by Sophie Hart
‘How about we give it ten more minutes,’ Jon suggested, his tone softer now. ‘If they’re still not here, I’ll come and look with you, okay?’
Aimee hesitated. ‘Okay,’ she finally relented, letting herself be led back inside.
The first thing she heard was Valerie’s loud, grating voice, rising above the babble. ‘Well of course there’ll be a string quartet playing during the wedding breakfast. And Aimee was keen to have a disc jockey for the evening party, but I really didn’t think that was suitable, so now we’re having a vintage band, which sounds rather fun…’
Aimee picked up another glass of champagne, and took a large gulp. She wasn’t a big drinker, but getting heavily intoxicated seemed massively appealing right now.
She drifted through the crowd of people, making occasional small talk about her upcoming nuptials, but mostly being ignored. She felt strangely detached from everything; she could overhear everyone discussing her wedding, but these people were strangers to her.
The actual wedding day was going to be nothing like she’d envisaged either. Valerie had had her way on almost every issue, no matter how much Julia had tried to get Aimee involved. The dress was the one thing Aimee had stood firm on – and the one thing Valerie wasn’t paying for, so couldn’t control. She’d finally decided on a very simple off-the-shoulder sheath dress in shantung silk. It was plain and unadorned, nothing like the old-fashioned, fussy lace creations that Valerie kept encouraging her to try.
The rest of the wedding, however, was hallmarked with Valerie’s preferences throughout, from her choice of minimal white orchid centrepieces (Aimee would have preferred romantic displays of dusky pink peonies and cream roses with baby’s breath), to the choice of music, with Valerie insisting on Handel’s Water Music for the signing of the register, not the Ed Sheeran song that Aimee wanted.
She picked up a goat’s cheese canapé, popped it in her mouth and strolled over to Julia, who was sitting at one end of the enormous polished oak table, surrounded by pieces of paper. Like Aimee, she’d been told that tonight was about finalising the wedding details, but since the party had kicked off she felt like a spare part.
Julia smiled when she saw her, glad to see a friendly face. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Oh, you know…’ Aimee replied, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘You?’
‘About the same.’ The two women laughed; a shared moment of understanding amidst all of the madness.
‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’ Aimee asked, noticing that Julia had a tumbler of water in front of her.
‘I don’t think I’m allowed.’ A hint of a smile played across Julia’s face. ‘Someone tried to give me one earlier, and I was swiftly told that I was here to do a job, not to take advantage of the free alcohol.’
Aimee’s mouth fell open in shock.
‘Valerie said that?’
Julia gave a half-nod, aware of being overheard.
‘I can’t believe it. You’d think the way that woman goes on about manners that she’d have some of her own. Here, take this one.’ Aimee pushed her flute across the table.
‘Better not,’ Julia said ruefully. ‘I’m fine with my tap water, thanks. Hey, I’m glad you came over. I’ve been meaning to ask you, is this right?’ She span one of the sheets of A3 paper around for Aimee to see. It showed a floor plan of the reception room, with circles and boxes representing the tables and guests. ‘The bridesmaids have been taken off the top table, and are now…’ Julia trailed off, pointing to the bottom of the plan, where the furthest tables were crammed between the fire exit and the toilets.
Aimee’s eyes narrowed, her lips tightening in fury. ‘No, that’s not right. I thought we’d agreed at the last meeting that Rachel, Charlie and Tara were going there,’ she jabbed at the paper. ‘And Jon’s cousins would be on a table with their parents.’
‘I had a call from Valerie yesterday,’ Julia said carefully, watching Aimee’s face. ‘And she asked me to change it back again, saying this was final. I assumed you’d agreed.’
‘No, I hadn’t.’Aimee felt another white-hot burst of anger surge through her. It was most unlike her to get so het-up, but it was something she’d been feeling more and more lately. ‘Honestly, she’s a bloody witch that woman. They’re my best friends. They deserve to be on the top table, far more than her stuck-up relatives that she hardly ever sees.’
‘Is everything okay?’ Jonathan came over, looking concerned. He tried to top up Aimee’s champagne glass, but she waved him away.
‘Why have my friends been moved again?’ she demanded.
Jon let out an irritated sigh. ‘Are you still going on about that? I thought you’d worked it all out.’
‘So did I, but apparently your mother’s decided to change it again.’
Jon stared at her coldly. ‘I don’t appreciate your tone, Aimee. I don’t think you realise quite how much time – and money – my mother’s putting into this wedding.’
‘Well I never asked her to,’ Aimee hissed back, a lump forming in her throat. ‘I’d have happily got married in some tiny venue, just the two of us with a handful of guests and none of this crazy hoopla.’
Jon took hold of her hands, trying to pacify her. ‘Look, after the wedding, it will be just the two of us. We’ll have this big celebration next week, and then everything will get back to normal. Just me and you.’
Aimee stared at him, finally comprehending something she should have realised a long time ago. ‘It won’t be though, will it?’ she said quietly. ‘It won’t ever be just me and you.’
Jon opened his mouth to reply, when Valerie’s voice rang out across the room, slicing through the buzz of conversation like a knife blade.
‘Jonathan, darling, do come and speak to Hetty, you’ve hardly said two words to her all night. She’s going through a tough time right now because her daughter’s just split up with her fiancé. You remember Annabel, don’t you? Pretty girl, works in PR for an equestrian company. Very bright and very well connected, apparently.’
Jon obediently trotted off, all thoughts of comforting Aimee forgotten. Julia gave her a sympathetic look.
‘If I make it to the wedding without strangling that woman, it’ll be a bloody miracle,’ Aimee swore heatedly.
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’ It was an unprofessional comment and Julia knew it, but right now she felt bad for Aimee.
Her remark raised a smile at least, and Aimee felt grateful to have an ally in this room full of strangers. She looked across at Valerie, her hand possessively on Jon’s arm, as he chatted to a middle-aged woman in a lilac skirt-suit with stiff, lacquered hair and an equally stiff expression.
‘I just wish he had some backbone,’ Aimee sighed, suddenly feeling the need to vent her frustration. ‘He never stands up to her. Even if he took my side, just once, but he never does. I thought things would be different when we’re married, but now I’m not sure they will be…’
Aimee trailed off, staring unseeingly into the distance. Her mobile began to ring and she jumped, startled out of her reverie, before mouthing an apology to Julia and racing outside.
‘Mum, finally! Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, of course it is, I was about to ask you the same question. We’ve got half a dozen missed calls from you. I said to your dad I hope everything’s okay.’
‘Where are you?’ The line wasn’t great, but Aimee could hear people talking noisily in the background.
‘Oh, we’re at The George,’ Pauline chuckled. ‘Thought we’d treat ourselves to a night at the pub. They do a lovely scampi and chips.’
Aimee frowned in confusion. ‘But why aren’t you here? At Valerie’s?’
There was a beat of silence on the other end. ‘I thought that had been changed to tomorrow.’
‘No, Mum, it’s tonight. Why would you think that?’
‘Because Valerie called us this afternoon and said it had been changed to tomorrow,’ Pauline explained patiently. ‘As we’d been
planning to go out anyway, we thought we’d come to the pub. Has it changed back again?’
‘Yeah, sort of…’ Slowly, Aimee began to realise what had happened. She could feel her blood beginning to pump harder, anger pulsing through her veins. Trying to keep her voice calm for Pauline’s sake, she said, ‘Look, don’t worry about it, Mum. I’ll call you back later. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
Aimee clicked to end the call, her heart pounding furiously as adrenaline raced through her body. And then something snapped. Like an angry bull let loose, she stormed into the house and pushed through the tight press of people, making a beeline for Valerie.
35
‘Marriage is a fine institution. But I’m not ready for an institution’ – Mae West
‘Why did you call my mum and tell her tonight had been changed to tomorrow?’ Aimee’s eyes were blazing, her breath coming in short, angry bursts.
Valerie turned to her calmly, giving a tinkling little laugh that made Aimee want to throttle her on the spot. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aimee. Of course I didn’t.’
Aimee stared at her in disbelief. ‘You did. You’re lying,’ she said baldly.
For the first time, Valerie looked ruffled, her composure slipping. Some of the guests had stopped their conversations and were turning to look, trying to work out what the commotion was about.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Valerie apologised to the couple she was speaking to, and Aimee suddenly recognised them as Malcolm and Janette Huddlestone. Then Valerie turned back to her son’s fiancée, and her tone became steely. ‘Do calm down, Aimee. You’re making rather a show of yourself.’
Jon came rushing over, concern etched on his face. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Your mother called my parents today and told them tonight had been moved to tomorrow. That’s why they’re not here.’
Jonathan turned to Valerie. ‘Is this true?’
‘No, of course it’s not. I expect they just got confused.’ Valerie’s face was the picture of innocence.
‘There you are. It all sounds like a misunderstanding. Aimee, I think you owe Mother an apology.’
Aimee’s jaw dropped in amazement. She felt as though she was trapped in a nightmare; the room had fallen silent, with everyone craning their necks to watch the spectacle.
‘You’re not going to believe her, are you?’ Aimee burst out. ‘It’s obvious that she’s lying. She didn’t want my parents here so she called them and changed the date, in the same way she keeps moving my friends to the back of the reception, and in the same way that she keeps trying to exclude me from my own wedding because she doesn’t actually want me to marry you. The reality is that she wants to keep you all to herself, and no one will ever be good enough for her precious son – especially not me!’
Aimee was breathing hard after her outburst. The tension in the room was palpable, every eye trained on the three of them to see what would happen next. Aimee gazed pleadingly at Jon, willing him to man up and take her side, to see the truth about his mother just this once.
Jon swallowed hard, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. When he spoke, his words were slow and careful, as though talking to a skittish horse. ‘Aimee, I don’t know what’s wrong with you right now. I’m willing to put it down to the stress of the wedding, but you simply can’t say things like that. I need you to apologise to Mother right now.’
Aimee stared at the two of them – Valerie with a triumphant smirk on her face, Jonathan with a protective arm around his mother. His eyes were cold, his expression detached. Aimee realised that she didn’t know him any more. He wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with, and he certainly wasn’t the man she wanted as her husband.
In that moment, Aimee knew exactly what she had to do.
‘Jon, could I speak to you for a moment? In private,’ Aimee added, fighting to keep her voice steady.
She expected Jonathan to refuse, but he must have heard something in her voice to convince him she was deadly serious.
‘Of course,’ he replied tightly. ‘Let’s go through to the study.’
‘Jonathan!’ Valerie protested, almost stamping her foot in annoyance like a petulant child. ‘I need you here, to greet your guests. You can’t go running off around the house with…’ she trailed off, looking Aimee up and down as though she was something Valerie had found on the bottom of her shoe.
‘I’ll be back shortly, Mother.’ The tension in Jon’s voice was clear. ‘I’m sure you can keep everyone occupied until then.’
Aimee couldn’t help but find it ironic that this was the first time she’d ever seen Jon go against his mother’s wishes. And it was too little, too late.
‘Very well. I suppose it’s a good idea to take her away, and let her calm down a little.’ Valerie’s tone was icy, but for once, Aimee genuinely didn’t care. It was almost over, and in a few moments’ time, she’d never have to worry about Valerie ever again.
Fighting the urge to stick two fingers up at her, Aimee followed Jon out of the room as he led her to the study. The room was on the other side of the vast house, and Aimee half-wondered whether he’d chosen it deliberately, so that their guests couldn’t hear if she started screaming and shouting.
As they walked in silence, Aimee looked around, as though seeing everything for the first time. The house was undoubtedly impressive and tastefully decorated, but there was something almost cold and clinical about it. It was like being in a stately home, or a museum, where everything was for show, and there were no personal touches.
As she passed the enormous painting of a horse and hounds scene, Aimee slipped the heavy engagement ring off her left hand, balling it tightly in her fist, feeling the jagged edges press into her skin. She felt better almost instantly – lighter, freer, as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Jonathan closed the study door behind them. It was a beautiful room, with row after row of leather-bound books on solid oak shelves, and a large photograph of Nigel Cunningham on the polished wooden desk. But Aimee didn’t notice any of that. She stretched out her hand to Jon, the engagement ring sitting on her upturned palm.
‘Here,’ she said softly. ‘Take it.’
Jon stared back at her incredulously. ‘Aimee, what are you saying?’
‘It’s over, Jon.’ She felt a huge rush of emotions as she looked at him. Sadness, mixed with relief, mixed with anger and grief. But the overwhelming feeling was a certainty that she was doing the right thing. She wished she’d done it a long time ago.
‘What do you mean, it’s over? Calm down, you’re not thinking straight. That incident with Mother was just a misunderstanding. I’ll speak to her about it, we can sort this out…’
Aimee shook her head ruefully. ‘I think we’re past that. I’m sorry, Jon, but we’re done.’
She stepped forward, placing the ring on the desk next to a stack of papers. Sunlight streamed in through the mullioned windows, reflecting off the ruby in a thousand splintered fragments.
Aimee wasn’t sorry to let it go; she’d never really liked it. The ring was too big, too brash, too ostentatious. It had never been right for her – just like her fiancé.
Jonathan looked at it in disbelief, unable to comprehend how she could simply cast aside an expensive family heirloom. Something seemed to jolt inside him at that moment, a realisation that Aimee was serious.
‘Sweetheart, please,’ he began, stepping towards her and instinctively taking hold of her hands. His expression was pained, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead that were caused by more than the warm summer evening and the stuffy study they were standing in. When he spoke, there was desperation in his voice.
‘There’s a roomful of people out there. A houseful. There are all Mother’s friends from the club, and my business acquaintances, and half the local council…’ Jonathan was growing paler with every guest he recalled. ‘Please don’t do this to me today,’ he begged. ‘We can talk
about it later – I’ll give you whatever you want. Just go through with tonight and don’t make a scene.’
He was genuinely afraid, Aimee realised – a coward at heart, and terrified of his mother’s reaction if he messed up her special night. Aimee felt bad for him – but not bad enough to step back into that throng of pretentious, judgemental people who’d made her feel so unwelcome.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I can’t do it. Look, tell them anything you like, I don’t mind. Tell them I was ill and I had to go home. Tell them I’ve gone to pick up my parents and then make up something else later, whatever you want to say. But I can’t go back in there, Jon.’
She stared up at him, willing him to understand. Memories came flooding back to her, as she remembered the good times (despite everything, there had been many), mingled with huge sadness and uncertainty about where her life was going to go. Jon had been all she’d known for almost three years now. She’d intended to marry this man, have his children and grow old with him. It would take some adjusting to accept that wasn’t going to happen.
They were still holding hands, and Aimee squeezed his fingers affectionately, taking in his face for the last time. He was undoubtedly a good-looking man, with those brooding dark looks, model-like bone structure, and smooth, freshly shaven skin.
As she gently pulled her hands away from his, she saw his face harden, his eyes grow cold.
‘You ungrateful little bitch,’ Jon spat, his outburst coming out of nowhere.
‘What? Jon, I—’
‘After everything I’ve done for you, you won’t do this one thing for me?’
‘It’s not like that, you—’
‘You’ve leeched off me for three years now, haven’t you? You’ve bled me dry and now you’re off to find some other sucker, is that it?’
Tears sprang into Aimee’s eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She wasn’t going to cry for him, not now. He’d made her cry enough times in the past, and she was damned if he was going to do it again. She shook her head, bitterly refuting the accusations.