Lipstick and Lies (64 page)

I was aware of the Mazda being propelled forward
,
as if a small rocket had gone off behind us.
I deduced that the van had deliberately shunted us.
But peculiarly, despite registering the surge, everything slipped into slow motion.
And something was happening to sound, as if somebody had taken control of the volume and couldn’t decide whether to turn it up
,
or switch it off
,
or turn it back on again.
I initially assumed my eardrums were in the process of perforating from the hurricane coming through Selina’s open window.
Roaring engines, wind noise and metal upon metal were punctuated by
fat
full stops of silence.
And then there was the most almighty bang.
Suddenly the Mazda lifted off the M25 and spun gracefully towards the crash barrier.
Vision was now frame by shocking frame.
I could see vehicles on the opposite side of the carriageway hurtling towards us, and horrified expressions of drivers as the scene ahead
of them
register
ed in their eyes
.
Pupils
widening
.
M
ouths
silently
forming a perfect O
.
A
rms stiffening on steering wheels and dashes as they braced themselves for impact – a middle-aged mother with a teenager plugged into an iPod
...
a young executive illegally talking into a mobile
...
a car full of young lads.

Bit by bit I tore my eyes away from this endangered audience
,
and turned my attention to Selina.
Her beautiful face
wore
an expression of surprise
.
H
er dark hair flow
ed
out like a Vogue model with a wind machine upon her
.
W
ithout her seatbelt she was free-falling towards the steering wheel – and
a sharp blade
.
The knife, still
firmly in the grip of one white-knuckled hand,
was
sticking up
and pointing
towards her neck.
Little by little I managed to squeeze my eyes shut, but not before witnessing the knife plung
e
into Selina’s throat,
followed by
the airbag inflating, and Selina’s body rising upwards and forwards so that her skull fractured against the windshield.
I was aware of the Mazda landing with a jolt on the other side of the carriageway.
And suddenly the air was filled with the screeching of tyres and the stink of rubber being left on tarmac.

Six Months Later
The bride stood framed in the church hallway.
She looked absolutely stunning.
But then all brides do.
Her father looked very dapper, his face a mixture of both pride and anxiety – hardly surprising given the t
rack record of the bridegroom.

Charlotte
smiled at her father reassuringly.
Mr West’s eyes welled
.
A
series of rapid blinks pushed tears back into ducts.
The organ gave a succession of
staccato
note
s
before bursting into
tune
.
And they were off!
Charlotte
glided down the aisle,
a cloudy veil making
her beauty almost ethereal
.
T
he silk of her ivory gown
swish-swished
as she
passed by
my pew.
Mr West’s eyes brimmed again, but this time he lost the battle with emotions.
Tears coursed silently down his cheeks.
Behind
Mr West and Charlotte came
Livvy
,
self-conscious and sweet in her taffeta bridesmaid
’s
dress.
She was clutching her posy as if her very life depended upon it.
At the altar stood Stevie, handsome in morning suit.
He turned to watch his bride’s progress
,
and looked blown away by the vision coming towards him.
I hoped to goodness he’d look after
Charlotte
.
Love and cherish her.
Properly this time.
I had a feeling he might well do so after his experience with Selina.
There was nothing
like a brush with death to make you appreciate everything
, and grab life
with both hands.
Next to Stevie stood Toby, looking
tremendously
self-impo
rtant in his role of best man.

The organ swelled to a crescendo
.
It
crashed out its final bars of music as
Charlotte
reached Stevie’s side.
There was a
brief
pause
.
For a moment
the only sound
s were that of the
Order of Service sheets
,
flapping backwards and forwards
as members of the congregation fanned themselves on thi
s warm June afternoon.

Clive, the incredibly camp vicar
,
was
dressed
flamboyantly
in a pink
-
hemmed cassock
.
He
cleared his voic
e to address the congregation.

‘Good afternoon ladies and gentleman.
We are here to witness the marriage of Charlotte and Stephen
.
’
Clive
promptly launched into a little homily about love being patient and kind.
When Clive went on to advise the congregation that
love
should
not delight in evil
, Stevie visibly flinched
.
As well he might.
He’d had a close encounter with wickedness.
Although Ethan
preferred to call
Selina’s spectacular meltdown into madness as
issues
.

‘She wasn’t well,’ he’d whispered, face pale, hands trembling as the police had broken the news of his fiancée’s road rage antics
leading to
her demise.

The driver of the
red Vauxhall Astravan
had ended up in intensive care.
It had transpired he had a record of reckless driving and had been on a
driving
ban at the time of the accident.
Miraculously nobody else had been injured in an accident that had brought one side of the M25 to a standstill for the best part of two hours.
Several drivers had tweeted just minutes after the crash to warn other road users that the carriageway looked like being closed for a long time.
The police and ambulance
s
had hurtled up the motorway hard shoulder, sirens blaring and lights flashing
.
The
London Air Ambulance had
also shown up
, whisking
the van driver
off
to hospital.
Part of the central reservation had been cut away so the police
could
turn drivers
a
round.

And me?
Thanks to the stranglehold of the tampered seat belt, I’d escaped with nothing more than bruising and a broken finger nail.
I’d been taken to hospital and kept in overnight for observation after a doct
or informed me I was pregnant.

I
gazed down at my whopping great bump, and smoothed the
folds of my maternity dress.
Jamie caught my hand and gave it a squeeze.
He’d been beside himself after the accident, not to mention furious with himself for not heeding my misgivings about Selina way back when she’d first reappeared in our lives.

‘All right?’ he mouthed.

I smiled and nodded back.
He winked and gave my bump a pat.
Being told I was pregnant had been a surprise.
Being told we were expecting twins had been an all out shock.
Jamie didn’t want to know the sex of the babies.
But I knew.
Two identical little boys.

‘Looking forward to getting your udders out again?’ Morag had quipped
upon learning of my pregnancy.

‘Don’t,’ I’d groaned.
‘My boobs will rival Kat
ie Price’s feeding two babies.

‘I don’t envy you Cass,’ Nell had decla
red.

‘I do,’ Morag had sighed
.
‘I’m insane with jealousy.’

Despite six months of visits to
the stud farm
, so far Morag had not achieved fulfilling her ambition of providing another sibling for Henry.
Her attempts to get pregnant were not for wont of trying.
Everywhere Morag went so did a supply of pregnancy tests, ovulations kits, graphs and plots.
She’d been to her GP twice
,
and even forked out to see a private gynaecologist
– the
highly esteemed Mr Rafferty.

‘Patience, Mrs Harding,’ Mr Rafferty had sighed.
Which
wasn’t one of Morag’s virtues.

Forty-five minutes later we filed out of the church.
A handful of wedding guests peeled off from the main party to light up cigarettes.
A photographer, resembling a harassed sheepdog, began rounding up family members for photographs.
A videographer with an enormous camera and fluffy microphone
proceeded to get under everybody’s feet
.
The new Mrs Cherry beamed adoringly at
her husband of twenty minutes.

Stevie had made all the national papers when the story broke of how Selina had periodically drugged him, bound him, raped him and kept him prisoner.
Inevitably comparisons were made to a not dissimilar tabloid sensation three decades earlier.
Selina had confiscated Stevie’s mobile, but on one occasion had unwittingly left it at the bottom of the bed to which he was tied.
Using his toes he’d managed to operate the phone
,
but only succeeded in contacting the last caller
– me.
Stevie
had begged me to help him
,
but seconds later
Charlie Phillips had returned with
his
GBH stock-up and
angrily disconnected the call.

In due course PC Thomson and PC Smith had wrapped up the case.
Stevie’s house keys had been found in Ethan’s apartment.
On the key ring was the key to the warehouse where Stevie was held captive.
I’d passed on Charlie Phillips’ name to Humpty and Olive.
They’d put it through t
heir database and duly picked
him
up
.
Charlie had promptly squealed like a pig and told the police where Stevie was.

As for Stevie, the whole traumatic episode had left him a reformed rake.
As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to flirt with another female again – other than
Charlotte
.
And if that meant giving in to
Charlotte
’s desire to
start a family, then so be it.

The photographer clapped his hands for attention, calling friends to join the bride and groom for the obligatory group photograph.
Jamie and I mingled with the crowd and stood next to Matt and Morag.
Nell and Ben joined us.
Our babies were all at home in the capable care of Joanie, Matt’s sweet daughter.
Our other children were on the far side of the group, collectively disowning their parents
, as kids of a certain age do.

Edna and Arthur broke away from chatting to Ethan and joined the swelling crowd.
Both of them were looking incredibly smart in their respective suits, which certainly made a change from the overalls they’d worn almost daily following the restoration of
Lady Love
.
The boat was now moored at Medway Bridge Marina.
But not for much longer.
Edna and Arthur were chartering
Lady Love
for Stevie and
Charlotte
’s honeymoon
,
which would encompass the Solent and
Isle of Wight
.

The photographer put out a final call for stragglers to join the group.
Ethan stood uncertainly on the outskirts.
Charlotte
caught his eye and signalled for him to join everybody.
He smiled in acknowledgement and took the hand of a thin bespectacled woman standing by his side.
She looked up at Ethan adoringly.
Her name was Stella. She was the PA to James Powell at the bank.
It was early days yet
,
but romance was clearly blooming.