No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham

by Brigid Coady

  The exceptions were Mel and the fitter.

  Mel just looked tipsy from the whole experience and not on the bubbles.

  The fitter's face was full of pity, until she spotted Edie watching and her expression went blank.

  And with her head cocked to one side, Sophie had a malicious smile playing around her mouth.

  "Well, I'm sure Jack will love seeing you in that." It was said in a sickly sweet voice.

  Don't react, Edie thought. What she really wanted to do was tell Sophie to back off from her man.

  Hold on, no, Jack wasn't hers. Sophie was welcome to him, Edie thought even as her hands curled into fists.

  No, she wouldn't ruin this for Mel.

  "Thank you, Sophie. Mel chose a great dress, didn't she?" Edie emphasised.

  Sophie wasn't going to score points off Mel to get at Edie.

  "What? What do you mean? I think Edie looks great. Did I get it wrong?" Mel's voice got higher and squeakier.

  Damn it, Edie rushed as fast as the dress would allow and grabbed the bottle of champagne and topped up Mel's glass, at the same time straightening it from the alarming angle.

  "It's wonderful. I feel like a princess." she lied.

  A Day-Glo, pregnant sweat stained princess.

  She grabbed a glass; she needed a drink too.

  Looking to see how much was in the bottle, she saw the label.

  Cava.

  Sophie was a bloody cheapskate. Couldn't even be bothered to go the extra mile but made sure that she was the centre of attention.

  There would be a few bottles of Pol Roger at Mel's on the morning of the wedding, Edie thought. She'd need it to get through having their hair and make-up done. And maybe being drunk through the wedding would help because it looked like she wasn't making any headway with Mel's parents.

  "It is a beautiful dress, Mel. I don't know what Edie is saying. She always takes what I say the wrong way." Sophie was backtracking and stabbing her in the back at the same time.

  And the drink would definitely help dilute Sophie.

  But fundamentally the dress was hideous on her. And one more fitting wasn't going to change that. She knew that, the woman on her knees making infinitesimal changes to the hem knew it. The other bridesmaids knew it.

  Sophie, of course, looked perfect in hers.

  And it definitely looked as if it were more fitted.

  That bitch had had some sneaky alterations done.

  Edie wanted to rip the seams open, until Sophie was in a billowing tent like the rest of them.

  "My turn," Mel clapped her hands, just missing spraying cava all over Edie.

  It would either have put the dress out of its misery or been like launching a ship.

  Edie knew that this was the real reason they were here. The last chance for Mel to try on her gown.

  The changing room echoed with ‘oooohs and ‘ahhhs’ and was that someone sniffing and blowing their nose? If they were like this at the fitting of a dress they’d all seen before she could imagine the floods of tears come next week.

  Edie felt herself take a breath as if to sigh, as she looked at Mel standing on a raised dais with mirrors and bridesmaids surrounding her.

  No.

  She wasn’t getting sucked into this. It was just a reflex reaction, something hard-wired into women. They were supposed to respond that way when confronted with a bride.

  It didn't mean she liked it.

  Edie took a slug of champagne.

  The acidic burn of bubbles on the back of throat reminded her of last night and the jolly bridesmaid Spirit. Her stomach churned. And that brought back memories of the little precocious flower girl Ghost.

  OK, she needed to be positive.

  Upbeat.

  She shuddered at the alternative. Stuck forever in this horrible dress wrapped in a chain studded with fairy wings and penis deely boppers.

  Edie plastered a grin on her face.

  Chapter 14

  “We must stop meeting like this,” Jack said as he got in the lift with her on Monday morning. The dark voice sent quivers through her; goose bumps up and down her arms.

  Edie sighed.

  Her weekend had been spent dodging a replay of the hen night and then working out what she was going to say to her mum. So far, ‘where is my dad?’ was winning for its brevity and pointedness.

  Jack hadn’t featured much in her thoughts.

  Except for that steamy fantasy, inner Edie, who was getting increasingly chatty, said. Or of course that dream she’d had this morning when she’d woken up whispering his name.

  Edie could feel the heat start travelling up her neck to her cheeks.

  Bloody Jack Twist. He was worse than the Ghosts. He haunted her days. And the nights… even if the Ghosts weren’t there.

  “Twist,” she nodded briefly and refused to make eye contact.

  Because even though she had R-rated dreams about him she could still hear his voice from Friday night.

  Cold bitch.

  It threw ice on her blushes. Why was she lusting after a man who thought that about her?

  She stalked out of the lift and sailed past him.

  Or at least she tried to. A large hand came out and caught her arm.

  “I was hoping we had moved past the cold shouldering and we could talk about the Remingtons?”

  Edie stared hard at the dark hair that sprinkled his knuckles and back of his hand. Looked at the scars and the oddly shaped knuckles, damaged from rugby.

  What would his hand feel like on her skin rather than the sleeve of her jacket?

  Hold on. No. She imagined it not being on the sleeve of her jacket. That was it. Nothing else.

  She coughed pointedly.

  The warmth of his hand was still on her arm after he’d lifted it away. She could feel each individual finger.

  “I don’t think there is much to talk about is there?” She glanced up, caught the frown in his eyes and quickly focused on a point behind his left shoulder. “You are the one doing the mediation now.” She said.

  “But you are still Mrs Remington’s solicitor. That hasn’t changed,” he replied.

  “Oh I am, am I?”

  OK, so she was being petty but she couldn’t help herself. He made her feel exposed.

  “Look Edie, what exactly is your problem?” he had lowered his voice so that it didn’t echo round the building.

  “Problem? I didn’t think cold bitches like me had problems,” she said.

  Damn. She couldn’t believe she’d said it.

  Jack’s jaw dropped.

  “What the… How did you…?” he asked.

  She took his surprise as a chance to escape and walked quickly down the corridor to her office.

  Once inside she leant her back against it and stared up at the ceiling.

  Please don’t let him find out how I know, she thought. My God, they would have her committed.

  Seeing ghosts.

  But obviously what she had seen or dreamed was technically true. His reaction pretty much confirmed that.

  “Bloody hell! He did call me a cold bitch,” she said

  Which meant if he had said it, then everything else she had heard was true. All of those people thinking that she was cold or a bitch or a borg. Even Mel couldn’t defend her.

  She cringed.

  The door rattled and tried to open. It banged into her heels and her head.

  Rachel.

  And of course if everything from Friday night was true then so were Rachel and her problems. Maybe this was something she could use to show people she wasn’t the cold unfeeling bitch they thought.

  Edie staggered out of the way and went further into the room.

  “Edie?” Rachel’s timid voice sounded round a crack in the door. “Are you OK?” she sounded terrified.

  Edie suppressed the surge of irritation. The woman was a rabbit.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Edie lied as she rubbed her bruised heels. “Come in. Come in.”

  S
he winced at the sound of her voice, she was back to sounding like a crazed Head Girl from a 1940s boarding school.

  Rachel’s head peered round the door and then her body followed. She scuttled to her desk.

  “Good weekend?” Edie asked.

  “Whaaa?” Rachel’s strangled cry came along with a crash as she jumped at Edie’s question and knocked over a stack of files.

  “Your weekend? Was it good?” Edie repeated, her faux jolliness starting to strain.

  “You’re asking me about my weekend?” Rachel said.

  “Yes,” it was a simple enough question. It didn’t take a law degree. “You sound like you’ve never been asked that question before.”

  “Well I haven’t, by you.” Rachel replied and then realising what she said covered her mouth quickly with both hands, locking the door after the horse had bolted.

  “I’m asking now,” Edie felt hot but she carried on through the increased tension.

  “Good. Great. Fine.” Rachel looked round wildly for escape.

  Edie gave up. Obviously small talk with Rachel was not the way to redeem herself.

  But she needed to do something.

  Throughout the morning, Edie found herself staring at Rachel while she wracked her brains for some way to make amends, to balance the books.

  She wears cheap suits because the money goes somewhere else. This thought flashed through Edie’s head. The suit was less offensive suddenly. That probably explained the lack of hairstyle and general air of unkemptness.

  All the money went on Timmy.

  Money.

  Timmy.

  Redemption.

  The three thoughts collided and there it was; what Edie could do to redeem herself in people’s eyes. Not only was she going to get Mel’s parents back together, she was going to raise a huge amount of money to help Timmy.

  Perfect. It was a win-win situation.

  Now she just needed to come up with a kick-ass fundraising idea.

  But how do you raise a load of money in a week? Well less than a week.

  Because let’s be honest, she thought, she had to show a little bit of progress before the next Ghost. It was due the day before the wedding and she wanted to be able to stand in front of it and point out all the good, meaningful things she had done that week.

  Saved a marriage.

  Check.

  Raised money for a boy with Cerebral Palsy and Cystic Fibrosis.

  Check. Check. Check.

  Now she knew what she was doing, Edie hit the internet and started researching.

  There, it only took a few minutes but she’d found it. There was absolutely no training required and a place was available if she promised to rake in a load of money.

  Quickly she set up a fundraising page and drafted a number of different emails to send out with the link attached.

  Edie glanced over at Rachel.

  It wouldn’t be good to have her around when the emails went out. The whole idea of being there when Rachel fawned over her for what she was doing made her skin crawl.

  Edie set the emails to go out at different times, when she logged out that evening on the way to see her mum.

  She smiled.

  An open mouthed Rachel watched Edie as she packed up at five thirty.

  "Close your mouth, Rachel. It isn't dignified for a solicitor to look like a goldfish."

  Rachel closed her mouth with a snap. Edie smiled to herself. There were some things that she was still in charge of.

  There was a flash of memory, the little house with toys strewn over the floor.

  She was a horrible person.

  Edie turned to say something to Rachel; she needed to sooth the slap she’d just delivered.

  She tried to smile but Rachel was hiding behind her hair again. A wave of irritation rose in Edie and threatened to overwhelm her. It didn't matter how good a person Rachel was, she was still incredibly irritating and wet.

  Edie slammed the locks on her briefcase, picked it up and banged out of the room before she could do any more damage. This week was about making amends not making things worse, but she couldn’t seem to stop messing things up.

  “I’ve signed up for the fundraising,” she said to herself. “I’m in credit. And I’m going to stay there.”

  She stalked down the corridor towards the lifts, glaring at anyone who looked her way. People cowered against walls, making sure they didn’t touch her as she passed.

  Good, she thought. Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. I’m poison.

  Battling through London to Liverpool Street tried her patience further. The tube was packed. It was a humid, sweaty mass of people who were all getting in her way.

  Really, the bus was a much better option. She pushed her way onto an Eastbound Central line train. When you were on the bus you could get off at any point, rather than feel trapped. Out of control.

  A portly man whose neck rolled over the collar of his shirt, was dressed in a loud pinstripe suit, refused to move further down the carriage. Edie, squished between him and the middle pole, elbowed him in the kidneys.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said as he humphed and shuffled his way down the centre aisle.

  Ha, she thought as he nodded and scowled at her. She knew he knew that she’d done it on purpose. Commuting in London was a series of small petty wins.

  Edie spent the rest of the journey staring at the ceiling so she didn't see any stray glitter happen to alight on commuter's shoulders.

  Surely there should be some sort of dispensation for travelling on public transport?

  At Liverpool Street train station she threaded her way through the crowds and bought herself a ticket at the self-service machine. Scanning the boards, she rushed to platform thirteen and got on the train to Chelmsford.

  It was another jam-packed commuter train, and it trundled out of the station and headed through east London, past the Olympic Park and out into the Essex countryside.

  As they flashed past Gidea Park, Edie could feel herself becoming younger and younger. She didn't need Ghosts visiting her at night, not when she was on this train. This train carried her own ghosts for her.

  She swayed with the carriage, shoulder to shoulder to the young woman one side of her and the middle-aged man the other. She could almost see her past play out in front of her.

  There, in those seats where a harried mother gripped her toddler on her knee under the disapproval of the businessman across from her, were the ghosts of all the family Christmas visits to London when she was a child.

  Coming home surrounded by huge bags of shopping, dozing on her dad's shoulder with his hand stroking her back as she came down from a sugar high from too many sweets and their annual Christmas show.

  And near the pole where a woman stood reading her Kindle, was the ghost of little Edie the year they'd been to see the Nutcracker. She'd pirouetted up and down the aisles. And used the poles as ballet barres.

  "Watch me, Daddy. Watch me!"

  She could almost hear her voice in the silence of the carriage. And Dad’s face had been wreathed in smiles. Mum had tutted saying that she was 'making an exhibition of herself’ and she was 'getting her dress dirty.'

  Edie looked over to a double seat where two girls were sharing headphones and staring at one phone screen. They could’ve been her and Mel.

  Edie remembered their faces being caked in make-up an inch thick, going 'up town' on a Saturday. Their handbags would be bulging with their illicit packets of cigarettes and stolen bottles of wine. They’d try to pretend that they were eighteen or even twenty-one, hoping that they would be able to get into bars and clubs. Sometimes they lucked out, but more often they’d be on a train home working out what made up story they would tell in school the next day.

  Or there were the afternoons they would be trawling up and down Oxford Street, in and out of shops. Arms full of clothes to try on in packed changing rooms.

  Edie wondered when she’d last had a day out like that with Mel. Trying on wedding
and bridesmaid dresses didn’t count.

  And, with her heart aching, there were the ghosts of her and Tom. Right there by that couple in the double seat, holding hands.

  She’d be leaning against Tom, bracing herself to spend a weekend with her mother. And then Tom would hold her on the way home as she breathed a sigh of relief for surviving. Her mum’s bitter words still ring in her ears, gradually soaking into her skin.

  Edie turned away from the couple, rubbing her chest. Tom had made her feel happy and loved; she remembered how she couldn’t wait to be home with him.

  No, she stared out of the window at the green fields that blurred and smeared as they rattled past them. She didn't need some precocious child Ghost to show her the past. She carried it with her. It was etched upon her soul and in her heart. It was like a veil that she carried behind her, that wrapped around her. One she’d tried to ignore.

  The tannoy squealed and the announcer said the next stop was Chelmsford.

  Edie stood and grabbed her briefcase from the shelf above the seats. The whole time she tried to keep her face hidden.

  That was the other problem with this train. It wasn't just a magical time machine that showed her the past. It sometimes produced someone from that past; an old school mate, a teacher, one of Mum's friends.

  Edie snorted because of course they never saw the successful lawyer, all the sacrifices she'd made. No, they still saw the ballerina, the teenager, the woman in love.

  And that was why she had to make a run for it as fast as possible. Pushing her way off the train, she allowed the crowd of commuters to carry her down the stairs past the Essex Cricket Club notice and out to the barriers.

  Now if she could just make it to the taxi rank.

  "Edie? Edie!"

  The shout was from near the ticket office. It was the bugle call of the blast from the past.

  She was busted.

  Edie stopped and turned her head. There, hurrying towards her was her Mum's neighbour, Beattie Jones.

  Should she ignore her?

  But Edie could see her mother's face if she heard about it, which she would. You didn’t make a bad impression in front of the neighbours. It wasn’t done. Edie didn't want any more of the silent disapproval that she knew would envelop her when she asked her mum the question she’d come to ask.