Jake’s phone goes to voice mail, and she leaves a message: call me when you get this, please.
She takes her wedding suit from its carrier bag and lays it over the back of the sofa. It’s as beautiful as it seemed in the shop. She makes herself a sandwich and sits down in front of the television. The news is on. Images flicker across the screen: an ambush in Afghanistan, a bomb in Gaza, a woman murdered by her husband, a young man stabbed in a London street. So much hatred. So much pain. She switches off the television. Is she doing the right thing marrying Gerald? It felt right when she said yes. It felt like an end to the hurt, the blame, the remorse: a way of redeeming love.
She calls Jake’s mobile again. It rings several times, and then a female voice says ‘Jake’s phone.’
‘Esme, is that you?’
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Why are you answering? Is he okay?’
‘Yeah, he’s gone for a shower.’
‘He won’t speak to me.’
‘I know. He doesn’t answer when he sees it’s you.’
‘What am I going to do?’
‘He can’t keep the silence up for ever.’
‘If only he’d let me explain things.’
Esme makes a noise. It sounds like exasperation. ‘It’s not going to be easy. He hates Gerald.’
Vanessa runs her hand over the smooth silk of her new skirt. The pearly-grey colour shimmers in the lamplight. ‘It’s worse than you think.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m going to marry Gerald.’ Vanessa waits, but there’s silence on the other end of the phone. ‘Esme?’
‘I’m here, Vanessa. I’m absorbing the news.’
‘Is it that bad?’
‘No, I think it’s great.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Of course honestly! I never used to understand the fuss about the great Gerald Blackstone, but now I’ve spent time with him, I’m really sad I didn’t know him when he was younger.’
‘That makes me want to cry. I’ve been so caught up with Cordelia and Jake’s reactions, I haven’t thought about you.’
‘Typical. Middle child syndrome: ignored, overlooked.’
‘That’s not true – you know it’s not.’
Esme laughs. ‘I’m winding you up. You’ve always been a great mum, even if you wouldn’t let us call you that!’
‘If you only knew. If I could turn back the clock and hear your little voices call me ‘Mummy’ again.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about that as well. It gave us a certain cachet at school calling you by your first name.’
‘I keep thinking about all the things I got wrong.’
‘How’s Cordelia with you and Dad marrying again?’ Esme asks.
The picture of Cordelia and Savannah’s faces when she told them flashes across Vanessa’s mind. ‘She said it’s brilliant.’
‘There you are then. You and Dad are made for each other. If he hadn’t mucked up first time round.’
‘But then I wouldn’t have been with Andrew, and there’d be no Jake.’
‘No point having regrets then. I couldn’t be without my little brother.’ Esme goes quiet. ‘He’s out of the shower. I’ll have to go, but I’m pleased. You and Dad marrying is the best.’
‘So, will you come to the wedding?’ Vanessa hears how tentative the question sounds.
‘I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Jake.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Don’t sound so disappointed. When is it?’
‘Next Friday. The sooner the better … with Gerald … you know.’
‘Yeah. I’ll think about you. You’ll have a great day.’
‘What about Jake?’
‘Give him time. He’ll come round.’
Vanessa feels tears threatening again. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, I am. He loves you too much not to have you in his life.’
Vanessa goes shopping to buy something for Gerald to wear at the wedding.
‘Make sure you get me something stylish.’ He grins up at her. He’s in bed, lying propped against the pillows.
Vanessa smiles back. She isn’t going to be the one to crack. He’s determined not to marry in the hospice, as the nurses suggested, and doesn’t want the party afterwards there either, even though the doctor thinks the day will be a lot for him to cope with.
The day before the ceremony, she takes him the clothes: a light grey suit and a black cashmere polo neck. She opens the carrier bags and hangs the suit on the back of the door, smoothing the creases in the linen with her hand. She takes the sweater over to Gerald so that he can feel how soft the wool is. He’s always cold and it should keep him warm.
‘What about shoes?’ she asks.
‘That’s it.’ Gerald points to a row of footwear lined up by the window: a pair of leather moccasins, the backs trodden flat, grey trainers that have seen better days, and flip-flops. ‘It’s years since I bought expensive shoes.’
‘You’ll have to wear the trainers,’ Vanessa tells him. ‘Loads of young men in London wear them with suits.’ She crosses to the bed to kiss him goodnight.
‘And what fetching little number will you be in?’ he asks. ‘Any chance of the white dress you wore first time round?’ His voice has that husky teasing note she used to love.
She slaps his hand. ‘Can you remember how short it was even for the sixties?’
‘Can I? I’ll never forget how sexy you looked.’ He takes hold of both her wrists and pulls her towards him. He stares at her with that intense look, when it feels as if he will possess her soul. He laughed once, when she told him that. ‘You make me sound like the devil.’
She used to try to stare him out. It was one of their games. She always backed down first. Now she holds his gaze steadily, and it’s his that falters.
‘You do know how much I love you, don’t you?’ he asks.
She smiles. ‘You tell me often enough!’ She doesn’t want him making a speech. She’s only just holding it together as it is. His grip on her wrists is strong. It reminds her too much of how powerful Gerald’s hands and arms used to be. How tiny she felt when he held her. Precious as a jewel, he always said.
It’s still dark when Vanessa goes downstairs. She’s slept fitfully, the night disturbed by restless dreams that leave her anxious. On the landing, she tiptoes past the bedroom, where Cordelia and Patrick are asleep, and the smaller room where Savannah is. Sabina’s flown over specially and is staying at the hotel at the top of the town.
Vanessa boils the kettle and drops a fruit tea bag into a mug. She remembers how sheepish Patrick looked when they arrived last night. He came to her straight away: ‘Vanessa, thank you for letting me come to your wedding.’ There was none of the arrogance that previously made her wary of him.
After supper, Cordelia said they were going to see Gerald. ‘I want him to meet Savannah and Patrick before tomorrow.’
Vanessa had a thought: ‘What size shoes do you take, Patrick?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Shoes?’ He glanced down at his feet as if he’d never considered the question.
Vanessa took in the shininess of the black leather, the curve of neat stitching across the toecap – the sort of shoes Gerald used to wear.
‘Nine,’ Cordelia said. ‘He takes size nine. Little feet.’
‘Less of the little,’ Patrick protested. ‘They’re neat.’
‘Have you got any others with you?’
‘At least three pairs,’ Cordelia said.
‘Would you mind lending Gerald these for tomorrow?’ Vanessa asked. ‘He’s fussing because his shoes are no good.’
Patrick gave a bow. ‘I’d be honoured to be Prince Charming to his Cinderella. I’ve got another pair I can wear.’
‘Let’s get going,’ Cordelia said. ‘He’ll be asleep if we don’t get a move on.’
Vanessa pours boiling water into the mug and watches the tea
bag float to the surface. She rubs her thumb over the red letters on the front of the white china: World’s Greatest Grandma. Savannah gave it to her one Christmas. Grandma. Bride: the two ideas collide. A faintly obscene image springs into her mind, breaking her dream. She takes her tea and creeps upstairs to her room. Soon the house will be full of noise and flurry: showers to be taken, clothes to be ironed, the florist and the caterer will arrive. The ceremony is at midday. Cordelia and Patrick will collect Gerald from the hospice in a taxi, and Savannah will walk to the registry office with Vanessa. Everyone else will meet them there.
A shiver runs through Vanessa when she thinks of the vows they will say. She looks into the mirror and recites the words: ‘I, Vanessa Bridget Heaney, take you, Gerald Blackstone, to be my lawful wedded husband …’ She repeats the word husband softly several times, allowing the sounds to vibrate in her mouth. In a few hours, Gerald will be her husband again.
She crosses to the wardrobe and takes out her suit. Slipping it free of its plastic cover, she hangs it from the wardrobe door. She glances at the clock: five hours to go. The house is still sleeping round her. She kneels down beside the bed, dragging out the case from underneath. It’s the same little case that she kept under her bed when she lived with her parents. It went with her to Gerald’s house and then to Andrew’s cottage, with her white mini dress wrapped in its tissue paper. The hat and boots she’d worn were long gone, but something made her hang on to the dress. When she moved to Lyme Regis, she thought she might sell it in the shop, or offer it to a fashion museum – clothes from the sixties were always popular. But in the end, it took up its place under her bed again.
She puts the case on the duvet, flicks open the brass locks and lifts the lid. She hasn’t looked inside for a long time now. She pulls aside the folds of tissue paper and takes out the dress. The wool has gone yellow in places. She holds it against her. God, how short it is. As she looks closer, she sees them: little feathery holes which fray as she fingers them. The crochet work disguised the problem at first, but then she realises the material is full of moth holes. She clutches the ruined dress to her.
The phone on her bedside table begins to vibrate. She tosses the dress on the bed and rubs her hands over her eyes. The screen on the phone says Hospice. She can’t help smiling. Gerald has probably got them to phone. He usually rings himself when he wakes up, but some superstition about talking to her on the morning of the wedding has stopped him. She remembers him scoffing at that idea once.
She presses the accept button. ‘Hi, Vanessa here.’
‘Vanessa, it’s Mary.’
Mary’s one of the older nurses and she’s got a soft spot for Gerald. ‘He’s been showing me some photos of you and him together when you were young,’ she said to Vanessa one day. ‘Such a good-looking couple you made. Like film stars.’
‘What is it, Mary?’ Vanessa asks now. ‘Gerald making sure everything’s going to plan?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not good news.’
Vanessa presses the phone closer to her face. A throbbing pulse starts up inside her ear. ‘What is it? Has he taken a turn for the worse?’
‘We went into his room fifteen minutes ago to wake him up and give him his drugs. I’m sorry to tell you, Vanessa, but he’d died in his sleep.’
‘No.’
‘I looked in on him this morning about five. He was a bit warm, but his pulse was steady. It must have happened sometime after that. The doctor’s with him now, but we think it was a heart attack.’
‘But his heart was fine.’
‘It can happen, Vanessa. I’m so sorry. Do you want to see him?’
‘I’ll get ready and come now.’
She drops the phone on to the bed. She picks up the white lace dress and buries her face in it. Its musty smell fills her nose. She goes to the window and opens it wide. The early morning air is cool on her cheeks. Across the roofs, she can make out a patch of sea. Above it, the sky is beginning to lighten. The greyness is edged with pink. It’s going to be a fine day. The sun was preparing itself to shine for her wedding day. She clamps her teeth over the material of the dress and bites into it.
Sounds drift up from downstairs: the slam of a door, a loo flushing, Cordelia’s voice. Everyday morning sounds; the others are getting up. They’ll be excited, planning all the things they need to do before the ceremony. She wipes her face on the dress and taps her eyes with her fingers. The lids feel bloated.
*
She sits on the sofa. There’s a fresh mug of tea on the floor beside her. Cordelia’s arm is round her shoulders. In her thin nightdress, Vanessa is icy cold, and she leans closer to Cordelia’s warmth. Patrick’s poised on the edge of the armchair; he’s already fully dressed, right down to his black brogues. From upstairs comes the sound of Savannah weeping.
‘She fell in love with Dad last night,’ Cordelia says. ‘If only I’d let her meet him earlier.’
‘We all wasted time,’ Vanessa says. ‘Time we didn’t have.’ She stares at Patrick’s shoes. ‘I forgot to ask when you got back. Did Gerald try your shoes?’
Patrick gives the thumbs-up sign. ‘Fitted a treat.’
‘I bet he was pleased.’
‘Too right. He wanted to look his best for you.’
Vanessa smiles. Gerald would have liked Patrick’s style – always wanted people to notice him. But he’d have liked Patrick in other ways too. In another world, another time, they’d have gone for a drink together. If is a little word that stands in the way. ‘We should get dressed,’ Cordelia says. ‘We have to get to the hospice … unless you want to see him on your own?’
Vanessa feels her hair slip out of its clasp, tickle the back of her neck. Gerald always loved her hair. She touches Cordelia’s hand. ‘Come with me, but I’d like some time alone with him first.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve spent so long thinking about the years I’ve known Gerald. Going over and over all that’s happened. I’ve got to let go. I need to say goodbye.’
Vanessa turns her head to the window, straining for the sound of the sea. You can’t hear it from the cottage even on the roughest of nights, but when she lies in bed under the eaves, she sometimes imagines she hears its soft swish lulling her to sleep. Now the noise of the waves is a distant whisper as if the tide is a long long way out. It feels as if it will never turn, will never again come crashing and roaring against the Cobb, spitting spray and foam over the surface of the wall. But even as she feels her heart being sucked away with the receding tide, she knows it will turn. It will come back.
Unravelling Page 33