I Invited Her In

by Adele Parks

  Everything stops. There’s silence and no movement.

  Until Imogen screams.

  Then I run down the stairs to where Abi is lying dead still and a brown red stain is already flowering on her white gown. ‘Call an ambulance, someone call an ambulance.’

  59

  Tanya

  It was easy to get into the wedding party. I’d dressed up a bit, not full-on fascinator and floral print dress – I didn’t want to draw attention – but I made some effort: a skirt, heels, sunglasses. I needed to blend in but look different enough from my usual jean-wearing-self to bob under the radar somewhat. I walked into the hotel lobby with a group who were clutching invites (lime green, totally naff). I didn’t recognise any of them; they all looked as though they were in their thirties – Abigail Curtiz’s friends, I suppose. It’s not a massive wedding, there aren’t like a hundred old relies tottering about, plus a hundred more hot young things – a rough count puts it at about fifty, I’d say. No expense has been spared though; the first thing I’m offered is a glass of champagne, served in those shallow glasses, from a silver tray. Very posh. I take one and neck it as fast as I can. Fortification.

  I spot a few of Liam’s casual mates who I vaguely recognise, people we know through social media and parties, but none of his real mates from college or footie, which is a relief. The social media mates are grinning stupidly, laughing too loudly and taking selfies. So overly excited by the drama of it all, not aware of the consequences. Happy to be getting drunk at someone else’s expense. I don’t blame them. This is the normal reaction of eighteen-year-olds. This is what Liam and I would be doing together if we were invited to a wedding where some dork had got his girlfriend pregnant and then thought the best idea was to marry her – don’t even get me started on the age-gap thing. I see that people have brought cards and gifts; there’s a table stacked with beautifully wrapped boxes. I didn’t, obviously.

  People are clinking glasses, small sleek packets of confetti are tightly gripped, someone is probably running a bet on how long the speeches will last. This is what people do at weddings. I am the only one judging. I can’t see Mr and Mrs Harrison or Imogen and Lily but I do spot both of Liam’s nanas and his grandad. Mrs Harrison’s mother looks weepy, her father looks stony. Mr Harrison’s mother is wearing a big hat and she’s smiling bravely; the very model of a woman who is trying to make the best of it. They all look awkward and don’t seem to have much to say to each other or anyone else for that matter. I’m sorry to see their distress yet I’m glad that they are not behaving as though this is normal, as though this is a cause for celebration.

  I notice the photographer unloading the car. She looks hassled. I think she must be late. She’s parked illegally, right outside the hotel and is negotiating with the man on reception for a spot in the car park, at the same time as she’s pulling all her gear out of the car and ditching it at his desk. He tells her the car park is full and that she should have rung ahead, that they could have booked her a space if she’d done so. I see my chance. I sidle up to her and offer my help.

  ‘You’re here for the Curtiz-Harrison wedding, right?’ She nods, her face flushed with stress and she looks a bit sweaty. Abigail won’t be thrilled. ‘I can look after your stuff, while you move the car.’

  She is obviously torn: worried I’ll nick her expensive cameras but not wanting to risk her car getting towed if she leaves it where it is. I look honest and reliable and I don’t over-do it, I shrug and start to walk away. ‘Well, if you can manage without me then—’

  ‘No, no. Sorry. Please stay with my stuff; that will be a big help.’

  By the time she returns, nearly fifteen minutes later, I’ve already stacked her gear by the lifts. ‘The bride is on the fifth floor,’ I say helpfully. When the lift arrives I just start to pick up some of her things and get in the lift with her. I think she assumes I’m with the hotel or the wedding party; she doesn’t ask, she just seems grateful for the help now. I haven’t got a plan. I don’t really know why I’m here at all. I’m not planning on throwing myself at Liam’s feet and crying, ‘Don’t marry her, marry me.’ I’m not planning on waiting for the bit in the service when they ask, ‘If any persons here present can show just reason why these two people may not be joined in matrimony, let them now declare or else for ever more keep their peace.’ I’m not here to cause trouble exactly, although if I could stop this farce, I would.

  The truth of the matter is, I just couldn’t be anywhere else today. I just couldn’t stay away. I’ve thought of nothing else for days now. I’ve wondered what she’ll wear. What he’ll wear. Who was invited and who will come? What will they eat? Will Imogen and Lily be bridesmaids? I couldn’t have spent more time thinking about this wedding if I was the one getting married. I just needed to be near.

  Him.

  Or her.

  Near the wedding, I suppose.

  It’s like going to a funeral. It’s important to say goodbye, to find closure. If I don’t see this wedding with my own eyes, I’ll never believe it has happened because it shouldn’t be happening. It’s madness. I can’t believe he’s going to do this. It seems the most extraordinary and ridiculous thing. He should be starting his internship next week. We should be going to Prom together tomorrow. That’s what we planned, ages ago. We’ve talked about Prom since last September. It’s extraordinary to me that, one minute, a person’s life can be going in a certain direction, with meaning and purpose, and then suddenly it isn’t. It’s just not. We were on a track. Liam has changed all that. He asked me to Prom, we were going to do Jägerbombs, I was wearing red and now he’s marrying an old woman instead and he’s going to be a dad. I can’t get my head around it.

  I did not expect to find Mrs Harrison in Abigail’s room but I am not surprised that when I do, they are arguing. Imogen spots me immediately and runs straight into my arms. Lily quickly follows suit. They look adorable. I put my finger on my lips and whisk them into the corner of the room.

  ‘You look so beautiful, girls,’ I say with a big beam.

  ‘Don’t we just,’ confirms Lily, pleased with my compliment, pleased with herself. ‘Do you like my hair flowers?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And do you like my shoes?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘And do you like my dress?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about my bracelet?’

  ‘Everything is gorgeous. You look entirely gorgeous,’ I say, cutting her off.

  ‘Mummy has hardly noticed us,’ comments Imogen sulkily. ‘She’s too busy fighting with Aunty Abi.’

  I won’t lie, the Aunty bit hurts. ‘Well, I don’t think I’ll say hello to your mummy just yet, she does look busy. I tell you what, let’s just stay over here, quietly, and let them get on with it.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d come to the wedding,’ states Immie. ‘I didn’t know you’d be invited. But I’m glad you are.’ I pull out my phone and we start playing on my Hair Salon app to keep them from messing about and drawing any attention. I’m not sure what Mrs Harrison will say if she sees me here, but I can’t imagine Abigail will let me stay.

  I don’t even have to strain to listen into their row. Abigail Curtiz has that posh, entitled thing going on, whereby she doesn’t think staff – like me, the photographer, the maid and the make-up artist – are real people. She doesn’t care what she says in front of us, she barely knows we are here, except to do her bidding. It’s different for Mrs Harrison though, she’s normally hyper-aware of being polite and normally she makes sure the girls only hear suitable conversations; she never curses in front of them. I can only assume she is literally too worked up to give a toss what we hear.

  ‘You used Liam to get back at me?’

  ‘Who better to use?’

  I don’t understand what they are going on about. Mrs Harrison stole something from Abigail Curtiz. No, hang on, she had sex with her boyfriend! OMG Rob Larsen is Liam’s father! While they’re arguing Abigail man
ages to flounce around the room; she flings out orders about her veil and make-up and everyone just jumps to it. It’s genuinely surreal. The girls look totally confused and only happy when they’re called to be in a shot. I throw smiles and winks their way. I pull funny faces to make them laugh. Next, the row spills out into the landing as we all leave the bedroom. Abigail is saying more and more wild things. She shouldn’t be saying stuff like that in front of Imogen and Lily. In front of me. She should shut up now. She’s done enough damage. She’s seduced Liam to hurt Mrs Harrison, she’s having his baby to tie herself to her ex-husband. Abigail used him simply as a substitute for Rob Larsen. He’ll be demolished if he ever works that out. It’s totally fucking mental. Mrs Harrison looks devastated. Wrecked. I’ve never seen anyone turn invisible before, but that sort of happens – she disappears in front of my eyes like someone’s just cast a bloody Harry Potter spell.

  ‘Well, you may have stopped me having a baby with Rob, but now I have the next best thing.’

  ‘You planned all of this. You meant to get pregnant by Liam. This wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘Give the woman a prize.’

  ‘Do you love him, at all?’

  ‘He’s a sweet boy. I thought he’d be too young for me at first, that I might get squeamish about it but he’s well-built, isn’t he?’

  Oh God.

  ‘Very able in the sack.’

  Shut up.

  ‘And virile, which was the most important thing. He looks quite a lot like Rob, don’t you think? That will be nice for my baby. It will look like I’ve always imagined it would.’

  Just shut up.

  No, no, it’s too sick. Abigail Curtiz has pictures of her husband in her bag. She’s about to marry my boyfriend. The boyfriend she stole from me and she is carrying pictures of another man in her bag, on her wedding day.

  She doesn’t even love him.

  She came to the UK planning to steal him.

  She meant to cause trouble.

  She won’t disappear, penitent and ashamed. She’s right here, ruining my life.

  ‘He’s devoted to me . . . Hangs on my every word . . . Given up his education for me and next he’ll give up his country . . . I’m already getting bored . . . So let’s get on with this wedding, should we?’

  And it is instinct. Not thought through. Not premeditated or considered. A push, a shove. Just something to get her to stop going on and on. Something to shut her up.

  60

  Ben

  Ben was sat in his son’s hotel room – which smelt of stale male bodies and last night’s alcohol – making small talk with Dan about movies and music. Liam was in the shower. They were behind schedule. It wasn’t ideal. Despite Mel’s recent commitment to making things work, the day was likely to be fraught; tardy time-keeping could only exasperate.

  Ben had repeatedly knocked on the door before Liam stirred this morning. He explained he’d woken up early and had then fallen back to sleep at eight a.m., the time he should have been getting up; he looked done in. Dan was buoyant enough, but he’d had his headphones on and hadn’t heard Ben knocking.

  ‘As Best Man, aren’t you supposed to keep an eye on time-keeping?’ Ben muttered, grumpily.

  Dan shrugged and said he’d done his Duke of Edinburgh expedition just last week and had been lousy on time-keeping then too. ‘I honestly thought we were going to fail. It was a total bitching nightmare.’ Ben felt a pang. The gap between Dan’s and Liam’s life experiences now was vast. Ben wished the most Liam had to worry about was whether he passed his gold DofE or not. Dan switched on MTV and asked if anyone had any paracetamol, he had a hangover. He made no concessions to the fact that it was Liam’s big day. He suggested they flip a coin for use of the bathroom. ‘Heads I win, tails you lose.’

  Liam just rolled his eyes and let his mate go first. ‘Have we missed breakfast?’ he asked his dad.

  ‘Probably not. I imagine they serve until ten thirty, maybe eleven at a weekend, but your guests are already congregating in reception, quaffing champagne.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Yeah, so you possibly shouldn’t go down looking like you are. I can order room service.’

  Ben ordered three full English breakfasts while Liam was in the shower. He’d already eaten toast with the girls but his son was getting married. He wanted to try to observe the rituals, although when it came to it, Liam barely touched his.

  ‘Are you not eating that sausage?’ asked Dan. He was showered and dressed but he didn’t seem concerned when he dripped egg down his tie.

  ‘No,’ said Liam.

  ‘Then, don’t mind if I do.’ Dan reached to Liam’s plate, picked up the sausage with his fingers and gobbled it down in two bites. He then looked hopefully at Ben’s plate.

  ‘Help yourself.’ Ben had been planning on eating the sausage himself but had such respect for Dan’s appetite that he didn’t want to stand in his way. Boys this age could eat anything and everything. Twice. Usually. ‘Are you nervous, buddy?’ Ben asked Liam, looking at his barely touched breakfast.

  Liam quickly shook his head. ‘Just not hungry.’ Ben mentally kicked himself. Stupid question; of course Liam wasn’t going to admit to nerves in front of Dan.

  Dan punched Liam’s arm playfully. ‘You big girl. Eat something. You’ll need your energy later.’ He laughed, vigorously chewed and swallowed, then headed to the door. ‘Anyway, I’m going downstairs to introduce myself to the bridesmaids. I’ll leave you to it, yeah?’

  ‘The bridesmaids are my sisters, and they’re eight and six,’ Liam pointed out.

  ‘Oh, mate. Shit planning.’ Dan looked dejected. ‘Well, the guests then. Has Abi got any fit mates, like her, or do they all look like my mum?’

  ‘Piss off, Dan,’ said Liam affectionately.

  ‘I’ll go and find out for myself.’ Dan closed the door behind him, unconcerned about his best man duties of seeing Liam suited and booted, ready for the ceremony.

  ‘Just us two then,’ said Ben. It was a relief, in truth.

  ‘Yeah,’ Liam smiled, half-heartedly.

  Liam started to pull on his shirt. Ben asked, ‘Are you OK, son?’

  ‘Just tired.’

  Just not hungry. Just tired. They were reasonable enough excuses, but Ben felt they were exactly that, excuses. Liam seemed overwhelmed, sad. Had the enormity of what he was about to do finally hit him? Wasn’t he supposed to be jubilant, upbeat on his wedding day? Yeah, he was, but Ben thought that was an unlikely expectation under the circumstances. He’d settle for quietly confident or even comfortable.

  Ben stood up, looked for the TV remote, turned down the volume of MTV. He didn’t risk turning it off. The silence would have been too loud. He wondered what to do next. Should he offer his son a drink? That would steady his nerves, see him through. Or he could chat about the weather, the ceremony and pretend nothing was wrong because teenagers often didn’t want to talk to their parents – it was excruciating. Or he could do what he knew was right. He could tackle the elephant in the room. Man to man. Father to son. He picked up Liam’s tie and robotically threaded it through his fingers. The slip of the silk was somehow hypnotic. Soothing.

  ‘You know, you don’t have to go through with this, Liam. If you are having any second thoughts this is the time to say so. We, your mum and I, will help you out, mate. We can sort it all out.’ Liam said nothing in response. Ben found himself repeating his point. ‘You really don’t have to do this.’

  ‘You know I do.’ Liam took the tie from his dad. He put it round his neck.

  ‘You could at least slow things down, take a breather.’

  ‘The baby has its own timetable. I can’t slow down a baby,’ pointed out Liam. ‘Even if I wanted to and I’m not saying I do want to.’

  ‘This is because your mum was on her own with you in the beginning, isn’t it?’

  Liam sighed and then slowly nodded. ‘I don’t want Abi to feel alone. I don’t want the baby to feel alone.’


  Ben slumped into the armchair at the end of the bed. ‘Do you feel alone, son? Even now? I thought I’d—’ Ben’s voice cracked a little. ‘I thought I’d fixed that.’

  ‘You did. You have. That’s just it. You’ve been an amazing dad. You still are. The best. And I want to be like you. Not like the man who made me, then fucked off, careless of his responsibilities. Careless of consequences.’

  ‘But that was different.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Abi is older than your mum was when she got pregnant, and she has resources.’

  Liam nodded. ‘Right, Abi can go out to work and I’ll be a stay-at-home dad. That’s why we agreed I don’t need to carry on with my education.’

  ‘But you wanted to go to university.’

  ‘Yeah, I did, but things change.’

  ‘That doesn’t have to. You could still do a degree.’

  ‘Abi thinks it would be better for the baby if I focus on him or her.’

  ‘Abi does?’

  ‘We both do.’ Liam turned away from his dad and studied his own reflection; he carefully started to knot his tie. ‘Look, Dad, haven’t you always taught me to do the right thing?’

  ‘I have, but that’s just it. I’m not sure this is the right thing.’

  ‘The way I see it, it’s simple. If I’m old enough to make a baby, I’m old enough to look after that kid.’

  But it wasn’t that simple and Ben, a man, knew as much. Liam, a glorious, well-intentioned, earnest boy-man didn’t. Ben realised that Liam would prefer to let the matter drop now but he couldn’t. He had to ask, ‘Liam, do you love Abi? You’ve said before that you did, but have things changed now you’ve lived together?’