by Ruby Soames
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to marry Sylvia –’ I whisper.
‘Who?’ she says turning to me.
‘What d’you mean who? Joseph!’
‘Huh? Who said Joseph was getting married?’ She looks at me. ‘Oh my God, Sarah! You missed the big secret!’
‘The big secret?’
‘We all just got a debrief! Oh my God, it’s so cool!’ She curls into herself to contain her excitement and then throws out her arms: ‘The Joseph-Sylvia thing: it’s not real! It’s all made up – a decoy!’
‘A decoy? For what?’
‘This is all for Sylvia and Blizzard!’
‘Sylvia and … not Joseph?’
‘This is Rebecca’s piece de resistance – it’s a big Hollywood gay wedding! And Joseph’s the best man – and he’s giving her away! If we can find him! Come on.’ She pulls me up by my elbow and, as we walk back to the house, she brings me up to speed. ‘Sylvia really wants him to be here,’ she says. ‘Joseph was the person who helped her come out. This is all because of him! But Rebecca said, he got upset and –’ her chatter is drowned out by the sound of helicopters overhead.
‘Sarah! Come on!’ she calls from behind the gospel choir. ‘We’ve got to get ready – we’re the fucking bridesmaids!’
I follow Ottilie through the mansion to the main bedroom where Sylvia’s make-up artist sits in front of her, lost for what to add to an already perfect face.
The new information whizzes around my brain. Rebecca had alluded to this not necessarily being Joseph’s wedding and it isn’t.
‘More bridesmaids!’ laughs Sylvia as two women dressed as Las Vegas showgirls add another layer of tropical flowers to her hair.
‘Have they found him?’ asks an actress who starred in a BBC period drama my mum used to love.
‘No, but they’re still looking,’ says a man wearing a tribal headdress and drawing on an electric cigarette – the same man who played the drums at Henry and Yuleka’s wedding.
‘He’s been so down lately, since he broke up with his girl’ says Sylvia sipping at her champagne glass. ‘Isn’t it always the way that just when you find success with one part of your life, another turns shit. Well, there goes my career!’ laughs Sylvia, and then cooes as a Bajan girl comes in with a little dog dressed in white satin with a veil pinned down by a diamond tiara.
‘Come on ladies!’ claps the make-up artist.
Seeing a bathroom free, I jump into a power-shower to wash away the grass, the dirt and the tension from the afternoon.
When I come out, people are still looking for Joseph.
‘We’ll find him, don’t panic!’ yells a woman as she tears down the staircase. ‘Don’t panic! Where is he? Jesus! Find him!’
We slip on the simple satin dresses while a make-up lady comes at us with her mascara brush. While she is dabbing my lips with a gloss, Sylvia appears.
‘Sarah,’ she says, dropping to her knees.
‘You look just … so … beautiful!’ I say and really mean it.
‘Thank you,’ she closes her eyes, dips her head down and looks back up at me. Sylvia puts her hand over my wrist and says, ‘I know you – you’re Sarah! Joe showed me photos of you – and you’re here!’ Her laugh tinkles around the room. ‘Oh my God! You are Sarah. I’m so happy to meet you!’
‘If only I’d met you six months ago!’ I say.
‘I know – can you imagine the way I felt? – Blizzard was mad as hell with all the stories but at least we were together. I always said to Joe, straighten it out – just go to her and tell her – but all this long distance, and so many different people telling you all kinds of things – and then you vanished! What you must think … about me … and –’ she takes my hands in her soft little fingers. ‘Joseph’s my best friend. He wasn’t ever my … you know. I don’t do cock. You believe me, don’t you?’
I nod. ‘But it was just so hard to believe him –’
‘I know. We live in a crazy, crazy world,’ Sylvia sighs, her complexion like candle wax. ‘It was a big deal to come out about Blizzard. I was terrified. Then Rebecca had the idea of making a really great story – it was only at the last minute that Joseph agreed to this wedding idea, he wanted it here in Barbados. We swore each other to secrecy – Rebecca made him promise not to say anything to anyone but Joe was just so worried about you.’ A diamond-shaped tear balances on her eyelid. She waves away someone trying to brush her hair. ‘He was heartbroken when you guys split, he wanted to do something really dramatic and special to win you over and prove to you that he’s never been even remotely interested in anyone else. Joe’s just not like that – he adores you!’
Margaux bursts through the door, her dress half-melted. ‘Come on! Let’s go! Are the bridesmaids ready?’
‘It’ll be you next Sarah!’ Sylvia says as she turns and hurries down the sweeping staircase. ‘I am so happy you’re here!’
While the bridesmaids wait for Sylvia’s big entrance, Ottilie takes my hand. ‘You could have told me you were Joseph West’s bloody girlfriend!’
The orchestra strikes overtures from musicals. People sing or hum the tunes they know, and the atmosphere builds until a cheer breaks out as Blizzard appears at the top of the aisle dressed in an aluminium suit with a giant white carnation in the pocket. The string instruments fade as a rap version of Here Comes the Bride blares over the speakers.
Heads turn as dozens of white doves are released.
And then Joseph steps through an arch made entirely of flowers and accompanied by Sylvia in a dress made entirely of white rose petals.
Joseph in a dark suit and white shirt is predictably irresistible. The two of them look at each other and laugh conspiratorially then try to look as solemn as they can. There are explosions of ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaahs’ from the crowd as Sylvia’s dog trots up in diamonds and a veil.
Margaux gestures to us to follow behind. At the altar Joseph gives Sylvia a kiss on the cheek. The crowd cheer and Blizzard takes Sylvia’s hand while the priest, a Caribbean woman in layers of multi-coloured skirts and a beatific smile, welcomes them centre stage.
Joseph moves to the side and stands beside a woman who claps wildly. I peer at her and see my mother in pink with large Hibiscus flowers in her hair. Joe holds his fingers clasped together, looking thoughtfully into his palms.
‘Fucktastic!’ says Ottilie.
With the service over, everyone from the congregation runs onto the stage to hug and congratulate the couple. Joseph smiles, but I can tell he is distracted, distant. It isn’t the time to approach him so I hang back.
I find Mum helping herself to champagne and a crayfish tail.
‘This could have been your wedding Sarah. What a balls-up you’ve made of your life.’ The hibiscus petal around her left ear is drooping into her cheek.
‘Can you pour me a glass?’ I ask.
She pushes a champagne flute into my hand and we watch Sylvia and Blizzard in their slow dance.
‘I can’t believe it. Joseph had wanted to show you how it all worked – the manipulation and the string-pulling – he wanted to surprise you – make you see that Sylvia bats for the other team and come out in public about his feelings for you. But instead, he finds out that you were the one with another man. You didn’t even tell me!’ She puts up a hand in protest. ‘Don’t, Sarah. I have to go and comfort someone who’s feeling very bereft. And that’s Joseph, if you haven’t worked it out.’
A voice behind us makes me turn. ‘Sarah, my dear, I’ve been trying desperately to get in touch with you!’ booms Johnny with Kimberly smiling at his arm. ‘I just want to say how really sorry and responsible I feel about what happened. The captain of my boat should have made sure everyone was safe. I have already set up an enquiry and –’
‘Sorry? Oh that. It was nothing to do with you, don’t worry –’
All that Mum said runs through my head.
Johnny’s apologies continue until Ottilie cuts in. ‘If you want a lift Sarah – I’m l
eaving now.’ She glares at Johnny.
‘See you ladies later at the party,’ Johnny says as they glide back into the crowd.
Ottilie looks tearful. ‘Someone told me that Johnny and Kimberley’s spent the afternoon looking at engagement rings. Sorry – I just can’t stand this. I’m going –’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I say, relieved.
‘You don’t want to talk to Joe?’ Ottilie asks.
‘Yes, I want to talk to him, but this isn’t the right time.’
10
Ottilie stops the car at the hotel entrance and takes a deep breath. ‘Look, it’s not my business but if I stood a chance with Joseph West, I wouldn’t hang around.’
I am about to explain more when she puts a stern hand on my shoulder. ‘You didn’t speak to him at the wedding! What could he be thinking? I mean, now that you know the truth about him, you’ve heard everybody saying how much he loves you … what’s keeping you?’
‘I feel bankrupted in trust –’
‘Find it! Soon. Both of you! And don’t listen to Rebecca, love’s more important than silly careers – she’s never had a boyfriend in her life, and it’s made her so cynical. But the truth is, she was planning this gay marriage thing with Sylvia and it was Joseph who suggested doing it in Barbados because he knew you’d be here. He was bloody miserable before today – sort it out. Meanwhile –’ she unravelled a list of the World’s 50 Richest Men from her handbag, ‘this one –’ she pointed at a picture of small, fat bald man grinning over a bow tie, ‘he’s coming to the dinner tonight. He owns seven houses, just got divorced from his fourth wife. Nice smile, eh? – when he closes his mouth.’
We promise to keep in touch when we are back in London and as she speeds away with a wave, I turn into the hotel for my last night in Barbados.
The receptionist hands me my keys and holds up a newspaper cutting about the rescue for me to sign. Other staff come to see my bruises and ask about the celebrity wedding.
I pass the pool, lit up like an aquamarine gem. No Peter, no Templeton-Crests, no Yuleka.
No Henry.
Ferdi – I shut my eyes trying to push out my last picture of him wrapped up on the dusty pavement under a makeshift home. But each time, the image of his cadaverous body nestled into the rubbish comes back to me.
The restaurant with its internationally renowned French chef had intimidated me before, but I consider trying it out on this last night, or going to my room and finishing my book.
Walking down the corridor, I let out a sad sigh to be leaving, and above everything, to be leaving Ferdi. I want to give him something that will really make a difference.
I pass Peter’s room on tiptoe as if afraid to waken a ghost. No light from under the door, no sound, nothing; I know it’s empty, waiting for the next tourist to occupy his bed, see the same view and fill his wardrobe with their clothes. I give him a mental wave goodbye, goodbye to the late-night drinking and moonlight swims.
‘Miss Sarah! Miss Sarah!’
I spin around to see Ferdi rushing towards me down the corridor. He stops, bends his knees and slides over the polished floor for about two and half metres until he comes to a balletic stop.
‘Wow!’
‘Good eh? We call it floor-surfing – we have competitions when the guests aren’t around. Miss Sarah, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!’
‘Oh Ferdi – I can’t take any more surprises.’
‘I’ve got good news! There’s a man to see you, ma’am.’
‘But it’s your day off – what are you doing here?’
‘My work covers twenty-four hour shifts, ma’am,’ he looks at me. ‘Maybe you didn’t notice.’ Then he shakes his head. ‘The island has been abuzz with the sensational wedding – your mother told me all about it – all about it. The party will go on all night but he’s waiting in the library.’
‘He’ll have to wait.’
‘To wait? Do you –’
‘Yes, Ferdi. I’ve got to do something first.’
‘But … but … but he really wants to see you.’
All this time, Ferdi is widening his eyes and nodding towards the library. I turn towards my room when Ferdi touches my arm, insisting, ‘But you don’t know who he is!’
‘I’ve a good idea. Ferdi, just tell him I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘But … but –’
‘What, why are you looking at me like that?’
‘It’s Joseph West, ma’am. The actor!’ he blurts.
‘I thought so.’
‘I asked him to wait for you in the library – he wanted somewhere private. He’s drinking a Tequila Sunrise. I said I’d find you. He’s waiting.’ By this time, Ferdi is almost dragging me by the sleeve.
‘Ferdi, I have to do something first – it involves you.’
‘Me?’
I walk into my room looking back to ensure Ferdi follows.
‘Oh ma’am. He’s so handsome and oh, so charming. We talked about his films and his career. I even told him I thought he was wonderful in The Pearl-Fed Woman. I hope he didn’t mind my saying that – he’s probably told that all the time – but he said, “Thank you”.’
I walk over to my writing desk, find a page of the hotel’s headed notepaper and jot down a few lines for Joseph, fold it over and put it in an envelope.
‘That’s my favourite one too,’ I say distractedly as he lists the films that he’s enjoyed seeing Joseph in.
I hand the letter to Ferdi who is baffled by my leisurely approach to having a movie star waiting for me.
‘Give him this. I’ll wait here for a reply.’
‘This is totally Jane Austen!’ exclaims Ferdi, bowing his head and taking the letter from me before sliding back to the library.
A few minutes later Ferdi rushes back.
‘This is all very exciting, ma’am,’ he stops to catch his breath. ‘He said, “Tell her, I will see to her request, as long as she agrees to have dinner with me tonight.” ‘
‘Sarah, please call me Sarah. You might like to know what I wrote, Ferdi?’
He strains to keep from bouncing on his heels.
‘OK. I said that I would see him on one condition. The condition is that he reads your script or whatever you have to show him, and, if he likes it, he will help you with it. It’s not a promise of anything but –’
‘Oh, ma’am!’ His lips are quivering. ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ he cries, twirling around in front of me, ‘Oh!’ His arms close around me.
I laugh at his happiness, both of us filled with so much hope, both of us on the precipice of believing in luck.
‘He loves you Miss Sarah – I could see it in his smile. I never wanted to say – but I knew there was someone you were missing all the time – and when you were in the hospital, my first thought was of that person, and that they might never know the love they were losing. And then – your mother told me everything – and now! Joseph West, and my Miss Sarah! Go to him – don’t waste another minute – there’s still a little bit of sunset left!’
11
Joseph is sitting in the English rose garden leading from the library, still wearing the suit he’d worn at the wedding but the shirt is un-tucked, smudged with mud, the jacket crumpled and his chin carrying a five o’clock shadow. His eyes are tired, deep in thought.
Joseph puts out his hand. ‘I’m Joseph.’
‘Everyone knows who you are.’
‘No one knows me as well as you.’
Joseph has a way of sometimes dropping his head to one side, looking up at an angle and smiling up at you. It is very endearing – scrap that – it’s devastating.
He hands me a Tequila Sunrise.
‘Cheers,’ I sip the drink, put it down and watch the last rays of sun illuminate my drink. Crimson. Red. Orange. Yellow. The setting sun, the warmth of the alcohol, and sitting next to each other with the roses nodding in the evening breeze, leaves us depleted, sated. We rest our heads against each other.
‘I fee
l,’ says Joseph, ‘I feel as if we’ve arrived on dry land after months and months of being shipwrecked.’
‘Are we home … Joseph? Have we arrived?’
‘Oh yes, my Sarah. And this new land is going to be even better than we ever imagined.’
We cling to each other, each of our mouths searching for the other’s like travellers scrambling towards an oasis.
‘I’ve got so much to tell you – and you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Shall we go and say hello to the sea first?’
‘I’ve missed talking to you so much,’ he says, downing his drink and standing up.
‘Life’s too short when I’m with you Joe, but without you, it just goes on and on and on – it takes so long!’
He sees me flinch as I try to stand up. So I show him the black and yellow bruises on my thighs and the cuts on my hands.
‘Does it hurt to move?’
‘No, nothing really hurts anymore.’
Joseph stretches his arm around my shoulder, ‘Come on, lean on me.’ I rest against him, ‘I didn’t know you were such a swimmer.’
‘I didn’t either, until I started drowning.’
After a tender kiss Joe gradually pulls back and asks, ‘Can we just … cut … cut … everything and start again. Take 2?’
‘Please!’ I nod, elated by his words. ‘Joe. I can’t expect you to understand this but I felt that I didn’t deserve you, and then when it came time to building a life together, I got scared. I wasn’t sure I had the foundations with so many pieces missing. But I can go forward now, I can face anything, anything if we’re together.’
‘We can. I always believed that. Sarah … here goes.’
‘What?’
He carries me to shallow waters and drops down to one knee. He grapples around in his suit trousers and pulls out a ring box. ‘Sarah. Will you marry me?’
‘Yes!’ I answer.
‘Take this – it was the best the hotel shop had – Ferdi arranged it at quick notice – if it doesn’t fit –’