Back inside I attempted to tidy up.
‘Listen, I don’t have long until Sam’s wedding and my party.’ I began wiping down the fronts of the kitchen cupboards, wine splatters and rivulets on every single one, while waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘I’ve asked Ursula if she wants to join us but she must be in a K hole or something. It’s not like her to ignore a party.’
Ali didn’t answer me as she got up and began loading the dishwasher. Every single plate, bowl and cup had been used.
‘Do you know if she got the email I sent a week ago? I know she’s away this weekend. Rob, Amy, Mel, you and Jacqui are coming. A few of my oldest mates from years back are on holiday that day, but I thought Ursula was free. She always emails right back.’
Ali turned round, a plate in hand, rubber gloves on, geek specs sliding down her nose.
‘I don’t think she knows how to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘She’s going to Sam’s wedding.’
37
It’s Not You, It’s Me
‘Why’s she going?’ I choked out, my ears fizzing, the backroom tinnitus clamouring to be heard, overpowering all other sounds.
‘Because Sam invited her. He invited everyone, Mands.’ Ali’s strained voice reached me via a far-off tunnel.
‘I knew he’d invited Rob, and he said no. Apparently Sam said he was disappointed and hurt by his decision. Rob thinks the friendship’s as good as dead and buried now.’
‘Well, he’s not the only one who said no. I said no, too.’ Ali’s face blushed from her chest upwards, spreading like ink drops in water.
‘What!?!’ I shrieked. ‘Why the fuck did he invite you?’ I bellowed, gulping for air.
‘Mands, please calm down. I said no. God, I knew you would freak out, that’s why I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t ever going to tell you. Jacqui!’
Jacqui dashed in, abandoning her fag. My hands gripped the work surface, the cloth scrunching into a hard ball.
‘Breathe. Come on, head down below your heart.’ My legs went and I sank like a stone to my knees, burying my head in my lap, taking deep breaths.
‘Where’s my phone?’ I gasped, my inner bunny boiler muscling in.
‘No, don’t do it!’ Ali cried. ‘You’ll make it worse.’
‘It can’t feel any worse. I need to ask him why.’
‘I said no to the invite, just leave it.’
‘Would you leave it if Jim had asked me to his wedding?’ I growled menacingly. ‘Would you?’
‘Fair point,’ Jacqui agreed. ‘You would have keyed his car. Oh, wait, you already did that.’
‘Why don’t I get the sponges?’ Ali tried desperately. ‘You can throw them instead?’
I found my phone on the living-room table where Sonny, Joe and Grace were all watching some inane cartoon. The girls had retired upstairs to do hair and garish make-up. Texting with shaking hands was time consuming: I was deleting as much as I was making headway with words.
‘Fucking cuntingly fuck’s sake, I can’t even fucking type!’ I vented, having to grapple the urge to hurl my phone into the garden to smash it into smithereens.
‘Let me type it for you,’ Jacqui offered. ‘Give it here before you break it.’
Why did you think it was a good idea to invite Ali to your wedding? Apparently you’ve invited the same congregation as our one. Nice work.
‘Anything else? Like what a twat he is?’
‘No, just that. How he answers will define what level of twat he is.’ She pressed send.
‘So, was Ursula ever going to tell me?’ My stomach had turned in on itself, nausea rinsing round what little space was left.
‘I don’t know; she just didn’t know how to tell you. She’s only going because everyone else is going. It’s free booze and food and a disco.’
‘Why do I feel so upset? I feel properly devastated.’
‘Because this is the final hurdle. Ali and I didn’t have the wedding shoved in our faces. We didn’t have friends invited. We didn’t have the same people going to a replica of our wedding in the same venue. It’s like he just chopped you out and inserted Carrie in a cut-and-paste.’
‘He doesn’t even see half these people any more. I see them more than he does. It’s like rent a crowd.’
‘Remember, it’s going to be on TV. People will love that idea, of riding on the coat-tails of Carrie’s success, to be able to say “I was there”,’ Jacqui reasoned. ‘And he needs to look popular, believe his own hype of happy ever after and what a good choice he made in leaving you. It’s all about the external. It probably doesn’t help you’re still wearing your wedding dress.’ I glanced down at my spoiled tulle skirt, the sneering Disney Dream Princess without a traditional happy ever after.
‘It just hammers home how little he ever thought of me, still thinks of me.’
Waiting for a reply was more tense than standing in St Peter’s Square craning our necks to catch a sight of the white Papal smoke. My phone rang, surprising me; I was expecting a text.
‘I didn’t invite Ali,’ he blasted out into my ear, the words slicing through the buzzing.
‘Then why did she say you invited her?’ I looked at Ali who silently mouthed, ‘What the fuck?’ at me and scrabbled around for her phone, charging on the worktop. ‘Because you forgot that you did?’
‘That’s ridiculous. Anyway, I can invite who ever I want to my wedding.’
‘I know that, I’m not a total idiot. The whole thing feels horrendous to me. You’re just recreating our wedding with the same guests and everything.’ Overcome with humiliation, all of my own making for insisting on the text in the first place, I knew being angry with him was hopeless. He was right, he could invite anyone, but it didn’t stop me feeling small and insignificant, like a trial run before the real deal.
‘Look, it wasn’t my intention to make you feel like this, Amanda. I know the venue isn’t ideal but that’s just life. Don’t blame them for being invited or being my friends. One day you’ll get married again and some of the same people will come to your wedding.’
‘I’m never ever getting married EVER again! And I’m not blaming them for coming. What I’m angry about is no one has the fucking decency to warn me they’re going to your wedding, so I find out today, dressed as your fucking bride after a party.’ I cut him off before he could say anything else. ‘I hate myself. I wish I’d never spoken to him. Now I just look like a mental case.’
‘No you don’t. He’s the mental case,’ Ali said, shoving her phone in my face. ‘Read that.’ It was an email from Sam dated 29 March.
Dear Ali
How are you? Long time no speak. How is Grace? Every time I see her she seems to be growing taller. She’ll be bigger than Sonny soon. As you know Carrie and I are getting married at the end of May, on the 28th to be exact. In an ideal world I would love you to be there. Do you think there is any way you could come, or is it too delicate? Everyone else will be there, so it should be a total blast. I understand your loyalties are elsewhere.
Hope all good.
Love Sam x
‘Oh my God,’ Jacqui voiced what I was incapable of. ‘He’s deluded. That’s an invite. Not on posh paper with a wedding list attached and rip-off hotel details, but it’s an invite all the same.’
‘When he said he hadn’t invited me, I had to find that email. I only just deleted it last week, so it was still in the trash. I’m so glad I found it! Or maybe not, Mands?’
I pressed the bile back down with two hardy swallows.
‘Yes, I feel a bit less mad now, though not much. I feel so upset with Ursula. How could she not tell me? And how did Sam think I would never find out he’d invited you? It’s like he exists on his own version of the truth. Do you think he even remembers marrying me?’
‘Ursula was being a dick about it,’ Ali admitted, slamming the dishwasher door, setting it off on its first cycle of the day. The work surface by the sink was still crammed with dirty glasses
, plates and bowls, ready for the next round.
‘I can’t stop her going – it’s her choice. That’s not why I’m upset. It’s because she didn’t tell me and I found out like this. I hate the creeping about behind my back, like I don’t deserve the truth.’
Later that afternoon Jacqui finally prised my sullied wedding dress off me with a pair of scissors and some elbow grease. My hangover rolled over me like a thick fog, making everything seem a lot worse.
‘You’ll feel better after some sleep,’ she said, stroking my hair while Chug lay next to me, worried.
‘Are you sick, Mummy?’
‘No, Chug, I just need a cuddle.’
The jungle drums alerted Ursula and pretty soon my phone was pinging out regular Morse code signals. Sam decided to get in on the act.
I would have liked Ali at the wedding but knew it wasn’t good practice. Please do not make it out to be more than it is.
He must have revisited old emails to cover his tracks. Chris also texted me several times, but I had no energy to read the messages. I switched off my phone and Ali very kindly marshalled everyone for the bedtime routine. I let Sonny remain in bed with me where he drifted off to sleep and I lay staring at the ceiling, knowing I was solipsistically slipping somewhere I hadn’t visited for a while. Hades. Why couldn’t I just get over it? I wasn’t homeless, a refugee or a battered wife in an abusive relationship. I knew my privileges and should just move on. Why did I take things so personally? I tried to focus on The Four Agreements and Mel’s wise words. Sam didn’t do any of this to consciously hurt me, but knowing and feeling were two different things. I knew it would pass eventually, so I battened down the hatches until it did.
On Bank Holiday Monday, Chris turned up unannounced on the doorstep.
‘I’ve been worried to death about you. All you had to do was say you were OK, you know.’ His lip was twitching.
‘I’m sorry. I switched my phone off and then, I dunno, I never read my texts.’
‘Let me take you out. Where do you want to go?’
We walked to the French Café at the end of the road. Ali took all the kids to the park so we could talk. I stirred my tea and buttered my toast. I had barely eaten since the party, though I really fancied this sourdough toast. The French Café, with its facsimile log-pile wallpaper, televised flames flickering on a monitor in a replica fireplace, displays of deliciously iced cakes and pastries, the best coffee for miles and the ambient French jazz tinkering away in the background, never failed to lift my spirits.
‘So, what’s happened?’ Chris eventually asked me, his brow creasing with concern. I should have just texted him instead of obsessing over my own pitiful situation. ‘Is this because Neve walked in on us in bed?’
I laughed hollowly. That worry seemed so trifling now.
‘No. I found out Sam invited Ali to his wedding – she said no – and Ursula, who is actually going. For some stupid and naïve reason, I thought he was having a small wedding. But it is in fact some huge do, with most of the same people that attended my marriage to him. Add on that Meg and Isla will be bridesmaids kind of ices that wedding cake for me. I knew I would feel shit at some point, but not this bad. I think I’ve had my head in the sand about it affecting me and those two things kind of dragged it back out.’
‘Oh.’
‘I know it must seem trivial after all the crap your mum is going through with your dad.’
‘No, that’s not what I meant. That’s quite a lot of stuff going on in your head. No wonder you feel like you do. Is there anything I can do?’
His kindness was touchpaper to my self-pity, kick-starting the tedious waterworks. I grabbed the toast’s serviette to wipe my eyes, but proceeded to smear strawberry jam across my face.
‘Come here.’ Chris grabbed a fresh napkin from the empty table next to us and wiped the jam off my nose and cheeks. ‘How long until the wedding?’
‘Less than four weeks.’
‘Well, maybe you should just take it easy and stop punishing yourself for feeling sad. I think you’re allowed to be upset Sam’s getting married.’
‘I should be over it. I really should have moved on by now – I obviously haven’t moved on as far as I thought, though. Argh, I’m so bored of this still being a thing in my head.’
‘What’s with all the shoulds? Why are you putting a limit on when things ought to have stopped bothering you? If Sam had died would you be so hard on yourself?’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘This wedding is hopefully the last thing he can ever do that will hurt as much as this. Look at it that way.’
I nodded in agreement.
‘You are so different to other men,’ I said. ‘Oh, that was meant to stay in my head. Sorry.’ He laughed. ‘You remind me of my friend Mel.’
‘Is that a good or bad thing?’
‘Good. She’s pragmatic, too. In fact, you’re her birthday twin.’
Back at the house, before anyone returned from the park, we lay on the sofa and Chris tentatively kissed me.
‘I can’t do this right now. Sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I should have held back.’ He squeezed my hand.
I rested against the cushions and studied his guileless face, searching my closed one for some kind of clue.
‘Chris, I don’t think I can do us right now. I haven’t anything to give.’
His face sagged. ‘You want to take a break, or you want to finish for good?’ His brow creased again. This felt like shooting Bambi.
‘Yes. I need to be on my own. I’m just not ready for anyone. I feel like I’m leading you on.’
‘I don’t mind waiting until you feel ready.’ He looked at me hopefully.
‘No. I need a clean break to get over this bump in the road. I’m so sorry.’ Tears started falling and I brushed them away.
‘Oh, OK. I think you’re lovely, and the kids are great. It feels such a shame. You’re really sure?’ I nodded, unable to speak.
We hugged and he left me trapped in my self-constructed Underworld, Eurydice to his Orpheus, uncertainly facing my darkness alone. Be your own Orpheus, popped into my head, and stop being such a drivelling twat.
38
Letting Go
‘Ali! Come here!’ I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on Facebook. I needed another pair of eyes to verify I wasn’t hallucinating. Ali bounded up the stairs from the kitchen and burst into my office, apprehension written right across her face.
‘What? Are you OK?’
‘Look!’ I pointed to a message on screen. It was from someone I used to work with back in the mists of time, but was now a publisher at a major house with her own list of books. I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen her. Before I had married Sam, I think.
Dear Amanda
I just wanted to say I have read your book and totally loved it. Your agent sent it to us after the Bologna Book Fair and all of us here think it’s fantastic. We will hopefully be making an offer, through your agent of course, but I couldn’t wait to tell you how wonderful we think it is. Now we just need to sell the idea to the sales team but that should be easy. I look forward to dealing with you.
With best wishes
Vicki
‘Argh!’ Ali screamed. ‘That’s so fucking amazing! Congratulations!’
We started leaping round in circles holding hands until books began jumping off shelves and crashing onto my desk, knocking over my pen pot, randomly scattering them everywhere like Pick-up Sticks.
‘Is it too early for fizz?’ Ali asked.
*
‘So lovely to see you again. Come in.’ Natalie, my Reiki Master, opened her front door the following day and I stepped into the familiar sanctuary that was her home. It had been Mel’s idea to come and see her, to further my quest for a Zen mind and be my own champion.
‘It feels like I was here just last week.’ The piquant smell of incense laced the air and I followed Natalie down the corridor, past the living room, until she
pushed open a door just before the bathroom straight ahead.
‘What has it been, over two years?’
I nodded.
‘This is where I do one-to-one treatments.’ The sparse room had a high vaulted ceiling, a Velux window casting down a generous shaft of sunlight onto a multi-coloured woven rug that complemented the cool grey walls. An ornate carved dark wood framed picture of Buddha hung on the left wall above the treatment couch. A small Shaker-style wooden desk faced out of the other window into next-door’s overgrown garden. Natalie pulled out the ergonomic chair from under the desk and motioned for me to sit in the royal-blue compact arm-chair.
‘So how have you been?’
‘On a rollercoaster!’
As I reacquainted Natalie with the lurching drama that was my life, I felt like I was hearing it for the first time, too, and it sounded shamefully self-absorbed.
‘Sometimes we can get so caught up in Our Story; what has happened to us, who did what to whom, and I’m not saying that you have, but a lot has been going on: with the lost baby, the wedding, living with Ali, dumping Chris, your book deal, that we sometimes keep too close a hold on certain things and forget to let them go.’
‘I do feel very bogged down with so much stuff fighting for space in my head. I literally cannot think straight.’
‘So you’re here today to unblock everything then? To get some clarity and let old stuff go that no longer serves you.’
‘Exactly, but I need someone else to hold the process.’
Natalie began by burning sage and smudging it over my aura and all around us. She then pulled the bed away from the wall and into the centre of the room. Relaxing music played in the background and, cocooned in a womb of blankets warmed by the streaming sun from above, I instinctively closed my eyes, drifting off somewhere else while Natalie stood behind my head. I could feel the heat pulsing out of her palms lightly resting on my crown chakra; ephemeral images flitted across my mind. I had the unearthly sensation someone was tenderly holding both ankles in a kind of reassuring embrace, grounding me. I could feel Natalie’s hands resting on my heart chakra in the centre of my chest. How could she be in two places at once? The hands were still holding my ankles as Natalie moved to my solar plexus, just below my ribs. I flicked my eyes half open so briefly it was almost pointless, but long enough for me to notice there was no one standing at the foot of the bed.
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