A Walk In The Park

by Jill Mansell

  He exhaled audibly, raking his fingers through his dark-blond hair. ‘OK, I’ll tell you. There was a bit of a thing. It was never meant to happen, and I swear to God it didn’t mean anything, OK? And it’s over. That’s why she was crying. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want this to happen . . .’

  ‘But it did.’ Evie’s disastrously blow-dried hair was wilting in the strong sunlight, sticking to the back of her neck. Perspiration was trickling down her spine. There were tissues in her bag but her bag was still in the car . . .

  ‘I finished with her. I told her last week. It was just a stupid fling. Bloody hell, she knew I was getting married! She promised she wouldn’t cause any trouble.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Evie. ‘She lied.’

  ‘I know.’ Joel nodded miserably. ‘I know. But we mustn’t let her win.’ He clutched her elbows. ‘That’s what she wants, isn’t it? We can’t let that happen! Evie, we have to do this. I love you so much. I want to marry you. Please,’ he begged in desperation. ‘This is our wedding. Everyone’s waiting . . .’

  The whispers had started up the minute Nick and Joel left the church. For Lara, it was weirdly reminiscent of the last time she’d sat in an uncomfortable wooden pew, only this time she wasn’t the focus of attention.

  At first the remarks had been jokey, along the lines of, ‘That’s it, Evie’s stood him up, she’s found someone else and gone off with them instead.’

  But as the minutes ticked by, laughter gave way to curiosity and puzzlement. Before long, a couple of Joel’s friends sneaked down the aisle and slipped outside to see what was causing the delay. Moments later they reappeared in the doorway, shaking their heads with barely disguised elation. ‘Something’s up. Don’t know what’s happened, but it looks serious.’

  After that there was no holding the rest of them back. The prospect of drama was too big a temptation to keep everyone in their seats. What could possibly be going on? It was no good, they had to know.

  Oh well, if everyone else was doing it, she wasn’t going to sit here like a lemon on her own. Following everyone else outside, Lara shielded her eyes from the dazzling sunlight and zoned in on Evie and the man she was presumably meant to be marrying. They were standing a short distance away from the church, among the Gothic headstones in the graveyard, and were locked in an intense discussion.

  Oh dear. One thing was for sure, it didn’t look to be a cheerful one. There wasn’t a lot of laughter going on.

  Things weren’t looking good.

  Nor, for that matter, was Evie. Her hair was bizarre, not remotely bridal, and appeared to have been styled by an enthusiastic chimpanzee. Was that the reason for the delay? Surely Evie wasn’t so upset by the state of her hair that she was refusing to walk up the aisle?

  The next moment a taxi came barrelling up the tree-lined drive. Like Wimbledon spectators, all eyes swivelled avidly from Evie and Joel to the black cab as it screeched to a halt. Had the taxi been ordered by Evie to whisk her away?

  But no, it was here to deliver a late arrival rather than remove an unhappy bride. The back door of the cab was flung open and a tall figure emerged. Wouldn’t it be brilliant if it could be Nicky Clarke, appearing like a hairdressing knight in shining armour, turning up in the nick of time to pluck triumph from disaster?

  Then the late arrival finished paying the driver and turned to gaze at the congregation gathered around the entrance to the church.

  And Lara felt as if a medicine ball had landed on her chest.

  The thud was that unexpected, that intense.

  It was Flynn. He was here.

  It hadn’t been hard to keep track of him over the years. At first, his skiing skills had kept him in the sports section of the newspapers and she had followed his exploits through their pages. Then as time passed, the internet grew up and took over the world and she’d done it that way instead. Flynn’s looks and talent had gained him plenty of attention, companies fell over themselves to sponsor him and he was tipped for a medal at the next winter Olympics. He might have won one too, if it hadn’t been for an accident in training, causing him to fall and break an ankle.

  The fracture turned out to be a complicated one requiring intricate surgery and signalling the end of Flynn’s skiing days. At the age of twenty-four he returned to Bath and took a job with Grey’s, the wine merchants. His new employers made no secret of the fact that they had selected him for his celebrity qualities; basically he was there to charm the socks off the buyers and raise the public profile of the company. Nobody, not even Flynn, could have guessed what an asset he would become. Three years later he became a partner. Grey and Erskine went from strength to strength, supplying new and old world wines to an expanding list of hotels, restaurants, festivals and private clubs. They sourced and imported direct from small family-run domains, and garnered attention from wine writers impressed by their selection skills. Internet sales, introduced by Flynn, caused profits to soar to the next level. Flynn’s genuine enthusiasm for wine and his ability to relay that to the customers was what made a big difference. Entering the world of wine may have come about almost by accident, but it had turned out to be an amazingly happy one.

  Over the years Lara wouldn’t like to admit how many times she’d clicked on the Grey and Erskine Wine Merchants website.

  It wasn’t stalking. She’d been hundreds of miles away. It was just . . . keeping an eye on Flynn and seeing what he looked like.

  OK, call it stalking-from-a-distance.

  Anyway, she no longer needed to switch on a computer in order to see him. He was here. Oh God.

  She’d begun mentally preparing herself for the fact that at some stage in the near future she would be seeing him again.

  But not here, now, today, without any advance warning at all.

  This really wasn’t fair.

  The thin, elderly man standing in front of her turned and gave her a quizzical look. Lara realised she’d been hyperventilating, panting like a dog at the back of his wrinkled tortoisey neck.

  ‘Sorry.’ Hastily she pretended she’d been using her hand to fan herself. ‘Hot.’

  But . . . oh, oh, it was Flynn. Flynn Erskine, whom she hadn’t seen for almost nineteen years, and he was heading her way.

  Not that he’d noticed her, skulking at the back of the group behind an old man with a corrugated neck. Lara ducked down further still and surreptitiously cupped a hand over her mouth to keep her rapid breathing to herself. Flynn had reached the foot of the steps now and was talking to some people he knew. Asking them what was going on, no doubt. God, he still had it. For some people starting off as a beautiful teenager meant it was all downhill from there on, whilst others improved with age. Flynn, needless to say, was one of those. He had the kind of face you could just gaze at for ever. His bone structure had sharpened, matured. Those dark brown eyes were still utterly mesmerising, that mouth as perfect as she remembered. His dark hair was less spiky, more grown up. And he was wearing a well-cut grey suit, which definitely wasn’t something she’d seen him in before. In the old days, T-shirts and jeans had been about as sophisticated as—

  ‘Oh my goodness, everyone out of the way, this lady’s GOING TO BE SICK!’

  The woman next to Lara let out a shriek and leapt to the left. Startled, Lara looked round to see who was about to throw up. Embarrassingly, it appeared to be her. Everyone else was now shrinking back and gazing at her in horror. Honestly, a bit of hyperventilation and a hand clapped to your mouth and people jumped to all the wrong conclusions.

  ‘I’m all right—’ She began to protest, but not convincingly enough to prevent a matronly lady grabbing and manhandling her down the stone steps whilst simultaneously whisking a supermarket bag-for-life from her capacious handbag.

  ‘Don’t worry, dear. I’m a nurse, I’ll look after you. Just vomit into here and you’ll feel better. It’s the heat.’

  ‘Really, I’m fine.’ Lara was trying to make herself heard but the plastic carrier was crackling and the bossy
woman was plunging her face-first into it, as if she were a horse being fitted with a nosebag. Someone else was holding her up in case she fainted. It took a while before she could twist her head free. ‘You can let go, I don’t need the bag, I’m not going to be sick!’

  OK, she hadn’t meant that to come out quite so loud. This time the woman heard her. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Lifting her face, Lara saw that everyone had heard her. Instead of watching Evie and Joel over by the gravestones, they were now all fixated on her instead, in the wary manner of people who suspect there may still be a chance of being caught in the line of fire.

  All of them, that is, except Flynn Erskine.

  Who was staring at her in stunned disbelief.

  The bossy nurse said, ‘Fine then, if you’re sure,’ and stuffed the crackly bag-for-life back into her sensible handbag.

  Flynn moved closer. ‘Lara?’

  Of all the situations she’d imagined in which they would meet again, having her head forcibly plunged into a plastic bag hadn’t featured high on the list.

  And she certainly hadn’t expected to see him today. When Evie had emailed her shortly after their reunion, she had told her that Joel and Flynn were good friends, having got to know each other following Joel’s move to Bath. She had gone on to explain that Flynn would have been Joel’s best man today, had he not had an inescapable previous engagement in Australia preventing him from being here.

  It had been startling news, but Australia was a long way away. Lara had digested the information and convinced herself there was no need to let it worry her. She could relax and enjoy the wedding.

  Except now he was here . . .

  ‘Oh my GOD,’ squealed a girl in her twenties, ‘what’s happening now? Is the wedding off?’

  Every head swivelled away from Lara. Having concluded the heated debate with Joel, Evie was now hurrying across the car park towards a middle-aged couple standing beside a sleek silver limousine with a girl in a pale green bridesmaid’s dress. Joel, remaining where he was, shook his head at his best man and signalled that things weren’t looking great by drawing an index finger across his own neck.

  Lara jumped as Flynn materialised at her side. Oh good grief . . .

  ‘I can’t believe it’s you.’ He kept his voice low. ‘This is amazing. Did Evie track you down?’

  ‘Kind of.’ Having thought she could cope, Lara now realised she couldn’t. He was too close, it was too much and they were surrounded by too many people . . . overwhelmed by his proximity and by the faint but still familiar smell of his skin, she found herself unable to meet his gaze. She could feel it though. And the sight of his tanned hands gave her another jolt; Gigi’s were a smaller, girlier carbon copy of them. Their knuckles were eerily alike. OK, this was agonising; they had a million things to talk about. But how could they possibly do it now?

  And maybe Flynn had come to the same conclusion. He looked across at Joel, then at Evie. ‘So what’s going on?’

  ‘No idea. But it’s not looking good.’ All around them people were whispering to each other, buzzing with anticipation and speculating as to what could have happened. Joel was dazed and shaken, the picture of a broken man. The bridesmaid was deep in conversation with him, talking rapidly and waving her arms like an Italian street seller. A short distance away from them, Evie was now hugging the couple Lara guessed must be Joel’s parents. The inexpertly fastened silver combs were falling out of her hair. As she lifted the hem of her skirt off the ground and turned, making her way towards the guests assembled at the entrance to the church, she seemed calm.

  ‘Um, hello, everyone.’ She paused, cleared her throat then continued. ‘Right, well, as you’ve probably noticed by now, this wedding isn’t exactly going according to plan.’ Behind her Joel was climbing into the passenger seat of the limo; glancing round, Evie saw him speaking to the chauffeur. Taking a deep breath, she went on. ‘In fact, it isn’t going ahead, full stop. Sometimes,’ she raised her voice to be heard over the gasps of dismay, ‘it’s the only thing to do. So look, I’m really sorry but me and Joel won’t be getting married today. Or any other day. But seeing as everything’s laid out ready at the hotel, the reception is still on and you’re all very welcome to head on over there for food, drink, dancing and, well, probably a fair amount of gossip. And I hope you’ll have fun anyway, so it won’t have been a completely wasted day.’ At this point her voice began to wobble. ‘You can all have a lovely party . . .’ Briefly overcome, she searched the gathering then spotted Lara and beckoned her over.

  ‘Me?’ Lara pointed to her own chest to make sure. Why would Evie choose to single her out?

  ‘Yes, please.’ Evie nodded rapidly and beckoned again.

  ‘Don’t disappear,’ said Flynn. ‘We have to talk. My God, I just flew in from Australia . . . if I hadn’t made it back, I’d have missed you . . .’

  But Lara was already squeezing through the milling crowd at the foot of the church steps. She made her way over to Evie, who held out her arms to her.

  ‘I’m so sorry. And you came all this way. Are you staying down here tonight or going back?’

  Up close, Evie’s make-up was weird, almost clown-like. And she was trembling like a baby bird; Lara could feel her racing pulse as they clasped hands. ‘I was going to stay.’ She’d got a bargain price on a last-minute booking at the five-star Ellison. ‘But I won’t now. Where do you want to go?’

  Evie’s face crumpled with gratitude. ‘I don’t know. Anywhere. I think it’s my turn to disappear.’

  ‘No problem. My car’s just down the road. Come on, we’ll leave now.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lara glimpsed Flynn as together she and Evie made their way down the tree-lined drive.

  Evie murmured, ‘Is everyone watching us?’

  ‘Oh yes. We’re the centre of attention. It’s like that last scene in The Graduate.’

  ‘And they’ve no idea who you are.’ A glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of Evie’s mouth. ‘They’re going to think we’re a couple of lesbians running off together.’

  A hundred yards down the road they reached the car and jumped in. As Lara was manoeuvring them out of the tight parking space, a white Audi pulled up in the road with its indicator flashing, waiting for the space to become free.

  ‘Just hang on a minute.’ Evie put a restraining hand on Lara’s once they’d snaked out into the road. She waited until the Audi had squeezed into the vacated space, then buzzed down the passenger window and stuck her head out. ‘Mum, it’s OK, you don’t have to bother getting out of the car.’

  ‘Eveline? What’s going on?’ Evie’s mother’s overly plucked eyebrows arched in astonishment. ‘How could I have missed it? I’m not that late!’

  ‘It’s not happening. We called it off,’ said Evie. ‘Well, I did.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t have!’

  ‘Why can’t I?’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that. You’re not the type!’

  People didn’t change, did they? Lara inwardly marvelled at Evie’s mother’s response.

  Evie simply shrugged and didn’t attempt to argue. ‘Well, the wedding’s cancelled.’

  Exasperated, her mother said, ‘And it didn’t occur to you to tell me? For goodness sake, Eveline. I had to cut short an important meeting to get down here today!’

  ‘I know you did.’ Evie nodded wearily. ‘You’ve told me a hundred times. But look on the bright side, now you can go back to work.’

  In response to Evie’s signal, Lara stuck her foot down and they shot off up the road. It was the kind of moment that would have looked great in a film. It would’ve been even better if they could have had a zippy red convertible, with Evie’s white veil flying behind them and her wedding bouquet being dramatically flung into the air as they sped off into a spectacular sunset.

  Instead, they were in a dusty blue Nissan and Evie didn’t have a bouquet to fling. Nor, since it wasn’t long past midday, was there any
sunset.

  Lara saw that Evie’s fingernails were digging into her palms. ‘You’re doing great,’ she reassured her. ‘Now, we need to pick up some stuff for you. Then I’ll have to collect my things from the hotel.’

  ‘I’ve been staying with Joel’s parents. I don’t want to go back there.’ Despite the heat of the day, Evie’s teeth had started to chatter. ‘Oh God, poor Bonnie and Ray. I can’t face them again, not yet. I just want to get away.’

  ‘No problem. We can do that.’

  Fifteen minutes later they drew into the car park of the Ellison and Evie’s heart sank. Every parking space was taken and girls in stunning jewel-bright outfits were picking their way across the gravel on the arms of men in top hats and tails. Irony of ironies, Lara had booked into a hotel where another glamorous wedding was about to take place.

  ‘Let’s hope things turn out better for this lot. Oh God . . .’ Her feeble attempt at light-heartedness was scuppered in an instant by the sight of a tall blonde in a dress that resembled an emerald satin bandage. ‘That’s Emily Morris, she’ll wet herself laughing if she sees me.’ Evie ducked down in the passenger seat. ‘And she’s been after Joel for years.’

  ‘Right, what do you want to do?’ Lara parked in the last available space, away from the hotel entrance and marked Manager Only. ‘Wait here or come in with me? I’ll be five minutes, max.’

  Evie glanced over her shoulder at the boisterous wedding party milling around the entrance. Accompanying Lara into the hotel would mean having to squeeze through them and would attract way too much unwanted attention.

  ‘I’ll stay here.’

  Lara jumped out of the car. Evie did her best to calm down. She was facing a high stone wall; there was no reason why anyone should notice her all the way over here. Too agitated to sit doing nothing, Evie switched on the radio and turned up the volume. Then she opened the glove compartment and found a packet of wet-wipes. Pulling down the sun visor, she looked at the wreckage of her face; the foundation was all blotchy, her lipstick had melted in the heat and the ill-advised attempt at eyebrow pencilling looked as if it had been carried out in the dark. How stupid to have imagined she could do it herself.