Promises Made- Promises Kept

by Jaclyn Rosamond

  Her smile dropped as soon as she saw my face. ‘Oh bummer. Come in.’

  Sweeping past her, I dumped my handbag on a sofa and plonked down, face mutinous.

  ‘Your face looks like a slapped arse,’ she said, a glimmer of laughter in her eyes. ‘Wedding?’

  Her comment was perfect, taking the wind out of my sails. Bubbles of laughter rose in my throat, escaping into giggles.

  Her mouth curved into a wide smile. She loved cutting through my outbursts. ‘And…?’ Her eyebrows quirked up.

  ‘Eddie’s trying to insert an extra bridesmaid against my will.’

  ‘Ahh. Let me guess: Lisa?’

  My head shot up. ‘How’d you guess?’

  She laughed. ‘There’s always someone, usually several someones, who think they have the right to be a bridesmaid. You’ve probably offended heaps of people by not asking.’

  ‘I have. But it’s my wedding,’ I protested.

  ‘Right. But not everyone’s reasonable about weddings.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ I huffed, folding my arms. ‘Guess who else I’ve offended?’

  Her eyebrows quirked again. ‘Your cousin Kelly and your sister, Louisa?’

  ‘Hah! My sister would have taken pleasure in turning me down with a delicate shudder. God, I don’t get her and neither do my parents. She has all these pretentions to grandeur, and none of us understand her head space. She acts so entitled.’

  Louisa, at thirty-six, seven years older than me, was vain and materialistic. My whole family had been glad to see her equally uptight husband sweep her off to wealth and comfort. We hope their two adorable children remain unaffected by status snobbery.

  Minutes later, Brigid and I, coffee mugs in hand, curled up opposite each other on sofas, while she listened to my current debacle. Five minutes later, my acid tongue silenced, I said, ‘I was whining, wasn’t I? I need a chill pill.’

  ‘That I can help you with.’ She sniggered. ‘Lots of chill pills on the psych ward. Half the patients are zombied out on their meds.’

  Brigid’s nursing specialty had been in mental health for two years.

  ‘Yeah. No thanks. Wine’s more my medication of choice. You know,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘weddings can be really toxic. I’m kind of understanding why Edna and Bert had a quiet wedding.’

  ‘But boring.’

  ‘Probably true.’

  ‘I bet it’s why wedding planners are used more often now. Everyone has such high expectations of the day. Romance, fun, food, alcohol, dancing and dressing up for the do.’

  ‘Do they, though?’ I broke in. ‘I mean, how many weddings have we actually enjoyed going to? We’ve been to six weddings each to date and people whinge about food, the weather, the unwanted rellies, the cost of attending, just about everything. And the bride’s stressed to hell and back.’

  ‘Hmm. Remember two years ago when the mother-in-law told Angela to her face that her wedding dress was hideous and made her look like a pregnant cream puff.’

  Angela was a fellow nurse. ‘God, yes. Horrible. Why would anyone be that rude?’

  Brigid shrugged. ‘You got me. It didn’t help that what she said was true. Did you hear they’re getting divorced?’

  I shrugged. ‘No, I didn’t. But I’m not surprised.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘You know, someone’s going to hate my dress.’

  ‘Yep, and the bridesmaids’ dresses, too.’ She sniggered. ‘Who gives a rat’s ass what they think? We’ll just choose what we like.’

  By the time I returned home, Eddie, anxious to make peace, had cooked a romantic dinner for two, the table set with candles and roses. Everything was okay again. And making up afterwards was outstanding.

  I thought everything was swimming along just fine.

  Then along came Bianca.

  She’d never been a friend. Frenemy would be accurate – since we were fifteen years old, and her mother, Shirl, had moved, lock, stock and pot-smoking barrel with Bianca and Tyrone, Bianca’s then nine-year-old half-brother, to our home town of Cambridge. Shirl also imported her latest drug-addled boyfriend.

  Bianca exploded onto our humdrum school life. She was streetwise in a way I could never be, her precarious home life diametrically opposed to mine. My family had enough wealth to be considered affluent.

  That’s why Bianca latched onto me, of course. I had access to funds she could only dream of at that age. Besides, while I might envy her hardened self-confidence, I’d never hankered after what made her so tough. I learned on the first night I went to her mum’s house that Bianca had a strong lock on her bedroom door for good reason. Not all of her mother’s boyfriends were sexual predators, but there had been occasions when escaping through the window had been the best course open to her. Shirl never protected her daughter, never seemed to want a better life for Bianca, but if a boyfriend made any threats towards her precious Tyrone, then she was after him with any handy weapon.

  I said very little to my parents about Bianca’s home life, despite having a healthy relationship with them. They’d encouraged my social conscience. But Mum and Dad never liked or trusted Bianca and would have been ticked off with me if they’d known how much stuff she nicked from me – clothes, CDs, inexpensive jewelry, anything that she fancied she would “borrow”. And never return.

  I’d banish her for days, wishing I had the guts to punch her, to yell out in the classroom that she was a thief and a liar. She wheedled her way back into my life every time.

  More fool me.

  My so-called social conscience was confused at that age. I wanted Bianca to have something in her life that gave her pleasure, even though I was often so mad at her, I’d be torn between rage and a conflicting desire to accept that perhaps her needs were greater than mine.

  Bianca made school difficult through all facets of her behavior, but somehow we stayed connected. Not friends. Never that. It was all give on my part and all take on hers, so hardly balanced. I was naive enough to think she’d transform if I only showed her compassion.

  It never occurred to me she saw me as patronizing.

  To this day, I don’t know why I allowed her the freedom to seek out and destroy all I held dear, but I did.

  So, when she re-entered my life at the age of twenty-nine, after several years’ absence, I can put my hand on my heart and truthfully say I hadn’t missed her. Not one little bit.

  Having tracked me down while I still shared my house with Brigid, she insinuated herself back into my life. It never occurred to me to ask her to be a bridesmaid, but I did. And I couldn’t tell my friends why. Bianca had sworn me to secrecy.

  Not long after my epic argument with Eddie over bridesmaids, Bianca asked me if she could have the honor.

  Was I taken aback? Yes.

  Did I say no? No, I didn’t.

  I didn’t have the bottle to turn her down. Frantic, my mind flitted around for excuses, failing to find one. Or, even better, just saying “no”.

  In the end it’s funny how life turns out. Saying “yes” ended up changing my life.

  I had to break the news to Shona and Brigid. It didn’t go well.

  ‘What?’ Brigid choked out.

  ‘Why? Are you nuts?’ Shona said, horrified.

  ‘I know, I know. Yes, I’m nuts. Duh. What can I say?’ I didn’t have clue how to escape my gullibility.

  It took a few days, they didn’t agree with me, but accepted my particular form of being a sucker. Brigid had a few more pithy observations on the matter, to which I listened crestfallen.

  Considering her attention-seeking ways, Bianca surprised all of us by not attempting to upstage me on the wedding day, although in the hotel room as we were getting ready, she fussed around my simple dress, trying to tart it up with additional bows or extra jewelry. Shona and Brigid took it in turns to take them from her.

  ‘Bianca.’ I forced a smile, ‘I want to keep this simple and uncluttered, and no, I don’t want roses in my hair, they’ll overwhelm the veil and get in the way.’
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  ‘Oh, okay.’ She thought I needed to be more dressed up. ‘But what about this?’ She lifted a string of delicate pearls and draped them over my hair, pulling my grandmother’s too high veil into a more flattering look.

  On this rare occasion she was right. They added that extra je ne sais quoi to the overall effect. We all nodded approval.

  ‘Thank you, Bianca. That’s perfect; I wouldn’t have thought of doing this. Can you fix them in place for me?’ I sat still while she slipped in barely-there hair pins.

  We were all surprised – how come she had the skill to see how to improve my appearance, but remained clueless about her everyday dress code?

  And just to prove that point, she tried to add more jewelry to liven up her elegant dress, face fretful as we removed bangles and three cheap necklaces. My mother, present for everything, simply took the extra hardware and, without a word, put everything in her handbag. Not a place even Bianca would dare to raid.

  We’d all agreed to professional hair and makeup, even my young-for-her-age sophisticated mother, who’d managed to look striking all her life with minimal effort.

  Bianca wanted a poufy cloud of teased hair. Unanimously against it, we denied her this. We all hung around throwing compliments at her as her long, dark hair was French braided with loose tendrils drifting artfully at her cheeks. Even she admitted it suited her.

  Our makeup artist made us all look impossibly glamorous, but tutted and sighed over Bianca’s repeated request for heavy face slap.

  ‘No, no, no. You need subtle and alluring.’ She said, ever tactful, until, patience worn thin, she snapped. ‘You do not want to be mistaken for a bordello tart.’

  This silenced her, although her curiosity kept her ever watchful, striving to understand why restraint was important.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ I said, when her transformation had finished.

  Bianca had taken up so much time with our miracle artist, I became increasingly impatient, waiting my turn. I tried being reasonable. After all, I wanted all my bridesmaids to be happy with how they looked. But, sitting here tense, headache forming, I was hacked off. Shona could see my annoyance and did her level best to entertain me.

  Her joke-cracking good humor worked. I soon forgot the pettiness and cheered up. My finished look brought out my blue eyes and chestnut hair. I truly felt like a princess for the day.

  Seeing Eddie’s face light up as I walked down the petal strewn lawn in my parents’ magnificent garden. His eyes misted as he took my hands, squeezing a little too hard, nervous, just as I was.

  Holding hands, our clammy palms settled, everything and everyone faded into the background as we exchanged solemn vows, smiling at each other, exchanged rings and were declared husband and wife.

  The celebrant tapped Eddie’s arm. ‘You may kiss the bride,’ she reminded him with a gentle push.

  He leaned in, wrapping arms around me, eyes tearing up. ‘Hello, wife,’ he said, eyes soft, tipping my face up. Our prolonged kiss drew catcalls from the audience. When we drew apart our eyes held for long moments before turning to the gathered family and friends. Both mothers were crying and tissues were in evidence everywhere.

  From my perspective, as a dewy-eyed bride, everything went without a hitch for the rest of the day.

  So, to summarize, how did Bianca behave on our big day? Hmm, well, let’s just say she didn’t hijack our day, and I was only peripherally aware of her flirting with every eligible male. I heard she had an impact on my single cousins and friends, although I never heard how many she bedded that night.

  But one thing was certain. Bianca had planted herself inside my life and, as I said before, she’s a wrecker.

  Chapter Two

  Our honeymoon in Hawaii was idyllic. Like a movie set, everywhere we went was picture perfect, no weeds, everything pristine, with short tropical showers every couple of hours, followed by blue skies, the island looked as if it was fresh back from the launderette.

  We had two weeks at Turtle Bay Resort on Oahu’s quieter North Shore. Planning included activities we’d never tried back home. Kayaking, snorkeling, sunset beach horse rides and surfing.

  On our first morning we took a short bus ride to a surf school. Despite arriving early, the beach already had a good number of people stretched out on recliners or towels. On a second glance I noted they were mostly women, a number of whom had shed their bikini tops. Lots of bronzed nipples. A sensitive part of their anatomy lifted to the sun’s rays had me hoping they’d used industrial strength sunscreen.

  Eddie was immediately interested. But not in the semi-naked women.

  ‘Look at that,’ he said, pointing to a surfie riding a huge wave. ‘I want to do that.’

  Eyes widening, I admired the guts to take on big surf. ‘I guess he’s a professional, honey. He must do this every day to be that good.’

  ‘Mm, hmm,’ Eddie responded, wanting to doubt my opinion. ‘I’m going to give it a go. Why don’t you, as well? You could give it a go, scaredy-cat that you are.’

  I frowned, hands on hips. ‘What’s that meant to mean? I’m not scared, why would I be?’ From slamming into big waves whilst sailing, I knew how wild the sea could be. My bigger fear related to sharks.

  He just laughed, face disbelieving.

  Determined to give it a go, I booked a lesson along with my skeptical husband.

  ‘How experienced is our tutor?’ Eddie asked the teenager who booked our lessons.

  ‘That’s him.’ He pointed to the surfie we’d been watching. ‘His name’s Cal. He’s experienced and very popular with the ladies.’ He winked at me. I grinned, turning to watch our surf tutor emerging from the water, board under one arm.

  ‘He’s a big lad,’ Eddie said, voice begrudging. ‘Built like a…’

  ‘Warrior,’ I said, admiring wide shoulders and long hair sun-bleached honey blonde, tied in a casual ponytail.

  ‘I was thinking “brick shithouse”, he’s got muscles on his muscles.

  ‘Eddie!’ I looked again. ‘His muscles aren’t that big. Overbuilt bodybuilders look weird to me, this guy looks fit.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He shrugged me off. ‘C’mon, let’s go say hello.’

  A pair of serious blue-grey eyes greeted us.

  ‘Never surfed before, eh? Let’s see how much you’ll enjoy this.’

  He was friendly in a reserved way. However, when he smiled my heart melted. He was an attractive man. He didn’t say much, but his deep, confident voice was mesmerizing.

  Every second woman on the beach tried to catch his eye, hoping for more. Some of the blatant come-ons were downright funny. One incident was stored for future anecdotes back home, when a mid-thirties eligible bachelorette, suddenly found her bikini top fall off right in front of him as he walked up the beach. Cal’s mouth twitched, laughter barely suppressed, as he turned away, picked up a towel, and handed it to her, without looking.

  But drop-dead gorgeous as he was, I wasn’t there to ogle. I might admire, but I didn’t desire. Nope, my eyes were glued to my new husband. Eddie watched Cal and mimicked the surfing moves needed to practice. Both men were the same height at six foot three, but there the comparison ended. Where Cal was blonde, Eddie was dark, with laughing toffee eyes and a chest covered in dark curls. Eddie laughed readily, while Cal was serious. Eddie chatted, Cal listened and spoke only when necessary.

  When it came to surfing, Eddie took to it with ease, while I struggled to grasp the basics. After frequent tumbles, Cal suggested I take a break.

  Swallowing too much ocean made me nauseous. Conceding defeat, I sat on the beach to watch Eddie succeed. A lump of frustration clogged my throat, I had to admit I lacked talent for this particular skill. A strong swimmer for years, I couldn’t understand why baby waves beat me.

  Eddie, on the other hand, proved to be a natural. Not ready for the big waves, but progressing with smaller waves. Much smaller.

  ‘Who’d have guessed it?’ he said, after his second lesson, swinging me rou
nd exuberantly. He’d caught three miniature waves, riding them to shore with a whoop of victory.

  ‘Congratulations, honey. You looked great out there. Me, not so much.’ Time to swallow my pride instead of ocean.

  He ruffled my hair. ‘Never mind love. We can’t do everything.’

  While I may not have the same happy knack as Eddie, there were definite compensations. Cal had encouraged all my attempts in our first lesson, but after my third unsuccessful attempt resulted in another unceremonious dumping underwater, followed by a struggle to head for the surface, Cal hauled me into his arms, soothing my panic. I didn’t mind in the least. I refused to examine my immediate response. Being held by another man had been unexpectedly sensual. I wouldn’t let it happen again.

  Not wearing this skimpy bikini, anyway.

  I hid a grin as I sat back on my towel. I still found other men attractive. And why not? Nothing wrong with that, so long as it was just looking.

  And that’s all I did. Just look. I admired Eddie’s prowess, while more than a little flattered that Cal enjoyed my company.

  ‘Honeymooners, hey?’ his deep voice rumbled, as we sat on the sand watching Eddie ride his biggest wave yet, lurching around on his surfboard, but staying upright.

  ‘That’s right. We’re so new at this marriage thing, it still squeaks if we turn around too quickly.’ I gave him a big, happy grin. No way would this lovely man get under my skin and distract me from honeymoon heaven.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ he said, with a trace of envy.

  ‘No adoring wife, or girlfriend, waiting somewhere on the island for you?’ I asked, tone light, but inquisitive.

  His face closed up. ‘Nope, plenty of offers for holiday flings. I don’t do flings.’

  He leapt to his feet and strode over to where Eddie was sloshing out of the water, lugging his heavy board.

  Not a man who revealed his feelings.

  ‘Another one, mate?’ Cal asked Eddie.

  ‘Still time for another?’ Eddie’s face lit up.

  ‘Yeah, another half an hour should do it. Don’t want to wear you out on your honeymoon.’