Nice Day For a White Wedding

by A. L. Michael

  ‘FUCK OFF!’ she yelled back, slamming the small door behind her.

  ***

  ‘Chelsea, get down here, your dad’s back!’

  Her mum sounded cheerful, hopeful. She and Tyler had been washed and dressed in their best clothes, their hair brushed and teeth cleaned, ready to be lined up and see their dad as soon as he walked through the door. Martin, her dad’s best friend, had picked him up, taken him for a few pints to catch up, and then would be bringing him home.

  Chelsea looked at her little brother, nervously trying to tie his shoes, and smiled at him, kneeling down on the floor and reaching for his laces.

  ‘I can do it!’ He kicked her away and tried again.

  ‘Don’t you want to go and see Dad?’ Chelsea smiled at him encouragingly. ‘I’ll help so we can go quicker.’

  ‘Kids! NOW!’ Their mum called again, this time more irritated.

  ‘What if I don’t like him?’ Ty said quietly. His badly shaven hair, done in a hurry by their mum that morning, made him look gawky and strange, his eyes suddenly huge in a small, pale face.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you like him?’ Chelsea laughed, placing both her hands in her dungaree pockets and shrugging. ‘He’s our dad!’

  ‘But he went to prison,’ Ty said solemnly, ‘and only bad people go to prison.’

  Chelsea frowned. ‘Well…maybe they made a mistake.’

  Tyler shrugged, staring at the floor, slowly sliding his foot over to his sister so she could tie the laces on his trainers.

  ‘Or maybe prisons are like hospitals for bad people, you come out good. I’m sure he was really sorry!’ Chelsea tied the lace expertly and clapped her hands. ‘Ta-da! Now let’s go, I’m sure he’s got presents for us!’

  ‘I…don’t remember him,’ Tyler said softly, bottom lip trembling.

  ‘KIDS! For fuck’s sake, get down here!’ Carly’s voice became like ice, angry and jagged.

  ‘Well, we did lots of fun things when you were a baby,’ Chelsea said, patting his shoulder. ‘Dad won you that giraffe at the fair.’ She pointed to the stuffed toy in the corner of the room. ‘And I gave you half my candy floss because you cried, and then you were sick on me! We had lots of fun, and we’ll have lots more now he’s back! Come on!’

  Chelsea hurried her little brother down the stairs, smiling at him widely until his back was turned. She knew that lying was bad, but sometimes it made people feel better. The giraffe, Gigi, had been found abandoned in a box of stuff outside one of the big posh houses near the train station, and as far as she could remember, they had never been to the fair, with their dad or without him. But she wanted Ty to have something, to have something normal. Because even at fourteen years old, she knew that the hope she had, for her dad to come back, and for things to be good again, was never going to happen. But she wanted Tyler to believe.

  Of course, Carly was happy when their dad was around, he was the only person she had ever really loved. They became invisible again, only used as bargaining chips. Their dad was a dark, skinny figure who appeared an hour later, stinking of booze and fags, patting them on the head and squeezing them too hard, telling them they were so big and getting their names wrong, before passing out on the sofa.

  Chelsea told Ty it would be better tomorrow. And she said that every day until their dad went back to prison, five months later.

  ***

  Chelsea wasn’t sure if there was anything worse than being stuck with someone you’ve argued with on a boat in the middle of a lake. She stayed downstairs in the hull for what felt like a lifetime, flicking through the books on her Kindle, pretending to be interested in the words in front of her.

  Eventually, the engine cut out, and she waited, a knot in her stomach as she heard Kit’s slow footsteps move towards the door.

  ‘Chels, can you come up so we can talk?’ She could only see his knees, those stupid blue shorts hanging just slightly too long. Bet they cost a lot. They had a stupid little crocodile on them, so they must do.

  She paused, not sure she had anything to say, but her options were to sit and sulk until she was forced back to that house with those terrible people, or to at least get the man she loved back on her side, so she had someone to protect her from the dragons. And fighting with Kit gave her a stomach ache.

  Chelsea picked up her bag and stomped up to the top of the boat as delicately as she could, thankful for her sunglasses, but feeling the sun beating down on the back of her neck, desperately missing her hat.

  ‘Here.’ Kit handed her some suncream, not looking at her, his voice rough. ‘You’re going to burn.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She didn’t look up, just started applying the cream to her nose and neck.

  ‘Tatty was a girl I knew when I was a teenager, we were in the same circles, had the same friends. I always thought she was quite silly, really. We met back up when we were at Cambridge, and started dating. I was finding my course hellish, was awake all hours trying to work, trying to party and live this life everyone wanted. To prove something. Especially as Eric had been to Oxford a couple of years before me, qualifying in law and setting the world alight.’

  Chelsea said nothing, just listened.

  ‘Tatty was easy, my mum loved her, she knew everyone and had this way of dragging you along with her, making you “fit”.’ Kit shrugged. ‘And I loved that, for a while. She was the one who helped me get my first job, through her connections. And it made sense to get married, to tie down that perfect life before it slipped away, before everyone knew I was a fraud. She made it easy.’

  Chelsea bristled a little at the words, but could not find fault with them.

  ‘And when it ended?’ she asked.

  Kit shrugged, his movements echoing the gentle bob of the boat, the dock empty and quiet. Chelsea’s eyes traced the bright fuchsia flowers growing against the white walls of the nearby buildings, instead of looking at Kit’s face. Kit looking serious was something that always made her stomach twist.

  ‘I wasn’t committed enough. I loved my work, wanted to prove myself, and all the parties and social events and galas and fundraisers, the connections that had elevated me to the position she got for me, well, I thought they were trivial. They were a waste of time. She’d planned this huge wedding, four hundred people, most of whom I had started to despise, and it just felt too much.’

  ‘Who broke it off?’

  ‘It was mutual.’

  Chelsea snorted. ‘That’s what people say when they don’t want to admit they broke it off.’

  Kit laughed a little, shaking his head. ‘Sure, okay. It was me. But she agreed. She was a good sport about it. And now, it seems, she has the life she wants.’ He paused at this point, taking off his sunglasses so that Chelsea could see his eyes. ‘And Chels, so do I. I have the life I want, with you. Doors and secrets and all. This is what I want.’

  Chelsea shrugged, unable to look away and nodded into the silence.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’ Kit said. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Did you need something more?’

  ‘Assurance that you haven’t got an ex that’s going to pop out of the woodwork too?’ Kit leaned forward, reaching for her hand. ‘I’m half joking.’

  ‘Of all the things that might crawl out of the woodwork, an ex is not one of them.’ Chelsea smiled sadly. ‘There was no one real for me before you. You know that, that’s never been a secret.’

  ‘I’d never asked, the same way you never asked about the people in my life before you.’

  Chelsea let that realisation hang in the air, half accusation, half something softer, like an admission that things could be hard, that they could both be right and wrong at the same time. That it didn’t matter, because they were on the same side anyway.

  ‘I guess I’d never really thought about it, I was just happy the way we were. And I think a small part of me never thought I’d get this far, with anyone.’

  Kit reached for her cheek, stroking gently. ‘You have no idea how wonderf
ul you are.’

  ‘But I know exactly how infuriating I can be,’ she grinned, holding his hand against her skin, his bright blue eyes soft and kind. ‘So, now we’ve dealt with all this, I would like a very boozy lunch please. If I have to deal with your Jemima-approved ex and your obnoxious brother this afternoon, I would very much like to be wasted.’

  ‘That’s a plan I can get behind.’ Kit laughed and stood up, holding out a hand to her.

  ‘And I will not stop talking about that handbag. In fifteen years’ time, I will be moaning to our children about that handbag. “Your grandmother,” I’ll say, “had the ugliest zebra print handbag that looked like it was from a Primark bargain bin. And the stupid cow paid £9,300 for it!” and we’ll laugh and talk about the proletariat rebellion and how money isn’t the most important thing. So there.’

  Kit rolled his eyes. ‘Deal. But can we leave it at least an hour before I have to hear about it again? It’s making my ears bleed.’

  They lunched not far from the harbour of Limone, the town known for producing Limoncello. They dined slowly, peacefully, taking in the absurd hugeness of the mountains towering over them, the sparkle of sun on the water and the coolness of the sparkling wine. They talked about small, pointless things, memories from past holidays, favourite foods, things they’d never tried. They talked about missing work, wondering what the people in their offices would be doing, and realising with surprise that they’d left their mobiles in the room. They saluted themselves with glasses of wine, at their excellent ability to be functioning, non-workaholic humans.

  She picked at pizza with a dark, crisp crust, and a light tomato sauce, the basil picking up each flavour until she didn’t know how anyone could make something as simple as a margherita pizza so perfect. She had bites of Kit’s seafood linguine, heavy on the garlic and lemon, the soft mussels and juicy prawns making her chew slowly, her eyes closed as she swirled pasta around and around on her fork, joyous like a child. Kit told her the heavy, gorgeous red wine he poured from a carafe, swishing into the glass, was from Bardolino, at the bottom of the lake, and maybe they should go there. They drank more, laughing. Everything became lighter and slower. She sat back, anticipating the tiramisu, layered up simply, covered in cocoa powder, the creamy topping hiding amaretto-soaked biscuits beneath. She sighed as she licked the spoon. God, when had she stopped eating real food, real food that made you moan as you ate it, food that you couldn’t help but exclaim about? Most days food was about sustenance, but each mouthful of these dishes felt like a gift, like a moment she had to savour and remember. They had relaxed and Kit’s arm hovered around the back of her chair as they looked out at the water, the mountains above it. She felt tiny, and insignificant and wonderful.

  Chelsea’s eye was often drawn to the ring on her finger, at times heavy and slippery in the heat, or sometimes just because the light caught it and she couldn’t remember seeing anything so beautiful. Someone she loved had looked at the most beautiful and ornate piece of jewellery she’d ever seen and thought she deserved it. That was a shock in itself.

  The sun softened to blue skies, that brightness faded and they tripped down the cobbled and windy streets of Limone, buying trinkets and looking in shop windows, deciding they really didn’t like limoncello at all, but buying some pretty bottles anyway to put in their cabinet at home. Well, Kit’s place. Her future home. The streets wrapped around themselves, curving this way and that, up hills to shops and restaurants that looked over the water. They followed small streets that ended nowhere, or others that led them through tunnels, Kit bending slightly to walk through, each arch turned into a restaurant or a shop offering wind chimes, silver jewellery of those tiny bottles of yellow liqueur.

  Sleepy and sunkissed, they wandered back to the boat, chugging along delicately as the cruiser jumped to life and sped them home. Chelsea sat in the shade, one hand holding her Kindle, the other buried in Kit’s hair, rubbing the back of his neck gently, wondering why every argument couldn’t be settled with wine and pizza. But mostly, she was trying to push to the back of her mind the idea that the argument was not over, that she predicted they would have that same argument, the one about the closed doors and the secrets, over and over again.

  When the boat was moored, they stopped and sat in the cabin downstairs, the dark mugginess punctuated by the sweet breeze through the small door.

  ‘Do we have to go back?’ Chelsea said drowsily, sitting back on the sofa area.

  ‘I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years,’ Kit said, lying back next to her. ‘Why don’t we take a quick nap before going back to the house?’

  Chelsea looked at him. ‘Are we talking a nap or a nap?’

  ‘The one where there’s sleeping,’ Kit said, eyes already closed, hands behind his head, ‘although…’

  ‘Sleep. Sleep is good,’ she nodded, curling up on his chest, ‘but we have a very comfortable bed up in the house.’

  ‘But they’re all there, I only want to be with you. Just now, I want to lie in the quiet with you, and pretend none of them are there,’ Kit said, stroking her hair as she nuzzled into his chest, instantly falling asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  They awoke as the sun was about to set, the air suddenly cooler with the promise of night. Walking up to the house, their hands linked loosely, Chelsea felt the throb of dread in the base of her stomach, but whether that was the idea of meeting Eric or Tatty, or just being back in that house with those people again, she didn’t know.

  ‘There you are! Where on earth have you been? We were about to send out a search party!’ Jemima sat on the patio, her large sunglasses dwarfing her face as she held a Martini, splashing with abandon as she gesticulated.

  ‘We went to Limone for lunch, didn’t Al say?’ Kit frowned, looking at Chelsea.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t ask him,’ Jemima said simply, ‘anyway, Eric just arrived, so go get changed and we’ll have some cocktails on the patio. Wait until you meet Claudia, she’s absolutely darling.’

  ‘The Toast Heiress,’ Chelsea nodded, ‘right.’

  ‘Anyone else joining us for dinner?’ Kit said as they walked past.

  ‘I knew you wanted to see Tatty!’ Jemima exclaimed, putting down her drink so she could clap her hands. ‘She called to say she was caught up today, but she’s meeting with Celeste to talk wedding plans tomorrow, so I said why don’t we all go and have lunch in town, so you two can look at the castle?’

  ‘Mum, we’re not getting married here,’ Kit said firmly.

  ‘Well, there’s no harm in looking, is there? And Celeste is a dear, dear friend of mine. I want her to meet Chelsea, of course.’

  Kit’s eyes met Chelsea’s, and she shrugged, so desperate to jump in the shower that she would have agreed to being licked to death by desperate beagles if she thought it would get her away from Jemima quicker.

  ‘Sure, sounds great. I’m off.’ She pointed to the house, desperately dreading the evening ahead, but relieved she’d avoided the ex for a least one more day.

  As she left Kit talking to his mother, she paused by the stairway down to the kitchen, hearing Tegan’s twinkling laughter, and Alfie’s gruff tones. She slipped down the stairs quickly, almost as if she was scared of getting caught, peering round the door to find the three of them clearing away the kitchen implements cheerily, chatting away and working in sync.

  ‘Hey guys, I come bearing biscuits.’ Chelsea reached into her bag and brought out a box of lemon biscuits she’d bought earlier. ‘Just to say thanks for letting me gatecrash your meal last night.’

  Tegan’s face lit up with a huge grin,. ‘Thank you, that’s so nice!’

  ‘Princess Chelsea of the unwashed, you shouldn’t have,’ Alfie laughed at her, grabbing the box, ‘but cheers, lovely. Limone’s finest, eh?’

  ‘It’s a gesture,’ she shrugged, ‘they may be utter shite for all I know.’

  ‘You want a coffee?’ Tegan asked. ‘We’re clearing up from lunch but we won’t be long.’
r />   ‘You’re clearing from lunch now? How long do you have to make dinner?’ Chelsea was aghast, looking around at the spotless space.

  Alfie grinned at her, running his hand through his shaggy dark hair, greying at the sides. ‘We are off the hook tonight, my lovely. Old bumblewaffle upstairs has decided you’re going out to dinner. Which means we… .are going to party.’

  He swivelled his hips in a dad-dancing imitation, and Tegan rolled her eyes, looking at him fondly nonetheless.

  ‘He means we’re gonna go have cocktails in a little bar in town, gradually getting more drunk until the violinist meets up with the guitarist, and someone starts hitting something like a drum, and we dance till someone falls over.’

  ‘It’s the closest you get to getting shit-faced in an adorable town that sleeps at midnight,’ Alfie grinned at her. ‘You should come along sometime, unless you’re adapting to your role as future lady of the manor.’

  ‘Urgh, gag me.’ Chelsea rolled her eyes, suddenly feeling fifteen again. Then she realised just how rude that was, to be put up in someone’s home and throw it all back in their face. ‘I mean…no, I’m not stepping into that role at all. But I do have…responsibilities, I guess. If I’m going to be part of this family.’

  ‘I often thought they had the idea of ball and chain the wrong way round,’ Alfie laughed at her. ‘It’s not who you chain yourself to, it’s the heavy shit you brought with you to start with.’

  Tegan and Chelsea just looked at him, then at each other, silent and incredulous, turning back to Alfie.

  Tegan blinked, ‘That was actually…’

  ‘…meaningful,’ Chelsea finished. ‘Like, thoughtful.’

  ‘Oh fuck off, you badger wranglers.’ He shook his head, turning back to the pots and pans. ‘You’ve got an open invitation, Princess Chelsea. But you might want to go get ready, and I’d dress up tonight. Jem Jem’s picked a formal affair for dinner.’

  ‘Oh good, just a relaxed family dinner with the in-laws then,’ Chelsea sighed to herself, waving as she disappeared back up the stairs again, revelling in the brief moment of bitchy normality.