‘Is it an accusation though?’ Ross says, chiming in. Lauren has not moved.
‘Excuse me?’ Mayra says, looking at him like lasers might come out of her eyes and kill him.
‘It’s not like you have no history of cheating on people you love, is it?’
‘Ross, this is not the time.’
‘Oh, I think this is exactly the right time,’ he says, like he too has been waiting for this moment.
‘For God’s sake, what has got into you all? As if I would sleep with Gavin on the day of your wedding,’ Mayra says, blushing now. Some sweat appearing on her brow.
‘Well you slept with my brother on the day of ours,’ Ross says.
‘What?’ Lauren says. ‘Is that why you don’t speak to Uncle Stewart?’
‘Yes, the affair went on for years. I found out about it when Verity died. Turns out she needed him for comfort at the funeral, not me. I walked in on them in the bathroom.’
‘Oh my God,’ Lauren says, as if years of drama now make perfect sense.
We all just stare at Mayra, willing her to crack. Of course, she finally does.
‘I deserve happiness too,’ she says, pitifully. It’s an obvious confession.
‘No,’ Lauren says, white as a sheet, despite the fake tan. ‘No, this isn’t happening.’
‘I don’t know how to stop it,’ Mayra says, falling back into a chair. ‘It’s so hard to find anything that takes the pain away. Gavin does. I can’t help it.’
Lauren starts to shake quite violently. It’s unclear what will come out of her, tears or flying fists. She bends right down to Mayra, pushing her face as close to hers as she can before it touches.
‘It will be all your fault. This time I will not fail.’ And then she runs out of the room. Mayra looks at Risky and me and lets out an ear-splitting scream.
‘Quick,’ I say. ‘We better follow her.’
Leaving Mayra to wallow in a stinking heap of her own destruction, Ross, Risky and I find ourselves in the corridor.
‘You go that way, I’ll go this way,’ he says, desperately.
I run off with Risky to find Lauren.
Ruby
Staring into the bathroom mirror, I wonder why life does this sometimes. Why worlds collide in this way, why people jump into your life in such a way that it startles you to the point of reassessing everything, including yourself. You’re being led down a path that you think is maybe going one way, but suddenly there is a fork in the road and you find yourself going in a direction you never imagined. For me, this means a road of sympathy instead of frustration. Understanding rather than judgement. Openness to acknowledge, rather than a knee-jerk reaction to shut something down. The man from the bench is Lauren Pearce’s father. Everything I assumed about her has now been turned on its head.
I hear the door slam. I walk back into the bedroom expecting to see Rebecca, but instead I am faced with Lauren. This synchronisation of the cosmos leading me further into the unknown. She is looking out of the window. I must be in an alternate universe. One that is forcing me to stop and take stock. To realise that I have done the exact thing I fear people do to me to someone else: I have judged her completely by what she looks like and the tiny version of herself that she chooses to share with the world. I thought I had collated a detailed picture of the woman standing in front of me, but maybe I got her entirely wrong. I’ve failed to consider the layers that make up a person who is ridden with such self-loathing. I haven’t considered that grief may have been part of her experience, nor that the bubble of the perfect life I wanted to see was formed off the back of something so painful and sinister, rendering her flaws irreparable and her pain more real than any Instagram post could ever convey. I want to tell her I am sorry. Instead I stay quiet, peering from behind the door.
She is still in her white tracksuit, her hair perfect. She is looking out of the window and crying. What could have happened now – last-minute nerves? Longing for the sister who should be by her side? She has something in her hand that she keeps looking at.
I’ll give her the time she needs, she doesn’t have to know that I am here. As I step back from the bathroom door, I hear the little white bottle she has in her hand rattle. It’s a bottle of pills.
I’m sure she must just have a headache. Getting married is stressful. She is crying. A migraine? Oh dear. She pours the entire contents of the bottle onto a little table, sits down, and stares at the pills whilst crying harder and harder.
Is she planning on taking them all?
She pours a glass of water from the jug that is on the table and pops two pills into her mouth and swallows them. Phew. But then she takes another two, and then picks up some more. She takes them and picks up a few more. I don’t have time to question myself.
‘Wait,’ I say, bursting out of the bathroom. ‘Wait, Lauren. Don’t do that.’
She looks at me briefly, but soon gets back to her pills. She picks up yet more.
‘Please leave,’ she says bluntly, putting them in her mouth. It’s only another two, I see them on her tongue. That’s about eight so far. Hopefully not enough to do any damage, but she really cannot take any more.
‘Please, stop. Don’t do that,’ I say gently. My heart is beating so fast and I’ve started shaking myself.
‘Seriously, just go. Whoever you are you shouldn’t be here for this.’
I always thought that if someone wanted to commit suicide they should be allowed to do it. If that urge to die is so strong, and life has spiralled to a point that they don’t feel they can own it anymore, let them at least have control of their own fate. But when it’s in front of you, you realise that letting it happen is impossible.
‘I can’t leave, Lauren. I’m sorry. You must not do this.’
‘Why? Who would care?’
‘A lot of people would care. Gavin?’
She stares at the pills.
‘Please leave me alone.’
‘I can’t do that, Lauren. I can’t leave this room. Whatever has happened can be fixed.’
‘You really have no idea so please, just go,’ she says. I see that she is shaking. She looks so upset.
‘Maybe I don’t, but I know you.’
I move a little closer to her.
‘You don’t know me,’ she says painfully. ‘You, like everyone else, knows a version of me and that isn’t even real.’
‘Actually, I know you better than that. I know you hate your thighs the most, and wish they were thinner. I know that you have a mole on your right arm that you wish wasn’t there. I know that you quite like your eyes, and that your left incisor slightly shades the tooth in front. I know that you like your bottom. I know that you have a tattoo of a V on your hip that you don’t want the world to see.’
She looks up at me. I’ve confused her, obviously. Possibly even scared her a little. I keep going.
‘I know that V stands for Verity,’ I say, calmly.
‘Who are you?’ she asks nervously, like I have been watching her through a secret hole in her shower wall for the past five years. She stands up cautiously, some pills still in her hand.
‘I’m Ruby. I’m the person who retouches your pictures.’
She looks a little relieved.
‘And I know your dad. I’ve chatted with him. We met in the park. He’s helped me realise a lot about myself. He told me all about Verity. It must be so painful, especially on a day like today. Is that what this is all about?’
‘It’s painful every day. But no, this is about me and my mother. You wouldn’t understand. Please, just go, OK?’
‘Have you and your mother had a falling-out?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Your dad told me she has struggled too since Verity died. Trying to present herself as happy when really her happiness is impossible. That must be hard. My mother and I don’t get along either. I’ve barely spoken to her in twenty years.’
She sits back down, rolling the pills back onto the table. She puts her h
ead into her hands and starts to cry.
‘What happened today, Lauren?’ I ask gently.
‘She slept with Gavin.’
‘She?’ I ask, as if I must have missed something.
‘Yes, she, my mother. The wedding planner and her assistant just walked in on her and Gavin. Downstairs, just now. On my wedding day. Did your mother do that to you?’
‘Oh my goodness. No, my mother didn’t do that. I see why you are so upset.’ For a moment I wonder if maybe my mother isn’t so bad after all. I quickly get that thought out of my head. She is as awful, just in different ways.
My words remind Lauren how upset she is and shift her focus back to the pills.
‘I hate myself,’ she says, picking a few up again. ‘Today was the day I was supposed to gain something, not lose everything. Please, just go. I’m doing this whether you’re here or not.’ She puts more water into the glass.
‘Lauren listen, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you. You’ve got your looks, you’re so beautiful …’ I am annoying myself with all the clichés, and it gets on her nerves too.
‘Oh, what would you know? All tall and skinny. Not in the public eye. You don’t know what it’s like to be defined by the way you look. I’m a body, a face. Feeling like a heap of shit every day because I know I’ve done it to myself. I’m in a cage. I have no one. No one who really cares.’ She looks at the open bathroom door.
‘Lauren, come on, seriously, there are other ways to cope. You don’t need to have your mother in your life. You can just detach from her, not let her hurt you anymore. You don’t have to do this to yourself.’
She realises I am not leaving and wipes her hand across the table, guiding the pills back into the bottle. She heads towards the bathroom; if she shuts and locks that door there will be nothing I can do.
‘Wait,’ I call, but she is walking towards her death and I’m not sure what to say to stop her. ‘Wait,’ I say again, scrambling to find my zip and yanking it down. As I run to the bathroom door and block it, my dress falls to the ground. My body is exposed, just my underwear is left. Other than my heavy breath creating a ripple down my body, everything is still.
‘You’re …’ she can’t find the words. ‘You’re …’
‘I’m disgusting.’
‘No, you’re …’ She still doesn’t know what to say.
‘It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything,’ I say, not looking at her. Just letting her take me in, until I know she understands. ‘We can all find a reason to hate ourselves, OK? We can’t just pop some pills to deal with it.’
The bedroom door bursts open. Lauren drops the pills, the contents of the bottle spilling all over the floor.
‘What the fuck!’ screams Rebecca when she sees me. I try to cover myself but it’s pointless. I reach down for my dress but my trembling hands can hardly cope. I get all caught up in it. I can’t do it. Where is the zip? I need Rebecca to get out.
Two more women burst in. I try to escape into the bathroom but I trip over my dress and fall. Naked on the floor, I feel like a wild animal trapped in someone’s house.
‘Please, shut the door,’ I plead, trying to pull my dress over me to cover my hideous body.
‘What the actual hell is happening?’ Rebecca asks, with her usual lack of grace. The other two women seem relieved to have found Lauren. The youngest woman goes straight over to her and hugs her, politely ignoring me.
‘Thank God we found you,’ she says before noticing the pills on the floor. ‘Wait, were you …?’ she begins, but clearly unable to find the words to ask if Lauren was about to kill herself. While the focus isn’t on me, I get to my feet and pull my dress up.
‘Seriously, what is going on?’ continues Rebecca, so confused. ‘Why are you in here, Lauren? Ruby, why were you standing in front of her naked? I’m sorry Lauren, I take full responsibility for Ruby’s behaviour and will send her home immedi—’
‘No,’ Lauren says. ‘No.’ She comes over to me, lays her soft hands on me and helps with my dress. ‘Please don’t be embarrassed,’ she says as her hand slides up my back, pulling up my zip. I allow her to help me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, feeling like maybe we understand each other.
‘I just wanted to show her that she isn’t the only one who feels defined by her body,’ I say, keeping my head down. ‘That we all label ourselves. We all decide what people see. That’s all.’
I head sheepishly over to the window where I sit on one of the chairs. I am quite winded by all this. Quite damaged. Quite unable to be tough. We are all wondering what happens next.
After a painfully long silence, Rebecca says, ‘Girls at school used to Sellotape raisins to their faces and take the piss out of me. I’ve been terrified of women ever since.’ Her harshness evaporates from her like steam from a kettle.
Another short pause.
‘My belly looks like a dartboard after giving birth and I’ve put on so much weight my husband finds me physically repulsive and refuses to look at me, let alone touch me,’ says a nice-looking but quite plump lady. ‘Hi, I’m Beth, by the way,’ she adds, smiling at me and Rebecca.
We all look to the young pretty one, wondering if she has any defects she would like to confess to. It takes her a minute, but eventually she thinks of something.
‘I’ve got terrible haemorrhoids from too much anal.’
‘Risky!’ Beth yelps, horrified by her words. But the haemorrhoids did just the trick. We all, somehow, manage to laugh.
Suddenly Ross, my friend from the bench, comes in. He is hot and bothered. I’ve seen him look that way before. I turn my face away so he doesn’t recognise me, but carefully spread the skirt of my dress over the pills on the floor, so he doesn’t have to see what Lauren was about to do. I know how much that would upset him.
‘There you are!’ he says, hugging Lauren like the loving father he is. He reminds me of my own dad.
I am glad he still has a daughter to hold. It makes me think of Bonnie.
‘Come on, let’s find a way to sneak you out of here and I’ll get you home, OK?’ Ross says.
‘Ruby?’ I hear her say. But I have ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, I don’t want her father to see me. When I am sure he and Lauren have gone, I come back out.
‘What you did was very brave,’ Beth says to me, seeming to understand my sacrifice.
‘I did what needed to be done.’
‘Yes, well, you did a great thing. Now I guess I better go and make an announcement,’ she says. ‘There are around five hundred people downstairs expecting to see a wedding. Including the groom. He has no idea any of us know what happened yet.’
‘Good luck with that,’ I say, not envying her task.
‘I’ll come with you,’ says the one with the haemorrhoids. ‘I’ll find Adam, he can tell Gavin. You focus on the crowds.’
Before they leave, she turns back. ‘This is the sistership right here,’ she says. ‘When women come together, the world gets better. We don’t know our own power sometimes.’
Maybe she is right.
Rebecca and I pack up our things, then share a Mercedes home. She’s much easier to get on with since she admitted to being picked on because of the mole on her face. It’s like she set the elephant in the room free. I feel a little of the same thing.
From my sofa, in my dressing gown, I watch the drama unfold online. The press and social media are already speculating all sorts of theories as to why the wedding didn’t go ahead. I just feel pleased it’s not a far more sinister news story, and that Ross didn’t lose another daughter today. Who’d have thought that, one day, this body would save a life?
I did good. And I feel OK.
12
Beth
Risky keeps starting sentences then giving up before the first word comes out. Eventually she manages to say what’s on her mind.
‘So this is what I don’t understand: Michael just refuses to have sex with you?’
‘Pretty much. I mean, h
e usually runs away from me before he gets the chance to refuse, but yes, he does not want sex with me.’
‘Why?’
‘If I knew that I’d probably be able to save my marriage.’
‘Have you asked him?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does he say?’
‘He tries to make out that it’s my fault. He’s suggested it’s my weight. He’s suggested I have an overactive sex drive. He’s suggested I’m a bit mad.’
‘That’s cruel.’
‘Yes it is.’
She hangs her head as if the love of her life has walked away from her. ‘I thought he was perfect.’
‘No one’s perfect.’
While Risky stares into middle distance, like a child who just found out Santa isn’t real, I concentrate on wrapping up the wedding details. The bill was paid in full within three days of the event. Or non-event, as it came to pass. The money came from Ross’ account, as opposed to Gavin’s, like the previous deposits had. This week has been busy for us, the contractors are all upset they haven’t had any mentions on Instagram feeds, and of course I am the contact for all of them. I’ve been filtering things through to Jenny, as I really don’t know what the answer is. Apparently, Lauren is willing to pay as opposed to post, so we need to work out what discounts were given and ask everyone to be patient. Risky is being quite useless. Following every mention of the saga in the press. Getting more and more upset about how Lauren is being portrayed in the thousands of tabloid articles that have come out about them.
‘Listen to this one,’ she says to me, standing up and coming over to my desk. ‘“Gavin was always unsure,” says a source close to the couple. “But Lauren’s drinking became too much in the end. In the final hour, he just couldn’t go through with it.” That isn’t what happened at all, she wasn’t drunk. That bitch Jenny, she’s out there making this stuff up when we all know what Gavin did and why the wedding didn’t happen.’
She’s right. Jenny is still the PR, but only for Gavin. We were sent a very aggressive email about how she’s representing only Gavin now, and how any queries about him should be sent directly to her and not mentioned to anyone. She sent more NDAs. No mention of Lauren anywhere. It’s like she’s been blacklisted from brand ‘Gavin’. Lauren hasn’t done a single Instagram post or answered her phone since the wedding day. The press has been making her out to have alcohol problems, drug addictions, eating disorders, the works. The public support is all for Gavin. There is no mention of his infidelity. Maybe Jenny is good at her job after all.
So Lucky Page 23
