You Sent Me a Letter

by Lucy Dawson

I ignore her and march past her into the room. Olivier and Isabelle are sitting very close to each other on the bed in a page-boy suit and a primrose-yellow bridesmaid dress, quietly eating sweets while watching TV. They look a bit small, lost and incredibly cute, but while I smile genuinely for the first time all day to see them, they understandably regard me warily as I approach – a very unfamiliar version of myself, what with the dress, make-up, swept-up hair – and shrink back into the pillows behind them.

  I slow down and make a conscious effort to appear calm. ‘Salut! Ca va?’ I sit on the end of the bed, not so close to them as to make them more nervous, holding the cards tightly in my lap. ‘Papa est en route. Il a… quitté l’hôpital. OK?’

  They both nod slowly.

  ‘Les bonbons – c’est bon?’ I try, my French already practically exhausted. ‘J’aime les vetements… Vous êtes tres jolie.’

  Isabelle gives a thin smile. ‘You look very shiny,’ she says in English.

  ‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’ I agree, looking down at myself. ‘We’re going to wait here for Papa, OK? Do you need anything else? A drink, maybe?’

  They shake their heads.

  ‘Isabelle, do you have your phone with you?’

  She nods. ‘It’s in my sac… bag.’

  ‘Can I borrow it?’

  She gets up without a word, walks over to her backpack, rummages around and silently hands me her iPhone before scampering back to the bed.

  I switch it on.

  As it updates, sure enough, a message comes in from my number. I exclaim aloud in rage, which makes them all jump. There are no pictures. Just a message.

  Ask Daddy what Sophie was doing in bed with Richard.

  How can Isabelle’s mother be prepared to use her like this? She’s only a child! A switch suddenly flips within me and, hands shaking, I go straight to the contacts list. ‘Mama’ is one of the only numbers in it.

  ‘I’m just going to make a quick phone call,’ I smile. ‘You stay with Imogen and I’ll be right back.’ I don’t want them overhearing any of this.

  I close the door firmly behind me and walk silently down the hall, across the thick carpet, until I come to a quiet alcove window that overlooks the front lawn. I hit ‘Call’ and wait.

  She answers almost immediately. ‘Chérie! Ça va?’ She has a lighter voice than I expected, softer – although I can hear the concern in her voice, before she adds, ‘N’êtes-vous pas à la noce?’, which I don’t understand.

  ‘This is Sophie.’

  ‘Sophie?’ She is astonished. There is a pause and then she says in perfect, albeit heavily accented, English, ‘What’s wrong? Are the children OK?’

  ‘Oh, you do care about them, then?’

  There is a longer silence this time. ‘Excuse me?’ she says slowly.

  ‘Don’t!’ I interject. ‘You have to stop this. OK, so you hate me—’

  ‘Hate you? I’ve never met you!’

  ‘You’ve spent eight months making my life a misery.’ I talk over her, determinedly. ‘Dragging out the divorce, doing your best to wreck everything. That’s fine. Trail me, snoop on me, you can do your worst, but don’t involve them. It’s—’

  ‘Hey!’ Claudine interrupts sharply. ‘I dragged out the divorce?’ Her voice tightens. ‘Are you out of your mind? Marc contested everything, every tiny detail, any delay he could find, he exploited. He tried to have me fired from my job. Why would I want to stay married to him?’

  And here come the lies. I lose my patience completely. ‘Stop it!’ I shout. ‘I know what you’ve been saying to him, how you feel about him!’

  ‘Whatever he’s told you, it’s not true.’

  ‘Right. So you didn’t have an affair with his boss?’

  She hesitates. ‘It’s not like it sounds—’

  I give an incredulous laugh.

  ‘It isn’t!’ she insists. ‘I’m certain he didn’t tell you he would give me a divorce only if I signed a contract promising never to marry Julien? That’s the kind of vindictive man you are involved with.’

  ‘This is bullshit,’ I say slowly. ‘This is what you do. You twist everything, you manipulate it all. I’ve been there when you’ve called! I’ve heard you shouting at him on the phone myself.’

  ‘You heard me shouting in frustration because he refused to agree to any of the very generous terms I offered him!’ she retorts. ‘I don’t care about money – just let me be. All he said over and over was, “I can’t do that”. You say I manipulate? He is a lawyer, Sophie – how naïve are you? I mean, really? You know what I think I should say to you? Run. Run as fast as you can. I don’t want him back! I wouldn’t wish him on my enemies. He may appear charming, but he is a very damaged man. You have no idea.’

  I close my eyes. ‘You say you don’t want him back, and yet you are deliberately and maliciously wrecking our wedding, intent on humiliating me. The crazy thing is, you didn’t need to do any of it!’ I take a breath. ‘I’d already realized I shouldn’t be marrying him by myself, thank you.’

  There is a stunned silence. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

  ‘I saw the pictures on at least one of the phones! What are you planning to do – send them to everyone and see who tells Marc first? You’re sick! You must realize there is another family you’re about to wreck? Two children who are going to lose everything?’

  ‘The pictures?’ When she finally speaks again she sounds a little frightened. ‘Sophie, Marc told me you had an injury to the head and he was on his way to the hospital – in case the children called me and they were upset. Perhaps you are… confused right now, I don’t know. I don’t mean to be rude, but I think I should go. I hope you feel better.’

  She hangs up.

  I stand motionless in the corridor. She actually sounded quite normal. But isn’t that what they say about people who do mad, deranged things? ‘They were so nice, so ordinary…’ Marc has told me all along that this is exactly what she does – spins everything.

  ‘Sophie?’

  I exclaim and jump so badly with fear, before whirling around on the spot to discover someone standing right behind me, within touching distance.

  ‘I think you’ve got something to tell me, haven’t you?’ he says.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Is it true?’ Rich demands. ‘Are you pregnant?’

  I shake my head. ‘It was just a misunderstanding in the restaurant. I promise you, I’m not.’

  He looks sick with relief and nods. ‘I got your message, but I couldn’t keep her away. I tried, but she didn’t buy it. I told her one of the kids was ill and we had to go home, but she just phoned her mum straightaway, who said she had no idea what I was talking about. It just looked dodgy as hell. As it is she’s got to start suspecting something sooner or later – what was all that grabbing her phone business about?’

  ‘I can’t tell you but, trust me, you have to get her away from here.’

  ‘You keep saying that, but how?’ he explodes. ‘What possible reason could I have for taking her away from the wedding that she’s helped organize from start to finish for her best friend?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I exclaim. ‘Perhaps if you’d told me that this was a wedding, I might have had the chance to think of something a bit sooner!’

  ‘It was none of my business,’ he says flatly.

  There is a pause. ‘Fine. I take your point,’ I manage. ‘But in the interests of now saving your marriage, you might want to do whatever you can to leave, before it’s too late.’ As the words leave my mouth, I see a movement out of the corner of my eye.

  I turn to see, through the leaded window, Alice hurrying across the illuminated lawn towards the hotel. On one side of her is my mother, and on the other, in full morning dress, is Marc. ‘Oh, God, they’re here. You have to go, before anyone sees us talking like this.’

  ‘But what is it that’s going to—’

  ‘GO!’

  He stares at me, then turns and walks smartly do
wn the corridor before disappearing around the corner. I spin back to the window, just in time to see Alice and Marc also disappearing out of sight below, about to come into the front hall.

  Hitching up my dress, I run as quickly as I can back to the children’s bedroom. Reaching the door, I hammer on it and, as Imogen swings it open, I push straight past her, lurching into the bathroom before slamming the door behind me. Flicking the lock, I check the time on Issy’s phone – 8.19 p.m. – and tear open the last envelope.

  Time for the ceremony.

  Walk down the aisle and take your place next to your fiancé – don’t forget to smile!

  But wait – does everyone have objections?

  Speak now or for ever hold your peace!

  Everyone? Dear God, the pictures are going to go to the whole congregation? In fact, couldn’t those pictures potentially go to everyone in my contacts list, including my email and Facebook? I moan softly. What can I possibly do to prevent that? I begin to rip up the cards and envelopes, scattering them down the loo like confetti, as a muffled male voice sounds on the other side of the door. Marc. My fingers fumble as I frantically speed up. Chucking it all in, I pull off some tissue, ball it up, throw it on top and flush.

  There is a knock at the door. ‘Sophie? It’s me. Are you all right?’

  ‘Just a moment!’ I call, checking myself briefly in the mirror before exhaling shakily, then undoing the lock.

  Imogen is sitting on the end of the bed, holding Olivier’s hand, as Isabelle peers curiously around the doorframe. Alice and Mum are standing in the middle of the room… and Marc is right in front of me.

  I look at him, terrified, trying to gauge his expression – and just for a second, I picture him standing in the dark doorway of our bedroom as I lie in the bed in front of him, having sex with someone else. He’s the only other person that has keys to the house… But then, what about the open front door – it could have been anyone! No! It wasn’t Marc. It just can’t have been!

  His mouth has fallen open. ‘Wow, you look amazing,’ he says, seeming to gather himself and shaking his head slightly before taking two urgent steps to me, placing his hands either side of my shoulders, making me flinch. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Why did you leave the hospital? I don’t understand,’ Alice interrupts before I can say anything. ‘Mum thought you’d gone for your scan, but one of the nurses realized your bed was still there and you would have been wheeled around in it if they’d come to get you.’ I realize she is trembling with anger. ‘What the fuck, Soph?’

  ‘Alice!’ Mum remonstrates, as Isabelle gasps in shocked delight. ‘I had to explain everything to Marc,’ Mum turns back to me desperately. ‘About you knowing this is a wedding. You do understand, don’t you? It’s only that once we discovered you were missing, I was certain you’d be coming back here.’

  ‘Let me see your head.’ Marc gently lifts my hair and peers anxiously. ‘We have to get you back for that scan. I’m sorry you found out. I tried so hard to keep it a secret… But you know what? It doesn’t matter, Soph. We can do it another time. Come on. We should go.’

  He is a lawyer, Sophie – how naïve are you?

  This calm and sensible man is a pathological liar and control freak, who has been waging a hate campaign against his ex-wife that I knew nothing about? Not only that, but he saw me in bed with another man, took pictures of it, then planned a secret wedding for us, hired someone to break into the house and is now set to publically humiliate me? That’s what you want me to believe, Claudine? Marc is guilty of no more than trying to surprise me with the ultimate romantic gesture – an amazing wedding.

  ‘Shall I take Issy’s phone?’ he says gently, and I realize I’m still gripping it. ‘It’s OK. I spoke to Claudine. And don’t worry, I don’t believe her. She called you, right? Not the other way round. I’m sorry she picked today of all days. I hope she wasn’t too vile.’

  There’s another knock at the door, and we all jump. Imogen gets to her feet and hurries over, only to discover two anonymous women on the other side, both dressed in trouser suits, one clutching a file and looking pretty fed up.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ The taller and more smiley of the two speaks directly to Marc; she obviously knows him. ‘It’s just that we were wondering if you still need, um, everyone’ – she nods at the other woman – ‘to stay, or if…’ She makes an awkward face.

  ‘My fee is non-refundable, regardless,’ the shorter woman snaps.

  ‘You must be the registrar,’ Alice says. ‘What a ray of sunshine.’

  ‘Alice!’ Marc cautions gently, before turning to the two women. ‘My fiancée could be seriously ill right now. We need to get her to a hospital, and I don’t know how long that’s going to take. So while I understand about your requiring payment – which I’ll honour – we are leaving now.’

  ‘But I can’t!’ I say immediately, and everyone looks at me. ‘I can’t let you do this, I mean,’ I say quickly to Marc.

  ‘How long will the ceremony take – ten minutes at the most?’ Mum says suddenly, witheringly addressing the registrar, who sniffs and reluctantly nods.

  ‘No, Mum!’ Alice rounds on her. ‘Are you crazy? Sophie could have some massive blood clot building up right now! Couldn’t you, Sophie?’

  ‘Sophie knew the risks, and yet she did everything in her power to be here. It seems very clear what she wants, and I think we should respect that. Please’ – Mum turns to the registrar and the other woman – ‘go downstairs and tell everyone we urgently need them seated in the main room. Alice, where are the flowers?’

  ‘What is wrong with all of you?’ Alice gives me a look of panic, and I have to turn away from her. She knows I overstated my symptoms, so I get what she’s trying to do, but she has no idea of the very real risk to all of us if I leave now.

  I have to follow the instructions, and that means actually walking down the aisle and facing my public humiliation during the ceremony. I will have to somehow live with the personal consequences, but – I think of the photograph of Evie, tiny and vulnerable in her car seat – I will do anything to keep us safe.

  ‘We are going to make this happen for you. I promise,’ Mum says. ‘Alice, FLOWERS!’ She practically shouts. ‘Marc, you go too.’ She is starting to appear almost frenzied in her doggedness.

  I watch her worriedly. Did she open those pictures after all?

  ‘Are you sure you want to stay?’ Marc asks me. I swallow, and nod silently. He grins, grabs me, and gives me a quick kiss. ‘I love you.’ He dashes over to kiss the children as well and rushes from the room.

  ‘YES!’ Imogen squeaks excitedly. ‘You’re going to get married! Let’s go! Oh, Lord!’ Her eyes widen. ‘Evie!’ She dashes over to the travel cot and scoops up her sleeping daughter. ‘Mummy hadn’t forgotten you,’ she says hurriedly as Alice reappears, her arms full of flowers, which she hands out expressionlessly.

  ‘Hurry up!’ says Mum anxiously. ‘Everyone ready? Right, follow me.’

  We all burst into the corridor. Mum is leading, at the front, and Isabelle suddenly speeds up, slipping her small hand into mine so she can trot importantly by my side. My heart breaks, and I just manage to give her hand a brief squeeze as she smiles up at me eagerly.

  This will be the price I pay for what I did. I have completely and utterly failed to protect her, Olivier and Marc, and Lou, from a now inevitable and very public demise.

  As we reach the top of the stairs I see that, true to her instructions, the lady organizer has emptied the hall of our guests. Only she and Dad remain, cutting a rather lonely figure as he waits outside the large, closed double doors that lead to the ballroom, beyond which waits my fiancé.

  Dad looks quite choked as we all carefully make our descent.

  ‘Now, now. Man up,’ says Mum, but she pats his shoulder as she passes him and slips into the room ahead.

  ‘Shall we?’ Dad smiles, offering me his arm. I take it in a daze, and the doors in front of us swing
open.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Everyone turns around. A sea of beaming smiles. I stare straight ahead so I don’t have to pick out individual faces, but there is Marc at the front, looking so happily back at me I can hardly bear it. I can’t even feel the floor as we start to walk towards him – it’s as if I am stepping through clouds in slow motion, about to fall through a gap and start hurtling to the ground.

  He is a good man who does not deserve this. We shouldn’t marry, I don’t deny that – but this is so cruel and unnecessary.

  We arrive alongside him. He takes my hand. Someone else, I don’t even notice who, reaches for my flowers. Dad melts back and I glance over my shoulder to see Mum standing next to him, and Margot and my stepfather, Derek, standing awkwardly in the row behind them. Mum gives me a brief, determined nod. I look up wildly into the faces of our friends and other members of both our families, and then I see Lou grinning at me, fit to burst with excitement. Rich is standing alongside her, eyes downcast. So he has failed too, then.

  The registrar has started talking and I turn back quickly. She’s welcoming everyone, asking them to please make sure that their mobile phones are switched off. That will make no difference – no one ever actually does that, they’ll all just put them on silent. She tells them the hotel has been duly sanctioned, and that this ceremony will unite Marc and me.

  ‘We are here to celebrate their union and to honour their commitment to each other.’ She speaks warmly, with no hint of her earlier ill humour. I don’t know what is genuine any more. ‘Today they will both proclaim their love for one another.’

  I stand ramrod straight, my back to the firing squad, craning to hear if the whispers have started. It’s way past eight twenty. Who will be the first person to get the pictures? Will they be brave enough to stand up and say something? Marc’s parents’ numbers are both stored in my phone. My family would jump up if the shoe were on the other foot. Will Lou be sent the images again? Will it be her cry that stops everything dead? The whole congregation is about to have grounds for an objection. This is surreal. Who knows, perhaps Josh, too, is right now driving back here at full pelt, ready to burst in through the doors…