by Beth O'Leary
‘Maybe tell me how it happened. After . . .’ I swallow. ‘After Etienne.’
Dylan’s eyes soften as I say his name. He reaches out to me. ‘May I?’ he says gently.
The corridor around us is huge, with a big arched ceiling and pink wallpapered walls, but the world suddenly feels small. Like it’s just me and Dylan. I step towards him and he folds me in, hugging me close. I can feel his cheek resting on the top of my head. The happiness is seeping into me in every place we’re touching – my crown, my chest, my stomach.
‘After I left you, I couldn’t get out of bed for a very long time.’
I pull back to look at him but he keeps me against his chest, so I relax again in his arms. My sore wrist hangs at my side, but the other arm is wrapped around him tightly.
‘I was . . . it was depression,’ he says. ‘When Marcus finally got me to the doctor, that’s what they said.’
‘You’ve suffered from that before,’ I say into his chest. I hear his heartbeat quicken against my ear. ‘Before we met. And when you were travelling. And sometimes . . . it came for you, didn’t it, when we were together?’
‘I didn’t – I thought . . .’
‘I knew when you got lost, Dylan. I know you. I was just too – too – I don’t know. Too scared, I think, to talk to you about it.’
‘Scared of what?’ he whispers, cheek shifting against my hair.
‘Showing you how much I cared, maybe. It freaked me out that there were parts of you I couldn’t reach, but Marcus could.’
‘He was there the first time, when I was a teenager,’ Dylan says, voice low. ‘He and Luke looked after me. My dad . . .’
‘Didn’t.’
‘No,’ Dylan says ruefully. ‘He didn’t. That’s caused me some issues, clearly.’
‘So Marcus looked after you? When we broke up?’
‘Not at first. I wouldn’t let him in. I hated him, and I couldn’t even tell him the truth about you, so he still thought you were – that you’d cheated on me, and . . . I couldn’t bear to be with him. I blamed him completely, at first, for me losing you. But in the end he just broke in. Dragged me out of bed, took me straight to the doctors and got me anti-depressants and CBT and therapy.’ I feel him smile. ‘I went to the counselling on the condition that he’d go see a therapist too. During that time, Marcus did some more stupid things – turned up on Grace’s doorstep and yelled all sorts of nastiness at her, punched Javier—’
‘Punched Javier? What for?’ I say, shifting my head to look up at him in shock.
Dylan rolls his eyes. ‘I think Marcus was acting out because the therapy was digging up things he couldn’t cope with, personally. But yes, Javier and Luke were having an argument about something and Marcus got involved.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I know. So I cut him off. My therapist said she thought it would help, and . . . it did, for both of us, I think. So for the last year, Marcus and I haven’t spoken. Not until I called him and asked if he wanted to travel to the wedding together.’
‘Because you heard . . .’
‘Everyone was saying it. He’s changing. He’s trying. He apologised to almost everyone – just me and Grace left. Well. And you.’
I smile slightly. ‘I’m not sure I have your knack for forgiveness. I think it’ll take me a while to . . .’
He presses his lips to the top of my head. ‘Of course. I’d understand if you never wanted him back in your life. Of course I would.’
I shift away from him for a moment. It feels so good to be in his arms, but—
‘We should . . .’
‘Yes. Right. Rodney.’
When we eventually find the bridal preparation chamber, it doesn’t look very torturous. One wall is covered in satin roses, floor to ceiling, and the others are decked out in the same expensive-looking pink wallpaper from the corridor. Everything is ornate. This is kind of how I imagine Marie Antoinette lived.
It’s so Cherry. She comes to greet us in a billow of white satin and perfume.
‘Come in! Come in! Help!’ she says.
‘Can I start now?’ the hairdresser asks Cherry. ‘The ceremony is in half an hour and I don’t want to panic you, but normally I like to do hair before the bride puts on her dress, and you still need to speak to the registrar, and . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ Cherry says, ‘I’m already at peak panic.’ She sits down with a sigh and a flurry of fabric. Her dress is amazing: a pure white ballgown, corseted to her body at the waist, with enormous petals of satin blossoming around the bust, and her shoulders left bare. There’s a red sari carefully folded on the table behind her, covered in countless gems and woven through with ornate gold thread. I run a gentle finger along its hem. It’s beautiful.
‘For the party,’ Cherry says, watching me. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous? Krish’s mum had it made for me.’
It’s the calmest she’s sounded all day. I should have realised fashion was the way to chill Cherry out.
‘Have you got anything I could borrow to wear?’ I ask her.
Behind me, Marcus, Deb, Kevin and Dylan debate the best way to tie a man up when you only have wedding table runners to work with. Dylan shoots me a quick smile when he catches me looking at him. He claps Marcus on the shoulder, one of those manly hug-type gestures guys do when they can’t talk about their feelings.
Cherry’s eyes focus on me. ‘Oh, God, yeah, you can’t wear that!’ she says, horrified. ‘Go into the bathroom, my honeymoon suitcase is in there. I’ll help.’
‘No,’ the hairdresser says, then looks surprised at her own assertiveness. She fidgets nervously on the spot. ‘Sorry. I just mean, can you sit still and let me take your rollers out? Please?’
Cherry harrumphs but sits back down. ‘Try the bright blue dress, Ads,’ she says. ‘And give Deb the little red number, if she wants to pull tonight.’
‘I do,’ Deb calls, testing the tightness of a knot as she does so. ‘Krishna promised me single men.’
‘Bucketloads,’ Cherry says, as the hairdresser begins to undo her rollers. ‘The place is seething with them – that red dress will be like blood in the water. Ooh, that simile was surprisingly graphic. Who are you, by the way?’
‘Kevin,’ Kevin supplies. ‘Hi. Happy wedding day. Thanks for having me.’
‘God, you totally can’t be here, we’re already over the health and safety regulation numbers and we’ve definitely not got enough food. Addie? Does the blue work?’
I’ve barely got to the suitcase yet. This bathroom is about the size of my parents’ living room, with a claw-foot tub sitting beneath an enormous window. The floor is grey flagstones. Cherry’s suitcase is abandoned beside the shower, tilted on its side. It’s big enough that I could comfortably get in it and go to Thailand with them both on their honeymoon.
‘Am I meant to be leaving?’ I hear Kevin mutter to someone on the other side of the door.
‘Nah,’ Deb says. ‘I don’t think she really meant it. Just try to look less conspicuous. Put on a top hat or something.’
‘Well?’ Cherry calls. ‘Addie?’
‘One second!’ I shout, scrabbling through the suitcase.
I go still when I reach the blue dress. It’s not just a blue dress, it’s . . . art. Spaghetti straps, satin. There’s something a little nineties about the style – it reminds me of the dress Julia Stiles wears to prom in 10 Things I Hate About You.
I slip out of my white dress and slide into the blue gown. The sheath style would cling to Cherry’s curves, but it tumbles past mine without hardly noticing. I love that. It’s full length on me, too, where it’d be midi length on Cherry.
‘The barely-there silver heels!’ Cherry yells through the door, before I’ve even asked the question.
I pull them on with difficulty, trying not to tug with my injured hand. These shoes are too big
for me and they’re going to hurt like hell, but right now I don’t care. I feel fierce and bright and beautiful. Obviously ideally I’d have had time for a shower, but still.
I open the bathroom door just as somebody knocks at the door to the bridal suite. We all freeze. Dylan’s eyes flick to mine, and the air goes hot between us. I remember how it felt that summer in France. I almost feel the Provence sun, hear the crickets. Dylan’s eyes are fiery. He’s not looking at me like he’s never seen me before – he’s looking at me like he’s never seen anyone else.
‘Cherry!’ Rodney calls through the door. ‘Cherry, please open the door!’
Dylan’s gaze snaps away from mine as Cherry stands and bundles everyone into the bathroom. I back in to give everyone space, and Deb carefully clicks the door closed behind her. My heart is beating too fast. I can’t tell if it’s the stalker outside the room, or Dylan being inside this one. I don’t need to look at him to feel that tug between us. The link that never really broke.
‘Talk to me, Cherry,’ Rodney begs through the door. ‘Please, let me in!’
We huddle by the door. Even Marcus looks serious. Deb and Kevin are between me and Dylan now, but I can still feel his gaze flicking towards me as we crouch, ears against the door.
Cherry lets Rodney into the room.
‘You really shouldn’t be here,’ she says.
‘How could I be anywhere else?’
Dylan’s hand is on the doorknob, ready for us to burst out.
‘I’m not going anywhere until you’ve realised this wedding is a mistake, Cherry!’
It’s so over the top, like he thinks he’s in a play. I’m not surprised to hear Cherry laugh.
‘Rodney. Please. How on earth can you think that?’
‘Does he really make you happy? Does he?’
‘Nobody has ever come close to making me as happy as Krishna makes me,’ Cherry says, more serious now. ‘He is everything to me. I have never been in love like this. And Rodney – I have never been in love with you.’
There’s movement. We brace. I think she’s moved towards him, holding the door open, maybe?
‘We belong together, Cherry!’ Rodney says, sounding more desperate than ever. ‘We’re like – we’re like Dylan and Addie!’
I startle. Everyone looks at me.
‘Dylan lost Addie, but he didn’t give up, and he got her back.’
The silence stretches for so long it hurts.
‘Dylan never really lost Addie, Rodney. And you really never had me. It’s not the same.’
‘I’m not letting you do it,’ Rodney says. ‘I’ll – I’ll – I’ll . . . stand here, in this doorway! For ever!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Deb says, full volume. ‘We don’t have time for this shit.’
She opens the door and we all tumble through.
‘Hey!’ Rodney yells as we bear down on him. Dylan gets him by one arm, Kevin by the other.
‘Come on, Rodney, sit yourself down,’ Marcus says, reaching for the chair.
‘What are you doing!’
‘Tying you up,’ Deb says.
‘What!’
Rodney starts to struggle. He’s surprisingly strong. Me, Deb and Marcus all move in to help Dylan and Kevin. I’m not really adding much value. I feel a bit like the extra person trying to get involved in moving furniture: holding on to a side, not really taking any of the weight.
Somehow, with an awful lot of oofs and swear words and kicks and dodged fists, we get Rodney sat down and tied up.
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ he says, staring down at his tied wrists and ankles in amazement. ‘This is ridiculous!’
‘Good, isn’t it?’ Marcus says, tightening the knot on Rodney’s left ankle. ‘Never done this before.’
‘What if I scream and someone comes to save me?’ Rodney says, yanking at his wrists.
‘Hmm, good point,’ Deb says. ‘Shall we gag him?’
We all stare at her.
‘I won’t scream,’ Rodney says quickly. ‘I’ll just sit here.’
‘You could listen to an audiobook,’ Kevin suggests. ‘They really help to pass the time on long drives.’
‘He’s not a very fearsome villain, is he?’ Cherry says, inspecting Rodney. She’s stayed out of the fray to protect her dress. ‘If I was going to have a man try to stop me from getting married on my wedding day, I wouldn’t choose Rodney. No offence, Rodney.’
Rodney looks wounded. ‘I still love you,’ he says. ‘Though maybe a bit less now,’ he adds, looking down at his tied-up ankles.
Cherry pats him on the head. ‘You don’t love me, Rodney, but you do have some issues you should probably examine when this is all over. Marcus, download him an audiobook, will you? His phone’s in his pocket, make sure you leave it out of reach. All good, everyone? Addie? I’d better go meet the registrar.’
‘Hang on.’ I reach for a pen and paper on the dressing table and scribble a message.
Keep out! This room is reserved for the bride and groom, wink wink!
‘Don’t want anyone discovering the hostage in here.’ I stick it to the outside of the door. ‘Right. Go get married then.’ I kiss Cherry on the cheek.
She beams at us all, and then notices the hairdresser gawping at us from the corner.
Hmm. Forgot about the hairdresser.
‘Sorry,’ Cherry says, giving her a bright smile. ‘Exes, you know?’
Dylan
Krish and Cherry have their ceremony up on the roof of the castle; the battlements are adorned with waterfalls of intricately arranged flowers, and behind it all stretches an endless, azure sky. The wind touches the shining satin of Cherry’s dress as her father leads her down the aisle, his face twisted with emotion. He beams tearfully at Krish when he kisses Cherry’s cheek and lets her go, but Krish isn’t looking: his eyes are on Cherry, and they’re wide and bright with wonder. He loves her the way I love Addie, you can just see it in his face.
Krish and Cherry decided on a shortened, adapted version of the traditional Hindu ceremony. There’s a small fire carefully laid within a circle of flints at the end of the aisle, beneath a tall arch of greenery and roses, and the pandit patiently translates everything he can from Sanskrit to English as puffed rice and spices are thrown into its orange flames.
I weep like a baby when Krish reverently bows his head and Cherry lays a garland of bright flowers around his neck, then dips her head so he can do the same. By the time they finish their seven ceremonial rounds of the fire, their wrists tied with a ribbon of deep red silk, there are tears dripping off my chin.
‘You are a hopeless romantic,’ Addie whispers to me as I wipe my cheeks.
I open my mouth to answer.
‘I’m so glad that’s not changed,’ she says, and there’s that cannon-fire explosion in my chest again. The poem I began almost four hundred miles ago is still growing, and as Addie smiles at me I decide that the words unchanged and changed will come back as a riff, a motif, like the same wish you make every time you blow out candles or lose an eyelash.
The wedding dinner is a feast of countless curries, and the desserts are piled on enormous tables like jewels spilling from treasure chests, balanced in overflowing piles: mango barfi and fig halwa heaped beside strawberry truffles and miniature jars of feather-light white-chocolate mousse. The fact that Cherry didn’t think they’d have enough food for Kevin is absolutely laughable.
Our table is by far the most raucous, mainly thanks to Kevin. For the first few hours he followed Deb around with pining eyes; then he was introduced to my uncle Terry, and the two of them instantly formed what appears to be a very intense and sudden bromance. Deb’s been entirely forgotten; Terry and Kevin are currently doing shots and slapping one another on the back, laughing so loudly even Marcus is wincing. I’m pretty sure Terry isn’t meant to be on o
ur table, but then, neither is Kevin, I suppose – the meticulously organised seating plan has clearly gone to pot.
It’s all undeniably heart-warming. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling of being near Addie. She’s across the table from me, but our eyes keep meeting over the enormous centrepiece, and every time it happens there’s a little spark lit in my stomach, as though we’re touching hands, not just meeting each other’s eyes. I’m so busy staring at her across the table I don’t notice Cherry approaching until she waves a hand in front of my face.
‘Hello!’ she says. ‘Bride here!’
‘Oh, sorry, hi,’ I say, swivelling to look at her as she ducks down beside me. ‘You got married!’
‘I know! Wild! Hey, have you seen your brother?’
I’ve been worrying about Luke too. ‘No, nor Javier.’
Cherry makes a thoughtful face. ‘Huh. Maybe they messaged – my phone’s in Krish’s pocket.’
I check my mobile – still nothing from Luke, even though I’ve called him a few times now. I frown.
‘Can I ask you a favour?’ Cherry says.
‘Of course. Name it.’ I slip my phone back in my pocket.
‘Will you and Ads go collect my sari and Krish’s tux? They’re in the room with Rodney and I might have mentioned to Krishna that we tied a stalker up in that room and now he’s being delightfully domineering and telling me I am absolutely not allowed to go in there. But we want to change into our evening outfits, and we need a good lead-time, because I cannot get into that sari without Krish’s mum’s help.’
I choose not to point out that it is clearly not a two-person task to collect two garments from a room, and instead lean forward to give my friend a kiss on the forehead.
‘Yes,’ I tell her. ‘Thank you.’
‘No rush,’ Cherry says, winking at me. ‘Oh, and maybe take Rodney a plate of food? What, why are you giving me that face? Not even a pudding?’
‘You should be organising a restraining order for the man, not dessert,’ I tell her, and she pouts.
‘Nobody’s irredeemable, Dylan!’ she says, and she reaches over to ruffle Marcus’s hair as she stands. Her dress billows around her.