Some Kind of Wonderful

by Giovanna Fletcher

  Our wedding!

  ‘It’s OK, darling,’ I say, placing my hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into me so that I can kiss him on the forehead.

  ‘No!’ he says, squirming away from my touch. He leans back into his heels and clumsily slips on to his bum as a result. He doesn’t try to get back up. He sits there, stooped over. Looking at the ground, at the ring in his hands, at the rose petals scattered delicately on the floor, anywhere but at me.

  ‘Ian?’ I prompt softly. Having never seen him like this I’m unsure what to do. I can usually read him like a book but this is so far from our norm.

  He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his head aggressively, making his hair stand on end. I resist the urge to flatten it out. ‘I’m so sorry, Lizzy,’ he says meekly, his hand coming around to pinch the bridge of his nose, his face wrinkling up in torment.

  ‘Honey, this is fine. You don’t need to worry,’ I tell him, hating the fact he’s clearly feeling foolish for letting himself go for once. I get off my chair and join him on the ground, my hand cupping his knee as my arm drapes across his broad shoulders, giving him a little shake.

  ‘But I do,’ he sniffs, rubbing his eyes.

  Is he crying?

  ‘It doesn’t matter how you do this, Ian. You don’t even have to do it right now, if you’d rather not. It can wait. I can wait,’ I say, swallowing at the words I never would’ve predicted myself saying, ever. I’m not even entirely sure I mean them, but I’m hoping it’ll help him relax.

  ‘No, Lizzy,’ he says, shaking his head dramatically. ‘I can’t.’

  I look at my drunken love and try to ignore the disappointment growing inside me, the urge to tell him how long I’ve waited for this perfect moment, and how bereft I am that he’s ruining it, but I know I can’t. Also, I don’t want to. I want this to be perfect too and perhaps now isn’t the right time.

  ‘Let’s just enjoy the rest of the dinner then,’ I say, getting to my feet and lifting his arm to help him up off the ground. ‘We haven’t seen dessert yet and I bet it’s going to be incredible,’ I encourage, noticing that Maya and Sahid have kept themselves busy (and away from our dramatics) by clearing our mains and bringing out the next course – a quick glance tells me it’s not going to disappoint and that it might just get me through this mess.

  ‘I’m not going to ask you,’ Ian says quickly, resisting my help and opting to stay sitting on the floor.

  ‘All right, don’t rub it in,’ I laugh with as much cheer as I can muster. ‘I’ve said it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You don’t understand what I’m saying. You’re not hearing me,’ he scolds, his voice getting stronger and louder. ‘Not tonight. Not ever. I can’t. I don’t even … This isn’t what I want.’

  The words hit me like a slap, sharp and full of sting. Slowly they trickle their way through my body and leave me frozen on the spot.

  ‘You don’t want to marry me,’ I whisper back.

  Ian’s eyes come up to meet mine. ‘No.’

  It’s the most forceful and clear he’s been all evening – and all holiday.

  ‘But …’ I start. But what? How can I possibly finish that sentence? I can’t force him into changing his mind or beg him to want what I want.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighs from the floor.

  ‘Why did you bring me here then?’ I ask. I’m surprised to hear no anger in my voice. There’s nothing. Not even sadness. It’s just a voice that’s trying to understand how we’ve reached the point where Ian is jilting me at the proposal – worse, halfway through it. ‘You bought a ring. That must’ve meant something. You organized this,’ I say, my hands grabbing rose petals from the table before letting them fall to the ground. ‘You must’ve wanted this at some point.’

  ‘I thought I did.’

  His voice is, heartbreakingly, as calm as mine. It’s measured. All slurring has gone. I know he’s now in control of what he’s doing here. This isn’t a drunken mistake. He’s sobered up in an instant. He means it.

  ‘Thought you did?’

  ‘It’s what everyone’s always told us to want. And then with your sister about to get married too, and having a baby … It’s been hard,’ he shrugs. ‘I’m always being asked when I’m going to do the honourable thing.’

  ‘And this is honourable?’ I ask, feeling tears prick at my eyes but clenching my jaw so that they can’t escape.

  ‘They asked all the time,’ he says, his shoes scraping along the floor as he crosses his legs. ‘People at work, our families, friends – strangers in bloody shops who we’re just buying sofas from, they all expect it from me. They practically told me I had to do it.’

  Our families and friends are one thing (I can only imagine what his mum says to him as she’s as forthright as my own), but I vividly remember the female shop assistant he’s referring to. She was younger than us but had just got back from her honeymoon. She asked the question as we were deciding between an L-shaped sofa and an oversized chair, but she certainly wasn’t piling on any pressure.

  ‘Ian, I doubt she even cared. She was just making conversation. We’ve been together for ten years. When people find that out it’s understandable that it’s a go-to question,’ I say, suddenly defensive of everyone who’s ever pried. ‘You can’t blame everyone else for this.’

  ‘OK, what about you?’ Ian asks, his arms gesturing at me as though I’m one giant problem.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Dropping hints all the time,’ he continues, even though my face has fallen and I know I can’t contain my death stare any longer. It’s hitting him in full force, but his piercing eyes are unwavering.

  ‘I wanted to marry you! Is that a fucking crime?’ I ask, my voice rising.

  He has the decency to bow his head and not bite back, to even look a tad apologetic.

  ‘You could’ve just said you didn’t want to.’

  ‘But I didn’t know that’s how I felt until tonight,’ he says pathetically. ‘I thought it was nerves. Then I thought it was the champagne.’

  ‘You had enough of it,’ I scoff, picking up the second bottle and swishing it around to show that it’s half empty. ‘So what changed your mind?’

  ‘Is this really what you want?’ he asks imploringly, his lips pursing together as his eyes fill with a woeful look.

  ‘An explanation? Yes!’ I nod with certainty.

  ‘No.’ His voice is low and steady, rising up from the depths of wherever this doubt about us has been hidden. ‘Us.’

  ‘Us?’ Call me stupid, but I hadn’t pieced together the whole puzzle. No popping of the question doesn’t just mean no longer becoming Mrs Hall, it means no longer being Ian and Lizzy. It means saying goodbye to our life together.

  A pain – an actual physical pain – shoots across my chest, burning at anything in its way before it compresses and constricts, threatening to squeeze everything out of me.

  ‘So it’s not the wedding you don’t want. It is actually me?’ I say with a shake in my voice. ‘You’re done. After all those years together, after everything we’ve been through, that’s it?’

  ‘I love you, Lizzy,’ he sniffs, getting to his feet, holding his hands and grabbing on to mine, his thumbs making small circles on my skin just like he normally does when he has to comfort me. The problem is it’s not usually him that’s caused my sadness and heartache. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Don’t give me that shit,’ I glare, my anger blasting out. It’s one thing to cast me aside, but acting like he’s worried about my feelings is laughable. ‘Don’t try spouting some kind nonsense when you’re breaking my heart. You don’t mean it, so don’t fucking bother.’

  ‘Lizzy –’ he begs, as though I’m being unreasonable and overly sensitive towards the man who’s plucked out my heart and stamped on it. As though I should be taking his feelings and hurt into consideration too.

  ‘What’s wrong with me then?’ I ask, interrupting whatever rubbish consolation chat he’s attemp
ting to give me and getting to the nitty gritty I know is going to haunt me for years to come as I sit and dissect tonight. Pondering over what I did to ruin such a good thing. ‘Have I become boring? Fat? Is it because I don’t make our bed in the right way? Is it because I refuse to make a pizza with a cauliflower base? Or did I cook your favourite dish too many nights on the trot? Did I iron your sodding shirts with too much starch and leave them too stiff around the collar? Clean your football boots too vigorously? Or is it because I didn’t give you a blowie when I legit had a headache last week?’

  ‘There’s no need to be childish.’

  ‘A ring!’ I shriek, bashing my hand on the table, the loud bang making Maya, who’s been standing helpless at the serving table for the entirety of this shit-show, yelp. But I don’t stop. I want my words to hit home and let him know exactly what he’s doing. What he’s already done. ‘You held a ring in my face, Ian. You organized this romantic night with champagne, and then instead of offering me a lifetime of commitment you dumped me. While you still had that ring in your hands. Do you really want to start hurling names at me? Because if that’s the case you’re about to get a serious earful.’

  ‘No, Lizzy. I’m not trying to justify this,’ he whines pathetically.

  ‘Good, because you can’t.’

  ‘Right,’ he nods, taking a pause to breathe. ‘I’m a total arse and you deserve to hate me for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘I will,’ I agree, feeling like my wounded heart will do anything but. All I really want right now is for him to hold me and retract it all, but he’s already freed himself of me and my troubles, and part of me wouldn’t know what to do if he attempted such a kind gesture anyway.

  ‘And it will kill me knowing you feel that way about me,’ Ian says, having the decency to look suitably lugubrious. ‘Surely you can see it’s better to do this now rather than when we’re in the church on our wedding day? Or worse, when we actually have a family together?’

  A sob escapes my mouth as I see all my dreams of our lives together being shredded into streams of useless nothing.

  ‘I want you to go. Now. Leave me alone,’ I say, knowing there are more emotional outbursts to come, that I’m about to break beyond repair, and that I don’t want him to be here for it.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like this.’

  ‘I can’t see how it doesn’t.’

  ‘We can talk about this. Be reasonable with one another,’ he says, his arms stretching out as though he’s going to hug me. Although now I don’t want them anywhere near me.

  ‘I said, leave me alone. Just fuck off!’ I say, a guttural sound escaping. ‘I don’t want to look at you, Ian. All I see is how I’ve failed us.’

  ‘We failed. This isn’t all on you, Liz,’ he says, this time sounding genuinely sad, but I won’t hear it.

  ‘No, it is. It really is. Because I would still marry you in a heartbeat,’ I cry, aware of the tears tumbling from my cheek to my collarbone.

  ‘Liz …’

  ‘Please go.’

  I can’t look at him any longer, but I see his body hesitate, unsure what to do. He hovers on the spot, no doubt wondering whether he should stay or go. He’s always loved to do the right thing. Whether it was getting to lectures after a night out, making sure he saw his mum once a week or opting for a salad over a fucking burger. He’s done it. But what is the right thing in this situation?

  An intake of breath is followed by a large sigh.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he mutters, sounding like someone who’s lost the battle, even though he’s definitely got what he wanted – to get out of having to spend a lifetime with me. ‘I’ll be in our room if you want to talk.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ I bark, shocking us both as I stop him in his tracks. ‘You’ll go to reception and book yourself a separate room for tonight. I’ll let you know when I’m out in the morning and you can pack all your stuff.’

  ‘But we’re going to be travelling to the airport and flying home together.’

  The thought crushes me further.

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. I don’t want to think about having to spend time with him. I don’t want to be anywhere near him when he’s clearly fallen out of love with me.

  We stay in limbo for a while, neither of us talking. Just little sniffles and the catching of breath becoming our miserable soundtrack.

  Finally he concedes and I am left alone.

  5

  I wait until I hear the golf buggy drive off, and then I walk out on to the beach, keel over and sob. I wail uncontrollably, my face squashed against the sand as I cry out in despair. I want it to bury me, to part aside and drag me under so that I no longer feel what I’m feeling. The heaviness. The darkness. The grief that’s only just started to show its face, but it’s there. I know it’s coming for me. I know it’ll consume me and that makes me fearful.

  This can’t be happening.

  The person I now am seems so far from who I thought I was when I came to dinner tonight. Broken, not whole. Weak, not strong. Desperate, not content. I am not me. I am a stranger.

  When the sobs threaten to suffocate me I have to force myself to calm down, to stop letting the black infuse its way right through all of me. I dig in my heels and stall, catching my breath, recharging my fight.

  Life as I knew it has ended. It’s dramatic, disastrous and catastrophic yet everything is as it was before. Turning on to my back, I open my eyes to see the sky still glittered full of stars. Stars that on any other night I would’ve deemed magical or otherworldly. The sea still moves, its waves crashing into shore. The mosquitos still hum, the air still breathes. It’s the same as before.

  This is my pain and mine alone. Nothing else has changed.

  The breath in my chest slows once I’ve finally been able to regain control of my bodily functions from my heart. Already I feel physically bruised thanks to the emotions trying to beat their way out of me. It was a futile attempt. They needn’t have bothered. They won’t be going anywhere for a while, no matter how hard they fight.

  I’ve no idea of the time. Everything seems to have halted, as though I’m living in an altered universe. But then again, it has and I am. The man I thought would love me for ever has left me. He’s deserted me – and not, I hope, because someone else has tempted him elsewhere, but because he doesn’t see a future with me. He doesn’t want me. He literally doesn’t desire me any more. I’m unneeded. Surplus to requirements. Undeserving of future attachment and love …

  I get up before emotion grips hold of me again, physically moving away from the grief. Sand sticks to my legs, but I can’t be arsed to wipe it off. It’s everywhere, and my life is now messy enough as it is. I don’t need to swipe at my skin aggressively to get it off. It’ll dry and fall before long and my legs will go back to normal. If only the same could be said of my heart.

  I feel sluggish as I wander back to the spot in which I should’ve become the happiest women alive. There’s no sign of Maya and Sahid, yet everything has been left as it was. The candles are still burning, the petals are still scattered, and the champagne (what’s left of it) has remained on ice.

  I pour myself a glass and take a seat. Only once my bum has landed do I notice my napkin has been placed over a loaded plate. I lift it up to find a giant selection of desserts – mini lemon meringues, brownies, cookies, little bite-sized toffee eclairs, chocolate bombes and tiramisu. It all looks delicious.

  I’ve never been one to starve my way through something painful. Never have I said the words ‘I’m not hungry’ or lost my appetite. Thankfully, the same is true now. With my champagne in one hand, I lift a fork with the other and tuck into the meringue, the top crunching as I fork through it, the bottom crumbling as I lift it away. I bring it to my lips and feel a deep satisfaction as I eat it.

  It’s a fleeting feeling, so I repeat the action. I do this again and again, stopping occasionally to take a gulp from my flute. Eventually the plate is clear and my tummy is aching from b
eing stretched so much. I’m full but empty all at once. I no longer feel at all satisfied, so I top up my glass, resolving to sip at it this time.

  I try to gather my thoughts, to make sense of what’s happened here tonight, but I can’t. I’m lost and I’m fearful I’ll never be found again.

  My phone rings. I retrieve it from my bag, wondering who’s calling to investigate this time, but I can’t look. I can’t cope with my failings and the pity I’m going to receive. Instead of answering it, I throw it on the floor, stand up, grab the chair and crush it with a wooden leg.

  It shatters instantly.

  Silence wins.

  Silence takes over.

  Silence numbs me.

  A fog descends, clouding any thoughts from forming and before I know it the sky’s getting lighter and the birds are chirping at one another. When a young woman arrives to clean our wooden hut and prepare it for the next lucky couple, I decide it’s time to leave. Slowly I walk along the paths, past the restaurant and through the gardens.

  Once inside our room I grab our suitcases and start packing away our things. I do it for both of us. It’s habit and something I’ve always done. It’s strange to know this is the last time I’ll be doing it for Ian – although I take little care over his belongings. I bung it in, mixing in the clean with the dirty and not bothering to wrap up his toiletries to prevent them from leaking and ruining everything. It feels rebellious.

  Sitting on top of the cases to force them shut with a click and a bang, I’m finally done and ready to go home. I collapse on to the bed and close my eyes.

  I’m startled awake by the bedroom door being opened and catching on the lock, causing a clatter. I must’ve put the chain across when I came in earlier.

  ‘Shit,’ I hear Ian mutter from the hallway.

  I go to call out, to say ‘babes’ or ask him what he’s up to, but then I remember what happened a few hours ago and the fact we’re no longer together and decide against it. I’m no longer meant to care.