by Beth O'Leary
‘Excuse me,’ Marcus says, leaning back. ‘Please don’t equate me with that sniffling excuse for a human being.’
‘You’re right,’ Cherry says cheerfully over her shoulder as she heads for the next table. ‘You were a much sexier creepy stalker man. Sexier and drunker. That’s totally better!’
Marcus scowls and sinks down lower in his seat as the guests around us glance his way with interest. ‘Ugh,’ he says.
Deb leans in from the other side of me.
‘Welcome to the standard system of morality, darling,’ she says, pinching the last champagne chocolate truffle from Marcus’s plate.
I look across the floor of the wedding breakfast, scanning for Luke and Javier – and my mother, come to think of it. Instead I spot a woman dressed in a dramatic yellow gown who is making her way over from another table of Cherry’s friends; her hair is dyed pale purple, and her strapless dress shows off the rose tattoo on her shoulder. Grace.
‘I feel . . .’ Marcus gnaws at his lip.
‘Guilty?’ I suggest, looking back to him.
‘Ugh,’ he says.
‘Ashamed?’
‘Stop it,’ he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. ‘You sound like my therapist. What is the upside of this reforming lark?’
I glance back at Grace. She’s had quite the journey of her own these last two years. A stint in rehab, a spiritual awakening, a bruised heart. It’s changed her. Gone is the woman who sabotages the rare moments when she feels complete; never again will Grace settle for less than the whole heart of a man she loves.
But she’s still Grace – she’s still wearily glamorous, still a little too intense, still smarter than the rest of us put together. And her eyes are on Marcus, the way they always have been, even as she tried to make other love stories work for her. Even as Marcus’s eyes were so often drawn to Addie. She never stopped looking at him that way. She never gave up on him, not completely.
‘Dylan?’ Marcus prompts me. ‘Come on. What’s the point?’
‘I think, if you’re very lucky, you might be about to find out,’ I say.
Addie
‘We’ve been in this corridor before,’ I say, spinning around. ‘I remember that portrait.’
I point to an old guy in a crown framed on the wall.
‘Really?’ Dylan tilts his head to the side. ‘I’m fairly certain that’s John O’Gaunt, and I think the last one was Richard the Second.’
‘I forgot how much stuff you know,’ I say, laughing. ‘Well, left or right?’
‘All entirely useless knowledge, I can assure you. Left,’ Dylan says, already heading down the left-hand corridor.
I smile. He catches my expression.
‘What?’
‘Two years ago you’d have asked me to decide,’ I tell him, as we make our way down a corridor I am one hundred per cent certain we’ve been down before. Not that I’m complaining. Getting lost is pretty much perfect right now.
‘You always pushed me to make my own choices,’ Dylan says, falling into step beside me. ‘I never really noticed it until we were apart.’
His hand brushes mine and I take the chance to interlace our fingers. Holding hands is as far as we’ve got, like a pair of Year Sevens. The thought makes me smile. He looks so handsome – he and Marcus recovered their tuxedos from the car once we’d got the keys off Rodney, and the sight of Dylan in a tux is doing dangerous things to my imagination.
‘Before you, I’d always had my father, or Marcus. Someone to tell me what to do,’ Dylan says, rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand as we walk. We couldn’t be walking much slower – clearly he’s no more keen than I am to get these chocolate truffles to Rodney.
‘And now?’
‘Now I have a therapist to tell me what to do,’ he says wryly, and I laugh. ‘No, I’m getting there. I’ve built a life for myself. I’m working on my Masters dissertation; I moved into a little shoebox flat on Cooper Street.’
I’ve wondered so many times where he’s living. Imagined bumping into him in Bishop’s Palace Garden or having a drink at the Duke & Rye. Thought about how it would feel to stand in the same room as him again, wondered if I’d be able to do it without bursting into tears.
‘I want to hear all about your dissertation,’ I say. ‘Will I understand the title?’
‘I hope so, or I’m doing it wrong.’ He smiles. ‘I’m writing about the idea of the quest in Spenser’s The Faerie Queene and the works of Philip Sidney. Journeys. Oh, hey, there’s the door!’
Dylan points to a door with a note stuck on it in my handwriting. We have somehow managed to make our way to the bridal preparation chamber. We both hesitate slightly outside the door, and Dylan shoots me a look.
‘Do you want . . . a minute? Before we go in?’
There’s a sofa underneath the window to our left, a love seat. We sit down together, knees dialling towards one another. I don’t let go of his hand.
‘I want to ask . . .’ Dylan clears his throat. He’s looking down at our linked hands, our knees just touching. ‘If you’re able – if you want to tell me – what happened after I left, after we broke up . . .’
My eyes begin to prick and I steady my breathing carefully, but my heart is beating too fast already.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dylan says quickly. ‘I just – I want you to know I want to talk about it. When you’re ready. It kills me that I couldn’t be there for you through that, and I . . .’ He looks at me helplessly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘I left the school. I guess that’s not a surprise. I have a new job now – you know the girls’ school over Fishbourne way? Yeah, there. It’s good, you know. I’m good.’ I grin. ‘I wasn’t at first, but I am now.’
‘You wouldn’t have said that two years ago,’ Dylan says, knocking his knee gently against mine.
‘Well, I have the World’s Best Teacher mug to prove it these days.’ I sober. ‘I tried dating. Jamie, actually – one of the teachers from Barwood.’
I hate how my voice still catches on the name of Etienne’s school, and I push on as I feel my face heating. Dylan is very still.
‘It was . . . a mess. He was a weird choice – another teacher from Barwood – I don’t know. There was clearly something weird going on in my brain with that. And he knew about what happened to me – I don’t know how, but he did.’
‘I saw Etienne was suspended,’ Dylan says quietly. ‘But you didn’t press charges?’
‘No, I tried,’ I say, arching an eyebrow. ‘The police said there wasn’t enough evidence. But there was enough for Moira to make sure the school got rid of him. She was . . . she was good to me.’
‘And . . . Jamie?’ Dylan says with difficulty.
‘He was sweet.’ I squeeze Dylan’s hand. ‘But there was never – it never really got anywhere. And it turns out sex after – what happened . . .’
My eyes are pricking again. Dylan moves a little closer, tentative, and then his arm is around me and I’m leaning against his shoulder. I laugh shakily.
‘Let’s just say it doesn’t go the way it used to.’
His arm squeezes me almost convulsively, like it hurts him to hear it. We sit for a moment. He takes a steadying breath.
‘Well, last time around we started with sex, didn’t we?’ he says. ‘So perhaps this time around we . . .’ He trails off, realising what he’s said.
I shift back so I can look at him. He’s got that tight look around the eyes that means he’s embarrassed, and I smile.
‘This time?’ I say.
‘I didn’t mean to jump the gun,’ he says. His voice is low. ‘But . . . Addie . . .’
I swallow. His hand comes up in that gesture I know so well, brushing his hair out of his eyes even though it’s too short to ever come close now.
‘Addie, will you thin
k about it? I understand if you – but – I’ve never stopped loving you,’ he says in a rush. ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, and I really don’t think I ever will, you know, because I tried all sorts to make it go away and I’ve never been able to stop it. And I understand completely if you can’t take me back after what I did. But I so desperately want you to know that telling you I wouldn’t listen to your side of the story was the worst thing I have ever done, Addie, and the thing that I most despise about myself, and that if you give me another chance, I will never, ever walk away from you again. I’ll always listen. I’ll never turn my back on you. I swear it.’
I let it sink in. Just close my eyes and hear the words he’s saying, the shake in his voice. The way his hand clutches mine like he’ll never let me go.
‘You’d have to trust me,’ I whisper, so quiet he ducks closer to hear me. ‘And I’d have to . . . earn that.’
‘I trust you,’ he says immediately, but I shake my head.
‘I’ll show you,’ I say. ‘I’d never – what happened with Etienne – I mean, what happened before . . .’ I take a shaky, frustrated breath. ‘The flirting, the texts. It was so stupid. I think I was afraid of the power you had over me. How much I loved you, how much it hurt when you chose Marcus. Etienne was an out. Proof someone else would want me. It was . . .’
‘It was then,’ Dylan says, pulling me against him. ‘And this is now.’
I cry then, my face pressed into the stiff cotton of his collar and the warmth of his skin. He holds me, and the sensation of his arms around me is almost more than I can bear.
I shouldn’t be letting him see me like this, some part of my brain says. But I’ve come a long way in the last year. I know better than to listen to that voice.
‘I love you,’ I say through the tears. ‘I loved you even when I hated you. I loved you even when I wanted to do anything else. Dylan, I can’t . . .’ I sob into his shoulder. ‘I can’t bear it, the idea of having you, this, us . . . I couldn’t live through it if it ended again.’
He holds me even tighter. ‘Then we won’t let it.’
‘I’m not . . . I’m not the person I was,’ I tell him, my voice thick with tears. ‘I’m so different now.’
‘I am too. At least I bloody well hope I am,’ he says, making me laugh. ‘So we’ll get to know each other again. We’ll date. I’ll take you for dinner. It won’t be like last time because I’m very poor now, you know, so that’ll help.’
I’m really laughing now, and I sit back, because I’m in danger of getting snot on his tuxedo. Dylan pulls off the napkin we wrapped around a few truffles for Rodney and hands it to me. I take it gratefully.
‘Can you hear someone talking?’ Dylan says, cocking his head.
I pause. He’s right: there’s a quiet voice coming from inside the bridal preparation chamber. I stand, moving towards the door to hear better.
‘Though the sea, with waves continual, does eat the earth . . .’
Dylan comes to stand beside me, a smile growing on his face.
‘What?’ I whisper.
‘It’s the audiobook,’ Dylan whispers back. ‘Marcus chose him the worst book he could think of.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Faerie Queene,’ Dylan says, grinning. ‘He’s listening to The Faerie Queene.’
I lean in and catch a line –
‘For there is nothing lost that may be found if sought.’
Dylan
Rodney is in quite good spirits, considering, though in rather urgent need of what Deb would call an extreme-desperation break. Once we’ve seen to our captive and met Cherry and Krishna in the wedding suite to give them the clothes they need, Addie and I head back to the main hall through a labyrinth of corridors, our fingers still interlinked.
We’ve barely let each other go all day. Never again will I take for granted the feeling of Addie Gilbert holding my hand in hers.
When we reach our table, Grace is sitting in my seat, leaning towards Marcus, who’s talking, eyes on the floor, visibly uncomfortable. Addie and I hang back for a moment, watching them before they clock us. It’s so good to see Grace looking healthy again – even a year ago, with her sitting like that, I’d have been able to see the harsh ridges of her spine.
‘Do you think she’s getting her apology?’ Addie says to me quietly.
‘I hope so.’
‘Do you think . . . Marcus and Grace . . . ?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s ready, yet, or, you know . . . worthy of her.’ I glance sideways at Addie, suddenly conscious that I’m talking about a woman I once slept with, here, but she nods her agreement, forehead puckered in a frown that makes me want to press a kiss to the space between her brows.
Grace spots us then; she rises and hugs Addie first – Darling, she says, you look divine – and they exclaim over one another’s dresses and new hair and slip into the easy conversation of friends who’ve spent too long apart.
‘Oh, my book?’ Grace says, tilting her chin back as she laughs. ‘Burned. Quite literally.’
‘Burned?’ Addie says, eyes widening. ‘But you’ve been writing that book for – for the whole time I’ve known you! And hey, you told me I was in chapter seven!’
Grace reaches to rest her hand against Addie’s cheek. ‘Adeline. You deserve to be chapter one.’
Addie starts to laugh. ‘How does everything you say sound so profound?’
‘Expensive education,’ Grace says, with a languid smile. ‘No, the book had to go. I shan’t say I’ll never write another, but that book was never really about the summer of our lives. It was all about a man. And once I’d realised that, I simply couldn’t stand to look at it.’
Addie tugs her further away from the table, where Terry is now singing what sounds like some sort of sea shanty with Kevin.
‘I tried reworking, restarting, everything,’ Grace continues. ‘But it was still his book.’
She lifts her chin ever so slightly towards Marcus.
‘Ah,’ Addie says.
‘Quite,’ says Grace, with a sigh. ‘And he certainly hasn’t earned a whole book to himself, has he? So I burned it. I thought it might help with the . . .’ She waves a hand at her chest.
‘The loving him?’ Addie supplies.
‘Yes,’ Grace says heavily. ‘That. Because I’m quite sick of loving a man who’s really just an absolutely massive tosser.’
Addie burst out laughing. ‘Did you tell him that?’
‘Well, I was all ready to,’ Grace says, ‘and then he apologised. Marcus. I have to confess to you, Addie, I’ve imagined this moment countless times, countless, and then, just when I give up hope . . .’
‘Wishing you could unburn the book now?’ Addie asks.
Grace laughs, head back. ‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘Certainly not. I’m a very different woman now, and if he wants to play the hero . . . he’s going to have to audition.’
Addie grins at her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she says, and I smile, because that candour, that unguarded affection, it’s new to her – or rather, it’s new to me.
‘And I’ve missed you, my darling girl. And what about you two?’ Grace asks, glancing at me. ‘I thought that ship had sailed, but . . . ? Where are you now?’
Addie bites her lip. I lace our fingers tighter.
‘We’re at chapter one,’ I say.
The sound of someone getting too close to a microphone – that low, wincing shriek – cuts across Grace’s reply, but her smile says enough. There’s a twelve-piece band setting up, and the tables nearest the dance floor are being cleared by an army of industrious people wearing the wedding colours; Krish’s best man manages to stop the microphone shrieking for long enough to announce that it’s time for the first dance.
Deb joins us as we make our way closer to the dance floor. She holds her phone out t
o Addie; there’s a picture of Riley on the screen, beaming toothlessly at the camera, his brown eyes wide. He’s absolutely adorable; I have to try extremely hard to suppress the incoming wave of broodiness. One step at a time, I remind myself. I’ve never been particularly good at that.
‘Just got off FaceTime with him and Dad,’ Deb tells Addie. ‘They’ve bought him some ridiculous bouncy chair thing that must have cost an arm and a leg. He’s getting totally spoiled.’
She pulls a face, but she’s glowing, the way people glow when they’re not just happy, they’re whole. I’ll get to meet Riley, I realise – I’ll get to be part of his life, and Deb’s, and I’ll get to know all the new facets of Addie’s world.
‘Dyl?’ calls a voice from behind us.
The music starts up as I turn. Krish and Cherry’s first dance song is Shania Twain’s ‘Forever and for Always’ – I can only think that Krishna gave up on arguing about that one and let Cherry have her way.
It’s Luke and Javier behind me. They both look like they’ve arrived in a hurry, and Luke’s cheeks are flushed.
‘Dyl,’ Luke says quietly as they slot in beside us to watch the dance.
Krish is doing a remarkably good job of waltzing to Shania Twain, though his lips are moving a little as he counts the steps, and his expression of absolute concentration is somewhat comical.
‘Dylan, Mum’s left Dad,’ Luke says in a low voice.
‘What?’
I say it so loudly even Cherry and Krishna look our way.
‘Everything all right?’ Cherry calls to me as Krishna bends her over backwards.
‘Fine!’ I call. ‘As you were! What?’ I say to Luke.
‘It was amazing!’ Javier hisses. He’s bouncing slightly on the spot; his hair, pulled up in a high ponytail, bounces with him. ‘We’d just arrived at the moat, and your parents were coming to it at the same time, and Luke’s dad tried to go the other way so he didn’t have to cross paths with us – well, with me – and . . .’
‘Mum just flipped out,’ Luke says, shaking his head and smiling. ‘She threw her hat at him. Told him she was damned if she was going to muddle through another social event pretending she loved her husband, and that it was breaking her heart not seeing her sons, and that she was done standing by him. We’ve just taken her to a hotel and got her settled. Here, I’ll message you the details so you can go later – she’s dying to see you.’