Authors: Madeleine Wickham
There was a pause.
'OK,' said Isobel at last. `That would be nice.'
Ànd I'll pour you a nice glass of wine.'
Ì can't,' said Isobel, taken unawares.
`Why not?'
Isobel was silent, trying to sort out the contrary strands of thought in her brain. She couldn't drink, just in case she decided to keep the baby. What kind of a twisted logic was that?
Àll that phooey!' Olivia was saying. Ì was on three gins a day when I had you. And you turned out all right, didn't you? More or less?'
A reluctant smile spread over Isobel's face.
'OK,' she said. Ì could do with a drink.'
`So could I,' said Olivia. `Let's open another bottle.' She closed her eyes. Ì've never known such a dreadful night.'
`Tell me about it.' Isobel sat down at the table. Ì hope Milly's OK.'
Ì'm sure Esme will look after her,' said Olivia, and a touch of bitterness edged her voice.
Milly sat in Esme's drawing room, nestling a hot, creamy drink made from Belgian chocolate flakes and a splash of Cointreau. Esme had persuaded her to take a long, hot bath, scented with mysterious potions in unmarked bottles, then lent her a white waffle-weave bathrobe and some snug slippers. Now she was brushing Milly's hair with an old-fashioned bristle hairbrush. Milly stared ahead into the crackling fire, feeling the pull of the brush on her scalp, the heat of the fire on her face, the smoothness of her clean skin inside her robe. She'd arrived at Esme's an hour or so ago; had burst into tears as soon as the door was opened and again in her bath. But now she felt strangely calm. She took another sip of the hot, creamy chocolate and closed her eyes.
`Feeling better?' said Esme in a low voice.
`Yes. A lot better.'
`Good.'
There was a pause. One of the whippets rose from its place by the fire, came over to Milly and nestled its head in her lap.
`You were right,' said Milly, stroking the whippet's head. `You were right. I don't know Simon. He doesn't know me.' Her voice trembled slightly. `The whole thing's hopeless.'
Esme said nothing, but continued brushing.
Ì know I'm to blame for all of this,' said Milly. Ì know that. It's me that got married, it's me that messed up. But he behaved as though I'd done it all on purpose. He didn't even try to see it from my point of view.'
`Such a masculine trait,' said Esme. `Women twist themselves into loops to accommodate the views of others. Men turn their heads once, then look back and carry on as before.'
`Simon didn't even turn his head,' gulped Milly miserably. `He didn't even listen.'
`Typical,' said Esme. `Just another intractable man.'
Ì feel so stupid,' said Milly. `So bloody stupid.' A fresh stream of tears suddenly began to spill over onto her face. `How could I have wanted to marry him? He said I'd tainted the wedding vows. He said he couldn't believe anything I said any more. He looked at me as if I was some kind of monster!'
Ì know,' said Esme soothingly.
Àll this time we've been together,' said Milly, wiping her eyes, `we haven't really got to know each other, have we? Simon doesn't know me at all! And how can you marry someone if you don't know them? How can you? We should never even have got engaged. All along, it's just been-' She suddenly broke off, with a new thought. `Do you remember when he asked me to marry him? He had it all planned, the way he wanted it. He led me to this bench in his father's garden, and he had a diamond ring all ready in his pocket, and he'd even put a bloody bottle of champagne in the tree stump!'
'Darling-'
`But none of that was to do with me, was it? It was all to do with him. He wasn't thinking about me, even then.'
`Just like his father,' said Esme, with a sudden edge to her voice. Milly turned slightly in surprise.
`Do you know Harry, then?'
Ì used to,' said Esme, brushing more briskly. `Not any more.'
Ì always thought Harry was quite nice,' gulped Milly. `But then, what the hell do I know? I was completely wrong about Simon, wasn't I?' Her shoulders began to shake with sobs, and Esme stopped brushing.
`Darling, why don't you go to bed,' she suggested. She gathered Milly's hair into a blond tassle and let it fall. `You're overwrought, you're tired, you need a good night's sleep. Remember, you were up early; you've been to London and back. It's been quite a day.'
Ì won't be able to sleep.' Milly looked up at Esme with tearstained cheeks, like a child.
`You will,' replied Esme calmly. Ì put a little something into your drink. It should kick in soon.'
Òh,' said Milly, in surprise. She stared into her mug for a moment, then drained it. `Do you give drugs to all your guests?'
Ònly the very special ones,' said Esme, and gave Milly a serene smile.
As she finished the last of her scrambled eggs, Isobel sighed and leaned back in her chair.
`That was delicious. Thank you.' There was no response. She looked up. Olivia was drooping forward over her wine glass, her eyes closed. `Mummy?'
Olivia's eyes flicked open.
`You've finished,' she said in a dazed voice. `Would you like some more?'
`No thanks,' said Isobel. `Look, Mummy, why don't you go to bed? We'll have a lot to do in the morning.'
For a moment, Olivia stared at her blankly; then, as though suddenly jolted, she nodded.
`Yes,' she said. `You're right.' She sighed. `You know, just for a moment, I'd forgotten.'
`Go to bed,' repeated Isobel. 'I'll clear up.'
`But you-'
Ì'm fine,' said Isobel firmly. Ànd anyway, I want to make a cup of tea. Go on.'
`Well, goodnight then,' said Olivia.
`Goodnight.'
Isobel watched as her mother left the room, then got up and filled the kettle. She was leaning against the sink, looking out into the dark, silent street, when suddenly there was the sound of a key in the lock.
`Milly?' she said. Ìs that you?'
A moment later, the kitchen door opened and a strange young man came in. He was wearing a denim jacket and carrying a large bag and looked scruffier than most of the bed and breakfasters. Isobel stared at him curiously for an instant. Then, with a sudden start, she realized who he must be. A hot, molten fury began to rise inside her. So this was him. This was Alexander. The cause of it all.
`Well, hello,' he said, dumping his bag on the floor and grinning insouciantly. `You must be multilingual, multitalented Isobel.'
Ì don't know how you dare come back in here,' said Isobel softly, trying to control her voice. Ì don't know how you have the nerve.'
Ì'm brave like that.' Alexander came close to her. `They didn't tell me you were beautiful, too.'
`Get away from me,' spat Isobel.
`That's not very friendly.'
`Friendly! You expect me to be friendly? After everything you've done to my sister?' Alexander looked up and grinned.
`So you know her little secret, do you?'
`The whole world knows her little secret, thanks to you!'
`What do you mean?' said Alexander innocently. `Has something happened?'
`Let me think,' said Isobel sarcastically. `Has something happened? Oh yes. The wedding's been cancelled. But I expect you already knew that.'
Alexander stared at her.
`You're joking.'
Òf course I'm not bloody joking!' cried Isobel. `The wedding's off. So congratulations, Alexander, you've achieved your aim. You've fucked up Milly's life completely. Not to mention the rest of us.'
`Jesus Christ!' Alexander ran a shaking hand through his hair. `Look, I never meant '
`No?' said Isobel furiously. `No? Well, you should have thought of that before you opened your big mouth. I mean, what did you think would happen?'
`Not this! Not this, for Christ's sake! Why the hell did she call off the wedding?'
`She didn't,' said Isobel. `Simon did.'
`What?' Alexander looked at her. `Why?'
Ì think that's their business, don't you?' said Isobel in a harsh voice. `Let's just say that if no one had said anything about her first marriage, everything would still be OK. If you'd just kept quiet . . .' She broke off. Òh, what's the point? You're a fucking psychopath.'
Ì'm not!' said Alexander. `Jesus! I never wanted anyone to cancel any wedding. I just wanted to '
`To what? What did you want?'
`Nothing!' said Alexander. Ì was just . . . stirring things a little.'
`God, you're pathetic!' said Isobel, staring at him. `You're just a pathetic, inadequate bully!' She looked at his bag. `You needn't think you're staying here tonight.'
`But my room's booked!'
Ànd now it's bloody well unbooked,' said Isobel, kicking his bag towards the door. `Do you know what you've done to my family? My mother's in shock, my sister's in tears ...'
`Look, I'm sorry, OK!' said Alexander, picking up his bag. Ì'm sorry your sister's wedding's off. But you can't blame me!'
`We can, and we do,' said Isobel, opening the front door. `Now get out!'
`But I didn't do anything!' exclaimed Alexander angrily, stepping outside. Ì just made a few jokes!'
`You call telling the vicar a fucking joke?' said Isobel furiously, and as Alexander opened his mouth to reply, she slammed the door.
Olivia walked up the stairs slowly, feeling a flat, dull sadness creep over her. The adrenalin of the early evening was gone; she felt weary and disappointed and prone to tears. It was all over. The goal to which she'd been working all this time had suddenly been lifted away, leaving nothing in its place.
No one else would ever understand quite how much of herself she'd put into Milly's wedding. Perhaps that had been her mistake. Perhaps she should have stood back, let Harry's people take over with their cool efficiency, and merely turned up on the day, groomed and politely interested. Olivia sighed. She couldn't have done it. She couldn't have watched as someone else put together her daughter's wedding.
So she'd gathered herself up and taken the job on and spent many hours planning and thinking and organizing. And now she would never see the fruits of all her labour.
Isobel's accusing voice rang in her ears and she winced. Somewhere along the line she had become at cross purposes with the rest of the family. Somehow she had become vilified for wanting everything to be just so. Perhaps James was right; perhaps it had become an obsession. But she had only wanted everything to be perfect for Milly. For all of them. And now no one would ever realize that. They wouldn't see the results. They wouldn't experience the joyous, lavish day she'd planned. They would just remember all the fuss.
She stopped at Milly's bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, and found herself walking in. Milly's wedding dress was still hanging up in its cotton cover on the wardrobe door. When she closed her eyes, Olivia could still see Milly's face as she tried it on for the first time. It had been the seventh dress she'd tried; both of them had known immediately that this was the one. They'd stared silently at the mirror, then, meeting Milly's eye, Olivia had said slowly, Ì think we'll have to have it. Don't you?'
Milly's measurements had been taken and somewhere in Nottingham the dress had carefully been made up again. Over the last few weeks it had been fitted again and again to Milly's figure. And now she would never wear it. Unable to stop herself, Olivia unzipped the wrapper, pulled out a little of the heavy satin and stared at it. From inside the cotton cover, a tiny iridescent pearl glinted at her. It was a truly beautiful dress. Olivia sighed, and before she could descend into maudlin grief, reached for the zip to close the wrapper again.
James, walking past the door, saw Olivia gazing mournfully at Milly's wedding dress and felt a stab of irritation. He stalked into Milly's room without pausing.
`For God's sake, Olivia,' he said brutally. `The wedding's off! It's off! Haven't you got that into your head yet?'
Olivia's head jerked up in shock and her hands began to tremble as she stuffed the dress back into its cover.
Òf course I have,' she said. Ì was just '
`Just wallowing in self-pity,' said James sarcastically. `Just thinking about your perfectly organized wedding, which is now never going to happen.'
Olivia zipped up the cover and turned round.
`James, why are you behaving as though all this is my fault?' she said shakily. `Why am I suddenly the villain? I didn't push Milly into marriage. I didn't force her to have a wedding! She wanted one! All I did was to organize it for her as best I could.'
Òrganize it for yourself, you mean!'
`Maybe,' said Olivia. `Partly. But what's so wrong with that?'
Òh, I give up,' said James, his face white with anger. Ì can't get through to you!' Olivia stared at him.
Ì don't understand you, James,' she said. Ì just don't understand. Weren't you ever happy that Milly was getting married?'
Ì don't know,' said James. He walked stiffly over to the window. `Marriage. What the hell has marriage got to offer a young girl like Milly?'
`Happiness,' said Olivia after a pause. À happy life with Simon.' James turned round and gave her a curious expression.
`You think marriage brings happiness, do you?'
Òf course I do!'
`Well, you must be a bigger optimist than I am.' He leaned back against the radiator, hunched his shoulders, and surveyed her with unreadable eyes.
`What do you mean?' said Olivia in a trembling voice. `James, what are you talking about?'
`What do you think I'm talking about?' said James.
The room seemed to ring with a still silence.
`Just look at us, Olivia,' said James at last. Àn old married couple. Do we give each other happiness?
Do we support each other? We haven't grown together over the years. We've grown apart.'
`No we haven't!' said Olivia in alarm. `We've been very happy together!'
James shook his head.
`We've been happy separately. You have your life and I have mine. You have your friends and I have mine. That's not what marriage is about.'
`We don't have separate lives,' said Olivia, a throb of panic in her voice.
Òh come on, Olivia!' exclaimed James. Àdmit it. You're more interested in your bed and breakfast guests than you are in me!'