Thirteen Weddings

by Paige Toon

  I squeeze my eyes shut and then ping them open again. Suddenly everything is clear.

  Epilogue

  ‘I’m coming! Sorry, I got held up at work,’ I say in a rush to Bridget, who’s calling me to find out why I’m so late for our lunch together.

  ‘People are eyeing this table like they’re vultures and I’m road kill, so get your butt here ASAP.’

  ‘I’ll be there in five,’ I promise, ending the call and waving to the receptionist in the lobby, who has her head buried in a bridal magazine. I hear her boyfriend has just proposed.

  I look out of the floor-to-ceiling glass and sigh when I see it’s pouring with rain outside. I shouldn’t be too surprised: it’s typical weather for March. Luckily I have my lightweight umbrella in my bag, so I get it ready and push out through the revolving doors onto the pavement. My phone rings as I’m putting it up. With the rain pelting down around me, I dig out my phone from my bag and smile when I see who’s calling me.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  ‘Hey yourself,’ he replies warmly. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Off to meet Bridget for lunch.’ I set off at a quick pace, struggling to hold my bag, the umbrella and my phone to my ear. ‘I’m late so I’ve got to rush.’

  ‘Busy morning at Hebe?’ he asks over the sound of drumming rain on my umbrella.

  ‘Crazy.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll be late tonight?’ His voice is tinged with disappointment.

  ‘I’ll be home before they arrive, I promise,’ I reply with a smile. I haven’t forgotten that we’ve got his new boss coming for dinner.

  ‘Good. Love you.’

  ‘Love you, too.’

  I end the call and hurry across the road. A few minutes later I arrive at the restaurant, smiling at the sight of Bridget sitting there in prime position at the window. Trust her to get some of the best seats in the house.

  ‘Hello!’ I call. ‘I’m so sorry!’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ She brushes me off, leaning over the table to give me a hug. ‘Just been sitting here admiring the view.’ She looks pointedly across the room at two gorgeous guys sitting at the bar.

  ‘And there’s me thinking you might be talking about the Sydney Opera House,’ I say sweetly, glancing out of the window to indicate the white sails of the famous landmark just a few hundred metres away.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, bit bored of it now,’ she jokes, waving me away. ‘And what the hell is with this weather? I thought Sydney was supposed to be hot!’

  ‘It’s autumn, you idiot.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Come back in summer.’

  ‘Don’t joke about it,’ she says, quite seriously.

  I’m in Sydney and Bridget is visiting. I didn’t go back to the UK. I didn’t go back at all. I spent Christmas with Lachie in Perth and as soon as I saw him my world spun just a little more steadily on its axis. He centres me. So in between Christmas and New Year, I called Simon, Hebe’s editor, and came clean to him about everything. It was a horrendous, difficult conversation, but I needed his understanding before I could ask for his support. Even if Alex weren’t a factor, I wanted to be closer to home to help Mum and look out for Dad. I don’t know how much time he’ll have left.

  Although naturally disappointed, Simon agreed to let me stay in Australia instead of insisting I return to London to work out my notice.

  Bridget was devastated to hear I wasn’t coming back. She’s been the best flatmate, but more importantly, the best friend I’ve ever had. I knew I’d miss her terribly, but she said she understood – and vowed to wangle a press trip to Australia as soon as she could. She stayed true to her word. She arrived a week ago, laden down with excess baggage, including an extra suitcase with the rest of my things. She’s enjoying herself so much, she’s contemplating staying for a bit. As a freelancer, she could certainly eke out her fair share of Australian-based articles.

  After New Year, Lachie and I packed up and said goodbye to his funny, friendly, warm and slightly wacky family and set off to Sydney on an adventure of our own. We found a one-bedroom apartment in Manly near the beach and I spoke to all my old contacts to try and line up work on various picture desks. To my amazement, I found that my old, old evil boss at Hebe Australia had handed in her notice. So I applied for the position of Picture Editor – and got it. Lachie, meanwhile, landed a job on a building site to bring in some cash, which he plans to supplement with busking and gigging.

  We’ve been in Sydney for just over two months now and life is good.

  But I still think about Alex. It’s hard not to when he emails me every day. One morning, I’m certain I will arrive at work to find my inbox empty, and I’m not yet sure how I will feel about that. For now, when I see his name, I freeze, wondering what he will say to me next. This morning it was: ‘I love you. I’m not giving up.’

  Father William came back to South Australia because he said that he had to go back to be able to move on. Maybe there’s something in that. Maybe I have to go back to London to see Alex before I can truly move on. But I’m not ready to do that yet. If I see him again, I may cave. The chemistry between us is overwhelming and I don’t think it’s healthy: sometimes chemistry can be toxic.

  When I’m thinking clearly, I don’t think we could have ever had a fresh start. Our relationship would have always been built on shaky ground. He needs time to adjust without Zara in his life, and for now, I need to be with someone who makes me feel happy and loved and secure. But that’s when I’m thinking clearly.

  When I’m not thinking clearly, I still love him. Even despite the pain he has caused.

  ‘You’re going to be around tonight, aren’t you?’ I say to Bridget.

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘We’ve got Lachie’s boss and his wife coming over for dinner. I’d love you to meet them.’

  ‘Cool, okay. Are they nice?’

  ‘Very. I’ve got a good feeling about them. I think they could be friends.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re not coming back,’ she says suddenly, sullenly.

  ‘I miss you, too,’ I reply quietly. I miss all of my friends and colleagues. Russ and Maria had a baby boy in January and are still going strong. Polly and Grant are tighter than ever and she remains off the booze. Rachel’s assistant Sally split up with her boyfriend, which is sad for her, but at least increases her levels of reliability for my friend. Rachel was upset to lose me, even after I let her down so badly during that disastrous thirteenth wedding. She kindly told me that I got the shots she required of the church and the groom for the portfolio – but in the end, none of our shots were needed because the bride and groom split up before Rachel had even put together the final package. She wasn’t surprised. She could sense both in the church and at the reception that Alex was there in body, but not in spirit, although she didn’t understand why he seemed so detached until I finally told her the truth about us. She was stunned that I agreed to do his wedding in the first place. I have to keep reminding myself that I did it for the right reasons – that he was a friend and I didn’t want to let him or Rachel down – but Lachie still wonders if I have sadomasochistic tendencies.

  Rachel sent all of Alex and Zara’s photographs to them anyway – including the shot I took of him looking at her when she reached his side. But I never gave Rachel the ones of Alex looking at me. I’ve filed them away. I know I should delete them. But for now, I can’t bring myself to.

  Maybe Lachie’s right. Maybe I do have sadomasochistic tendencies. But for now, those tendencies are pretty much suppressed.

  My mum is still seeing David, and my dad is declining steadily. I speak to the nurse occasionally to get medical updates, and she tells me that Dad is occasionally visited by a priest, who I’m assuming is Father William. Even he doesn’t seem to spark off any memories, as far as the nurses can tell, but apparently the priest seems to find it comforting to just sit there and listen to Dad playing the piano, which apparently, he does often.

  ‘Have you thought any more about doing som
e part-time wedding photography?’ Bridget asks me after the waitress has come to take our order.

  She suggested the idea to me, wanting to put me in touch with the Australian version of the bridal magazine where she worked in London, just in case they had any advice.

  ‘I’m not completely closed off to the idea,’ I reply. ‘Lachie’s lined up a wedding gig for next summer,’ I reveal with a smile.

  ‘You two should open up a wedding business,’ she says eagerly. ‘You do the pics, he does the entertainment, quids in!’

  I laugh. ‘Maybe one day I’ll look into getting another assistant job, but I just want to settle into life in Sydney and not complicate things.’ I also need to let my heart recuperate.

  ‘I think you should get back on the horse pronto,’ she says in her usual straight-talking manner. ‘And bollocks to assisting – Rachel thinks you’re good enough to run the show. You should get yourself an assistant,’ she says firmly. ‘In fact, what about Lachie?’

  ‘What?’ I pull a face.

  ‘You could teach him how to take the pictures of the groom and the church, then take over at the reception when he does his bit.’

  Her suggestion makes me think more of Alex than Lachie.

  ‘What?’ Bridget asks, seeing my cogs turning.

  ‘Alex is the one who’s into photography,’ I say bleakly.

  She leans back in her chair and makes an exasperated sound. ‘Enough about Alex,’ she snaps. ‘What did today’s email say?’ she demands to know.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I reply, not wanting to set her off on another rant. She is not happy that Alex continues to email me.

  ‘I can’t believe, after everything he’s done, he’s still at it!’ she erupts.

  ‘Leave it, Bridge,’ I say wearily.

  ‘Seriously!’ She’s not going to leave it. ‘You’re happy with Lachie! What the hell does he think he’s doing, still chasing you? He needs to let you go, let you get on with your life. He’s done enough damage.’

  I sigh.

  ‘And you,’ she starts in an accusatory tone, making me stiffen, ‘need to stop encouraging him.’

  ‘I’m not encouraging him!’ I’m outraged. ‘I never reply to his emails!’

  ‘Exactly,’ she says with the satisfaction of someone who feels they’re in the right.

  I eye her with trepidation.

  ‘You’re not telling him to stop contacting you,’ she continues sternly. ‘It’s not fair on Lachie, and even though I think he’s a total arse, it’s not fair on Alex, either.’ She leans across the table towards me and gently takes my hand. ‘You need to let him go,’ she says imploringly. ‘It’s about time.’

  I leave Bridget in a pensive mood. I know she’s right. If Lachie had an ex-girlfriend who was emailing him every day, trying to win him back, I’d go mad. Lachie’s not even aware of the extent to which Alex still emails me. If he kept something like that from me... Dread surges through me, quickly followed by guilt and finally, resolve. I huddle in a doorway, out of the rain, and get out my mobile. Without letting myself think about it too much, I dial Alex’s number. It’s pretty late on a Thursday night for him, so I hope he’ll still be up.

  ‘Hello?’

  My heart clenches at the sound of his sleepy voice, but I force myself to harden up. ‘It’s Bronte.’

  ‘Bronte!’ He sounds shocked. ‘What are you— Where are you?’

  ‘Sydney. Alex, you need to stop emailing me,’ I say in as firm a tone as I can muster. ‘I’m with Lachie,’ I continue. ‘I love him. It’s over between us.’ It never really started in the first place, but the sentiment is true.

  There’s silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s there, but then he speaks. ‘I’m sorry. But I don’t believe that’s it. We can’t be done.’

  ‘We are.’ I force myself to say the words. ‘You’ll never change my mind.’

  I hear him sigh heavily. ‘Okay, Bronte,’ he says softly. ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want.’

  ‘I am.’

  A long pause follows, and then he says, ‘Okay,’ with an air of finality. A lump forms in my throat. ‘I’ll look out for your pictures,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’ll get to do a royal wedding one day.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Tears start to roll down my cheeks. I don’t tell him that I’m not doing any weddings at the moment. I’m sure I will start up again soon.

  I don’t want to break down on the phone to him. As Bridget said, I need to let him go. It’s about time. ‘I’ve gotta get on,’ I say. ‘Goodbye, Alex.’

  I close my eyes and wait for it, and finally it comes: ‘Bye, Bronte.’

  I end the call and dig into my bag for a tissue, giving myself a moment in the dark doorway to gather myself together. But by the time my mobile is back in my bag and my heels are clicking along the pavement, a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifts from my shoulders.

  I brush away the last of my tears and take a deep breath. That was the right thing to do.

  I speed through the rest of my day at work and catch a JetCat to Manly, staying inside the cabin to avoid the relentless rainfall. The grey sea is rough as the ferry surges away from Circular Quay, leaving the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House far behind as we descend on Manly. I join the hordes of commuters stepping off the boat and then set off at a brisk walk to our apartment near the beach. My legs are wet through by the time I arrive – autumn has well and truly come and I really need a bigger umbrella. It’s a dark day and as I look up at the two-storey apartment block and our small balcony with a wetter-than-wet wetsuit draped over the railings, I can see that the lights are on inside. Lachie is home. I don’t imagine he got much work done today on the building site, but I’m pretty sure his new boss Nathan won’t hold it against him. In fact, from the sight of the wetsuit on the balcony, I’m guessing the pair of them have been surfing again. Nathan is coming for dinner tonight with his wife, Lucy, who I really like. Oddly enough, when I told Lily about them, she said they used to be her friends, although they haven’t stayed in touch for one reason or another. It’s a small world. She thought it was quite a coincidence.

  But I don’t believe in coincidences.

  Before I can unlock the door, it opens, and Lachie – my gorgeous, sexy, lovable boyfriend – is standing there with his arms open wide. I laugh and step into them, dropping my dripping umbrella to the floor. All of my chills are soothed away and replaced with the warmth I always find in his arms.

  ‘You’re soaked,’ he murmurs into my hair, knocking his bare leg against my drenched one. He’s wearing board shorts – another sure sign that he’s been surfing. The weather may be bad, but the swell is good, and he doesn’t care if it’s raining. I worry about him out there in the ocean, but he says he’s surfed all his life. There’s certainly something very sexy about watching him ride the waves. Now I know where he developed his long, lean, muscular body.

  ‘Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,’ he murmurs in my ear.

  I don’t argue with him. ‘How much time do we have before Nathan and Lucy arrive?’ I ask as he swiftly unbuttons my black shirt. I pull his orange surfer T-shirt over his head and murmur my appreciation as I run my hands over his lovely chest.

  ‘Just enough,’ he replies, kissing me urgently as he moves us to the bedroom. ‘I don’t know about Bridgie, though,’ he says.

  ‘Forgot about her.’ I giggle, sidestepping her suitcase by the sofa bed, which still has to be returned to its sofa position before our guests arrive. ‘I thought she’d be here?’

  ‘She wanted to do some writing at a coffee shop,’ he tells me between kisses, hurriedly unbuttoning my jeans and hooking his thumbs into the rear to slide them down along with my knickers.

  ‘She could be back any minute,’ I point out, laughing as he pushes me onto the bed and yanks off my rain-soaked clothes.

  ‘We’d better make it quick, then,’ he says with a mischievous grin as he steps out of his board shor
ts.

  Mmm, now that is a view. He climbs onto the bed and hovers over me, his light blue eyes twinkling moments before he claims my mouth with his lips as his body claims the rest of me. I love the feeling of this warm, kind, soulful man.

  I still don’t believe in coincidences. And I don’t believe in God. I’m not sure if I believe in marriage – it’s certainly not for everyone, but for some it works. As for love, well, I definitely believe in love. My heart is full of it.

  Acknowledgements

  I always start my acknowledgements by thanking my readers first, and this book is no exception. But before I get onto telling you how brilliant you are, I wanted to let you know that this year I’m launching The Hidden Paige, a free book club that all of my readers can join to receive exclusive extra chapters (that scene told from this character’s point of view), short stories (want to know what so-and-so is up to these days?) and added insight into your favourite characters. So please visit www.paigetoon.com and sign up immediately so you don’t miss out.

  Now for the thanks… THANK YOU for being truly the best readers in the world, for getting so swept up in my stories and letting me know what you think with your online reviews and messages on Twitter and Facebook. Please keep them coming @PaigeToonAuthor and www.facebook.com/PaigeToonAuthor – they really do mean the world to me.

  Thank you also to the lovely readers who sent me their wedding stories at my request. All of my characters are fictional, but you might spot the odd familiar scenario.

  Heartfelt thanks to my editor, Suzanne Baboneau, who always knows exactly what my books need – and don’t need. I feel so safe in your hands. Thank you also to the entire team at Simon & Schuster, but in particular, Emma Capron, Florence Partridge, Alice Murphy-Pyle, Ally Grant, Nico Poilblanc, Gill Richardson, Sara Jade-Virtue, Sarah Birdsey, Jo Dickinson, Angie Willocks, Helen Pisano, Leena Lane, and of course, Melissa Four for the beautiful cover design.