueling the intrigue. They’ll all think I can’t face the happy couple and that I’m off slitting my wrists somewhere. It’ll confirm all their suspicions forever. I have to go and show my face, even if just for half an hour.
I force myself to stand up, take a deep breath, and put some fresh lipstick on. Then I walk out of the house and round to the Websters’. I slip inconspicuously into the marquee through a side flap and stand watching for a moment. There are people milling about everywhere, and the hubbub is huge, and no one even notices me. Near the entrance, there’s a formal lineup with Tom and Lucy and their parents, but no way am I going near that. So instead I sidle off to an empty table and sit down, and after a bit a waitress comes and gives me a glass of champagne.
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