by Sandie Jones
‘Actually, no, it can’t,’ I said, sweeping back into the living room, knife still in hand.
He sat up a bit straighter, but only to see past me to the telly. I grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and switched it off.
‘What the hell?’ he called out. ‘It’s the semi-final.’
‘We need to talk.’
‘What about?’ he moaned, sounding like a petulant child.
I sat down on the coffee table, directly in front of him, so that he couldn’t shirk or fidget. He looked warily at the knife in my hand.
‘We need to talk about your mother,’ I said, placing it gently down on the wooden top beside me.
He groaned. ‘Really? Again? I thought we’d got over all this?’
‘You need to talk to her,’ I went on. ‘Her behaviour is just not acceptable, and I will not allow it to cause problems between us.’
‘It doesn’t,’ he said naively. ‘I thought you were getting on better. That was certainly the impression I got from her after your hen weekend.’
I rested my head in my hands, rubbing at my eyes, to give me time to think how best to approach it. ‘She did something utterly unforgivable in Portugal,’ I started. ‘And it has caused me so much anxiety and pain that I can’t move on until I tell you about it and you realize what she’s done and how it’s made me feel.’
He leant forward, but I could see he was in two minds as to whether to touch me reassuringly, or hold back for fear of being seen to go against his mother. He chose the latter. ‘Well, what did she do that was so bad?’
I cleared my throat. ‘She invited Charlotte.’
I waited for him to leap up and say, ‘What the hell?’ but he stayed where he was. ‘Who’s Charlotte?’ he said, unfazed.
This wasn’t going how I wanted it to go. ‘Charlotte. Tom’s Charlotte!’
He shook his head, nonplussed.
‘Are you doing this on purpose?’ I cried. ‘My best friend, the one who slept with Tom.’
He looked confused. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Exactly! That’s my point. Your mum thought it would be a good idea to reacquaint us, so she tracked her down and brought her to Portugal.’
‘But that doesn’t even make sense,’ he said. At last we were getting somewhere, but he wasn’t making it easy.
‘She did it to spite me,’ I went on. ‘She went out of her way to find her.’
‘But she wasn’t to know,’ he said defensively. ‘How was she to know what went on between you?’
‘Because my mum told her!’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, rising up from the sofa. ‘If Mum had had any idea of what had happened between you, she’d never have done it. She obviously thought she was doing a good thing, a nice thing, by surprising you.’
‘Adam, what part of this are you not getting?’ I cried, tears springing to my eyes. ‘She did it on purpose. She knew why we’d fallen out and got her there to upset me.’
‘But she wouldn’t dream of doing that,’ he said. ‘I think you’re just being paranoid.’
‘You need to speak to her, to find out what the hell her problem is because, if you don’t, she’ll destroy us.’
He let out a short laugh. ‘A little melodramatic, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I mean it, Adam. You need to have it out with her. This personal vendetta against me has got to stop.’
‘She’s never said anything about you, against you, or to belittle you.’ He was standing now.
‘You can believe what you want to believe, but I’m telling you, you’re living in cloud cuckoo land. You’re completely in denial.’
‘She’s my mother, for Christ’s sake. I think I know her better than you do.’
I looked at him and kept my voice calm and steady. ‘Whatever her problem is, you need to sort it out. I will not put up with it any longer.’
He smiled and shook his head condescendingly.
‘Do you hear me?’ I shouted, as if to labour the point.
I walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. If he wasn’t prepared to do something about Pammie, then I would.
26
I slid under the water as the doorbell rang, the sound suddenly deafened by the crackle of bubble bath quietly popping above me.
Go away, I silently pleaded.
And I thought my prayers had been answered, but just as I pushed myself up, the rudimentary chime echoed around the flat again.
‘Oh, leave me alone!’ I said out loud.
It buzzed and buzzed again.
‘Okay, I’m coming,’ I muttered, annoyed that my pampering session had come to a premature end. I scooped my hair up into a towel and grabbed my dressing gown from the hook on the wall.
‘This had better be important,’ I said, as I opened the door, expecting to see Pippa or Seb standing there.
‘James!’ I instinctively pulled my gown tighter around me, in the vain hope that it might somehow make me feel less vulnerable. ‘Adam’s not in,’ I said, without opening the door another inch. ‘He’s having a drink with the boys from work.’
‘I haven’t come to see Adam,’ he said, his speech a little slurred. He gently pushed on the door.
‘Now’s not a good time,’ I said, my heart beating fast, my bare foot trying to hold the door firm.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘I’ve not come here to cause trouble.’
I looked at him, his kind eyes and soft features, his full lips upturned ever so slightly at the corners. He’d been drinking, but he seemed friendly, approachable. I eased the pressure off the door and moved out of the way, letting him come in. He smiled and pushed his hair back, away from his eyes. It felt like I was watching Adam from ten years ago, back when he was with Rebecca. I wondered if the peppered spots of grey at Adam’s temples and the vexed frown he now wore daily were a result of Rebecca’s untimely death. It couldn’t have been easy, being such a young man, with his life planned out ahead of him, intending to share it with the one he loved, only to lose her so suddenly and so unnecessarily. I didn’t give Adam enough credit for having pulled himself out of the hole he must have been in, and fighting back.
‘Help yourself to a drink,’ I said, signalling towards the kitchen.
He smiled and raised his eyebrows suggestively.
‘A tea or coffee, I mean. I’ll just go and get changed.’
I heard a cork being sucked out of a bottle, as I combed my wet hair in the bathroom mirror, the glass still steamed up from my hot bath. The water lay stagnant, the foam bubbles dissipated, and I reached in to remove the plug, then folded my discarded towel and hung it on the heated rail.
It didn’t matter what I looked like – why would it? – but I wanted to check my reflection anyway. I rubbed a circle in the misted mirror, and pulled back as I saw James standing behind me, a glass of red wine in his hand.
Time seemed to stand still, the only sound the bath water gently gurgling as it ran away.
‘James, I . . .’ I spun round to face him, my wraparound gown falling open at the chest.
‘I’m sorry . . . I . . .’ he stuttered. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
I quickly dressed in black leggings and one of Adam’s shirts, rolling up the sleeves as I walked into the living room. It occurred to me then that perhaps I’d subconsciously made a symbolic choice to show I was Adam’s girl.
‘So, what brings you here?’ I asked, as casually as I could.
‘I just thought I’d pop by,’ he said.
I walked over to the window. ‘You’ve not driven, have you?’ I couldn’t see his car in the street below.
‘No, I got a cab,’ he said.
‘All the way from Sevenoaks?’ I exclaimed.
He nodded.
‘Well, as I said, Adam’s not here, so I’m afraid it’s been a wasted journey.’
‘I’ve not come to see Adam.’
I poured myself a glass of red from the bottle on the kitchen countertop to
calm myself.
‘So . . .’ I said, choosing to stay standing rather than sit on the sofa next to him.
‘I wanted to talk to you. Needed to talk to you.’
‘James, don’t,’ I said, walking around the kitchen island. It somehow felt safer with a metre of granite between us.
‘You need to know,’ he said, going to stand up.
I could feel my defences weakening. There was a part of me that wanted to hear what he had to say, but I wanted to close my ears off to it at the same time. I didn’t need any more confusion in my life. Adam and I had taken a huge step forward since I’d last seen James. If he told me how he felt, I feared I’d be taking two steps back again.
‘I think you ought to go,’ I said. I felt myself physically moving backwards.
‘Can you please listen to me for a minute?’ he said, reaching for my hand. ‘If you give me a chance, just for a few weeks, I will prove to you how happy I can make you.’ His piercing eyes stared at me intently.
‘You’re not being fair, James. I’m about to marry your brother. Does that not mean anything to you?’
‘But he won’t look after you the way I would.’
If I was honest with myself, he was probably right. James was the antithesis of everything that his brother stood for. Adam exuded confidence in any situation; he’d always be the first to introduce himself, take command in a restaurant, or pull his pants down during a rugby sing-song. That’s who Adam was, and I was well aware that if he wasn’t so forthright, we’d never have got together in the first place. James was reserved, more refined, and always seemed to consider what he was saying and doing before he did it. He’d still be listening to me, long past the point when Adam would have switched off. And he’d hold me up when, all around me, everything would be falling down.
His head was just inches away, his lips so close to mine that I could almost taste them. All I needed to do was close my eyes, and be transported to another place.
‘You deserve better,’ he murmured. ‘I promise I will never hurt you.’
I pulled back. For all his faults, I knew that Adam would never intentionally hurt me. Was James suggesting he would?
‘Adam’s good to me . . .’
I was startled by a noise on the landing, and turned to see Adam standing there, clearly the worse for wear. We both jumped back, as if we’d had an electric shock. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
‘Hey, hey, what’s going on here?’ he slurred, as he leant against the living-room door frame, loosening what looked to be an already loose tie.
‘I . . . we . . .’ I started, keeping my head down, trying to disguise the guilt I was sure would be written all over my face.
‘I’m about to win a bet,’ said James, reaching around my neck and pulling on my collar. ‘I’m reckoning this is my shirt. You must have nicked it when we were both staying at Mum’s over Christmas.’
‘It’s bloody not,’ said Adam, attempting to walk towards us in a straight line. ‘I’ll have you know that’s my Gant shirt.’
James leant in to take a peek, his breath hot on my neck. ‘Ha, Eton! Told you. That’s mine, you bloody thief.’
So, I was now wearing James’s shirt? The irony wasn’t lost on me.
‘Hey, babe,’ slurred Adam, giving me a wet kiss. I instinctively pulled back. His breath smelt of alcohol and kebabs, and he reeked of smoke.
‘What’s up, darling? Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
‘Of course I am,’ I laughed nervously, ‘but you stink. Have you been smoking?’ I’d be surprised if he had, as he knew it was one of my pet hates.
‘What? No, of course not.’ He smelt the sleeve of his suit jacket and looked at me nonplussed, as if that proved I’d imagined it.
He slung an arm carelessly around me and leant his bulk against my shoulder.
‘So, what are you doing here, J-boy?’ Adam asked, his voice getting louder.
I looked at James wide-eyed, willing him to have a plausible excuse, ready to offer.
‘I need to pick up the receipt for the rings from you,’ he said calmly.
Adam clumsily patted himself down with his free hand. The other was still hanging over my shoulder, weighing me down.
‘I haven’t got it, you took it,’ he said, looking confused. ‘I dishtinct—’ He pulled himself off me and crouched down on the floor, laughing. ‘Ahem,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I distinctly remember you taking it.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said James. ‘I’ve checked my wallet, but maybe it’s in my trouser pocket.’
‘That’s where it will be,’ said Adam, shouting the first word, then mumbling, almost inaudibly, the rest of the sentence.
James and I looked at each other and smiled resignedly. ‘And you thought you were drunk?’ I said.
‘Come on, big fella,’ he said to Adam, reaching down to him. ‘Let’s get you into bed.’
‘Only if you come with me.’ Adam laughed. Neither of us knew who he was talking to.
James pulled Adam up, and put his body weight underneath him.
I rushed to the bathroom and quickly unbuttoned the shirt I was wearing. I don’t know if I was surprised or not that the label clearly said ‘Gant’.
27
Five days before the wedding, Pammie called to ask if six more guests could be invited to the service. Four days before the wedding, she asked if she could stay at the hotel with me the night before. Three days before the wedding, she wanted the seating plan emailed over to her.
I said a resounding ‘no’ to everything.
‘She’s only trying to help,’ commented Adam, when I complained about her interference. ‘The poor woman can’t win.’
I looked witheringly at him, disappointed yet not remotely surprised. He’d made his position very clear. If I was honest with myself, I don’t think I expected any different.
True to form, Pammie had turned on the waterworks and played the innocent, when Adam had, apparently, taken her to task over lunch a couple of days ago. She claimed to have no idea why Charlotte and I fell out, and swore blind that any misgivings I had about her and her motives were widely misplaced. ‘All she wants, more than anything in the world, is to be your friend,’ Adam had said when he got home.
‘So, that’s it?’ I’d asked incredulously. ‘She says that, and you believe her? End of story?’
He’d shrugged. ‘What else am I supposed to do?’
‘Believe me,’ I’d said, before walking out.
The ‘family dinner’ was the start of our celebrations, a small, intimate affair, a time to be with our nearest and dearest before the craziness of the big day descended on us. If I had my way, it would just be my family, but I’m not selfish enough to deem my wishes any more important than Adam’s.
‘Do I look okay?’ I asked him, smoothing down the crêpe of my black dress, and then picking up a silk scarf.
‘Gorgeous,’ he said, before planting a kiss on my cheek.
‘You didn’t even look,’ I teased.
‘I don’t need to,’ he replied.
‘That was corny, even for you.’
I put two lipsticks in my clutch bag, one pillar-box red, reserved for nights I was going ‘out, out’, the other a nude, for when the evening was winding down. Still, I figured, tonight might end with me in red. It was, after all, the penultimate night before our wedding, and I wasn’t ever intending to do this again.
Mum, Dad, Stuart and Laura were already in the bar of The Ivy when we arrived. Mum, cheeks flushed, happily raised a champagne saucer to us as our coats were taken.
‘Eh up, your mum’s on the sauce already.’ Adam laughed.
‘It’ll likely be prosecco, rather than the real stuff,’ I said. ‘At least until she knows we’re paying.’
The evening would have been perfect, had it just been the six of us, but the dark cloud of Pammie’s impending arrival hung low over me. I could feel my body stooping as each minute passed, the weight on my shoulders beari
ng down heavily.
Half an hour after our agreed meeting time, Pammie made her entrance, with James at her side.
Seeing him ravaged my brain with confusion, but I refused to give in to it. Tonight, I was going to be the epitome of self-control.
‘Good to see you,’ I said to James. His lips seemed to settle on my cheek for just a second too long.
‘Good to see you, too,’ he said quietly. ‘How are you?’
‘Everything’s just great,’ I said, conscious of relaying the same sentiment with my eyes. ‘Chloe not joining us?’ I asked, looking around him.
‘No, afraid not. Thought Mum had let you know?’
I shook my head and raised my eyebrows.
‘We’ve gone our separate ways,’ he said.
‘Oh, sorry to hear that,’ I mustered.
‘It’s for the best,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t right, she wasn’t the one.’
‘You never know,’ I said, almost cheerily. ‘She might have been.’
‘Don’t think so. You know when it’s right, don’t you?’ His eyes bored into mine.
I ignored him and turned to greet Pammie. Her mouth was held firm in a thin, tight line.
‘Pamela, how lovely,’ I enthused. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’
We both knew my words were dripping with sarcasm, but nobody else would have noticed.
‘Emily.’ She scowled. I waited for the comment I was sure would follow: about how much weight I’d put on, or lost, depending on her mood; about the colour of my hair, which was a little lighter than normal; or about the dress I was wearing. For the first time I actually felt ready for it, but nothing came.
‘Darling,’ she said, turning to Adam and hugging him, but her mouth remained pinched, as if she was keeping it clamped shut for fear of what might come out of it if she didn’t.
‘Mum, how are you?’ he said, embracing her warmly.
Her eyes shot down to the floor. ‘Could be better,’ she said glumly. I silently pleaded with Adam not to ask, not to give her the satisfaction. Mum spilling the contents of her glass as she lifted herself off her bar stool seemed to be the answer to my prayers.
‘Oops, sorry,’ she said, regaining her balance. ‘I hadn’t realized I was so high up.’