Teeth brushed but make-up still on (in a streaky kind of way), I meander to Lily’s spare bedroom and fall onto the bed like a felled tree. Tiiiiiiimber. I giggle at the thought as I crawl up the bed towards the pillows and wriggle under the covers. It was a good night, full of laughter and dancing and shots (so much for switching to soft drinks). I just hope my hangover won’t be too harsh in the morning.
I groan as my head sinks into the pillow and I close my eyes. My hangover is going to be terrible. I should have brought a glass of water up with me, ready for the inevitable Sahara mouth when I wake. And probably a bucket to put beside the bed. I’ll pop downstairs in a minute. Check on Lily, see if I can coax her up to bed. I’ll just lie here for a minute first…
A sudden blast of organ music makes me jump. My eyes pop open as I scramble into a sitting position. But I’m already in a sitting position, though not a very comfortable one. I’m sitting on a polished wooden pew, one bum cheek numb, the other getting there, while ‘Silent Night’ is piped from an organ somewhere. There are people all around me – the women in fancy dresses and hats and the men in suits. I look down to see I’m wearing a blue, long-sleeved wrap dress. The ends of the pews are decorated with sprigs of baby’s breath tied with pale pink ribbon, and there’s an archway of pink and white roses at the altar.
I’m in a church. I recognise that archway and the Kate Middleton-inspired wrap dress I’m wearing. It’s 2010 and I’m about to watch the man I love get married to another woman. Again.
THIRTY-FOUR
I knew this moment was coming, yet I’m still wholly unprepared for it. My heart starts to hammer painfully, my breath coming in rapid little puffs as I try to keep a feeling of nausea at bay. Pressing a hand to my stomach, I realise I’m trembling. This can’t be happening. Not yet. I’m not ready. I’ve only just come to terms with the fact that I’m in love with Jonas – how can I sit here and watch him marry Becca, especially since I know what she will put him through? The affair. The baby that the DNA test proved wasn’t Jonas’s. Living happily ever after while Jonas’s world crumbles. I can’t let him do this to himself, but how can I stop it? I tried once before – and not only did I fail to prevent Jonas from making the biggest mistake of his life, but it cost me my friendship with him. From this moment on, my life was never the same, and I can’t lose him again. I’m going to have to sit through this ceremony and keep my big mouth shut.
I can do this. I can do this.
‘Is everything okay, dear?’
I don’t realise I’m gently rocking back and forth until the woman sitting next to me places a hand on my arm.
‘There’s a loo just through those doors.’ She points down the aisle, to the left of the altar. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll save your seat.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’ I attempt to smile, but my lips won’t cooperate. I feel light-headed. I want to reach out to steady myself on the back of the pew in front of us, but I don’t want to worry the woman even more.
I can do this. All I have to do is sit and say nothing. Easy, right?
‘Excuse me. Sorry. Thanks. Excuse me. Can I just…’
I see Lily shuffling along the pew towards me, doing her best to avoid feet and handbags and totally ignoring the disgruntled looks of the guests she’s squeezing past.
I’m so relieved she’s here.
‘He isn’t coming.’ Lily flops down into a tiny space between me and the man next to me. She sighs heavily and throws her mobile into her miniscule handbag.
‘He isn’t?’ My heart starts to hammer again. I don’t know what’s happened, what has made him change his mind, but this is perfect! This means he isn’t going to marry Becca and live miserably ever after and I don’t have to sacrifice our friendship by trying to stop it myself.
‘Nope. He isn’t feeling well, poor lamb.’ Lily’s tone is thick with sarcasm. ‘But then a forty-eight-hour bender will do that to you.’ Dropping her face into her hands, she sighs again. ‘Why do I put up with it, Maisie? Why? It isn’t as though the times he manages to get clean are even good any more, and I can’t remember the last time we had sex. His little fella stopped working yonks ago. It’s all shit and I’m pathetic for staying with him. I don’t even know if I love him any more. I guess I’m just afraid of being on my own. It took me so long to find a bloke who wanted me back, I don’t want to go through it all again.’
My heart is no longer galloping with hope and is instead thudding with despair. ‘You’re talking about William, aren’t you?’
‘Who else do you know who’d rather stick cocaine up their snout than go to their friend’s wedding?’ Lily folds her arms. ‘Well, this is it. The final straw. I’m ending it. As soon as Christmas is over, he’s gone. I’m going to start the new year as a free woman.’
I wish that was true, but Lily will cling on for another six months, and the final, final straw will be when William goes missing for eight days – eight agonising days where Lily is convinced he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere, only for him to walk back through the door as though nothing had happened, not remembering where he’d been during those days or what he’d done. Lily realised she couldn’t put herself through that again, even when William promised to get clean (again), and she finally ended the relationship.
‘Is Jonas here yet?’ Lily cranes her neck, trying to see to the front of the church. ‘I haven’t seen him yet.’
‘Me either.’ But I know he’s here, nervous but eager about what’s about to happen. His future seems bright and happy, but I know there’s nothing but bleakness ahead.
‘I bet Annabelle looked adorable in her dress. Did you take a photo?’
My hand rests on my stomach again. I’m no longer pregnant. Annabelle is three now, and I will have dropped her off at Becca’s parents’ house before heading to the church, so she could ride in the limo with the others.
‘I think so.’ My hands are trembling as I rummage in my bag for my phone, and it takes an age to open the photos app. Finally, there she is, my little flower girl, squinting as she grins at the camera. She looks like a doll in her white, frilly dress, a wreath of baby’s breath in her hair.
‘She’s such a cutie.’ Lily takes the phone so she can have a closer look. ‘Definitely doesn’t take after her dickhead dad. What?’ Lily frowns at the woman sitting to my right, who’s glaring at her. ‘Trust me, he’s a proper deadbeat dad.’
‘I need the loo.’ Snatching the phone from Lily, I leap up from the pew and squeeze my way out into the aisle, scurrying to the front, past the beribboned baby’s breath and swerving to the left of the rose-filled archway. I find the loo, lock the door behind me and avoid looking in the mirror above the sink because I know the horror show I’ll be greeted with. Already pale and stricken, I’ll now have mascara streaking down my cheeks as I’m sobbing.
I can’t do this. I really can’t. I can’t watch Jonas marry Becca – but I can’t wreck our friendship either.
With trembling fingers, I open the camera on my phone and hold it at arm’s length. I don’t care what the photo will look like; I just want to get out of here. I’m not smiling – and I certainly don’t say cheese – as I press the button.
Nothing happens. There’s no blinding light, and I’m not propelled from 2010 back to the present. I’m still standing in the loo, my back to the mirror, with a horrific selfie on my phone.
I take another.
Nothing.
Have I somehow broken this time-travel thing? Am I stuck in 2010, destined to witness this wedding whether I like it or not? Or is whoever – or whatever – is in charge of this time-travel thing a cruel bastard who is determined to make me relive this moment all over again?
I take three more photos, pressing the button with more force each time, but all I end up with is increasingly agitated photos. My face is contorted in distress and mascara streaks my cheeks. These are not photos to be added to any album.
There’s a light tap at the door as I’m aiming the phone for one la
st attempt. ‘Maisie? Is that you in there?’
It’s Lily. I take another photo, but still remain in the past.
‘You need to hurry up. Becca’s limo’s just pulled up outside.’
Damn. It looks as though I’m attending this wedding whether I like it or not.
‘I just need a second.’ There’s no way I can go out into the church looking like a bad Alice Cooper tribute act. I turn on the tap and scrub the mascara from my face as best as I can. Easing the door open, I listen out for the organ, but it’s currently playing ‘Once In Royal David’s City’ rather than the wedding march, so hopefully I still have time to dash back to my seat.
‘Oof!’
I hit a brick wall. A brick wall dressed in white tie and tails.
‘Ow.’ Jonas laughs as he clutches his side. ‘I think you cracked a rib.’
‘Sorry.’ I check his face for signs he’s in actual pain, but I don’t think he is. On the one hand, I’m glad, but on the other, a trip to A&E would have been a handy way to stop the wedding. ‘I was trying to get back to my seat before Becca makes her grand entrance.’
‘I was just…’ He points behind me, towards the loo. ‘Bit nervous, you know. It’s my fourth wee since I got here.’
‘You’d better hurry. Lily says Becca’s outside.’
I step aside so he can pass, but he doesn’t move. He’s looking at me intently, his eyes locked on to mine, boring into mine. My heart starts to gallop again, and I have to wipe my palms down over my hips because they’re sweating so much. This is it. My clue as to whether Jonas still feels the same about me, because what other reason is there for him to be looking at me so piercingly?
He steps towards me.
I hold my breath.
He reaches out, his brow furrowing. His thumb gently touches my cheekbone.
‘You’ve got a mark on your cheek.’
Oh. I swallow, willing myself not to burst into frustrated tears. How stupid and deluded can I be?
‘Rogue mascara wand.’ I reach up to cover the offending spot with my fingers. ‘Thought I’d got it all. I’ll get Lily to fix it when I get back to my seat. I’d better…’ I nod towards the door leading to the church at the end of the corridor. ‘I’ll see you later, when all this is over.’
Jonas nods and we both step aside.
This is the last time I’ll see him before he vows to love another woman for eternity. I try to turn and walk away but my body refuses to move.
‘Jonas.’ My heart is hammering so hard, I press a clammy palm to my chest. I can’t do it. I can’t sit back and do nothing. ‘Don’t do it. Don’t marry Becca.’
THIRTY-FIVE
Jonas looks at me. Really looks at me, as though he’s trying to memorise my face so he can sketch every tiny detail later. I try to read his reaction, but it’s impossible. I used to think I knew Jonas so well, but if this jumping-back-through-time thing has taught me anything, it’s that Jonas is an expert at masking his emotions. And now is the perfect example. I’m getting nothing from him. No tell-tale tics to betray whether he’s happy with my request that he call off his wedding at the last minute.
I know he isn’t happy, because we’ve been here before. I was supposed to change the past, undo what I did, but I simply couldn’t bear to watch him make the same mistake twice.
‘What?’ There’s a flicker. The tiniest flare of his nostrils that I only see because I’m watching him as intensely as he’s watching me. ‘What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I marry Becca?’
Because she isn’t right for you. You’re too different. She’s high-maintenance and you’ve been wearing the same leather jacket for as long as I’ve known you. I don’t think she’ll make you happy.
These were the reasons I gave him the first time around and, while they are as true now as they were back then, they’re not the whole truth.
‘Because I love you, Jonas, and I hope you love me too.’
Jonas’s carefully constructed mask starts to slip, bit by bit, starting with his eyes. They close, as though he can shut everything out – me, the church, the organ music, which is going to switch to the wedding march any second now, maybe even himself – and his lips press together, becoming a straight, almost invisible line before they turn down at the corners. When they part again, he looks as if he is in agony before he covers his mouth with his hand. His eyes open, his brow furrowing.
‘What?’ He shakes his head, his hand moving from his mouth to his hair, ruffling the neatly combed effect that doesn’t suit him.
‘I love you.’
It’s easier to say the second time, even if Jonas’s reaction isn’t quite what I’d hoped it would be. An utterly aghast expression wasn’t in my top ten responses, that’s for sure.
‘And you’re telling me this now? When I’m about to get married?’ Jonas throws his arm out, indicating the church. I flinch at the movement, even though we’re standing apart.
‘I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner.’
Jonas snorts. ‘You think?’
‘But I couldn’t.’ I can’t explain why. I’m not sure that telling him I had to stay with a man who cheated on me, repeatedly, so I could have his baby will enamour me to Jonas. Quite the opposite, in fact.
‘But you can now? When we’re in a church, with all my friends and family here, with Becca’s friends and family all here, ready to witness our marriage vows?’
‘It was my last chance.’ My voice is small, barely a squeak. How can I explain the unexplainable?
‘You’ve had a million chances to tell me how you feel. I told you, remember? I told you I’d wanted to kiss you for ages, that I was always thinking about you, but you didn’t feel the same. You couldn’t get out of the pub quick enough. And then we slept together, but you still wanted to be with Jonathan. So what’s changed? Is it because I’m with someone else? Now you can’t have me, you suddenly want me enough to ruin my wedding day?’
‘What’s going on out here?’
There’s a woman marching towards us, with what appears to be a plum-coloured pillar box perched on top of her head. Her matching skirt suit is just as hideous, with oversized gold buttons and material straining around her ample middle, and she’s wearing a pair of festive wreath-shaped earrings the size of dustbin lids that even Pat Butcher would reject.
‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’ Jonas shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to appear casual.
‘Becca’s waiting outside with Derek and the bridesmaids. You should be in the church, not chit-chatting out here. Come along.’ She turns on her plum heels and marches back towards the door.
‘Can you give us a minute, Hetty?’ Jonas smiles charmingly at her when she turns back to us. ‘Maisie was just helping me to calm my nerves. I don’t want to mess up and embarrass Becca in front of everyone.’
‘Of course, dear.’ She flashes a smile before continuing on her way. ‘I’ll let the others know there’s nothing to worry about and you haven’t done a flit.’ She tinkles a laugh before disappearing back into the church. I look after her, afraid to face Jonas because it doesn’t take a genius to work out that my declaration of love hasn’t gone down too well.
‘That was Becca’s aunt.’ Jonas is trying hard to keep his voice level, but I pick up a slight tremor. ‘What if she’d overheard our conversation? What if she’d told Becca?’
‘She didn’t. Becca won’t need to know anything about this if you decide to go ahead with the wedding.’
‘If I decide to go ahead with the wedding?’ Jonas throws his hands up in the air. ‘Of course I’m going ahead with the wedding! Becca is out there, waiting for me. She’s been planning this day for over a year. Her grandparents have flown over from the States. You can’t expect me to call it off because you’ve suddenly decided you’re in love with me.’
‘Is it reasonable to expect you to call it off because you’re in love with me? Or has that changed?’
Jonas looks down at his shoes. They’re so sh
iny, he can probably see his stricken face in them. ‘No, it hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will. But I’m getting married, Maisie.’ He looks up, catching my eye and holding it for a second before he goes back to examining his gleaming shoes. ‘You once told me it wasn’t our time, and that’s what I’m telling you now. I do love you, but I’m going to marry Becca. I’m sorry.’
One second he’s standing in front of me, the next he’s dashing down the hallway. I watch him leave, hoping he’ll change his mind and come back to me. But he doesn’t, and after a few moments, the organ stops for a couple of beats before the wedding march begins. Pressing my hands over my ears, I elbow my way into the loo and lock the door.
I remain cocooned in the loo until Lily finds me after the ceremony. I fudge the truth and tell her the lock jammed. The others have gathered outside the church, and we nip out of a side door and join the crowd watching as Jonas and Becca pose on the steps with the wedding party. Annabelle is standing at the front with Becca’s nephew, fiddling with the lace at the neckline of her dress and ignoring the photographer’s instructions to look at the camera.
‘It’s a shame you missed it.’ Lily leans her head on my shoulder. ‘It was beautiful. Doesn’t Becca look stunning?’
I’ve been avoiding looking at her, but she really does look amazing in her off-the-shoulder dress, a vast tulle veil cascading down her back and pooling on the ground. Her make-up is impeccable and her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders. No wonder Jonas chose her over me.
Once the photos are over, we make our way to the hotel where the reception is being held. The ballroom is like a fairy-tale, with swathes of pink and white ribbon sweeping from the ceiling, tied in huge bows on the backs of the chairs, and finishing off the centrepieces. A string quartet is merrily playing ‘Deck the Halls’ as we wander in, sipping the champagne we were offered in the lobby. The pageboy lasts approximately three seconds before he legs it across the polished floor and throws himself to his knees, whooping with joy as he slides along the floor. Too late, I reach out for Annabelle’s hand. She’s off too, sliding on her knees and spoiling her white tights. Under normal circumstances, I’d be horrified, but today I’m finding it hard to care about a pair of tights after experiencing the worst moment of my life. Besides, she’s having fun, and how often do I get to witness that look of pure joy on her face these days?
The 12 Christmases of You & Me Page 22