by Carys Jones
*
“You know, we really do need to set a date,” Sebastian said decisively once his plate was clear. Marie, still chewing her own sandwich, rolled her eyes.
“Roll your eyes all you want,” he told her sternly. “But my parents are putting real pressure on me to set a date. We need to think about booking a venue, flying in guests, all these things take time and ample preparation.”
As Marie swallowed down the last of her club sandwich her head tilted to the right. Ever since she’d gotten engaged to Sebastian ten months ago the questions about setting a date for the wedding had been gathering with the momentum of a freight train to the point where she felt she was going to be knocked over by everyone’s incessant desire for her to finalise her union with him.
“Seb, we’ve been through this,” she sighed.
Like every little girl, Marie dreamed of her wedding day. She’d wear a pristine white dress, covered by a lace veil and be walked down the aisle by her father who would be beaming with pride. For one whole day, Marie would be a princess. But she knew that wouldn’t be enough for her. Twenty four hours hardly seemed like a fair amount of time for any woman to get to feel special and like royalty.
Marie also didn’t like making plans. Not adult plans. Getting married felt like the final nail in her coffin of being young and carefree. As a Fenwick, she’d be expected to act and behave in a certain way. She’d instantly be propelled in to high society and she wasn’t ready for that, a part of her feared she never would be.
“I know, and we are going to keep going through it until you make your mind up. Let’s at least go and look at some venues.”
It made Sebastian uncomfortable to push the wedding, as though he were talking Marie in to marrying him. But she was unusual; he’d always known that about her. He loved her quirkiness except when it interfered with his plans for their future.
“It’s not even been a year,” Marie said, trying to delay the inevitable. “Most women wait at least a year after they’ve been engaged before they look at venues.”
“How would you know that?” Seb asked, leaning forward. “You’ve not read any wedding magazines and Lord knows those books you’ve forever got your nose in aren’t about getting married.”
Marie lowered her gaze, feeling slightly hurt by his comment about her reading. There was a time when he told her how much he loved her insatiable reading habit. Like the seasons, even love seemed destined to change and Marie hated that.
“It’s what I’ve heard,” Marie replied quietly.
Sebastian saw the sadness behind her eyes as she spoke and instantly felt filled with guilt. He shouldn’t be talking to his fiancée so abruptly, he truly was becoming his father which was his greatest fear.
“Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he reached out and took her hands in his. They were cold. Marie’s hands were always icy cold, even in the heat of summer.
“My parents are just hammering on at me to set the date. You know what they are like. And I honestly can’t wait to marry you. I love you. I want us to be man and wife.”
Marie managed to smile, wondering in her mind why no one ever said woman and husband, it was always man and wife? It didn’t seem fair somehow.
“I was planning on going home this weekend; I can discuss it with my Mom and Dad and find some suitable dates.”
“That’d be great!” Sebastian beamed, squeezing her hands. Marie returned the smile though her head titled to the right as she did so.
“You didn’t mention going home this weekend,” he added, looking quizzically at her. “We’ve got that party in Oxford we were going to go to.”
In truth, it was the party in Oxford which had prompted Marie to want to return to the comfort of her family home for the weekend. It was being thrown by one of Sebastian’s university friends. All of their parties were the same; boring events full of overly priced champagne where they each congratulated one another on being masters of the universe. Marie loathed going. Compared to all the trophy wives and girlfriends she felt like the poor man’s prize even though Sebastian insisted she wasn’t and that it was all in her head.
Despite being engaged to a wealthy man Marie refused to accept the trappings of his lifestyle. The clothes she bought, the apartment she lived in were all bought with the money she earned and hers alone. So when she showed up to parties with Seb, all the women were in designer clothes while Marie was strictly high street. The women would completely shun her as though she were from a different planet instead of a different tax bracket.
“My Mom asked me to go up and I’ve not seen them in a while,” Marie said flippantly. Her parents lived in Manchester, the city where she had grown up. Her voice still carried the regional lilt but London was such a melting pot of numerous accents that no one really mentioned it.
“I don’t like going to parties without you,” Sebastian admitted honestly. Without Marie there to be his anchor he could always drift in to the elitist world he had been brought up in. His father was privileged and cruel with it. Sebastian swore he would never end up like that, he often wondered if he’d been drawn to Marie as she was so confident in her social standing, she was never try to be anything she wasn’t and she kept Seb grounded.
“We can still Skype,” Marie said brightly. She enjoyed Skype, it was so much more fun than a phone call. She enjoyed creating visual gags for Sebastian. The last time she’d been at her parent’s he got to watch her attempt, numerous times, to place the contents of an entire bag of Malteasers in to her mouth. He had been crying with laughter by the end of it as Marie was choking on chocolate and honeycomb.
“I won’t sulk about you abandoning me for an entire weekend on one condition,” Seb said, smirking conspiratorially.
“Oh?” Marie leaned forward, intrigued. She enjoyed conspiring. She always figured that being a spy must be a terrible amount of fun, if dangerous.
“When you come back, you have dates for me. Actual legitimate dates we can set for our wedding.”
Marie made an overly thoughtful face as she pretended to think on the terms of the deal.
“Okay, fine,” she declared after a dramatic pause. “Do we shake on it?”
“No, we do this,” Seb leaned across the table and placed a sweetly soft kiss upon Marie’s lips, which like her hands, were cold.
“You’re so cold today,” he commented when they parted. Marie raised her shoulders by way of response.
“Cold hands, warm heart, that’s what my Nan used to say,” she smiled.
“I’m guessing your Nan was as mad as you are,” Seb stated cheekily.
“Hey!” Marie playfully threw her napkin across the table at him. It fell short of its target and floated down between them, more a sign of submission than the defiant gesture it was intended to be.
“Seriously though, Marie, I want us to get things moving. I want us to set a date. We need this set in stone now.”
Marie nodded with understanding even though inside she trembled slightly. The only thing which should be set in stone were the dates upon your tombstone, everything else was flexible and free, at least to her.
“Are you taking the train back?” Seb suddenly changed the subject, his features softening slightly.
“No,” Marie shook her head. “I fancied driving back. Besides, I probably won’t finish work early enough to get the train.”
“Just don’t forget to Skype me,” Seb warned though he was smiling as he did so.
“I won’t, Brownie promise,” Marie held her fingers up in the symbol of the childhood club she had been a part of. Seb raised an amused eyebrow at his fiancée.
“Did anyone ever tell you how strange you are, Marie Schneider?” he asked affectionately.
“Not nearly enough.”
*
Amanda Pickens scanned her heavily made up eyes over the document Marie had just handed her. With every word she read the scowl darkening her sharp features intensified.
“These notes are just too brief,” she e
ventually declared, quickly handing the papers back to Marie as though they were contaminated.
Dumbfounded, Marie accepted them back, unsure how her notes could have been too brief. At the All Purpose Shoes meeting barely anything of merit had even been said. She’d highlighted the key points, those she could remember anyway. Surely Amanda didn’t want an account of what had transpired at the meeting verbatim?
“I covered all the main points,” Marie defended. Amanda rolled her eyes and shook her head, pursing her lips together as she did so.
“There’s not enough about the shoes,” she insisted. “When the client reads the notes back they want to read all about their product and how great it is.”
“But they didn’t really mention the shoes,” Marie countered. “They had the information pack which everyone read through-”
Amanda interrupted her, “it doesn’t matter. There needs to be more information about the shoes. List the various styles they sell, and the range of sizes available. Also the markets they sell within. Clients love those sort of details.”
Marie felt puzzled. She’d been told to take notes of what was said during the meeting, now she was being told to embellish upon those notes and basically place words in to people’s mouths that they never even said.
“Okay, more shoe information,” she nodded politely, wondering in her mind how she’d possibly incorporate that in to her existing notes.
“Great,” Amanda smiled falsely at her. “And finish it before you leave, will you?” Though it was delivered as a question it was clearly an order. Marie fought the urge to audibly sigh. It was already five in the evening and the light outside was quickly waning. She didn’t relish the idea of driving up to Manchester in the dark of night.
“Could it wait until Monday?” Marie wondered sheepishly. She saw Amanda’s body prickle with contempt.
“It’s just that I’m going home this weekend and I’ve got to drive up to Manchester,” Marie was growing nervous, talking quickly.
“I promise I’ll do it first thing Monday morning.”
The Ice Queen raised her perfectly manicured hand to silence Marie.
“I’ve told you before; your private life is irrelevant to me. I need the notes finished and sent over to the client by the end of the day. By that I mean, today.”
Marie felt her heart sink from within her chest and plummet its way down to the floor.
“I know its Friday and you’ve probably got plans to attend a rave or something,” Amanda gestured dismissively as Marie fretted over what about her suggested she would attend a rave. She’d never even been to a festival. If Marie went to a concert there had to be assigned chairs and programs on sale. Seb always teased her about that. He loved going to festivals.
“You’re such a little princess,” he’d quip when Marie flat out refused to spend the night in a tent.
“I don’t go to-” Marie was about to explain that raves really weren’t her scene when the hand went up again, stopping her short.
“Finish it tonight, then the weekend is yours.” With those parting orders Amanda walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
Dejected, Marie slunk back to her cubicle. The office floor was almost empty as people hurriedly left to commence their weekend plans. She easily had another hour or so of work ahead of her.
Sitting down, certain that Amanda was out of sight, Marie kicked off her high heeled shoes and groaned with pleasure. They were like torture devices upon her feet, killing her toes off one by one. With her feet finally free she joyously flexed them as she called up the relevant file to be amended on her computer.
*
It was seven o clock when Amanda was satisfied that Marie had incorporated enough details about shoes in to her notes. Marie didn’t waste a second in dashing from the office as soon as she could. She still needed to get back to her apartment building, grab the bag she’d packed the night before and go get her car from the parking lot in the bowels of the building. Eating was pushed down the list of priorities even though her stomach was already growling menacingly, like a caged beast threatening to break free.
“Mum, I’m running late,” Marie explained in to her mobile phone as she boarded the blissfully empty carriage of the train.
“You’ve not set off yet?” her mother asked in her thick Manchester accent.
“Not yet, no, I had to work late.”
“No, Bill, she had to work late,” Carol Schneider called out to her questioning husband, pulling away from the phone she held in her and.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Marie promised.
“Have you had anything to eat?” her mother asked anxiously.
“Not yet.”
“I’ve got some lasagne leftover from tea I could heat up for you?”
“Sounds good,” Marie smiled. She missed her mother’s home cooking. She didn’t have the time to prepare decent meals herself and she existed off a diet consisting of beans and toast and porridge.
A male voice mumbled in the background on her mother’s side of the call.
“Your Dad says he doesn’t like you driving in the dark,” Carol relayed the mumbled message.
“I’ll be fine,” Marie replied, sounding more confident than she was. She was a nervous driver and the thought of navigating the motorways in darkness terrified her. The only consolation was that the roads up to Manchester would be relatively clear at that time of night.
“We just worry about you,” her mother admitted, sounding emotional.
“I’m looking forward to coming home.”
“We can’t wait to have you here, darling.”
Marie’s eyes misted as she heard the emotion in her mother’s voice. It had only been a few weeks since her last visit but sometimes it felt like an eternity. Home was the strongest constant in Marie’s life. Her parents still lived in the home where she had grown up. The home where she’d once believed Father Christmas came to visit, the home where she’d hosted fashion shows with all her dolls and the home where she’d wept over her first heartbreak, fearing that she’d die from the devastation. Marie missed home. She missed it every day, she’d just gotten extremely good at pushing those feelings way down to the pit of her stomach.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Marie said brightly, wiping at her eyes. “I’m looking forward to some of your lasagne.” On cue her stomach released a deep, desperate growl. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to last that long, she might have to make a pit stop at the services for a snack on her way back.
“We can go shopping tomorrow if you like,” her mother suggested, the emotion in her voice giving way to hopeful, uplifted tone.
“We’ve not been to the Trafford Centre in ages.”
“Sounds good,” Marie nodded. She enjoyed shopping with her mother. They’d gossip about people they knew, stop for a cup of tea and something sweet and generally while away the day absorbed in one another’s company. Her Dad would remain back at home consumed by whatever football game was on television. In the evening they’d all reunite for a big family meal and then watch a movie together. It was a blissful routine that Marie was excited to relive.
There was some more male mumbling in the background of the call.
“Your Dad says to make sure you avoid the toll road,” Carol fed back to her daughter.
“Tell him that’s fine, I will.”
Marie’s train pulled in to her station.
“I’ve got to go now, Mum, I’m at my stop.”
“Just be careful,” Carol urged. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
Marie ended the call and shoved her iPhone back in to her handbag. She ran as fast as her aching feet would let her, hurrying up the escalators like one of the frantic commuters she always loathed in the morning. When she emerged out on to the street long shadows had already crept along the pavement, the only glow offered from the numerous street lights and illuminated sho
p windows. Whether she liked it or not she’d be driving home in the dark.
*
It took Marie over an hour to get out of the borough of London thanks to numerous road works and traffic diversions. Finally out on the motorway she let herself relax and flicked on her car stereo. Soon a familiar pop song was filling the space around her and she hummed happily to herself.
In her ear she wore her Bluetooth headset so that she could call Seb. But he beat her to it and called her just as she was merging on to another section of motorway.
“Seb, hey, I’m just driving back,” she explained, a little distracted.
