EX Files

by Jane Moore

  Faye opened her curtains to let in the morning sunlight and sat down at the dainty wooden dressing table to put the finishing touches to her breakfast makeup. She rarely appeared anywhere in public without at least one layer of tinted moisturizer, two of mascara, and a smidgen of clear lip gloss for that “natural” look. When she had started having sexual relationships, it had taken her a while to break the habit of waking up earlier than her partner and rushing into the bathroom to beautify herself before he woke.

  She was a naturally pretty girl, but for some reason she felt exposed if any man saw her face as nature intended. It was only recently that she’d allowed Mark this privilege, and with his typical kindness he’d said she looked barely any different.

  Now, as she applied her lip gloss and made one last check in the mirror, she forced herself to smile. “It’s your wedding day!” she said to her reflection. But, try as she might to feel euphoric, she felt weary at the prospect. Yet again she found herself wishing that they’d just buggered off abroad and married with the minimum of fuss.

  Walking across to the built-in wardrobe, she slid back the door and took another look at her wedding dress, pristine in its plastic casing. In approximately five hours’ time, she would be wearing it and walking to meet Mark for the ceremony. Falling back onto an armchair, she stared into the middle distance and thought about what Tony had said the night before: “Maybe you just love the idea of getting married and any old bloke will do.”

  What if he’s right? she thought. Am I getting married for the right reasons?

  When she stopped to think about it, she had to admit she harbored slight reservations about it, but she had put them down to nerves. Most of her married friends had told her they felt the same way just before their big day. Now, thanks to Tony, her slight reservations were huge nagging doubts.

  Did she just love the idea of getting married? She wasn’t sure. It was true that the recent marriages of many of her friends had left her feeling a little panicky about the future, and Adam had told her so many times that she was the fickle bitch from hell that she was even beginning to believe it herself. Perhaps she suspected everyone thought that of her, so getting married was her way of telling them they were wrong.

  Faye dismissed the idea. No, she loved Mark. She was sure of that. After all, there was nothing about him not to love. He was nice looking, kind, romantic, and . . . just a little bit dreary. As that thought popped into her head, Faye let out a small groan. God, she hated being so callous, but she couldn’t help herself.

  She did find Mark a little dull at times, but only at times. And as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a man on the planet who could excite her twenty-four seven. Was there? Her friend Laura claimed that her husband Rory constantly excited her, but as Faye found Laura a teensy bit tedious she put this down to Laura’s lower standards. Outside, the hotel staff were milling around, starting to place the chairs for the ceremony. Later, they would decorate the quaint little gazebo with garlands of flowers. The sun was shining, and she guessed that, by now, her mother would be in a state of high anxiety mixed with excitement and Jean would soon be preening herself for her starring role as the groom’s mother. All the other family and friends would be looking forward to an afternoon spent drinking free champagne in the blazing sunshine. So why on earth couldn’t she, the bride, muster up any excitement?

  “Mind over matter,” she chanted, cross with herself for allowing gloom to descend. That bloody Tony will not be allowed to spoil my day, she thought angrily. For the umpteenth time that morning, she felt a flutter of nerves as she remembered him saying that, today, his aversion to the wedding would go up a gear. What might he do? All she could hope was that it had been the alcohol talking, that in the sober light of day he’d decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. Time would tell.

  She ran into the bedroom, gave her hair a quick brush, and went to have breakfast with Adam.

  “Pssst, here!”

  Faye stood in the middle of the breakfast room, her head swiveling Exorcist-style. She could hear Adam, she just couldn’t see him.

  “Here!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a rustling yucca plant in a small recess to the left of the restaurant, then a glimpse of a neon-pink T-shirt. “Why are you lurking here?” She smiled as she read his T-shirt logo—“DonnaKebab.” Normally, Adam loathed fakes or spoofs, but Donna Karan had ignored him once at a fashion party and he’d been wreaking his own small revenge ever since.

  “I’m not in the mood for small talk, so I thought I’d hide away,” he whispered.

  Faye put on a wounded expression. “Those are my dear, dear friends you’re talking about.” Then she sighed. “I have to say I’m finding this all terribly wearing too. In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to invite family and exes all under one roof. We should have just sneaked off to some sunny beach to get married, then come back and surprised everyone.”

  Adam wiped stray croissant crumbs from his chin. “What? And deprive me of all the fun I’m having? Nonsense! Anyway, the other guests will arrive later and provide some dilution.”

  Faye took a sip of her black no-sugar tea and refused the sticky pastry he offered her. “Do you think I’m mad to have invited Nat and Rich?”

  “My own personal amusement aside, it is a little weird, I’ll admit.” A globule of croissant landed on Faye’s chest. “Ooh, sorry, darling . . . I mean, they’re not exactly your great friends, are they? You’d lost contact with them both so that should tell you something.”

  “I know,” said Faye, brushing herself with a paper napkin. “I just didn’t want to feel left out because bloody Kate and Jenna were here.”

  “Yes, but Mark’s a nicer person than you, darling, so he stays friends with his exes.”

  “He is nice, isn’t he?” said Faye, pleadingly.

  “Terrible . . . I mean, terribly.” Adam grinned. “I’m sure he’ll make someone a lovely husband. Just not you.”

  “Please don’t start. Today of all days, I just want to hear positive things . . . If only someone would tell that to his bloody brother.”

  “Hmmm, not keen on you, is he?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “What was all that about last night, going on about being unfaithful? It was a bit odd, wasn’t it? Particularly given what happened last weekend.”

  Faye spluttered into her tea, then checked around her to make sure no one had heard. Luckily, the breakfast room was empty except for them. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened,” she hissed. “And I wish you’d bloody forget about it too.” She was thankful she hadn’t told him the bombshell that her one-night stand had been with Tony.

  “Sorrreeee!”

  She calmed down. “I think he was referring to when he stumbled across Nat and me out by the loos.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Nothing! God, he repulses me now.”

  “Darling, a prat he may be, but repulsive? He’s incredibly sexy . . . until he speaks, of course.” He was using a toothpick to clean his nails. “So what were you doing?”

  “Nat was blathering on about Mark being wrong for me, and he had his hands on my waist. Then I noticed Tony watching us from the doorway.”

  “What doorway?”

  “To the locker room further down the corridor.”

  “Hang on.” Adam shifted in his seat. “You were with Nat in a secretive little side room where he had his hands around your waist? I’m not surprised Tony jumped to conclusions.”

  Faye narrowed her eyes threateningly. “It was not secretive and we were just talking, but Tony already hated me before that so he just saw that he wanted to see.”

  Adam’s face lit up with a realization. “Is that why you were so desperate to get rid of me later on? You wanted to explain yourself?”

  “Not explain myself, no. I don’t have to explain myself to him. I just wanted to get to the bottom of why he seems so hell-bent on spoiling Mark’s and my big day,” she said, hoping she sounde
d convincing.

  Adam propped his elbows amid the crumbs. “And?”

  Faye shrugged. “He said he had nothing against me personally, but thinks Mark and I are incompatible. He thinks Mark’s too nice for me.”

  “Well, that makes three of us, then,” said Adam. “Tony, Nat, and I all think you’re marrying the wrong man.” He made a loud buzzing noise. “Our survey says . . .”

  Her face darkened. “Are you seriously telling me I should call off my wedding because the three wise bloody monkeys think it’s not right?” She leaned across and tapped his head. “That peroxide you use has clearly seeped into your brain.”

  Adam pouted. “Look, Nat’s an idiot and Tony hardly knows you, but at least take on board what I’m saying. You might surprise me and live happily ever after with Mark, but I very much doubt it.” He picked up another croissant and broke off a small piece. “We’re not talking Cinderella and Prince Charming here. No disrespect, dear, but you’re the Wicked Witch when you want to be.”

  Faye smiled despite his audacity. “And what’s he?”

  Adam tutted indulgently. “He’s Toto, darling. Sorry, lovely fellow and all that, but too laid-back for you. He’d usually be destined to fawn over you from afar, but for some reason he’s got to this stage and can’t believe his luck.”

  “He has had girlfriends before, you know.”

  “Yes, but no one like you. Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice looking and he’s not bad company, but he just hasn’t got the extra something you need to keep you interested.”

  They fell silent, him chewing his croissant, her licking her fingers and pressing them onto the tablecloth to collect stray crumbs. The breakfast room was still blissfully empty.

  “You’re wrong, Adam,” she said, after a while. “I’m determined to make this work.”

  “If it was right in the first place, you wouldn’t have to,” he countered. “It would just tick along nicely by itself.”

  “When have you ever had a relationship that ticked along nicely?”

  He looked hurt. “Moi? Well, there was Billy.”

  “Billy!” She dribbled tea into her saucer. “Don’t make me laugh!”

  Adam and Billy had been an item when he and Faye first met. They had been together for around six months by then, and thrived on arguments, the more dramatic the better. They had one every couple of days, and on the days in between, they were all over each other like a rash. Billy was a social worker and regarded Adam’s job as shallow and meaningless. This was the source of many of their conflicts, but they had fallen out over almost anything.

  On one occasion Adam had rung Faye at midnight, sobbing hysterically that it was over. He and Billy had been out for dinner, then returned to Adam’s flat where a blazing row had broken out over their forthcoming holiday to Australia. As he earned more, Adam had offered to pay the extra so they could stay in a nicer hotel, but Billy had insisted on booking somewhere cheaper and splitting it fifty-fifty. The discussion had developed into a full-scale row about earnings and the validity of their jobs. It had ended with Billy calling Adam “a ruthless Thatcherite” and storming out.

  Inevitably, they made up and flew to Australia for gay Mardi Gras, but Adam returned home alone, heartbroken. Billy had taken up with a waiter he’d met in their budget hotel and decided to stay in Australia for as long as he could get away with it.

  “Have you heard from him lately?” asked Faye.

  Adam made a face. “I haven’t seen him since he crawled out of the woodwork that time I told you about. That was about six months ago, and he’s rung a couple of times but I haven’t bothered calling him back. I’m too old to get back into all that roller-coaster stuff.”

  Faye laughed. “Listen to you! You sound like an old codger. Believe me, the minute some gorgeous man gives you the eye, you’ll get right back on the ride again.”

  “Maybe you’re right; until then, I’d much rather be on my own than with someone who’s wrong for me.” He looked right at her but she deliberately looked away.

  “The benefit of hindsight!” she said pointedly. “If I’d told you that Billy was wrong for you while you were with him, you wouldn’t have believed me. You would have carried on until you came to that conclusion yourself.”

  “So you’ll only come to your senses about you and Mark when it’s too late to end it without lawyers and divorce and stuff?”

  “It won’t ever come to that,” she said firmly. Desperate to change the somber mood, she clapped her hands. “Right! I’d better go and start the arduous preparation to make myself a radiant bride.”

  Saturday, June 29

  1 p.m.

  Faye returned to her room, had a quick nap, then enjoyed a long, piping-hot bath. She lay there, trying hard to think happy thoughts about the ceremony, but her mind kept returning to how negative certain people were feeling about it.

  Mark was still eternally optimistic, but he seemed to be the only one, except perhaps for her mother. But then she would never mention any misgivings anyway.

  At the thought of her fiancé Faye smiled, and it struck her that she was feeling as close to contentment as she imagined she was ever likely to get. Tonight she would be sharing this room with her new husband.

  Hauling herself out of the water, she brushed the soap suds from her arms and legs, and wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s soft white towels. Over her years as a model, Faye had become adept at doing her own hair and makeup, so her preparations were solitary. Slapping a sea-mud cleansing mask on her face, she planned to leave it there for half an hour before starting the rest of the skin-cleansing process. She had booked a ten-minute session on the hotel’s Super Turbo sunbed in an hour’s time, then she would return to her room to blow dry her hair and put on makeup.

  A faint sound distracted her. Then she heard it again: the doorbell to her suite. “Do not disturb means do not bloody disturb,” she muttered, pulling a robe round her and walking out into the sitting room.

  “Who is it?” she said, and peered through the peephole. It was Tony. Her stomach lurched. “What is it? I’m in the bath,” she lied.

  “Let me in. I have something to say.” He looked agitated, glancing nervously up and down the corridor.

  “It’ll have to wait,” she said crisply. “I’m about to get ready.”

  “It won’t wait. It has to be now.”

  She flipped back the lock and opened the door. “Come in. This had better be good.”

  “Are you OK? You look a little green,” he said, with a faint smirk.

  She remembered the face mask. “Well, funnily enough, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She frowned and felt the mud crack. “Sit down, and I’ll just go and put some clothes on.”

  She pushed the bedroom door shut behind her, finished drying herself, scrubbed her face, and threw on a T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Her mind was in overdrive with the possible twists and turns of events that might be about to unfold. Perhaps he’s come to say he’s prepared to keep quiet about my aberration, she thought, and prayed that was the case.

  “Right, you have my undivided attention,” she said. She sat in an armchair next to the sofa where he was picking at the edge of a cushion. “I’m intrigued as to what’s so important that it can’t wait until another time.”

  Tony stopped fiddling with the cushion and looked straight at her. He cleared his throat. “Faye . . . stop this.”

  Thrown by his directness, she stalled for time. “Stop what?”

  He merely looked at her with a “you know better than that” expression. “This self-delusion that everything is all right.”

  “Look, Tony, I know what happened last weekend wasn’t an ideal situation, but it’s in the past and Mark never needs to know.” Her calm tone belied the churning in her chest. “And, let’s face it, if it hadn’t been you, he never would have known.”

  “I see.” His tone was measured. “And that would make it OK to carry on and get married, would it?”

  “I
n my book, yes,” she said sullenly.

  “Well, in my book it doesn’t. Particularly when the main character is my brother.”

  They stared at each other defiantly for a few seconds, both intransigent in their view that they were right. Trouble was, Tony had the moral high ground and Faye knew it.

  He sighed. “I’ve said this so many times I’m starting to bore myself. You were unfaithful to Mark last weekend. You can’t marry him.” He was studying her intently, watching for her reaction.

  She made sure there wasn’t one. “We’ve already discussed this, and I made my position quite clear. I love Mark and I intend to marry him.”

  His expression hardened. “If picking up a stranger in a seedy bar is normal behavior to you, then fine, I couldn’t give a shit. But when you’re about to marry my brother, I care deeply about it.”

  “It wasn’t a seedy bar. It was the bloody Pitcher and Piano, for God’s sake.” She knew it was irrelevant, but she was damned if she was going to let him paint a scenario that branded her as little more than a hooker.

  “Oh, that’s all right, then,” he said flatly.

  Faye had never felt more wretched. She had felt cheap after last weekend’s episode, but now a man she barely knew was using it as a means to destroy what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. “I didn’t have sex with you,” she said miserably. “If you remember, I thought better of it at the last minute.”

  “Details, details,” he muttered. “Getting naked and inviting a man into your bed constitutes infidelity in my book. I certainly wouldn’t want any fiancée of mine behaving like that.”

  She blushed with shame at the memory. “I agree that even as far as it went, it wasn’t the behavior of a woman about to get married. But there were all sorts or reasons for it, and I’m certainly not going to elaborate on them with you . . .” She looked up at him to see if he was annoyed by this, but his face was expressionless, bored almost.

  She leaned forward and stared him straight in the eye. “My behavior was reprehensible that night, but what I can’t understand is why you would want to ruin the wedding day of the brother you claim to love so much.”