by kendra Smith
Victoria squeezes my hand on the other side. I’m in a sandwich, between my sister and father. A huge burst of giggles escapes. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I mutter, grateful for the veil to hide my smirk. And I am sorry, sorry for the confusion, for the mess in my brain, for the kaleidoscope, for the vodka. What have I done? I stare blankly at the congregation through my gauzy protection, glad my veil is covering what must be written all over my face. Everyone is looking expectantly towards me. And I stand there, realising that this is the moment, everyone expects me to follow a code. To know what to do.
And then there’s a rushing in my ears, followed by silence. The flowers at the end of each pew are beautiful white lilies, their faces smiling up at me. I notice how they are missing their delicate stamens and this confuses me; but, at the same time, their heady perfume is making me feel sick. I look up. There’s the rustling of hymn books, someone coughs and then the quiet seeps into me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a guitar is being played, the opening riff of Eric Clapton’s ‘Wonderful Tonight’. I stop breathing. Not that, not here. It’s one of my favourite songs – it takes me back, but I don’t want to go there… that was another time… And then the voice. It’s low and it’s mellow and it’s Bruce Springsteen crossed with Chris Rea, but it’s not, and I’d know that voice anywhere because it’s—
Markie.
He’s standing to one side in an aisle of his own, strumming his guitar and looking right at me as his lilting voice washes over the whole congregation, soothing the air. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he sings, and he’s taken care with his clothes, I can tell. The leather jacket has been replaced by a tuxedo top and open-necked shirt – and jeans. He rests one foot on the pew, to steady his guitar and he flicks the hair off his face with a nod of his head backwards. He’s smiling at me. He wants me to enjoy my Special Day, he wants to do this for me. He does not want to break my heart. He has no idea how the image is tearing into my ribcage and clawing at my chest.
Are his eyes misty? I can’t tell. And then it’s back: the kaleidoscope, twisting the lens, dark emotions, the panic, the fear, security, all mixed together – only it isn’t security, is it? Markie’s smile, my Dad’s hand, the waves of terror. It’s another panic attack. The last time I had one of these… No. Everything is fuzzy. I can’t see straight. The aisle is going in and out of focus and it’s all swirly, bright colours around me. I can’t breathe, I feel blood rushing to my face.
‘Breathe.’ It’s Victoria, rubbing my upper arm. I take an enormous breath. Only it makes me feel worse. My chest is tight. It’s as if I’m breathing in a vacuum. I look up at the ceiling, then at the stained-glass window casting a curious rainbow of bright orange and sapphire blue beams across the walls as I realise all eyes are still fixed on me. I feel like the whole world has tipped to one side and I’m the only one clinging on. And I can’t be in this world anymore, it’s not right.
‘Lulu, are you OK?’ Victoria has taken my hand and is now standing in front of me, frowning. I notice her glittery eye make-up and try to focus on that for a while. It’s something solid and real to look at, I tell myself, hoping things will start to feel normal soon, because glittery eyeshadow is normal, my sister is normal, I tell myself, it will be alright. Will it? says that voice.
‘I feel dizzy, faint, I feel, I don’t know, I’m not quite—’ I mutter.
‘Nerves are normal, Lulu, you’re about to get married.’ She gives my hand a couple of pats.
But then I catch sight of Markie again as the music starts. I just need to walk, to put one foot in front of the other, only I can’t. It’s like I’m stuck in cement. My legs won’t move. All I can see is Markie, his head tilted to one side, mouthing ‘Are you OK?’ and all I want to do, all I’ve ever really wanted to do comes tumbling to my brain at once, the hours, the days, start to mix together, to form a cloud in my brain, brimming with fury and I want to run, to run to him. And I can’t move. I can’t go anywhere, I’m rooted to the spot, staring at the top of the aisle where Simon is standing with his hands deep in his pockets, staring at the floor.
The vicar coughs. ‘Everything alright?’
I swallow, then take a tiny breath and step forward toward my new life.
‘Well done,’ I hear Victoria whisper beside me, ‘not far to go.’ But it’s too much and I look up at Markie again and my gut twists and I know that every step I take towards the top of the aisle is a step towards a new future – to safety, to security – but every inch forward in these bridal shoes that are killing me takes me away from what I really want. I force a smile and wish I hadn’t drunk the vodka. Not today. Not on one of the most memorable days of my life. But it’s too late now. Swallow. Take a small breath. Bright shiny shards of my life mingle with the sickening feeling. I look at Markie again who is nodding, willing me to go on, my safety net in the sea of staring faces. Go on, Lulu, I tell myself. Go on.
And I do. I go on. Running down the aisle until I can’t stop, until I reach the door of the chapel, to the roses tied on the doorknob, knocking them off as I rush past. Until I reach the hall outside, to where I can hear the murmur of voices from inside the chapel, and hear Marjory cry out, and I can feel the wet tears streaming down my cheek and the sorrow at how hurt Simon must be, and the startled look on the receptionist’s face, and the blurry sight of all the catering staff in black and white poised in the hall with trays of champagne in their hands for my Special Day, and I will go on up the stairs, running now, away from my married life, away from the man strumming the guitar who has stolen my heart, away from the gossip and into the cool of the first room I see at the top of the stairs – and onto the bed, where I can sob loudly and leave my trail of destruction behind.
32 Victoria
‘How’s Lulu?’ James rubbed his forehead and looked at Victoria. She was leaning on the solid wooden surface of the hotel bar sipping a large red wine. She couldn’t really remember if she liked red wine or not, but it was taking the rawness out of today. How could she have not known how Lulu felt? She supposed there was a lot she didn’t know – and the accident was just the start of it.
‘She’s upstairs in our bedroom, on the bed, poor thing, I found her there, collapsed on top, still in her wedding dress. She started to try to explain, all sorts of things she was saying weren’t making sense, so I’ve given her some paracetamol, got her out of her wedding dress, made her a cup of tea and covered her in a blanket. She’s tired, emotional—’
‘And single.’ He shrugged. ‘Poor girl.’
‘I had no idea she felt this way. Well,’ Victoria took a sip, ‘I had a niggle, but I just thought it was wedding nerves. It all just came out in the room, she wasn’t ready, she couldn’t cope with commitment, but,’ she swept some wisps of hair off her face, ‘it’s not just that, James, she kept muttering about some “dark stuff” from the past or something.’
‘Poor Lulu. She just needs some time on her own, to figure things out. She’ll be all over the place at the moment, Vicky, don’t worry.’
There was a fire crackling in the grate; even though it was April, it was a chilly night with frost forecast for later. She shivered. She was still in her flimsy dress. She took another gulp of wine and looked up at James in the dim lights of the bar. He looked like he did in their wedding photo, handsome in his dark lavender suit which set off his fair hair. She bit her lip, trying to remember if she’d bought it for him, or if he’d chosen it. Then she noticed his left hand, wrapped around his wine glass and gasped.
‘You’re wearing your wedding ring?’
His eyes skimmed over her, briefly, and she felt a tiny jolt of electricity. ‘Thought it might be appropriate, we’re at a wedding after all. Or were.’ He took a gulp of wine. ‘Listen, I’m just going to check on Simon, I don’t know if anyone’s thought about him, poor bloke, he’s upstairs.’ He put his glass down on the bar and ducked his head under the arch of the small entrance to the bar. It could have all been so perfect – a second chance for her and James, but littl
e did she know how wretched Lulu must have felt, how terrified she was standing at the aisle. Dear Lulu. She vowed to be a better sister to her.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard James swear and then laugh. She looked over. He was grinning and apologising to a woman with long blonde hair in a silver cocktail dress, his hand resting on her elbow. The woman was all giggles as James leant in. Victoria could feel something rising in her stomach, a twisting sensation. Jealousy. James smiled at the woman then strode off. It was harmless enough yet it bothered her. Imagine if things had been different? Suddenly she was forced to imagine what life might be like if he’d met someone. She felt panicky just thinking about it. Just imagine, she thought, taking a sip of wine, what it would be like if he’d brought someone new into the lives of Izzy and Jake? Bringing some new woman to family gatherings, watching the two of them cosy up, sharing little jokes.
How close had they been to ruining their marriage? Their family? Close, said that voice. Thinking of her family, she suddenly realised she hadn’t seen Jake or Izzy in a while. After Lulu had fled down the aisle, she had told them both to go to the bar and get a soft drink and wait for her there. She cast her eyes around the bar. She could see Jake, playing snooker – but where was Izzy?
Markie was strumming his guitar quietly in a corner, singing an Irish ballad next to the snooker table. His voice was mesmerising, but he stopped when Simon walked in, James by his side. By the looks of it, Simon had been drowning his sorrows. He staggered towards the bar. The room fell silent as Simon stood, swaying slightly on the tartan carpet, and surveyed the room blearily. He pulled up his sleeves. Markie stopped strumming.
‘You,’ he said, pointing to Markie, ‘It’s all your fault.’ He walked over to Markie, raised his fist towards him, just as Markie grabbed his wrist and held it there.
‘Steady there, you don’t want to do that. You’ll regret it in the morning, so you will.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Simon’s voice slurred. ‘You and your bloody children’s parties, spending all that time in your clapped-out van, your guitar, and “sweet voice” she used to go on about, I should have put a stop to it.’ Simon’s face twisted as he said it. ‘You know what, her face used to light up when she thought about going to work, about cavorting around in caterpillar outfits, Bloody Bo Peep. What the fuck sort of career is that?’
Markie let his wrist go. ‘It’s what she wanted to do.’
‘Is it?’ Simon sneered.
‘I think you need to calm down, mate.’
But Simon wasn’t finished. ‘Calm down, mate? I’m not your mate. I’ve just paid £15,000 for thishh.’ He waved his hands around the bar and gestured to the chapel. ‘But you know what – you can have her. She’s all yours. Frigid cow that she is.’
And then, as if it was a scene from a Western, Markie swiftly lifted back his arm, his hand curled into a fist, and punched Simon square on the jaw. ‘Don’t you ever call her that,’ Markie growled as Simon winced and clutched his face, then staggered to a nearby seat and slumped into it. It was then that Victoria noticed Lulu swaying in the doorway. She’d witnessed the whole thing. She had a phone in her hand and was shivering in a thin cotton nightdress. Victoria walked over to her and put her arms around her shoulder. ‘Lulu, you shouldn’t be here. What’s wrong, sweetie?’
‘There you are, darling.’ Her dad came over to both of them. ‘Let me get you a whisky, Lulu.’
‘She doesn’t need a whisky, Dad,’ Victoria said, rubbing Lulu’s arms.
‘No,’ stage-whispered Lulu to Victoria, ‘I think you will, sis, when you see this!’ She held up Victoria’s phone and swayed to the left a bit and started to giggle.
‘What?’ Victoria looked at the phone she was clutching in her hand. ‘Why have you got my phone?’
‘Because you left it on your bedside table, silly, and these notifications kept coming up!’
Good God. Lulu was still drunk. ‘Give me my phone,’ Victoria said with forced calmness.
Lulu staggered slightly and then handed over the phone. Victoria looked at the screen. There was a half-naked man with his hands on his hips, winking in a photo sent to her.
Victoria’s mouth felt dry. ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ She had wanted to talk to Zoe about this new game, and it certainly wasn’t meant for everyone to look it. In fact, she wasn’t sure—
‘What’s up?’ James was standing next to them just as Victoria dropped her phone.
James picked it up and turned it over. ‘This yours, Victoria?’
This really wasn’t the moment she’d have chosen to play a trick on James – and that’s if she was even sure she should be playing this kind of prank. She’d started to have doubts and had already deleted the last few texts and pictures Zoe had sent. She could lie. She could somehow wiggle out of it, but it clearly was her phone and it would look worse if she lied.
‘Yes.’ And then she watched as James’s beautiful face twisted into contortions as he frowned at the picture. And all Victoria could do was watch.
‘James, it’s not what you—’
‘What the Jesus fucking Christ are you playing at Victoria? Just when I thought we were—’
She held her breath.
‘Moving forward.’ He let out a sigh. And with that he pulled off his wedding ring and placed it on a nearby table with the phone. Victoria stared at it, the circle of gold symbolizing no beginning, no end; well it certainly looked like the end of something.
Suddenly, Lulu shook her shoulder. ‘Victoria, look! It’s Izzy on your phone!’ She nodded drunkenly to the phone buzzing on the table, with Izzy’s picture flashing up. James snatched up the phone again.
‘Why? What? Yes, Izzy’s father.’
Lulu had fallen quiet and James was listening intently, the phone clamped to his ear.
‘No. Yes, officer. No, no, James Allen, her husband. Heath Farm, yes I know. We’ll come now.’
‘What?’ Victoria and her dad said in unison.
‘It’s Izzy, there’s been an accident. A car overturned.’
Victoria felt like her world had gone inside out. She held her breath. ‘A car overturned? Is she alright?’ Her voice didn’t sound normal.
‘Yes, yes.’ James nodded. ‘Shaken, but she’s OK. They were only going twenty miles an hour, something about a dare.’
‘I didn’t even know she’d gone anywhere! It’s very unlike her.’
‘We better go,’ said James sharply. Victoria leant against the solid wood of the bar and stared at all the colourful drinks lined up. What had Izzy done? Victoria started to shake. Images of Izzy lying helpless on the side of the road flashed through her mind. Her mouth was dry. Suddenly she needed her husband, she needed him very much – just as he was walking away from her.
‘I know the Heath Farm Estate,’ croaked Lulu, ‘it’s her friend, Bella, it’s her parents’ farm. I’ve picked her up from there before, when I was babysitting a while ago.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ Victoria squeezed her fingers into her eyes. ‘Right, think. Think. We need to get to her. But I’ve been drinking, James’s been drinking – oh Christ, what a mess. What a mess. How far is it, Lulu?’ Lulu shrugged then hiccupped. Victoria’s heart went out to her; she looked so fragile in her thin cotton nightdress. She mouthed ‘sorry’ to Victoria who just shook her head, she’d have to deal with James later.
‘I’ll drive.’ It was Markie. ‘I haven’t touched a drop because I was,’ he coughed and glanced at Lulu, ‘um, the wedding singer. Let me take you there.’
Victoria waved to Jake to come over. ‘Jake, what do you know about Izzy. Where she went?’
Jake stared at both Victoria and James as if summing something up. ‘Yeah, she said the whole wedding thing was a mess, and that she’d just got a message about a party,’ Jake said.
‘Party? What party?’ James shook his head. ‘How did she get there?’ he asked.
‘Uber. You let her have the app – remember?’
‘What’s Uber?’ Vict
oria was lost.
‘That was in case she needed to get home, be safe, not to sneak out to a party without telling us!’ He wrung his hands together. ‘Sorry, Jake, it’s not your fault.’ Then he turned to Victoria. ‘It’s a taxi service – sort of.’ James suddenly sprang into action. ‘Right, Jake, you stay here with Grandad and Pickle. We’re heading to Heath Farm.’ Then looked at all of them. ‘Now!’ he bellowed.
‘Good God,’ said her dad. ‘This has been quite an afternoon. First, our Lulu, now Izzy.’ Pickle barked up at him. ‘Come on, lads,’ he said to Jake and Pickle, ‘let’s get you both to bed.’ And he scooped the dog up under his arm. ‘To hell with hotel rules.’
Ten minutes later, Victoria, Lulu, and James were all piled into Markie’s van, bumping down the country lanes. What had got into Izzy? But thank God she was alright. Victoria stared out the window at the hedgerows flying past in the dark, and could feel the icy tension from James in the seat next to her, his back to her, staring silently out at the deep indigo sky.
33 Lulu
I’m acutely aware of how near Markie is to me at the moment, staring ahead and concentrating; it’s a look I know well, even in the dark. We have a name for it. It’s his ‘satnav’ frown. He isn’t speaking. He’s studying the road ahead, which is full of potholes and extremely uneven. The lane twists all the way up to Heath Farm, as far as I can remember. Everybody knows that some of the old farm outbuildings are used for parties, or ‘raves’ as they were called in my day, by locals from the village. There have been a few drug raids there in the past, too. But Izzy? Why had she been led astray? Normally Izzy is level-headed. I try to piece together my thoughts. I need to be strong for Victoria, but I’m shivering, I feel dreadful about today – and the reason today happened is sitting in the seat right next to me.