by Lisa Hall
‘It’s gorgeous – shall I try it on?’ I hand Sadie my glass and glide into the fitting room, slipping the silky fabric over my head. Moments later, I pull back the curtain and await their reaction. I feel like a princess, and the heaviness on my shoulders since meeting Mags earlier lifts slightly, just for a second. Until Amanda speaks.
‘It’s lovely, Emily, but it just makes you look a bit…’
‘Fat,’ Sadie says bluntly, and I look down at the teeniest, tiniest bulge of my belly. It’s almost that time of the month and I am bloated, despite not eating any lunch earlier.
‘Fat?’
‘Not fat, as such,’ Amanda tries to reassure me, but the damage is done. I can’t wait to get the dress off now.
‘Just a little bit… poochy,’ Sadie says, before turning to the rail beside her and pulling another dress off, one that is decidedly more shapeless than the one I’m wearing. ‘Oh, don’t look like that, Em, girlfriends are supposed to tell you how it is. Try this one on.’
I try on dress after dress, none of them quite right, and eventually we call it a day. Amanda stands talking to Veronica, as Sadie hands me my bag.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t find you anything today. It’s not just that, though, is it? You seem a bit quiet.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I say, shaking my head, ‘nothing important anyway.’
‘Listen,’ Sadie says, with a glance to where Amanda is air-kissing Veronica, ‘how about you and I go dress shopping next week, just you and me? I know a lovely little place in Chelsea – I know it’s a bit of a trek into London, but it’s pretty exclusive.’
‘Really?’ Something warm glows in my stomach at Sadie’s invitation – finally, I’m starting to feel properly accepted. ‘What about Amanda?’
‘Oh, she’ll be too busy. She’s got her interior design stuff to do. It’ll be fun just us… although we can wait till she’s free, if you’d rather?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I say quickly. There is so much to do that time will fly before the wedding, and I feel as though I can relax a little if I have my dress.
‘Excellent.’ Sadie smiles, all perfect white teeth on show, and I make a mental note to see about having my own teeth whitened before the wedding. ‘I must dash – I’ll call you.’ She waves to Amanda, leaving me feeling as though maybe I don’t need Mags after all.
Back at Rupert’s, I tug the sheaf of envelopes out of my bag and dump them on the pile that has grown again on the kitchen counter, reaching into the fridge for a cold bottle of wine. As I cross the kitchen for a clean glass, the pile snags my attention and I give a small smile. Who could have known that when I first saw that bundle of post, on the day of my interview, that a few short months later my own mail would soon be added to it. A bubble of happiness bursts in my chest as I reach out for the pile with the aim of sorting it all out, but my hand catches the edge and the envelopes scatter over the floor.
‘Shit.’ I stoop down, the blood rushing to my head as I collect them up and move to the table, bringing my wine with me. I sift them into two piles – junk and the ones with Rupert’s name on. Most of my post is still going to the flat, so I pause when I come to an envelope with no postmark, just my name written in Sharpie across the front. I hesitate for just a moment, before sliding my finger under the flap and pulling out a single sheet of white paper. There is one word written in block capitals.
BITCH.
I drop the paper to the floor with a gasp, as if it is on fire, before I bend to pick it up, laying it gingerly on the table. The block writing is thick and dark, and I imagine I can smell the hate oozing from the page. Who could have sent it? I see Mags in my mind’s eye shoving envelopes into my bag, but I can’t recall whether this one was in there, or whether it was in the pile already stacked in the kitchen. I have no idea who sent it, or whether it was sent to me here, or to the flat.
I gulp at my wine, realizing my hands are shaking. Would Harry have sent this? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used that word in relation to me. Could Mags have told Harry where I was? I remember her words when I told her I couldn’t go out with her that day, her saying she was meeting ‘old friends’, then seeing him in the pub. Was it really a coincidence? I hear her voice in my ear, He might have followed you from the flat to Rupert’s, did you think about that? Another thought strikes me, one that makes my blood run cold. She said she recognized Harry from the pictures in my phone, which means she must have been snooping as I have never willingly showed them to her. I knew Mags was clingy, and she’s always helped herself to my things and copied my style – I was flattered by it at first – but I didn’t think she would go so far as to snoop through my phone. I get to my feet, pacing the floor, the wine making my cheeks hot and flushed, before I snatch up the paper, running my eyes over the word again, as the paper trembles in my hands.
Hearing the scratch of Rupert’s key in the lock, I hurriedly tear the paper and the envelope into pieces and shove them deep into the bin without thinking. Out of sight, out of mind. A knot of fear and anger sits in a heavy ball in my chest as I force a smile on for Rupert.
‘Everything all right?’ He reaches for me, pushing my hair away from my face, and kissing me. ‘Mmm, wine. That kind of a day? How did the dress shopping go?’ He releases me and pours himself a glass.
‘Yeah, a bit. Oh, it didn’t really. I’m going to go to town with Sadie another day,’ I say, grateful that he’s turning his attention to the wine and away from me. I start fussing in the fridge, pulling out steak and butter and garlic, the word BITCH etched into my brain.
Later, after the rest of the wine and a steak that Rupert declares worthy of restaurant fare, we are snuggled together on the sofa, something mindless playing on the television. The events of today stick under my skin like a splinter, and I find my gaze is drawn repeatedly to the darkness outside the still open blind in the sitting room, almost expecting to see the blurred white oval of a face peering in.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Rupert asks, his stubble rasping against my hair, and I give a little sigh of near contentment. Even though we haven’t been together very long, he knows that something isn’t right. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in tune with anyone to that extent.
‘I met Mags.’ The words spill out, and I shift from where I am leaning against Rupert so I can look at him.
‘Yeah?’ Rupert raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You don’t seem too happy about it. You’ve been a bit jumpy since I got home. Did she say something to upset you?’
‘It wasn’t…’ I flounder, the words sticking in my throat. ‘She said she saw Harry.’ I blink, hot tears burning behind my eyes.
‘Harry? Where?’ Rupert frowns and twists to face me, as he reaches out and nips a stray hair from the shoulder of my jumper. I can smell his aftershave, and my heart rate starts to slow.
‘In town. I’m worried, Rupert. Do you think it was him? Outside the house that night?’
‘God, Em, we talked about this. There’s no way it could be Harry – Mags doesn’t even know where I – we – live, so even if she did see him, she couldn’t tell him.’
‘But if he knew where the flat was… he could have followed me.’ Part of me knows I am being ridiculous; another part is half convinced that Harry will find me and follow through on his threats.
‘Don’t be so paranoid – I told you, it was just someone waiting for a lift or something. Nothing has happened since, has it? So, don’t be ridiculous. If seeing Mags is going to upset you, then maybe you shouldn’t see her anymore.’
I let him pull me into an embrace, his chin resting on my hair, as I blink back tears. I’m not paranoid – I know I’m not – and I know that Rupert had bad experiences with Caro’s paranoia, so I don’t press the matter. I’m glad I pressed the torn letter deep down into the bin so Rupert wouldn’t see it. But maybe he has got a point about not seeing Mags for a while.
Chapter Ten
I let myself back into the flat – for what I realize w
ill be my final visit – and start packing the last of my things into a holdall, when the sound of someone clearing their throat makes me jump, and I turn, one hand pressed against my mouth as my heart threatens to burst out of my chest.
‘Shit, Mags. You scared me.’ It’s a stifling hot August day and I have thrown open all the windows in the stuffy top-floor flat in an attempt to flush out the smell of Mags’s weed. Thanks to the sounds of passing traffic and the gas men digging up the road outside, I don’t hear Mags enter the flat.
‘So, this is it then? You’re officially leaving.’ Mags stands in the doorway, her orange hair piled up on top of her head in a haphazard bun, one hand picking at the nail varnish on the other. She wears a green and purple maxi dress that clashes horribly with her hair, and once again her feet are grubby and bare.
‘Yeah,’ I say quietly, turning back to face the overfull holdall. ‘This is the last of it.’ Much as I am happy to be moving into Rupert’s place properly, my chest feels tight at never being here again. Even though I’m pleased to be moving on, it feels like the end of an era. I won’t sit on the sofa with Mags, stuffing cheesy popcorn, while we watch a marathon of Eighties movies. I won’t be making terrible margaritas, that Mags and I neck almost as a challenge, they are so awful. Equally, I won’t have to hold Mags’s hair back, as she vomits them back up either.
Mags sniffs, and I feel a wave of guilt. ‘Come on, Mags, you knew it was coming.’
I tried to time collecting the last of my things with Mags being out, but now part of me is glad I get to say goodbye to her properly.
‘I know,’ Mags says, her mouth downturned. ‘I suppose I thought maybe it wouldn’t happen. Sorry.’ She gives a rueful grin, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps this won’t be so bad.
‘End of an era,’ I say, forcing a smile onto my face. Now I have my things, and I’ve said goodbye, I’m ready to leave. ‘But it’s the start of a new one, that’s how we have to look at it.’
‘I saw the announcement his parents put in The Times. The engagement is announced… blah blah blah.’ Mags screws her face up, like a child who has just taken a spoonful of medicine.
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ I say, slumping down onto the bed. ‘Mags, you always knew it was a temporary thing, me living here. I thought you wanted me to be happy after Harry.’ I look down at the scarf I’m holding, worried for a moment that I won’t be able to hide my emotions from Mags. That I won’t be able to hide the fact that part of me is relieved to be leaving the flat, and Mags, behind. That I’m looking forward to the space Rupert’s house can afford me, instead of these tiny, cramped four walls that make me feel so claustrophobic at times it makes my chest hurt. That Mags makes me feel claustrophobic.
‘Yeah, I did always know that.’ Mags smiles but her words have bite to them. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? I mean, it’s a bit quick, isn’t it? Aren’t you worried about what people might say?’
‘What do you mean?’ I go cold, the word BITCH flashes in neon in my mind.
An emotion that I can’t read flickers across Mags’s face. ‘Well, it’s just that you barely know each other. There are bound to be people saying that you’re not quite the genuine article.’
‘We love each other, Mags. I feel incredibly grateful to have found Rupert after the horrendous time I had with Harry. If people think I’m some sort of…’ I pause for a moment, my eyes on Mags, looking for a reaction, ‘bitch then that’s their problem. I just hoped you at least would be happy for me.’
‘I am, I promise.’ Mags leans over to hug me, and I force myself to relax. ‘I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘And I’m sorry I’m leaving you, OK?’
‘I’ll live.’ Mags pulls away, the tension easing as she says, ‘What the fuck are you wearing, anyway?’
I look down at my outfit. Instead of my usual cut-off denim shorts and cheap vests, I’m wearing linen shorts, with a silky Karen Millen top, gold sandals on my feet. Rupert had bought me the outfit at the weekend, and it was perfect, or so I had thought. Now, under Mags’s scrutiny, I just feel a bit uncomfortable. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘Not really my style. Or yours.’ Mags raises an eyebrow and gives a little laugh. ‘Do you want another bag for that stuff?’
‘Yes, please.’ I smile as Mags bustles from the room to get me another holdall. At least I won’t be leaving under too much of a cloud – although I’m not sure how Rupert will feel if I invite her to the wedding. I still haven’t sent her an invite. Even I’m not too sure how Mags will fit in with Rupert’s friends – my friends now too, of course – and I find myself hoping that Mags won’t be able to make it.
I pull out my scrapbook, turning to the last page where I smooth over the newspaper cutting I clipped from The Times.
The engagement is announced between Rupert, eldest son of Mr and Mrs Eamonn Milligan, of Norfolk, and Emily, daughter of Mrs Janice Walden, of Boca Grande, Florida.
I smile as I run my fingers over the print, careful not to smudge the wording. Rupert insists on still calling himself ‘Osbourne-Milligan’, the double-barrelled surname that he and Caro agreed on when they were married, but it makes me feel a little odd, the idea of my name becoming entwined with Caro’s. Still, at least they didn’t put it in the engagement notice. I read over the words again, still feeling that fizz of excitement every time I see it. I should try and get another copy, one to send to my mum in Florida, so she knows I’m finally on my way to true happiness.
‘Here—’ Mags appears in the doorway and throws an empty duffel bag towards me. ‘You might as well keep it; I’m not going to be going anywhere.’ Mags perches on the end of the bed as I carefully place the scrapbook into the bag, stuffing the last of my things on top.
‘I haven’t had any more mail, have I?’ I ask, my breath catching in my throat. I’m half expecting Mags to pull out another envelope, but she shakes her head.
‘Only circulars and junk. I threw it out, like you asked.’
‘OK. Good. Well, that’s the last of it.’ Breathing out a sigh of relief, I sling the holdall over one shoulder, careful not to wrinkle my expensive top. ‘I suppose I’ll be off.’
‘Come here.’ Mags gets to her feet, pulling me into a hug. ‘Sorry for being arsey. I will miss you, though, you know that? And you know if it all goes tits up with Rupert, you can just move back in.’
I let Mags hug me, the scent of patchouli oil tickling my nose. ‘It won’t go tits up. I know it won’t. But thank you – for everything.’
I won’t let it, I think as I let myself out of the flat, out into the hot, sticky heat of summer in Swindon. This is the beginning of my new life. In just two short weeks I will be Rupert’s wife, and everything is going to be perfect.
One week later, I am dancing, my hair sweaty and stuck to my forehead, a gaudy sash tied across my body proclaiming me as the ‘bride-to-be’. I am in Bristol with Sadie, Amanda and a few others in their circle on my hen night, and I feel on top of the world. Sadie grabs me by the arm and tugs me towards the bar, intent on getting me another cocktail.
‘No, no,’ I laugh, my head already starting to spin from the alcohol.
‘It’s your hen do, and I’m in charge. I say drink.’ Sadie grins, and shoves a lurid pink drink into my hand. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘Yes, I really am,’ I give a drunken nod, ‘thank you so much for organizing this.’
‘It’s my pleasure – I am your Matron of Honour, after all.’ Sadie raises her glass to mine and we clumsily clink together.
Yes, Sadie is my Matron of Honour. Hence the reason why Mags has somehow ended up not being invited. Some might think it a bit strange, the best friend of my fiancé’s dead wife being so involved, but Sadie has been helpful, despite us getting off to a shaky start. And there wasn’t really anyone else I could ask to do the job. My mind flickers briefly to Mags, and I shake the thought away. Mags wouldn’t fit in with this crowd, the new set of frie
nds that I’ve worked hard over the past couple of months to make my own. Thinking of Mags sobers me up, and I realize that it’s two o’clock in the morning and I really just want to go to bed.
‘I’m going back to the hotel,’ I shout into Sadie’s ear, ‘Amanda already left and I might be able to catch her up.’ I slink away before Sadie can persuade me to change my mind.
Outside, the air is cool and refreshing. We are in the midst of a heatwave, but it feels tonight as if the weather might break. I take in a huge gulp of fresh air, hoping that it might revive me and sober me up a little. I feel weird, a bit spacey and off kilter, and I wish I hadn’t let Sadie and Amanda ply me with so many cocktails. Glancing down the street I get my bearings and start to walk the short distance back to our hotel.
It’s only once I’ve crossed the road and am passing a darkened strip of shops that I first think that perhaps I can hear footsteps. I slow, and glance across the street, too scared to look over my shoulder. I strain to listen, but I can’t hear anything, only the hard, fast thump of my pulse in my ears. Muttering under my breath, I shake my head, feeling like an idiot, but still I start to walk faster, the lights of the sign for our hotel visible in the distance. The clack of my heels rings in my ears as I realize that I can hear something; I can hear a second set of footsteps behind me and I step up the pace, my heart thundering in my chest and my breath coming loud in my ears as my ankle rolls in my stupidly high shoes.
I stop, my mouth dry and my palms sweaty as I hurriedly slide my shoes off and sprint the last couple of hundred metres to the hotel, shoving my key into the outside lock and tumbling through the doors into the dimly lit reception. I sink into a chair there, the night receptionist glancing towards me with a frown, and a few minutes later the door creaks open and Amanda walks in, looking decidedly cooler than I do.
‘Amanda.’ I get to my feet, my shoes dangling from one hand, phone in the other.
‘Emily. Are you OK?’ Amanda raises an eyebrow. ‘You look a bit… hot?’