by Alam, Donna
‘Yes.’ His answer is accompanied by a smile I’ve never seen him wear before. A smile that doesn’t look at all comfortable. ‘And I’m sorry if you’re not ready to hear that but the fact of the matter is, life is like a china shop and love is the bull rampaging through it.’ He clears his throat then kisses my cheek. ‘But I had something to give you. What?’ He pulls back a little, feigning surprise. ‘You’re not going to bite?’ But the innuendo just flies over my head.
He loves me.
And I’ve just moved in with him.
And how I feel about him?
You know how you feel, my mind whispers. So I shut that shit down. Immediately.
Something cold drops to my chest, settling in the V of the neckline. My fingers rise to touch as my eyes do the same in the mirror.
‘You don’t mind, do you? I’ve never really seen you wearing jewellery.’
Tiny stud earrings. My (former) engagement ring. A watch before the battery died. I’m not exactly what you call fancy.
‘It’s beautiful.’ I swallow thickly and blink back the sudden and very uncomfortable onset of tears as the stone sparkles, catching the light overhead. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t have to say anything. Except perhaps that you’ll think of me when you wear it.’
‘Of course I will, silly.’ Something cold shimmers over my skin in response to his phrasing. I turn again, pressing myself against him, absorbing the heat and the solid feel of him.
‘Come on.’ One quick hug and he’s pulling away. ‘Beckett and Olivia only get you for today. Afterwards, you’re all mine. But it’s almost eight o’clock. You said you wanted to get going before then.’
‘Yeah, I suppose I’d better.’ I smooth my dress over my hips and wonder if Sandy the housekeeper has any drier sheets to help with the cling. One last quick turn to the mirror and the light catches the pendant pressed against my chest. It’s so lovely, and such a surprise. And there’s one thing for sure; this isn’t moissanite.
I take the chance that Olivia and Beckett are too busy to notice that I arrive in James’s car, mainly because I’m a little late, but also because I don’t want to walk.
I have my iPad, the modern-day clipboard, with the all-important list recorded by priority and, though I’m wearing the same dress for the ceremony and reception, I have running shoes on my feet for now.
I follow the ant-like trail of staff around to the back of the house and start checking off my tasks.
‘Are you the wedding coordinator?’ I’m inspecting the tables in the marquee when I turn to the voice to find a girl in a white shirt and black apron, her blue hair pulled up in a high ponytail. One of the wait staff, brought along by the caterers, I’d guess.
‘Yep, that’s me.’ Sort of.
‘Oh, great.’ She smiles, her shoulders visibly sagging with relief. ‘My boss told me to go find the person in charge, but I could only find this tall guy in a suit who snarled at me when I asked him if he could help.’
‘Sharp jaw? A sharp suit? A tiny bit arrogant?’
‘Good looking and kind of scary.’ She nods.
‘Ah, that would be the groom.’
‘Ah. Shit. I mean, sugar. Anyway.’ She slides her hands into the back, titling back on her heels. ‘Is there any way you could come and have a word with him? My boss, I mean. He reckons the cables at the workstation aren’t regulation.
‘Absolutely. No probs, lead on, Macduff!’ This is my jam—lead me to your crisis and let me fix it.
‘Oh, no. I’m not Macduff. My name’s Naomi. My mates call me Nomes. Ironically, like. On account of me being nearly six foot tall.’
Nomes chatters all the way to the catering manager who, once reassured, goes about his workday. I straighten the hem of my dress and huff my iPad to my chest, and with a grin, return to the next task on my list, but before I can make it back to the tent, I’m intercepted by the florist.
* * *
‘There you are?’ This time, Heather finds me, I’m touching up my makeup and I don’t mind saying, I’m bloody knackered.
‘Don’t tell me; a troop of monkeys have turned up and they’re expecting to entertain the Queen?’
Her mouth hitches at one side. ‘I’d ask if you’ve dropped acid but for the bun situation.’
‘Bun?’ As I realise what she’s talking about, I close my compact with a snap. ‘Shush! You do realise where we are, don’t you?’
‘Relax. Everyone’s outside. Well, everyone who’s not working, that is.’ Her gaze drops to my shoes. ‘It’s a brave choice, designer dress and adidas, but I’m digging it.’
‘I’ve got shoes somewhere. I just didn’t want to end up with sore feet.’
‘Or ankles like an elephant.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘When mum was pregnant with the last of the brood, she didn’t have ankles so much as she had cankles. She even wore runners with Velcro.’ She shivers theatrically.
‘Remind me not to rely on you for pep talks. Anyway, was there something wrong?’ My checklist has been well and truly checked and I’m hoping I’m just about done.
‘No, but the ceremony’s going to start soon. I thought we could snag a couple of seats at the back. That way we’ll get first dibs on the reception champagne.’
‘Have you forgotten something?’ I ask, as she threads her arm through mine and we begin to make our way through the vast interior of the house.
‘Nope, that’s why I’m taking you. To swap my empty glass for your full.’
‘You look nice, by the way.’ Heather’s hair has been curled into soft waves and she’s wearing a pretty floral skater dress and her ballet flats.
‘I scrub up all right, don’t I. You look pretty gorg yourself, cous. Where Mr H?’
‘James, you mean?’ I can’t help the furtive look I slide over my shoulder. ‘We’re not together today. Haven’t you seen him?’
‘Nope. But then I haven’t seen the happy couple, either.’
‘They’re probably somewhere annoying each other so they can make up.’
‘Love is strange.’
I’m not touching that.
We reach the door that lead out to the expansive gardens filled with a riot of autumnal colours. Scarlet and crimson, purple and gold. It’s like Mother Nature chose the perfect day for our boss babe.
‘They scored with the weather,’ Heather says as we pick our way down to the babbling brook, no less, that looks like it was imported just for today. Subtly bronzed chairs festooned with ribbon make up the rows of pews, and an arbour covered in ivy and pale cabbage roses make up an altar.
‘Babe, you should do this stuff for a living.’
‘I’m quite good at it, I think. Does that sound big headed?’
‘Nope. It sounds like good advertising. Speaking of which.’ She tugs on the hem of my dress which has ridden up my thighs. ‘They do say it pays to advertise, but I think your Mr H is already sold.’
‘Stop it.’ No don’t. Really, go on.
The chairs start to fill up, people milking around, choosing sides and vying for the best spots as Heth and I take a seat at the back. The couple have chosen a nondenominational ceremony which is being conducted by a woman.
As a string quartet strikes up, I look down and realise I still have my runners on. And in another epic fail, I’ve left my phone plugged into a socket in the kitchen. I hope no one swipes it.
I turn to the aisle, looking at the people on the other side, but I can’t see James anywhere. He said he’d sit with Griff—Beckett had opted to forgo a large bridal party—which is probably just as well as James seems to be in a bit of a snit with him. Anyway, as I don’t know who Griff is, it hardly helps. I’m sure we’ll catch up after the ceremony. Maybe for a dance or a quick smooch among the trees.
I begin to wonder if I should be at the side making sure the congregants stand when it happens organically right before the bride arrives. She’s accompanied down the aisl
e by her grandmother, and they look so darling together as they exchange happy yet somehow conspiratorial looks. As they pass our row, I hear the old lady mutter to her granddaughter, ‘Oh, look at him, Libby. He looks like a proper Bobby Dazzler.’
And then we’re looking at the backs of their heads; one neat little pie hat in pink and one ivory cathedral length veil.
The symbolic offering of the bride’s hand follows before the celebrant begins to speak.
‘Please be seated. I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most joyful of days.’
I am pretty joyful right now.
The satisfaction of a job carried out to the best of your ability.
‘I can’t think of a better venue than Beckett and Olivia’s beautiful home for such an occasion, a home that is filled with love. And we are blessed to be here today to take part in this celebration of their love.’
A home that is filled with love.
They’re a strange couple, but the way she looks at him? It’s as though he hung the moon. Or something.
‘It’s the most remarkable moment in life when you meet the person who makes you feel complete. The person who, for you, makes the world a better place. A beautiful place. The person with whom you share a bond so special you can see no other standing in their place . . .’
Something in her words strikes a chord deep inside me.
Could it be that James is my person? I clasp my hands to my stomach as tears suddenly prick at my lids as I recall a kaleidoscope of tiny moments. When he makes me laugh. The kindnesses he has shown. The way he’s made me face my fears without me really knowing.
James is my person. He is! Something inside me cracks, something as cool and as sweet as a watermelon, the sensation souring almost as quick.
Am I his person? Do I make him feel the same? Or do I keep him at arm’s length because I don’t trust myself? Is he waiting for me to claim him?
I’m not pragmatic. I’m a coward. James deserves better, and I’m going to deliver.
Readings are read, vows are made, and kisses bestowed before a cry of congratulations goes up marking the first moment of the rest of their lives.
Or did that start in New York?
I don’t see James in the congregation and he’s not at the marquee. He’s also not in the house, as far as I can tell. Back at the tent, Heather and I are served champagne and we weave through the happy people still looking for him.
‘I can’t see him.’ I push up onto my toes, even though I know he’s taller than most people here.
‘Maybe he was called to work,’ Heather suggests, her voice even.
‘He would’ve text. And he’s not answering his phone.’
‘Don’t stress. And swap me your champagne.’ As we exchange glasses, the happy couple appear. I refrain from pointing out that Olivia’s veil is coming lose and that Beckett’s shirt tails are hanging out. I also tug at Heather hand to make sure she doesn’t point out the obvious.
‘You haven’t seen James at all, have you?’
‘James?’ Olivia looks to Beckett, though his expression betrays nothing.
‘She means Harry,’ Heth says.
Cue a literal shit-tonne of expressions on all of our faces in something akin to a farce.
Mine. Mortification. Awkwardness. My gaze sliding away.
Olivia. Surprise. A narrowed expression. Suspicion directed at her husband.
Heather: Ouch. Painful. Where is that waiter when you want a fresh glass?
Beckett: I refuse to be drawn into this.
* * *
‘He was supposed to be here. I called him at the last minute and asked him to stand up with me as best man.’
‘The day of the wedding?’ Olivia complains. ‘Are you high?’ A look passes between the two; a wince from her and imperious glance from him.
‘We’ve both been rather busy.’ Cue another awkward look. This time, from me as I examine the clouds. ‘The man is like a brother to me. If I call him five minutes before something, I know I can rely on him to be there. Proximity permitting.’
‘But he’s not here,’ Heather points out unhelpfully before draining what’s left in her glass. My glass?
My phone rings, James’s name lighting up the screen. Well, his initials. We were keeping this thing between us on the down low, so that included making sure no one guessed by looking down at my caller display or texts. But after today, I’m going to take a photograph so I can see his face every time her calls.
Were.
‘Where are you?’ I don’t wait for greetings as my heart starts to pound, that sixth sense where you just know something is wrong. The noise in the background. What is it? A tunnel or an airport?
As the person on the other line begins to speak, my world tilts on its axis.
37
Miranda
I feel like I’m underwater. Sounds are muted and indistinct, colour, too. I’m being dragged under. Down. My limbs heavy as my heart is squeezed tight.
‘Mir.’
At my name, the sounds come rushing back. Warm hands clasp my cheek, Heather’s worried expression looming large in my gaze.
‘I’m not going to fall apart.’ I’m not sure if the room agrees with me, the pale walls behind my cousin’s head swimming. ‘I need to stay strong.’ Eyes wide, I tilt my chin and I stare at the ceiling to ward off the sensations still pulling at me.
‘Of course you’re not,’ she agrees softly. ‘That’s not you.’
‘Right, I’m here.’ Olivia skitters down the last couple of stairs. Jeans, jumper, and boots, her wedding makeup giving her the air of a painted doll.
‘You can’t leave your wedding. The Guests.’ I wave ineffectually in the direction of the garden, the same hand pressed to my forehead as I try to process what the caller had said.
Miranda, my name is Thomas Harrison. I’m James’s father. I’m at the hospital. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I can. We’re already married, this was just an excuse for a party. Heather, will you find my Gran? Tell her what’s happened. Then get Griff to follow us to St George’s. We’ll go ahead with Mir. Is that okay?’
I don’t answer, not as Beckett appears, traveling swiftly and almost silently down the same staircase. He’s still in his wedding suit, car keys in hand.
‘Which one’s Griff.’ Heather sounds so young, and her eyes are as wide as saucers.
‘Gran will point him out. Remind her he’s the cheeky one. Tell her she’s in charge. She probably have them all drunk and singing karaoke before we’re out of the drive.’
‘Ready?’ Beckett’s voice is all business, but my knees are all mush. I curl my fingers around the edge of the table even as I nod. How can anyone prepare for this?
I think I’m going to puke.
‘Did he say what happened?
‘A—’ I cough and force back the rising bile. ‘Just that he’d had a car accident and that he was at St George’s Hospital.’
When did it happen? What was I doing while he was being whisked away in an ambulance? How could I not have known?
‘That the best place they could take him. The trauma unit is first class. Come on.’ Without waiting, he strides for the door.
Heth presses her lips to my cheek hard. I’ll be there soon. Kick his butt for me for frightening us all.’ I nod and wonder why it is people say such ridiculous things. Comfort, obviously. To ward off anything else. Her eyes glisten as she dashes off in the direction of the party, swiping her hand across her face.
Olivia take my arm and we head in the opposite direction a Beckett begins to yell at the twenty-something valet to start moving cars. I sourced the valet company. I arranged for two attendants to park cars and one to man the keys. But I couldn’t have anticipated this. The chaos as cars are reversed onto garden beds to make just enough space for us to leave.
Beckett’s car smells of leather and that new car scent. T
he seatbelt embraces me, keeping me in the moment.
Was he wearing his seatbelt? A montage of moments pass through my head as I try to work it out. I know it’s a ridiculous thought—these days, who doesn’t?—but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it anyway.’
‘You’ve been seeing Harry for a while, then?’ From the front of the car, Olivia twist in her seat to face me.
‘Three months.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. This is patently not true, unless together means gestating.
‘Oh.’ An oh that means why didn’t you say?
‘It was just a fling. I didn’t ever know James and Beckett were friends.’ I can hear my voice getting higher and it feels like there’s a fist squeezing my heart. ‘Not until later. And by then—’
‘Miranda.’ Beckett’s gaze catches mine in the rear view mirror. ‘Breathe.’ At the sound of his instruction, I find myself inhaling a lungful of air. ‘You must try to calm down. This isn’t good for either of you.’
He’s right. Of course he’s right. Pull yourself together. This baby feeds off your emotions. But I don’t even know if that’s true. Is should have read those bloody baby books. As my heart suffers another awful squeeze, I take another deep breath.
On some distant level, I become aware of the look exchanged between the two. And then I realise.
‘He told you.’
‘I gather he wasn’t supposed to,’ Beckett replies.
‘Not until Monday.’
‘Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?’ Olivia asks, her gaze swinging between us.
‘I love him and we’re going to have a baby.
‘You are literally the worst driver,’ Oliva snipes. ‘Even I could’ve told you to ignore the last turn off.’
‘This is a hundred thousand pound car, Olivia. Who would’ve thought the navigation system could be improved by the input of your directions.’
‘The navigation system obviously doesn’t watch the news, or else it would’ve know the roads in this area would’ve been busier because of the Brexit demonstrations.’
