Nice Day For a White Wedding
Page 8
‘Okay, get your coat.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re going to the clinic.’ Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Come on. Let’s get this sorted.’
As they walked down the street, side-by-side, hands in pockets, Ruby asked, ‘What would your mum say? Think it’d be some outpouring of love and support? Or you think she’d tell you to choose differently to her, not ruin your life?’
Chelsea snorted and looked at her friend, the curly red mane framing her thin, pale face. ‘She would tell me I was a stupid bitch, and to get registered with the council straight away, and if I tell them the dad’s abusive I’ll get more money. Then she’d tell me I was a lucky shit and not to forget everything she did for me.’
Ruby winced. ‘Babe, your mum’s a bitch, you know that, right?’
‘Yup.’ Chelsea’s mouth was a thin line. ‘But from now on, I’m the only one who gets to call her that.’
‘Fair enough.’
Ruby filled out all the paperwork, sitting in the drab, dull office that smelled of disinfectant, everyone avoiding looking at each other.
‘Wanna play a game? Let’s guess which one of those guys’ dick’s going to fall off. Bet it’s the blond one.’
Chelsea’s eyes widened, nudging Ruby violently. ‘Shut up!’
‘Nah, you’re right, bet it’s crabs. He’s wriggling a lot isn’t he?’
‘Ruby! Shut it!’
They sat in silence for a moment.
‘You do realise you’re not pregnant?’
Ruby’s words hung in the air, searching for a place to land.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because you used protection, and your first time was three days ago.’
‘So?’
Ruby sighed, gathering the remainder of her patience. ‘That’s not how the science of periods works, moron. Aren’t you meant to be the smart one? Come on, think about it, you know that.’
‘Okay, so I know that. Fine, then why did you bring me here if you thought I was wrong?’
‘Because I think everyone needs to know what to do if something happens,’ Ruby shrugged, flipping through an ancient magazine aimlessly, throwing it down. ‘And I don’t think that is what it’s really about.’
‘So what’s it about?’
Ruby sighed and turned her body to face her friend. ‘It’s about you sleeping with Martin, and him going back to his perfect princess girlfriend who will barely let him kiss her, a few hours later. It’s about boys who make you their sluts so that they can keep their “real” girls pure. And it’s the fact that there’s nothing scarier than your escape route being destroyed by a boy who doesn’t give a shit about you.’
Chelsea burst into tears immediately, loud and messy, her black-rimmed eyes smudging and dripping down her cheeks until she looked like a macabre clown, until she had trouble breathing.
‘They want to teach you that there are girls you date, and girls you fuck, and there’s nothing in between.’ Ruby’s voice was soft and gentle in her ear, her hand rubbing her back in circles as Chelsea fought to compose herself. ‘But what they don’t know is you are so much more than any of that. You are both and none, and all.’
***
Chelsea made it through the meal by keeping her jaw tensed and her wine glass empty. The food was delicious but she ate relatively little, aware of the jab from Jemima earlier about the size of her wedding dress, and the fact that a huge part of Kit’s life had just never been mentioned. And that part was turning up tomorrow.
Chelsea knew she was a hypocrite, she knew there were things she hadn’t been clear about in her own past, the poverty and the hatred and the disgusting actions by her own mother throughout her childhood. But love? Well, for her, before Kit there had been no love. There had been pointless boys she passed by, there had been the obnoxious Oxford men who didn’t quite buy her act, and the simpler ones who wanted to pretend, didn’t want her breaking their bubble, infecting them with her common identity. They wanted to be butterflies, and she wasn’t quick enough to sprout her wings.
How had he proposed to this mysterious predecessor? What had her ring been like? How old had they been? She couldn’t bear to look at him throughout dinner, and though she knew she should rise above it, sensing the glee in Jemima’s gaze, she couldn’t help it. He placed his hand on the small of her back and a low growl escaped her throat.
When they reached the second round of after dinner drinks, and Bartie was still discussing the importance of selling your assets to your kids whilst you were alive, in order to bypass inheritance tax, and Celia was still rolling her eyes and Kit was trying to argue back until his attention returned to her, and he stilled, awkward and guilty, Chelsea decided it was time to make a run for it.
‘I think I’ll head off to bed,’ she said gently, putting her napkin down firmly on the table and looking anywhere but Kit. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ Kit went to stand up, but Chelsea shook her head.
‘No,’ she softened it, ‘catch up with your family, I’m just sleepy from quite a busy few days. Enjoy yourself.’ She didn’t look at him as she said it, simply nodding and escaping into the house, desperately trying not to run, the clack on the marble floors giving away her eagerness.
She paused by the door, waiting to see if anyone said anything about her hasty exit.
‘Well, she’s different…‘Jemima said dryly, her voice echoing around the dark kitchen, where Chelsea held her breath, her hands shaking.
‘Mother…’
‘Well, darling, I’m just saying what I see. You’re used to women who have had the same upbringing as you. How are you going to agree on how to live, how to raise your children? Coming from the same place means something. It’s a strong basis for a good relationship.’
‘Yes, two people who married each other for their money, and made the best of it because they both like a quiet life,’ Kit scoffed. ‘I think you’re in a great position to be telling me who to spend my life with.’ His chair scraped back. ‘And what the fuck was that about Tatty? What are you trying to do?’
‘I’m trying to show you both a bit of kindness,’ Jemima’s voice was hard now, unyielding. ‘It’ll hurt you both less in the long run. You’re not a good match.’
‘That’s not your choice.’
‘I never said it was, darling, I’m just trying to help.’
‘Well, don’t.’
Chelsea heard Kit’s footsteps, but they were moving away from the house, further across the patio, his footsteps quickening as he trotted down some stairs.
‘Where are you going?’ Bartie called after him.
‘For a walk!’ Kit threw back, his voice far away.
The family sat in silence after he left, and Chelsea considered staying to hear what they had to say, but she realised she truly didn’t care what they thought of her. It had been clear from the moment she stepped into their house. Their huge, obnoxious house. And tomorrow his banker brother and snobby girlfriend would arrive to make it all a hundred times more painful.
Chelsea slipped off her sandals, letting them hang from her fingertips as she padded across the cool marble floor towards the stairs. As she passed the stairs going down to the second kitchen, she paused, her stomach desperately rumbling. She’d had a lot to drink and very little to eat. She knew she’d be starving when she woke up, and a few slices of bread in her stomach might soak up at least a little of the alcohol, if none of the awkwardness and irritation.
She stepped slowly down the dark stairway, reaching the bottom warily. The hallway down there was lit dimly, but she followed the sounds of laughter, and the bright, white room at the end of the hall that seemed to have huge, silver storage fridges in. She leant on the door frame and peered around, hearing a loud cockney voice ruminating to an audience.
‘And then she says, “Alphonse, I expect you to provide a certain standard of excellence”, and I said, “And I expect
you to get my fucking name right, but apparently we’re both going to have to lower our standards, aren’t we, love?”’
The group burst out laughing, and Chelsea bit her lip, grinning. She sniggered to herself and noted as it suddenly went silent. She took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, peering around the door. Three pairs of eyes stared back at her. A short, dark-haired man with a stubbled chin, a girl with a heart-shaped face, her light brown hair French-plaited neatly, and a tall, thin man with a mop of dark, shaggy hair and a pencil moustache. They stood looking at her in silence.
‘Madam, apologies, but these are staff areas.’ The tall, thin man had an Italian accent, looking at her warily.
‘Sorry.’ Chelsea winced, desperately trying to convey that she wasn’t one of them upstairs. I’m one of you! she wanted to cry. ‘I just…wondered if you had some bread, or crackers or something?’
‘Did you check the family fridge, love, upstairs?’ The cockney chef said simply, looking up to catch the look of irritation on her face.
‘Sorry, of course, the family kitchen. I forgot that this house was a throwback to aristocracy and snobbery.’ She shook her head, the drink making her tongue loose. ‘I’ll check upstairs, sorry again.’
The chef looked at her with a slow grin. ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re saying we slaved for hours making this grand meal, and you didn’t eat it? Want to tell me what’s wrong with my cooking there, Princess?’
Chelsea snorted, stepping further into the threshold. ‘Sorry, I was busy being grilled by the lady of the house for daring to be from the working classes and getting engaged to her son. It kind of put me off my food.’ She paused. ‘But it looked lovely!’
‘She is a right fuck nugget, that woman,’ the chef snorted, the girl next to him biting her lip and looking at the floor. He held out a hand. ‘I’m Alfie. Not Alphonse, not matter what that mad bitch upstairs tells you. This is Tegan, my sous-chef, and that’s Matteo, my trainee.’
‘You get away with calling her a mad bitch?’ Chelsea asked. ‘And she hasn’t fired you?’
Tegan snorted, grinning at Alfie. ‘Seems no matter what he does, she refuses to fire him.’
‘I keep trying to make her, but old cockwomble upstairs refuses,’ he shrugged, ‘and I can’t quit.’
‘Why not?’
‘The money’s too good,’ Tegan laughed. ‘She hires us for three weeks every year when they come out, we work in a restaurant in Rome the rest of the year. She pays us and the restaurant for any losses.’
Chelsea thought her eyeballs might fall out, and she shook her head. ‘No offence, guys, I mean, the food was good, but whose food is that good?’
‘No fucking idea, love, she’s mad as a fucking badger, but we can’t complain.’ Alfie rolled his eyes and Tegan shook her head at him, a softness around her eyes.
‘You do complain. Frequently.’
‘Yeah, but it makes no difference, the woman just decides what exists in her world. I could go up there right now, pull down my trousers and show the whole table my arse, and she’d just ask me if the meringue tartlets were ready for tomorrow.’
Chelsea sighed. ‘I think this is the first time I’ve truly felt like I’m not surrounded by aliens since I got here. Thank you, thank you for being normal people!’
They laughed, and Tegan tilted her head slightly. ‘What was your name?’
‘Chelsea.’
‘And you’re engaged to their son?’
Chelsea nodded, noting the look that passed between Tegan and the two men. ‘What?’
‘You just don’t seem like the type.’
Chelsea rolled her eyes, ‘wow, my lack of sophistication was that obvious, huh? And I’m wearing my nice dress, too.’
‘No you just seem…’ Tegan paused, her light eyes searching the room for the right word.
‘You don’t seem like a massive twat bag,’ Alfie shrugged, and Tegan elbowed him.
‘You seem like you have substance,’ Tegan said meaningfully, glaring at her boss. ‘Eric’s previous girlfriends were –’
‘Oh, no!’ Chelsea grinned. ‘Not Eric. Kit. I’m Kit’s girlfriend. Well, fiancée. Or source of massive embarrassment. Whatever.’
Tegan nodded. ‘Right, the other son. He didn’t bring as many girlfriends on the holidays…’
‘But there were some?’ Chelsea tilted her head, eyebrow raised.
Matteo shrugged, looking a bit awkward. ‘They all sort of looked the same, you know, those bronzed six foot model types.’
‘Oh great, Matteo, that’s a thing to tell the girl.’ Tegan rolled her eyes. ‘They were…yeah, the same. No one stood out.’
‘Apart from being beautiful and tall and looking like models?’ Chelsea sighed. ‘Great.’
‘Well, you’re engaged! You win,’ Tegan grinned at her. ‘Besides, he seems nice, Kit. We haven’t seen him for a good few years.’
‘The other one’s a banking dick fidget,’ Alfie grinned, turning to Tegan. ‘Go on, tell me off, try! You know it’s true!’
Tegan shook her head. ‘It’s true.’
‘So, Saint Chelsea of the Working Classes, I don’t have any slices of bread, but would you like to join us in our midnight feast?’ Alfie grinned at her, gesturing around the corner, to where a table was set out with a few plates, the leftovers from their dinner that evening. Her stomach rumbled audibly as she looked at the plates of meats and cheeses, crisp salad, and pastries twisted through with pesto and olives.
‘Oh, that’s okay –’
‘We can hear your stomach rumbling,’ Matteo smiled, walking over and pulling up a chair for her. ‘Sit.’
And that was where Kit found Chelsea, after wandering the house and the grounds, wondering why his bride to be was not in their bed at 1am. She had heard more stories of Jemima’s ridiculousness than she thought she could bear, her face hurt from laughing and her stomach was cramping.
‘That time she wanted me to make duck liver ice cream, because if Heston could do it…’ Alfie groaned. ‘Had half a mind to stuff a live duck down her gullet –’
A polite, but pointed, cough echoed behind them and Chelsea looked over her shoulder to see Kit, eyebrow raised.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Chels…you coming to bed?’
Chelsea looked at him, wearing the fitted blue T-shirt and basketball shorts he always wore to bed in the summer, his hair standing up on end in that way it did when he’d been pulling at it. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to give him the cold shoulder and turn her back on him to talk with her new, fun friends, who didn’t make her feel like she was stupid. But he looked sad and tired, and she wanted to curl up against him in bed and make him listen as she called his horrible mother names until she fell asleep.
Chelsea turned back. ‘Think I’m gonna go to bed, guys. Thanks for the snacks.’
‘You’re welcome any time, gorgeous, come see us in the servants’ quarters before you head off on your travels. And I’ll set you guys up with a reservation for my place in Rome, just say the word.’
Alfie smiled at her.
‘I think we’ll be here a few more days, Alfie, but cheers,’ Chelsea smiled. ‘Night, guys.’
She slipped away, reaching out a hand for Kit’s and walking slowly up to their room, bare feet padding on the cool marble.
He said nothing as she changed, simply watching her from the bed as she brushed her teeth in the bathroom, as she slipped into an oversized T-shirt to sleep in and got into the bed next to him. She waited until he put his arms around her waist, his chin fitting neatly into the crook of her neck and she could feel his lips against her skin.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I didn’t tell you?’ he whispered into the dark room.
‘No.’
‘Is that because you have things you don’t tell me?’
Chelsea let the silence settle around them, trying to find an answer.
‘It’s because there were brief moments tonight when I looked at you and knew that y
ou didn’t fit into this world any more than I do. And that was the only thing that got me through today.’
‘Two days, and we’ll go,’ he said simply, muffled against her neck.
Chelsea sighed. ‘I’m never going to be enough for her.’
‘You don’t have to. You’re enough for me.’
Chelsea sighed. ‘Just once, I want someone’s mother to give me a cuddle and say they’re so pleased their son met me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Their breathing lined up, even and smooth, until Chelsea thought Kit had fallen asleep.
‘Your mother’s a bitch,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ he whispered back, shocking her a little, ‘but only I’m allowed to say that.’
Chapter Six
Chelsea woke up alone, reaching for Kit and finding the bed empty, but still warm. Today was the day the dreadful brother, bimbo girlfriend and the ex-fiancée arrived. Triple whammy.
Her phone buzzed, and she rolled over, reaching for it on the side table.
How’s the dragon’s den? Molls x
Chelsea texted back, Lots of fire and scales. And now there’s an ex-fiancée on the scene. xxx
The phone sprang to life immediately, and Chelsea shook her head when she saw Mollie’s name flash up.
‘Aren’t you worried about international rates?’ Chelsea asked as she answered.
‘Don’t give a c-alcium tablet –’ Mollie said, desperately assuming a cheerful tone.
‘Esme there?’ Chelsea grinned. It had taken a while for her to get used to Mollie’s natural ability to switch from swear words to child-friendly language.
‘Yup,’ Mollie said, and Chelsea could hear the little girl’s voice yelling in the background, ‘Hi, Auntie Chelsea! I wanna be a bridesmaid!’
‘Sure thing, hun,’ she replied.
‘Nope, she’s gone. I’ve got to go in a minute,’ Mollie said. ‘Come on, now. Ex-fiancée? Dragon mother?’
‘Didn’t know about the fiancée. She’s coming over today, apparently she’s just darling.’ Chelsea rolled her eyes. ‘The dragon hates me. I’m not part of his world. Oh and we have to get married here with a bunch of bankers and I’m too fat for a couture dress.’