The Winter Wedding

by Abby Clements

  It wasn’t the rejection that hurt most. It was feeling like I’d lost my best friend. I missed Sam, badly. Remembering that night, and the stupid mistake I’d made, I drank slowly, until, fuzzy-headed, I fell asleep.

  That weekend, Lila, Ollie and I took a train back to Bidcombe, and then walked from the station to the cottage. I tried not to think about Sam. That wasn’t why we were here. I was relieved when we passed his street, and moved on towards the one we’d grown up on.

  Mum greeted us at the cottage door, with a smile and hug. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said. She squeezed Ollie’s hands. ‘It’s great to see you again, Ollie. It’s been a while since you came up this way, hasn’t it?’

  She ushered us in, and started pouring us all mugs of tea and putting some Hobnobs on a plate.

  I’m making her sound like the perfect mother and housewife, aren’t I? The biscuits, the warm welcome. I love my mum, and she’s always been there for me. But if I left it at that – well, it wouldn’t be giving the full picture.

  Our mum, Alison, is the kind of woman who stands out in a village like Bidcombe. It’s not just her unruly brown hair, or her clothes – charity-shop finds mixed with jeans and Indian headscarves. It’s more the way she’s never thought twice about telling it how it is, or hesitated for a moment considering what someone would think of her.

  Sometimes I’ve wondered why she had ever chosen the cottage, this place – but she always said that having grown up in a city herself she wanted something different – for herself, and then for us. Her job, as a counsellor, was based in the nearest town, a half-hour’s drive away. She had a treatment room there, working mainly with young people. Before she’d had me and Lila, she’d been a journalist at the same tabloid Dad had once done accounts for, but, her edges softened a little by having children (she said), she never went back to Fleet Street. Dad set up his own firm in the village, and she retrained, starting up work properly when Ben was in school. I hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but now I saw that her time on the school run had never been easy. While the other mothers chatted easily together, I think our mum always felt a bit like an outsider.

  Mum would often be thinking about the case she was working on, and she’d forget to say the right thing to the right person about their new Yorkshire terrier or planned kitchen extension. She rarely got round to making things for the village bake sale. But she loved us, always had. The people she was close to she looked after with endless loyalty.

  Dad was in our living room, and jumped quickly to his feet when we came in. He hugged Lila, then me. It always made me feel complete, hugging Dad. The man who’d responded to our cries at night, cooked us fish fingers and alphabetti spaghetti, allayed our fears of spiders, bullies, then, as we took tentative steps into our twenties, professional failure. He looked smaller, somehow, since we’d all left home. His life and Mum’s – once big and sprawling and loud with the three of us – must be much quieter now.

  ‘Well we did rather hope Ben would be able to make it,’ Mum said apologetically. ‘When you said it was important, I asked if he’d come back too, but he said he was too busy.’

  I turned to Lila. ‘I already guessed as much,’ she said, with an air of resignation. ‘When he didn’t call me back I assumed that was the case.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ollie said, matter-of-factly. ‘ We can fill Ben in later.’

  So, I should tell you about Ben. My flesh and blood, just like Lila. The family resemblance is hard to miss – he looks very much like a younger version of Dad, tall and well-proportioned, with a defined dark brow and a nose with a slight bend in it, something Lila and I missed when the genes were being handed out. When I answer the phone, it’s hard to tell the difference between Dad and Ben, so similar are their voices. Dad exudes warmth and inspires confidence – and Ben has that same quality too. Or at least, he used to have it.

  Ben and I used to chat and laugh and play endlessly in the park as kids. But he didn’t seem to have much time for me and Lila these days. He’d been distant for a while, since starting a new job in banking. I hoped that soon things would get back to normal, and we’d laugh about old times again, share jokes around the dinner table, remember the wildness of the summers spent in our garden. More than anything, I hoped that at Lila’s wedding, and at Christmas, we could be a normal family.

  Mum brought her brown curls up into a loose bun, and secured it with a hairband. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit all over the place today,’ she said.

  It was nothing new, or out of the ordinary, but Mum would say things like that when we visited to give the impression that it was. That her usual life was slick, and well organised.

  ‘I had a call from a client this morning, and well . . . it’s kind of thrown me, I suppose. I wanted so much to help him, but I feel like I’m running out of time. He’s been in the system since he was six . . . petty crime, then leading on to this . . .’ she glanced up at me, and the strain was evident in her green eyes.

  ‘I’ve got a file this thick on him,’ Mum said, ‘and I’ve been alerting social services for months now . . .’

  ‘Alison,’ Dad said, gently.

  ‘It only happened this morning, Simon. These are people who . . .’

  ‘I know it’s important,’ Dad said, his voice measured and calm. ‘But I get the sense that Lila and Ollie have come here for a reason today. Don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mum said, her cheeks colouring. ‘Oh God, I was rambling on, wasn’t I? And after all of you have come all this way. I’m not normally like this, you know that . . .’ She took a breath and seemed to compose herself. ‘Go on, Lila.’ She smiled broadly. That warm, wide smile. She’s beautiful, Mum. She had a way of drawing people to her. Our friends always said they felt that they could tell her anything, she made them want to open up and confess everything bad they’d ever done, and, with the forgiveness in that smile, it would be OK.

  Lila took Ollie’s hand in hers and brought it into her lap.

  ‘I knew it,’ Dad said. Tears sprung to his eyes. ‘You’re getting married.’

  ‘Oh don’t, Simon,’ Mum said, laughing. ‘It’s not the same these days, this generation. Let them enjoy being young and happy, just because we rushed in doesn’t mean . . .’

  The shine in Lila’s eyes as she got ready to present her and Ollie’s news, was starting to fade. I saw Ollie squeeze her hand gently, urging her on.

  Lila coughed. ‘Well Dad’s right actually. We are getting married.’ She beamed.

  Mum, blushing furiously now, hugged them both. ‘Well – aren’t I the fool. That’s fantastic.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lila said. Ollie looked as if he might burst with pride as he shook Dad’s hand.

  ‘I’m so happy for you,’ Dad said, hugging Ollie in a heartfelt burst of affection. ‘Brilliant news.’

  Mum looked a little dazed at first, but then smiled. ‘Lovely news, isn’t it?’ she said to Dad.

  ‘Have you set a date yet?’ Dad asked.

  ‘August,’ Ollie said. ‘We know it’s soon, but we both want a summer wedding and we don’t want to wait until next year. I’m not sure we could, really,’ he said, smiling at my sister.

  ‘I’ve found a fantastic wedding planner. Suzanne. And I have a bit of time on my hands at the moment too.’

  Lila’s dance career had hit a wall this past year, as she’d had only a scattering of parts. She talked, often, about her age and when she should retire. But there were some ballerinas who kept going into their late thirties or even forties, I told her. She was still fit. And she still had her dreams.

  ‘A summer wedding, lovely,’ Mum said. Her eyes grew a little shiny as she took Lila by the hand. ‘My little girl.’ She smiled. ‘You’re all grown up.’

  ‘I already was,’ Lila said, laughing it off. ‘Getting married won’t make any difference.’

  But I knew what Mum was thinking. We were all going to have to let Lila go now, and trust that she was in safe hands.

  Later that afterno
on, Dad came into the kitchen to help me make tea.

  ‘So, what exciting news, eh?’ he said, still beaming.

  ‘Yes, great,’ I said.

  ‘But we’ve hardly talked about you,’ Dad said. ‘How is everything at work? Have they given you that promotion you deserve yet?’

  ‘Nope,’ I said, a wave of disappointment flooding back. I took a breath. ‘Actually they gave the job to someone else in the end. I think they wanted someone with more experience.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Dad said. ‘But that doesn’t make any sense – you’ve been working there for ages . . . and your boss was always saying . . .’

  ‘She says a lot of things,’ I said. It was starting to dawn on me that perhaps Emma would always come first for Emma – that she didn’t even have it in her to have my best interests at heart. ‘I shouldn’t have got my hopes up really, not until it was more certain.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You OK for money? I’m sure me and your mum . . .’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lied. I’d been half-wondering all day whether to ask Mum and Dad for the money I needed to tide me over, but it seemed a crass thing to do on Lila and Ollie’s day, plus my pride kept niggling at me.

  ‘I mean, I will be,’ I corrected myself, ‘just as soon as I get someone in for the room in the flat. How hard can it be to find a new Lila?’ I laughed, but it came out sounding a little hollow.

  ‘OK,’ Dad said, nodding. ‘Well, you know we can always help you, if you need something to tide you over.’

  I thought of how good it would feel to clear my debts. But I knew this wasn’t the right way – I had to sort things out for myself.

  We left the cottage for the train station, walking back through the streets of Bidcombe. It had been nice to spend the day with Mum and Dad and to celebrate Lila’s good news together as a family. Well, with almost all the family.

  ‘Hey, isn’t that . . .?’ Lila said, pointing towards the bakery. I looked over, and there he was, chatting to the owner, visible through the glass. His sandy blonde hair and that contagious smile – I could already see it reflected in the expression of the woman serving him. Sam.

  I paused outside the door, and butterfly wings fluttered against the walls of my stomach.

  Part of me yearned to talk to him, another still burned with the humiliation of the way our last meeting turned out.

  Lila went to call out to him, but I put a hand on her arm. ‘ We haven’t got long before the train,’ I said. ‘Let’s just go.’

  Lila and Ollie went to the buffet car on the train, leaving me with too much time to think.

  I wondered what Sam was doing right now. Sitting in his room, listening to music . . . reading comics. Like the two of us used to do together. Back then I’d see his eyes flicker over the images and it was almost as if I was taking in the story too – I knew I didn’t have to wait long until he’d finish, and we’d talk about it together. Sometimes Sam only had to say the first word of a sentence and I’d be able to finish it for him. The detail of his bedroom, the Blu-tacked posters, the worn blue carpet with trains on it. It was strange to walk right past that house now and not stop by. Then it hit me – fifteen years had passed since those days. And while we’d remained friends, a lot of water had passed under the bridge since then.

  I saw Lila and Ollie coming back down the aisle of the train, and shrugged off the memory. From the smile on Lila’s face, I knew she had something important to say to me.

  ‘I’ve got a favour to ask,’ she said, sitting down.

  ‘Sure. Fire away.’

  ‘Will you be my chief bridesmaid, Hazel?’

  I felt tears well in my eyes.

  ‘Say you will?’ she prompted me.

  I brushed away a tear and smiled, then gave her a big hug. ‘Of course I will, silly.’

  Chapter 3

  The night I got back from the cottage, I placed an ad on Gumtree for a new flatmate. Lila telling our parents about the engagement, and inviting me to be part of the day, had made it all seem more real. Lila was right – I needed to move on – and my bank balance spoke for itself.

  Over the course of the week there had been people interested – plenty of them.

  It was a Sunday afternoon, and the woman on my sofa, who’d introduced herself as Zuzy (‘Two z’s’), and was in her early twenties, curled her sock-clad feet up under her. The Kermit faces on them were still peeking out. She cradled her tea in towards her chest, and a smile spread across her face, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  ‘I’m SO glad I found this place, Hazel. I mean I know the room’s not massive, but I don’t have much. I had to leave my last flatshare in a bit of a hurry, you see. I left some things behind and I haven’t wanted to go back to pick them up. But we weren’t friends there. That was always the problem.’

  I listened to Zuzy, hoping that a natural break in her conversation would come soon. She’d been talking without pausing to draw breath for what felt like at least an hour.

  ‘It’s going to be different here – I just know it,’ she said, happily. ‘Because we are going to be friends, and do everything together.’

  At this she let out a small squeal of excitement. Oh God, this felt like it was spiralling out of my control, and I had to claw something back. I coughed loudly and got to my feet. ‘So. Thanks so much for coming. It was good to meet you.’

  I was a horrible person. I was going to crush this girl’s dreams.

  ‘You too,’ she said, putting her tea down, looking slightly confused. ‘You said the 5th of April, as a move-in date, didn’t you?’

  ‘As the potential date, yes,’ I said, wishing I’d never said anything about it. ‘Anyway, thanks for coming, and I’ll let you know what I decide.’

  It was awkward, ushering her almost physically out of the front door, but as I closed it I felt an overwhelming rush of relief. It was my choice – I didn’t have to give just anyone the keys. And I definitely, definitely wasn’t giving them to Zuzy.

  The afternoon of interviews had left me with a sinking feeling. The male dental student had talked non-stop about cavity prevention, Zuzy in all her neediness, and then there was the teenage trust-fund girl who’d arrived with a list of interview questions for me. None of them were right. They weren’t even close. And I wasn’t even being that picky.

  I thought of the happy times Lila and I had spent at the flat and reminded myself that they were over now. I had to move on – and if that meant compromising, so be it.

  Back at the office on Monday, I pinned the advert to the noticeboard by the kettle:

  Wanted: flatmate for a spacious

  two-bedroomed flat in Bethnal Green.

  Must like cakes. And cats.

  Contact Hazel@tvtwenty-one.com.

  I hadn’t planned on asking people at work, but after seeing what the wider world had to offer, I reasoned that at least the people I worked with were relatively sane.

  I worked that morning on some minutes for our Monday catch-up meeting, and just before lunchtime a message pinged into my inbox.

  To: Hazel Delaney

  From: Amber McGuire

  Subject: Your ad

  Right. For the purposes of identification, I’m the new girl.

  I sit over by the photocopier, black hair, glasses. I’m Tim’s assistant and sit on my own at lunchtime. That’s just the deal of the new girl, I think, as I’m actually OK. Pay rent on time, offer fairly decent company. Have a great selection of box sets.

  I’d love to see your flat. When’s good for you?

  Amber

  I glanced around and Amber caught my eye and smiled. Amber – with her long, black hair and tortoiseshell glasses, seemed to have fitted into the office right away. I had been meaning to introduce myself to her properly – I really had. Well, I say meaning to – in that, ‘once I’ve finished this, I’ll go right over and say hi’ way. I guess I’d been putting it off. Because it would mean seeing her boss Tim, the man who was doing the job I’d hoped I would
be doing by now.

  But that was hardly Amber’s fault. I couldn’t just ignore Amber’s nice, friendly email – even though part of me longed to do just that. I took a deep breath, swallowed down my pride and walked over to her desk.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, ‘I’m Hazel. I thought I’d come round in person. Nice to properly meet you.’ I wondered for a moment if I should hold out my hand for her to shake. No, too formal.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, seeming so much more laidback than me. ‘So your place sounds great, that’s just the area I’ve been looking in. Well – I should say it’s the area I started looking in. Since then I’ve covered pretty much everywhere in zones 1–5. And I haven’t ruled out 6 either. The way things have been going I might end up in Manchester.’

  She laughed, but looked weary. I remembered how it was when Lila and I had been looking for somewhere, consoling ourselves with wine after seeing yet another dump.

  ‘You should come around.’ I did my best to summon up enthusiasm – she did seem nice, she really did – but my voice came out sounding flat. She wasn’t Lila. Whichever way I looked at it, she was not my twin sister and never would be.

  Her face brightened, and she seemed oblivious to my mixed feelings. ‘How about Thursday, after work?’

  The day quietened down after that. Emma went home at eleven, which even given her record was pretty early. I took the opportunity to focus on what Lila and I had talked about. One of my first responsibilities was helping with invites, so I got to work designing some mock-ups for invites for Lila and Ollie. At my desk, the dividers giving me a bit of privacy, I played around with fonts on my computer, preparing the designs so that I could print them out on card. I was meeting Lila for lunch, but I wanted to get them just right before I showed her anything.

  ‘Party invites on work time?’ I leapt in guilty surprise, and looked up on hearing the male voice. Josh was standing there with a smile on his lips.