by Jade Beer
‘You’re going to need to explain to me why you felt it was OK to abandon a labouring woman, who was on continuous monitoring, for what appears to be well over thirty minutes.’ Jean is half-whispering the words in my ear, mindful, I’m sure, that it won’t help the situation if the mum or her husband overhears us. ‘I hope for your sake there are no further complications. And that the call you felt couldn’t wait wasn’t about something as trivial as wedding planning.’
‘I didn’t leave her alone! I promise I didn’t. Well, I asked Annie to get cover and she clearly didn’t because—’
Jean cuts me off. ‘You’re telling me you asked an unqualified student midwife to handle the situation?’
‘No, no, that’s not what I mean. I just asked her to find cover, not to look after Mrs Marshall.’
‘I see no difference, I’m afraid, Jenny.’
‘There is, there is! I never abandoned her, it’s not my fault.’ I’m trying so hard to keep the tears from falling. If mum or her husband see me crying now it will only inflame the situation, make me look even less professional.
‘This…’ Jean is struggling to control her anger now, ‘is absolutely not the time to try to justify yourself. We will talk later.’
Something in me snaps then. Maybe it’s the culmination of all those lies, pressing down on me, the lack of understanding about how much effort this has all taken. Or the delayed realisation that I have put a woman and her unborn baby at risk. How could I? This is not who I am. I step out of the room, closely followed by Jean, who can see I’m about to crack. I drop my face into my hands and say sorry over and over again. Not to Jean, though, to my mum. She would be so ashamed if she could see me now.
‘Pardon? Stop mumbling and make yourself useful, Jenny. Get Mr Marshall into some scrubs. He’ll want to go to theatre too. Lucy will take them down, I’m not at all sure you’re up to the task.’
The fact I have nothing to say for myself only seems to irritate her further.
‘There’s more to life than three-tiered cakes and honeymoon shopping, you know.’
That’s it. I’ve had enough.
‘There is no bloody wedding! There never was!’ That floors her. I spit the words straight at her and she shudders to a halt.
I’m rooted to the spot, waiting for a big reaction that doesn’t come. She just stands there, shocked, silently shaking her head at me, telling me loud and clear what a pathetic joke I am.
26
Nat
Something will go wrong. It always does, thinks Nat, as her final wedding of the year gets underway. It’s Lucy and Sam, two of those people with a string of bad choices behind them, resigned, almost, in their late-thirties, to never meeting The One. Then, bam! The sliding doors effect kicks in. She oversleeps one morning, he’s taken the day off; two entirely inconsequential acts that place them both on a later train. Call it fate that they stepped into the same carriage and she dropped her book, so the two of them dipped for it and banged heads.
So, now it’s only right, thinks Nat, that a meeting that started with them both guffawing together like idiots should end in a beautiful winter wedding day in the Surrey countryside.
That first chance encounter was just six months ago, and Nat loved Lucy from the moment she shared her story. There is something so uncomplicated and honest about it. Just as this is the only wedding of the year where the bride hasn’t hidden the fact that Nat is a professional bridesmaid. Why would she? There are no lies to conceal and no awkward relationships for Nat to navigate everyone around, just a need to have someone take care of everything – and a great personal recommendation, which convinced Lucy that Nat was better than any wedding planner she might Google.
Isn’t this how it’s supposed to happen? wonders Nat, standing behind them, listening to them exchange their vows. Just a bit of unpredictable animal attraction when you least expect it? As Sam is calmly stroking Lucy’s arm under her veil, Nat’s thinking about Ethan. This romance-filled day inviting comparison with Nat’s own chance meeting in New York. Except her story had a very different ending. Two hours on their last day together spent exploring each other’s bodies, rolling around on her king-sized bed with not one inhibition between them, while elsewhere, Betsy mainlined coffee and planned her speech to Helen. Then followed a surprisingly fervent promise from Ethan that they will see each other again – that Nat quickly dismissed as flatteringly unachievable – followed by a stiff talking to herself for the entire flight home.
Everything about her brief relationship with Ethan is passionate, all-consuming, mind-bending. It’s also over and she can’t lose sight of that. She needs to concentrate on the ceremony she’s supposed to be part of today, knowing the memory of him is going to make her body tighten and tense for months to come, taking her out of the room and back into bed with him whenever she allows herself to wander back there. But that’s all it is: a memory.
Right now there’s Lucy’s lace-edged train to straighten and her bouquet of deep burgundy blooms to hold while all the pictures are being taken. And, after today, Nat has a website to close down and a future to plan. While Lucy and Sam are having all their couple shots taken on the frost-covered lawn at the back of the stately home in which they were married, Nat moves to the terrace and perches at the hot chocolate bar. Such a lovely idea, she thinks, as she’s handed a warm mug. She helps herself to a handful of soft marshmallows and caramel sprinkles, then looks back down across the lawn to Lucy and Sam.
Now the scary official bit is out of the way, she can see the tension has lifted from their shoulders, and the relief is powering their wide smiles as they’re jostled together in the swell of well-wishing guests. Nat scans the crowd. Lucy hasn’t said a word about any potential troublemakers on the guest list, but Nat lets her expert eye travel over everyone, looking for any telltale signs. A lone guest hanging back, not wanting to be part of the celebrations. A face that’s not lit from within. Someone who only has eyes for the bride or groom. Or a mother who looks furious that this went the distance. No, there is none of it here today. And there is still no sign of it as they are filing inside for dinner in the house’s private library.
Polished wooden tables run the length of the room, each with its cream silk reading lamp left in place. There are loose floral arrangements dotted along each table, vases filled with emerald green wintry foliage and plum anemones with their deep chocolate-coloured centres; a scattering of cinnamon sticks, pine cones and cranberry branches alongside. There is a fireplace with a mantelpiece covered in sprawling eucalyptus, trailing vines, jewel-coloured dahlias and pomegranates, which perfectly match the colour of the velvet ribbon around Lucy’s bouquet. The smell is heavenly. Everyone is happy, loudly toasting the couple with huge goblets of red wine and helping themselves to the feast displayed around the room – a lamb, steak and salmon carving station is positioned next to a raw bar serving oysters, prawns and ceviche.
But Nat isn’t hungry and oddly, none of this is moving her today. She’s stepping through her duties, like they are just that – things to tick off the To-do list until she can disappear upstairs to her room at the agreed 8 p.m. She’s being professional, of course: helping Lucy with make-up touch-ups, chatting to all the family, instigating introductions, making sure the itinerary is running to schedule. But more than anything she wants to get away, out of what she hopes will be the last bridesmaid dress she’ll ever wear, and start really thinking about her future.
While everyone is eating, she tells Lucy she has a quick call to make and steps into an adjoining drawing room: she wants to call Helen. She knows Betsy will have spoken to her by now, confirming the wedding is off, and Nat wants to check Helen’s OK. She also needs to thank her for the beautiful card, inviting her to drinks on Christmas Eve. It is so lovely of Helen to include her and, hopes Nat, a sign that she is more than just a valued regular client.
‘Helen, it’s Nat. Are you OK to talk?’ Nat settles into one of the deep, cosy couches, feeling the throbbing in
her feet as she takes the weight off her heels.
‘Yes! I’ve got a few minutes between clients. How’s the wedding going? I assume you’re at one?’ She sounds cheerful enough.
‘You guessed right. All good, surprisingly straightforward, in fact. I’ve spent most of the day trying to work out what the big “but” is that must be coming. I can’t help myself, I feel like I’ve missed something and it can’t be this easy. Anyway, I’m really just calling to see if you’re OK? Have you managed to chat to Betsy yet?’ There is a slight pause now and for a moment Nat fears she has overstepped the mark, calling Helen about a personal matter, not a professional one.
‘I have, yes. I think everything’s going to be fine but… I don’t envy her that conversation with Jacob. It’s going to be very difficult and to be honest, I’m struggling to concentrate on much until I hear from her about how it went.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’ Poor Helen. Nat knows she would have that conversation on Betsy’s behalf in a second if it was the right thing to do. But not this time. This one is all Betsy’s to squirm her way through.
‘Just look out for her, will you, please? I know you two have grown close and she may prefer to come to you, rather than me.’
‘Of course I will. I also wanted to thank you, Helen, for your lovely drinks invite. I’ll definitely be there.’
‘Ah, I’m so pleased to hear that! It’s going to be very special. Actually, while I have you, Nat, there is something I need to ask you too.’
‘Anything, fire away.’
‘Well, do you think you might be able to pop into the boutique next week? Sorry, I know it’s very close to Christmas, but this can’t wait.’
‘I can. But, Helen, you must know there is no way I’ll be able to wait that long to find out what this is all about. Come on, whatever it is, you can blab! It’s giving me a good excuse to duck out of the wedding duties for a bit longer anyway.’
‘OK, fair enough.’ The sound of Helen’s soft laughter tells Nat this can only be a good thing.
‘I have been thinking for some time about getting some help in the boutique. It’s really becoming too much for me to handle on my own, between London and the Cotswolds. And, well, I’ve seen how brilliant you are with brides, how they warm to you and you’ve been to more weddings than any other person I know. So, I was really wondering if you might be interested in—’
‘Yes! One hundred per cent yes, Helen. It would be an absolute dream to work for you! Oh my goodness, sorry, is that what you were going to ask me? How embarrassing! Maybe it wasn’t?’
‘It’s exactly what I was going to ask you, don’t worry! I need a manager to run the London store and I was very much hoping that someone would be you.’
Without realising it, Nat has risen from the sofa and is pacing around the drawing room, her heart pounding in her chest. ‘I’m not a businesswoman like you, though, Helen. I’ve never worked in retail, I’m not sure I can do it.’
‘You’ve been running what looks, to me, like a very successful business for years. You’re discreet, professional and honest. That’s what I need. Everything else, I can teach you. What d’you say? Can I tempt you in to talk hours, salary and all the other bits?’
‘Yes, you can! I am so honoured. I’ve been thinking about making some changes for a while and this just feels like the perfect opportunity, thank you so much.’
‘OK, great, let’s chat next week. I’d better let you get back to the wedding. I’m so pleased, Nat. I can’t wait to have you on board.’
* * *
That’s it! For once, Nat is going to make it through an entire wedding day without any dramas, frayed emotions or infighting. She steps back into the library just as the speeches are drawing to a close and everyone starts to file back out onto the heated terrace. She has an hour to go until she will be off duty so she grabs her fur shrug and enters the throng of people, all now helping themselves to colourful cocktails and frosted glasses of ice-cold champagne.
My last wedding, Nat thinks. This is what today will be, the very last time she will pull on a bridesmaid dress and have to pretend to be someone she’s not. Will she miss it? No. Not when it comes with the need for a four-page spreadsheet reminding her of the politics and deceit fuelling it all. As she ducks and squeezes her way through the throng to the edge of the terrace she perches on a stone wall and looks back to the house, lit up like a Christmas tree. She can see right through it now, through the crowds, into the grand hallway with its enormous glass chandeliers, twinkling into the night. Chicly dressed bodies are draped over sofas, propping up fireplaces and perched languidly on the edge of drink-covered tables. Huge hats have been discarded and abandoned on stone statues and potted trees, and as the music climbs louder, so the wedding party dances into its final throes.
Only one man stands out from the crowd. Nat can just see the outline of him, the casual silhouette as he enters from the gravel driveway into the main house, through the giant stone door frame. He’s the only man not wearing a tux. His hair is dishevelled and there is a small suitcase at his side. He’s either incredibly late to the party or… Or this is it. The thing Nat has been waiting for all day that is going to knock this perfectly planned party off its course. The thing that is going to stop her flying up the stairs in ten minutes to pull on an elasticated waist and start hoovering up the minibar treats.
She can feel the tension spread across her chest as she starts to make her way back up the stone staircase. Whatever it is, she’ll be the one sorting it out. Every step she takes closer towards him is tightening her throat and forcing her to steady her breath. Nat pushes her way through the boisterous crowd, fending off questions about local taxis and lost handbags, and into the relative calm of the reception hall. She knows what she can see but her brain won’t let her believe it. It can’t be him. He’s more than three thousand miles away, his shape somehow not fitting here in her world.
She stands right in front of him now and can see the nervous anticipation all over his face.
‘Great dress,’ is all he says, through a smile that suggests he wants to get it off her as quickly as possible.
‘You’ve come a very long way to say that. FaceTime would have been considerably cheaper, you know.’ Surely there must be another reason he’s here? This is some monumental coincidence, something he just neglected to mention the last time they were naked together.
‘I figured I would give us a chance.’ Ethan steps forward and takes her hand. ‘Just give it a shot, you know? And if it all comes to nothing, it doesn’t matter.’ He’s waiting for a sign from Nat that he hasn’t called this all wrong. That he’s not going to have to pick up that suitcase and call the cab back, the quickest return journey to the airport of all time.
But all Nat can think is, what a pain in the arse. She was going to dine out on the memory of him forever, keep him perfectly preserved in her mind, where nothing could ruin him. Now there might have to be changes and openness and honesty and putting her heart out there to risk getting it crushed.
‘But how did you…?’
‘Betsy. I know I shouldn’t, but I got her email from the hotel registration form and she told me you’d be here tonight.’ Ethan’s eyes are all over Nat, failing to notice the member of staff who is trying to take his case away. ‘Did I get it wrong?’
‘Nat! Nat?’
She drags her eyes away from him.
‘You’re needed on the dancefloor!’ It’s Lucy and she’s made so few demands of Nat today, she can hardly decline the request now.
‘OK, I’m right there!’ she shouts over her shoulder, but she’s smiling at him. ‘I have to go. Here’s my key. Room eight. I’ll see you up there as soon as I can.’
27
Betsy
How can she want something so much and yet feel so incapable of doing the one thing that will achieve it? That’s what Betsy’s agonising over as she slowly turns her key in the lock of their front door. Knowing that Jacob is the other side
of it, she also knows there is no escaping this conversation now. It’s happening. Tonight.
The house is a tip. As soon as she pushes the door open, she can feel it connect with something hard behind it, probably another mountain of research books delivered from Amazon. Jacob has a habit of letting them accumulate, climbing higher up the wall until he can ignore them no longer – or Betsy cracks and throws them in his office. She walks through the hallway towards the kitchen, thinking she will confront him right now, before there is time to dither, change her mind or just bottle it completely. But there’s no sign of him, just a stack of washing-up that smells as though it’s been there since this morning, a pile of untouched Sunday papers from last weekend and two carrier bags of groceries that have been bought but not put away.
He must be in his office. Betsy moves back into the hallway, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, straining to hear any noise that will indicate where he is and what he’s doing. Nothing. She looks at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall there, just above the little shelf where they throw their keys and loose change. She’s trying to see herself as Jacob will in a few minutes’ time: not the woman she was, but the woman she has become, one capable of all those lies and of stamping all over the feelings of someone she once loved. Betsy doesn’t like what’s looking back at her: there is a hardness and determination in her eyes that doesn’t suit her.
She carefully climbs the stairs, up to the landing, where finally she can make out the click, click, click of his keyboard through the spare bedroom door. The words are obviously pouring out of him today. There is no pause, and she stands for a minute, guessing how many pages he must be steaming through, wondering what has inspired such an unusual level of productivity. And knowing it won’t be anything to do with her. Should she push the door open, storm in and shout the bad news at him? No. He’ll be out soon.