Nice Day For a White Wedding

by A. L. Michael

  ‘No, but we have an obligation.’

  ‘You made us have an obligation,’ she retorted desperately.

  ‘And you made us have secrets,’ he said simply, walking past her. ‘Be ready in forty minutes.’

  The wedding was fine as long as she stayed perfectly still and perfectly silent. She was silent in the car, ignoring Jemima’s death glare. She was ignoring Kit’s cold shoulder, the way he smiled at everyone but didn’t look at her. The way that he’d walked next to her for the first time in years without holding her hand, without his palm hovering at her back. Celia’s quiet attempts at offering a sympathetic smile were not helpful, though they were appreciated.

  They sat quietly as Tatty walked down the aisle in her designer gown, looking perfect in her simple white dress, the short sleeves with lace trim making her look both angelic and sophisticated. Chelsea could never have worn a dress like that, she would have looked like a child playing dress up. But she was so far from Tatty, and this wedding was so far from anything she could have imagined. They watched, as a man in a suit and a woman in a white dress stood under a canopy, set up on the castle, hundreds of chairs facing them, and said that they would love each other for as long as they could. The sun shone, the people cheered and it was a beautiful moment. A perfect moment. But all Chelsea could do was look down at Kit’s hand, placed on his thigh, the square nails and light blond hair across his wrist. That hand that would have rested on her knee, or around her shoulders at any other time. She stared at that hand for most of the ceremony.

  They had canapes out on the open veranda of the castle, Chelsea desperately clasping a glass of Champagne as small nibbles of prawn and chorizo were passed around, the sweltering heat making her sweat, even as her blue dress ruffled around her knees when she moved. All around her, stylish women in dark glasses fanned themselves with their programmes and Chelsea sought out Kit, who managed to offer her drinks and include her into conversations without even looking at her. He referred to her, and there was no darkness in his voice, but he still did not look at her.

  She looked at him, though. She traced the line of his jaw in her mind, remembered the winter he tried growing a beard and it came through all patchy. She looked at his hair, golden and wavy, remembering the time he’d freaked out about finding his first grey and made her pull it out. She recalled every moment he’d made her laugh until she cried, and how some nights they fell asleep on opposite sides on the bed and woke up holding hands. And looking at this man now, this man she could draw and trace a thousand times, create a patchwork of memories and habits and loves and hates, she realised this pain in her gut felt a lot like loss. How strange, to miss someone even more when they stood right next to you.

  ‘And you must have met our future daughter-in-law,’ Jemima’s voice cut through. ‘Chelsea Donnolly. I mean, Donovan.’ Her eyes flashes as she looked at Chelsea. ‘Which one is it, darling, I do get so confused.’

  ‘Donovan. Like the singer,’ Chelsea said sweetly, taking a sip of her wine.

  ‘I must have been thinking of Kieran Donnolly, the thief,’ Jemima said lightly. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Is he a famous thief?’ Chelsea replied, looking at the wide-eyed guests standing with them, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘I’m not really up to date with Britain’s most wanted.’

  Jemima said nothing, instead turning back to the guests. ‘Didn’t Tatty look wonderful! She’ll always be a size six, that one. Even when she’s pregnant I bet no one will know. It’s always so awful to see a fat bride. Shows a lack of commitment, don’t you think?’

  Again, Jemima looked at her pointedly, and Chelsea shook her head, looking at Kit, her head tilting as she knew he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. He turned away.

  ‘Are you going to start a weight loss programme before the wedding, Chelsea?’ Jemima prodded, and the guests seemed to freeze, not waiting for her response before garbling a question.

  ‘Oh you’re getting married too! When’s the date?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ she said simply, looking at Kit to offer something further, but he nodded.

  ‘Well, don’t wait too long,’ the woman said sweetly, ‘you know we never had as many fights in those months planning the wedding! Makes marriage look easy after a year of that!’ She smiled and moved on, dragging her husband with her, and they seemed to exhale with relief as they left.

  Jemima didn’t wait long though, on the lookout for her next victim, someone to drag into conversation and hold them hostage.

  ‘Oh Richard! Have you met Chelsea?’ she dragged him over with desperation, almost swinging him over to them. ‘Richard gave Kit his first job, didn’t you, darling?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything, he was one of the best, even then.’ The older gentleman shook her hand and smiled, then patted Kit on the back. It was the first honest smile she’d seen from Kit all day. ‘A little too moral for a lawyer though.’

  Jemima laughed obnoxiously, spritzing the ground with her drink.

  ‘That can only be a good thing, can’t it?’ Chelsea tried to smile, hoping that perhaps Kit would look in her direction.

  ‘Oh well, the law is not black and white, young lady, it is complex and a thousand shades of grey.’

  ‘Well, you’d know all about that, Chelsea, wouldn’t you?’ Jemima snapped up her chance, desperate and loud. ‘What with giving false evidence in that court case?’

  Chelsea felt her heart drop into her stomach. She felt Richard’s eyes on her, but more than that, Kit was finally looking at her. His mouth was a thin line, and there was that vein in his temple that was making itself known. Jemima had saved her best for last, apparently.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she heard herself say faintly.

  ‘That rape case, that poor girl when you were seventeen. You gave false evidence and the whole case got thrown out didn’t it? Well, teenagers are teenagers, aren’t they.’

  ‘That’s not –’

  ‘You’d falsify evidence?’ Kit said coldly, ‘Everything else, but…’

  ‘Obviously I didn’t, I’d be in prison, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘But you were responsible –’ Kit started, and in that moment, Chelsea knew that Jemima had won.

  She felt herself grow dizzy, the sun on her skin and she heard ringing. She took a few deep breaths and realised it was her phone in her bag.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said faintly, scrambling for it as she walked away, down the stone stairs and out to a smaller courtyard, where she could lean against the coolness of the castle. ‘Hello?’

  Oh, to hear Evie’s voice, or Mollie’s! Someone kind with something nice to say. She didn’t even have the energy to talk.

  But it wasn’t Mollie or Evie.

  ‘Is that Chelsea Donovan?’

  ‘It is,’ she sighed, ‘who is this?’

  ‘Madam, this is Sergeant Williams of the Thames Valley Police Force.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Fuck you Kieran, what have you done now?

  ‘Do you know a Tyler Donnolly?’

  Chelsea was sure her heart had stopped completely for a moment.

  ‘Ye-yes, he’s my brother. Is he okay? What’s happened? He’s not hurt?’ She heard her own voice, tumbling over the questions, a thousand ideas racing around her head.

  ‘He’s safe, ma’am. He is, however, in a bit of trouble. We’re holding him at the station, and he’s listed you as his guardian. We’d like you to come in.’

  ‘Oh, oh god.’ Chelsea felt sick. ‘I’m abroad, I mean, I can jump on a flight, but, it shouldn’t take too long…is that, I mean, is that okay?’

  ‘We’ll be keeping him in, Miss Donovan, until you get here.’

  ‘Are the charges serious?’

  ‘I’m not able to discuss that on the telephone, ma’am.’

  Chelsea paused, then forged ahead. ‘Was his father with him? Kieran Donnolly?’

  ‘Kieran Donnolly breached his parole and is being immediately sent back to Woodhill Prison facilit
y, due to the nature of this activity. That’s all I can tell you, Miss Donovan.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  Chelsea hung up the phone, put it in her bag, and walked down the stone steps, wincing as the heat beat down on her skin. She thought of stopping, returning to tell Kit, but what would she say? Stop to explain a court case from a lifetime ago, before explaining that her brother had been arrested and her father was back in jail? It was beyond saving at this point, beyond hope.

  She returned to the house in a taxi, pulling off her shoes and paying before running inside, desperately grateful that Alistair was there to let her in.

  ‘Miss Chelsea! Why aren’t you at the wedding?’

  ‘Urgent call from home, I have to get back immediately.’ She rushed upstairs to pack her things, haphazardly throwing stuff into her suitcase and grabbing her passport from the drawer next to Kit’s, her fingers tracing the tickets to Rome that he’d bought. She hesitated by the bedroom door, considered writing a note for Kit, but the realisation returned with a dull thud; there was nothing she could say. The truth would highlight even further just how wrong they’d been to think this could work. A lie would be pointless. She slipped the beautiful ring from her finger, admiring it one last time as she ran her fingertips over the grooves and sharp edges, honouring the three beautiful diamonds – past, present, no future – and placed it on the side table.

  She left the room and didn’t look back.

  When Chelsea reached the front door, pulling out her mobile to search for a cab number, Alistair stood next to her. ‘You don’t think you’re going to get out of me driving you, do you?’

  ‘I’ll get a cab.’

  ‘I say this with love, good girl, but get in the fucking car, you’re being ridiculous.’ He took her wheelie case and walked off without waiting. Chelsea had no choice but to follow, sitting in the front of the car, next to him, which she was sure wasn’t standard.

  ‘I’ll drive you to the port, I’d drive you the whole way myself, but –’

  ‘But they’ll all be drunk and needing a lift home after the biggest party in town is over,’ Chelsea nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Al, this’ll do me fine.’

  She took a deep breath, adjusting her sunglasses and watching through the window as the big, beautiful houses were lost into the distance, the coastal roads taking over.

  ‘So, why you leaving?’ His eyes didn’t leave the road, but his voice didn’t allow for arguments. ‘You’re not weak enough to fold because of Jemima. Something else.’

  ‘It is something else. But Jemima won anyway. She took away the last part of me that Kit respected.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘My sense of justice,’ she said simply, ‘my idea of right and wrong.’

  ‘How’d she do that?’

  ‘Misrepresented something that happened to me when I was a kid, and I didn’t get the chance to explain,’ she shrugged.

  ‘Then stick around and explain it to him.’

  ‘Can’t, family stuff to deal with.’

  They drove in silence for a while, and Chelsea closed her eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning on her neck.

  ‘I’d already lost anyway,’ Chelsea added, hating herself for being sucked in. ‘I’d hidden too much of myself, and she revealed it all, piece by piece, until it looked like he didn’t know me at all.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Know me?’ Chelsea smiled. ‘Yeah. He knows that I like extra hot chilli ramen when I’m sick, and always wear two pairs of socks in the winter because my feet go numb. He knows I love sports movies but hate watching sport. He knows I like the perfect 70/30 ratio of salty to sweet popcorn in the cinema, and when I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa doing paperwork, he takes off my glasses and puts them on the side, with a glass of water, because he knows I’ll wake up in the middle of the night…’

  Chelsea felt her chest constrict, felt the loss sweep her body and tears shudder through her suddenly.

  ‘But he didn’t know that I changed my name, so my dad’s rap sheet wouldn’t follow me to job interviews. He didn’t know that I grew up on an estate, that my brothers have different dads and my stepdad’s a bit of a gangster. He didn’t know that I got assaulted by one of my mum’s boyfriend’s when I was sixteen, and when I tried to talk about it in court, I got too upset and I ruined it all.’ Chelsea felt the bitterness bite at her. ‘And those are the things that seem to matter.’

  ‘So tell him.’

  ‘I tried.’ Chelsea laughed suddenly, wiping her eyes. ‘Didn’t think I’d be getting relationship advice from a chauffeur.’

  ‘Didn’t think I’d be giving it,’ Al laughed, ‘but Kit and Celia have grown up well in spite of their parents and their circumstances. That’s something you have in common.’

  ‘Yeah, just doesn’t seem to be enough. I mean, I have to go home to bail my younger brother out of jail, because he got dragged into some shit by my dad.’ Chelsea shook her head. ‘That’s my life. Not trust funds and galas.’

  ‘What’d he do, your brother?’

  ‘The police wouldn’t tell me, robbery, probably. The only thing I can hope is because he’s so young, he won’t get…he won’t…’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

  Alistair reached across her and pulled a pack of tissues from the glove compartment.

  ‘He’s such an idiot!’

  ‘Kit or your brother?’ Alistair smiled, and Chelsea snorted into her tissue.

  ‘Both, and me along with them.’

  Suddenly, they were pulling up to the port, and Chelsea wasn’t sure what she could say, except the obvious.

  ‘Thank you, Al. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘You take care of yourself, love. It’ll all work out as it should.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘I have no doubt I’ll be coming to your wedding, no matter what you think now.’

  Chelsea shook her head. ‘Well, weirder things have happened. For now, I’ll settle on my brother not being in jail.’

  ‘Might do him some good, you never know.’ Alaistair leaned forward with a wink. ‘Did for me.’

  Chelsea took off her sunglasses and looked at him.

  ‘Shh!’ He held his finger up to his lips. ‘We’ve all got secrets love. Now go, you’re gonna miss the boat!’

  As she sat on the boat, watching Malcesine fade into the distance, she could see the festivities visible at the castle, the dancing and music echoing across the water, the strings of fairy lights swaying in the darkness. It looked beautiful, and on any other day, Chelsea would sit and watch those lights, wondering what kind of party was going on and who was there, what they were wearing and eating. She would scan the coastline for the colours and noises of land, of adventure. But now, all Chelsea thought about was Kit, about that look he’d given her at the end, like he couldn’t believe she could disappoint him any further. Jemima’s look of triumph hadn’t come anywhere near to the pain of that one. A knife in the chest. But it didn’t matter any more. All that mattered was home.

  ***

  She sat in the wood-panelled room, listening as the solicitor tried to explain it to her using small words.

  ‘They can’t use your testimony, Chelsea. You’re free to go.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why can’t they use it?’

  The barrister was older, looking ancient and unreasonable, those lines around his eyes and the grey, fluffy eyebrows that constantly looked shocked.

  ‘They think you’ve colluded with Kate. They can’t trust your testimony.’

  ‘What?’ Chelsea couldn’t hear anything. She hadn’t wanted to be here at all. It was only Ruby, Ruby’s desperate plea, her determination, that had forced her into it. It had been hard enough to sit in that room and explain what had happened, how he had grabbed her, what he’d looked like, how everything had happened.

  ‘They saw you chatting to Kate in the hallway.’

  ‘Yeah, she was crying, and upset, she thanked me for coming forw
ard…’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘And then you came in after that and you mentioned that Robbie was wearing that same jacket on the night he attacked you, other things like that. You’ve started using information that Kate gave you, that you wouldn’t have known otherwise.’

  ‘But he always wore that jacket! It was a joke around town that he didn’t have another one!’ Chelsea yelled, ‘I only said the truth!’

  ‘But it doesn’t look good. It looks like you and Kate have come up with this together, that you’re spinning a tale, especially if it’s things you didn’t mention in your original statement.’

  Chelsea sat frozen, feeling her hands start to shake. ‘But that was months ago! I can’t remember what I said! This is so stupid!’

  He softened a little. ‘I know, and you’ve done a good job, you’ve done everything you should, but we can’t use your testimony any more. It’s better this way. Otherwise, they could twist it, make it look like two silly teenagers on a vendetta against a grown man. It’s better if you step down, they won’t be able to use you against her.’

  ‘I…I just wanted to help.’

  ‘I know.’ he said shaking his head, ‘but I’m going to need you to leave now, okay?’

  Chelsea walked from the courts, out into the street, where Ruby was waiting with a hopeful expression, and she couldn’t bear to explain what had happened. She still wasn’t even sure what had happened. Except that everything she had said would be ignored, because of her.

  A few days later, the ruling came in. Robbie Larson had been cleared of all charges. Kate had alcohol in her system, she hadn’t reported any problems from him before, and there wasn’t enough evidence. No previous charges. Chelsea and Ruby sat in the park, and drank until it got dark, saying nothing at all.

  ***

  The boat got to Salo, and stopped. They were told to disembark, and not much else. Chelsea tried to speak to one of the official staff members.

  ‘I’m sorry, when is the boat going?’

  The man shrugged.

  ‘Will it go today?’

  He shrugged again. ‘An hour…maybe? There is a storm coming.’

  Chelsea looked out at the blue, calm waters and frowned, looking back at him. ‘Seriously?’