‘Kit brought a lot of them home then?’ Chelsea smiled, shaking her head, exhausted by everything.
‘They weren’t like you,’ Celia shrugged, ‘they weren’t real, they were here for a nice time, whilst Kit was trying to impress Eric and take some vacant female to a gala or something. It wasn’t what you have with him.’
‘I don’t know what I have with him,’ Chelsea said softly, looking out at the dark water from the heights of the balcony, where everything looked like a black mass, dotted with tiny specks of light from the hotels and restaurants across the lake.
Celia touched her hand. ‘Don’t let my mum ruin this. Celebrate – you’ve won the war.’
She left, and Chelsea sat down on one of the chairs, staring at the luminescent pool, the floating candles on it flickering in the breeze. It wasn’t as warm as it had been, the wind was signalling a change and Celia’s words echoed around her brain.
You’ve won. You’ve won.
Had she? It didn’t feel like winning. It felt like Chelsea Donnolly, once again rocking up and causing havoc. And Jemima seemed to know things about her. Unless she’d known all along, that she was just a chav in posh girl clothing, pretending to own the role in Kit’s life.
She rolled her eyes, walking back into the bar of the hotel, anticipating the quiet stares of women who knew her secrets and would not even let her pretend any more.
Instead, she came face to face with Claudia, who grinned and threw an arm around her shoulder. ‘Hello, gorgeous! I love a bit of drama, don’t you? You should so be on the next series of my show, I swear, it would be like, so dramatic!’
Chelsea laughed a little. ‘Thanks, but usually drama is not my thing. Surprising, I know.’
‘Yah, like totes surprising, babe!’ Claudia laughed, reaching for a bottle of Champagne and drinking it from the bottle. ‘Now, let’s get shitfaced and you can tell me all about Ruby Tuesday!’
***
‘And Chelsea, what makes you so special that you deserve a place at what is arguably the best university in the country?’
Chelsea pursed her lips and stared at the man, his hair greying at the temples, his little dark-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. The woman to his left was stern and said nothing, but as she made notes she gritted her teeth, and Chelsea noticed the smear of pink lipstick on her front snaggletooth. The building was imposing, and the room was cold, but she said it just like she’d rehearsed.
‘I think, perhaps, the question should be the other way around. What makes you so special that you deserve someone like me?’ She grinned, watching as their eyes widened, taking a thrill in the risk. ‘And I’m going to tell you. Four words: Equality, diversity, inclusion policy.’
The man tilted his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.’
‘Do you know the percentage of young people Oxford accepts from disadvantaged backgrounds?’ Chelsea asked seriously. ‘Because I do. And I also know the number of young women accepted from these backgrounds. It’s a minute number.’
The man nodded, his lips a stern line, and the woman looked up, suddenly interested.
‘You can put as many pictures of students with purple hair and piercings in the prospectus as you want, but the truth is, they’re still middle class white boys from monied families. I’m here to offer you something you’ve never taken before: an underdog, and a success story.’
Chelsea had never felt so much like she might be sick in her life. She could have gone in and played the saint, been polite and sincere like all those other lovely girls who wanted a space in one of the best universities. But those girls were from good families, could afford not to work and would fade into each other. She had to shock them, she had to stand out, that’s what Ruby had said.
She spun the tale of a young woman born to poverty, raising her younger brother. She talked about the father in prison, and the girl, desperate to make something of herself, turning her grades around within months, becoming the president and founder of several societies at the college and a desperate love of English Literature. Someone who had come from nothing, had a hunger that the private school kids could barely dream of.
‘You think they want to be here, after years of being spoon-fed information at private school and being given private tutors? Try working your way through a disappointing school in a dead end town where nobody makes anything of themselves. That’s real hunger. And I’m telling you now, I won’t fail.’
The man, against his will, seemed to smile.
‘Quite the politician, aren’t we, Miss Donnolly?’
‘The statistician, sir. There’s a bursary fund each year that seems to be going unused here, which seems a terrible shame. Taking on a young woman from a disadvantaged background would be financially beneficial to the university, as well as for me personally. I’m also quite good at research.’
They didn’t even bother asking any more questions, and Chelsea couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or a bad one.
She shook hands firmly and as soon as she walked out of the door, she kept walking, down the hall out and into the green, where she finally took a long, shuddering breath and allowed her legs to tremble. She leaned her hands on her knees and breathed deeply, trying not to vomit.
‘How did it go?’
Chelsea looked up and saw Ruby standing there, wearing a white dress with cherries on it, and a long black cardigan with thumb holes in the sleeves.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Bunked off, thought you’d want some company on the train home.’ Ruby grinned, sliding her arm through Chelsea’s.
‘You came all the way to Oxford to keep me company on the train home?’
‘Also, I didn’t want to do my science coursework.’ Ruby stuck out her tongue. ‘Let’s go look around this town before we go home, huh? You’ll be living here soon, got to find some decent pubs.’
‘We don’t know that, I might have royally cocked it up.’ Chelsea looked back at the imposing building with regret, suddenly thinking that going in, being polite and talking about her grades might have been the smarter move.
‘Did they ask you stupid questions? Like how a raven’s like a writing desk or how Mickey Mouse is like Aristotle or some bollocks?’ Ruby grinned, purposefully pulling Chelsea along so she could walk on the line of the grassy green, laughing at the sign saying, ‘Please do not walk on the grass’.
‘They asked me why I deserved to be here,’ Chelsea shrugged.
‘And?’
‘I asked them why they deserved to have me.’
They paused and burst out laughing, Ruby clutching her stomach. ‘You’re in, you’re so in. They need someone like you in this place. Someone who walks on the grass.’
‘That’s you,’ Chelsea nudged her. ‘I can be a good girl if I need to.’
‘Don’t.’ Ruby wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Be a bad girl who does good things, and make history. Or at least, piss people off and make yourself happy.’
‘Well that, I’m very good at.’
Ruby grinned, pulling her friend in close. ‘Come on, ice cream on me, for the clever clogs.’
‘You’re gonna buy it though, right? I really don’t need to be explaining that I was here for an interview to the shop assistant so you can steal an ice lolly.’ Chelsea rolled her eyes and Ruby laughed, presenting a five pound note.
‘Some wanker banker dropped it on the train. I went to give it back, but he was peeling through about ten twenty pound notes when he got into a cab, so I figured this one was fate.’
Chelsea snorted and shrugged. ‘You going to come and visit me if I end up here?’
Ruby grinned. ‘Yeah, and then you can bring all your snobby friends down to London when I’m playing gigs, and they’ll all sigh and go “I can’t believe you know Ruby Montgomery! You’re the coolest, yah!”’ Ruby’s impersonation sent them into giggles again and Chelsea shook her head.
‘You know, you really need a better name, Ruby Montgomer
y isn’t a superstar name.’
‘Maybe I should just be Ruby, like Madonna.’
‘You need something with sparkle, something that makes people remember you,’ Chelsea said, wracking her brain. ‘We’ll think of something.’
‘Well, I hope so. If you can bullshit your way into Oxford, I would hope you could come up with a name to make me famous. Only fair.’
‘But you’ll be around, yeah?’ Chelsea looked around at the grand building behind them. ‘I’ll need my proper friends to keep me sane, the people here are going to be ridiculously different to me.’
‘But it’ll be worth it,’ Ruby grinned, ‘and I’ll be here to wreak havoc at the weekends and remind you not to be a pod person. We can drink cheap cider and shop in charity shops. Shock the crap out of these people.’
‘It’s gonna be a good life, isn’t it?’ Chelsea grinned.
‘Good? It’s going to be fucking fabulous!’
Chapter Eleven
It was the morning of the wedding, and Chelsea had legitimately created an enemy in Jemima, a friend in Claudia, and a monster of a hangover.
Kit had already been in bed when she’d rocked in early in the morning and fallen asleep in her dress. She and Claudia had stayed up for hours with cocktails, talking about Ruby, about being teenagers and getting into trouble. She was shocked that for some reason, Claudia had been interested in her history, in her. Sure, Ruby Tuesday was a superstar, but listening to the stories of teenage miscreants? Well, Claudia didn’t seem the type. She also was not as stupid as she’d first appeared. She was yet another woman pretending to be someone everyone wanted. And there was something comforting about that.
‘Chels? You need to get ready for the wedding.’
Kit’s voice was dry and strained. He placed a coffee on the table next her head with a careless thump, and she felt the sound reverberate through her skull. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and she blinked awake.
‘How long I got?’ she croaked.
‘About an hour. You should get in the shower. We should talk before we go.’ Kit didn’t look at her. He was looking anywhere but at her, and his face was blank. He brushed his hair in the mirror, trying to tame that one curl that never quite sat flat. She loved that curl.
Chelsea sat up and glared at his back. ‘You spoke to your mother.’
‘Yes.’
‘So?’
‘So, get dressed, Chelsea. We’ve got a wedding to go to.’
‘Why? Why are we going to this thing anyway?’ Chelsea stretched, and got out of bed, her hands clasped around the coffee cup. ‘If we need to have a conversation, let’s stay here and talk it out.’
‘People expect us to go, we made a commitment. That means something.’
She could hear the tension in his voice, the build-up to an argument that perhaps had been coming from the moment they had arrived. Or before. She spun the ring around on her finger, looking down at it. There was a feeling of panic in her stomach.
‘People’s expectations matter more than us having an important conversation?’
‘More than us having yet another argument?’ Kit huffed, looking up at her. ‘Yes, it does matter, because at least the wedding can be over. These arguments never seem to end. The secrets never seem to stop.’
‘Come on then, what’s your mum said? That I said I’d stab her if she didn’t stop talking about the estate I was from and how I’ve ruined your dad’s non-existent political career?’ Chelsea stood facing Kit, waiting for him to look at her. ‘Because I did say that. Well, not directly, but I was tired of her insulting me in front of Tatty and her perfect friends, and I snapped. I’ll apologise if you want.’
‘Say whatever the fuck you want to my mum. Jesus, you think that’s what this is about?’
‘It could be about anything!’ Chelsea felt herself getting drawn into the argument. ‘It could be any of the hundreds of things we’ve argued about this week.’
They stood in silence for a moment, and Kit’s jaw was set, his blue eyes meeting hers defiantly.
‘What’s your surname, Chelsea?’
Chelsea felt herself stop, pull back.
‘What are you really asking me?’
She’d never seen Kit’s eyes such an ice blue before, daring her to lie to him. ‘I’m asking what your surname is.’
‘Donovan. You know that,’ she said simply. ‘Now, if you’d asked if I’ve ever had a different surname –’
‘– why would I ask that, Chelsea? Why?’ Kit yelled suddenly, almost shaking with rage. ‘Why would I ask you that?’
‘It’s a name! It didn’t matter! I changed it before I knew you! I could have changed it to my stepdad’s surname, people do that, you think it would mean anything now?’ She put down the coffee before she sent it flying across the room.
‘Because it’s one more thing I don’t know, one more part of you that I would never have known! We would probably have been married and I still wouldn’t have known!’
Chelsea felt her eyes were going to roll out of her head. ‘Well you know, we might have got married without you knowing that I used to eat gummy bears for breakfast when I was six and that I had an invisible friend called Bubbles the Giraffe, but you know what, I think we could have still been legitimately married!’
‘Oh it’s not the same and you know it!’
‘It is the same! I have always been the same with you. If I was different when I had my dad’s surname, well, you have never seen that girl. What does it matter who that girl was if you never met her? You don’t need to know her.’
‘I want to know, though, I want to!’ Kit pulled at his hair, standing there looking angry and gorgeous in his blue suit. ‘How am I meant to marry someone who has all these secrets?’
Chelsea laughed. ‘Oh really? The gambling and the women and the sports car you crashed. Oh and the fiancée I never knew existed? You want to talk to me about secrets? Here’s your chance, Kit – how did you find out about my dad’s surname?’
His jaw tensed. ‘Dad’s planning getting into politics, so they ran a background check. They weren’t expecting to find as much as they did.’
Chelsea’s jaw dropped. ‘What! I’m sorry, you’re standing here talking to me like that invasion of privacy is totally justified. Are you insane? Have we been surrounded by entitlement and bullshit for so long that you actually think it’s okay?’
‘My parents are trying to protect me, they wanted me to know the real person I’m meant to be marrying.’
‘Real person?’ Chelsea could hear herself screaming. ‘The real person is the one who’s been by your side all these years, who knows how to make that disgusting soup you want when you’re sick or what music you want to listen to on a bad day! So what, changing my name because my dad’s in prison, that’s enough to make me a different person now?’
‘It’s stuff that would have come up in our married life, stuff that would have affected both of us. What about the money you divert from your account every month? The reason you make good money but live in that tiny studio? You could be living a completely different life, but you’re paying for your family, for your brother’s school stuff, and savings accounts for them…’
‘They’ve looked into my bank accounts? And you listened? You wanted that information?’
‘I wanted to know who you are!’ Kit exclaimed suddenly, pulling at his hair. ‘I never know who you are!’
‘So now you do? They told you everything?’
‘No, they just mentioned you paying for your brother’s after-school classes and lessons, and –’
‘That’s stuff I never hid, Kit. If you wanted to know what I spend my money on, I would have given you my bank statements. If I’m hiding anything, don’t you think maybe it’s something painful I want to forget? Something you don’t have a right to? If I want to leave behind my memories, that’s my choice. And your father’s political “career”, amongst his posh knob rich mates, where he’ll change policy to favour people like him, can,
quite honestly, kiss my chavvy, working class arse.’
‘Look, I’m not saying it’s fair, or it’s right, but they were worried about me…’
‘Being with a money-grabbing working class bitch with a jailbird daddy and a mum on benefits, yes, you’ve hit the jackpot.’
‘About being with someone who had secrets and wasn’t honest with me,’ Kit said simply, staring at the floor.
‘And again, I return you to your whoremongering youth and your ex-fiancée! Why does stuff about where my family is from, stuff that I have no control over, matter more than your actions? This is utter bullshit, Kit. I can’t bear to look at you.’
Kit looked at her, shaking his head sadly. He coughed and straightened up.
‘We’ve got to get going soon,’ he said simply, ‘we’ll talk when we get back from the wedding.’
‘Why the hell should I go to that wedding now?’
‘Because I’m assuming that, like me, however fucking shit this is right now, you’re not entirely sure you want to end it. So we go to the wedding and we come back and we discuss everything. We can scream all night if we need to. But we need to go now. Or if you think there’s no point, then you’re free to go.’
Chelsea was sure, in that moment, that she had never hated someone and loved them at the same time. His coldness, his control after seeing him cry with joy at her accepting his proposal only days before, it killed her. He wasn’t the same. They weren’t the same any more. She should just walk. She should give up on everything and know that she couldn’t forgive, and neither could he. But something kept her standing there.
‘You want to go and sit there, watching your ex get married, pretending we’re the perfect couple and answering questions about when we’re getting married? You think that’s going to help?’ Chelsea tried to catch his eye again, stepping forward and jumping as he stepped back and away from her.
Nice Day For a White Wedding Page 17