by Sandie Jones
‘But I’d rather do that than stagger through the day. I can’t concentrate on anything other than Mum right now. She needs me to be there for her.’
He wasn’t hearing me. My mind raced ahead, mentally scanning all the people that I’d need to contact if the wedding didn’t go ahead. It didn’t bear thinking about. This was not happening. I wouldn’t allow it.
I got hold of his wrists and gripped them tightly, staring straight into his eyes. ‘Listen to me,’ I said firmly. ‘We are getting married tomorrow and your mum is going to be fine. She’ll enjoy the day, everyone will be there fussing over her, and we’ll go on honeymoon. James will look after her while we’re gone, he’s more than capable, and then, once we’re back, we’ll both go along to the hospital with her, find out what’s going on, and take it from there. Okay?’
He nodded, but I still wasn’t convinced I was getting through to him.
He pulled himself up off the floor and started to get dressed.
‘What are you doing now?’ I asked, the panic rising in my throat. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to Mum’s,’ he said.
‘What? You can’t, it’s five o’clock in the morning.’
‘I need to see her.’
‘For God’s sake, Adam, you’re overreacting.’
‘How can you ever overreact when your mum’s got cancer?’ he hissed, his face close to mine.
I was scared. He was always so in control, the man that everyone looked up to. He was the go-to man. The one who headed up a team of analysts, the family member who everybody went to for advice, the man who had brought reason and structure to my life. He was all of those things, yet now he was a rabbit caught in headlights, not knowing whether to run towards them or away. It was pitiful to watch, and I hated Pammie even more for what she’d done to him. To us.
Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘You can’t leave me here, like this,’ I said. ‘I need you here.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘What have you got to worry about, apart from cancelling a bloody bouquet and a cake?’
I looked at him, open-mouthed.
‘My mother is dying, and you’re fretting about a sponge cake? Get some perspective.’
‘If you walk out of here, I swear—’
The door slammed shut just as I got to my feet, and, in that moment, I knew I had no choice but to show the world who Pammie really was.
30
I hadn’t thought that sleep would be possible, but I must have dropped off, as it was light when I next opened my eyes. I looked at the clock on the bedside: 8.02 a.m. My head throbbed as I lifted it off the bed, the tension like a coiled spring, ready to ping. There was a hard lump at the back of my throat that I couldn’t swallow away. I stumbled to the mirror and saw puffy eyes and a blotchy face staring back at me. My pillow had left tracks running down my cheek.
This was not how I was supposed to spend the eve of my wedding, if, in fact, I was even getting married.
I felt around the bed for my phone, and adjusted my vision as I looked at the screensaver, expecting to see a list of missed calls and messages pasted across the photo of me and Adam.
There were no messages and no missed calls. I had no idea where Adam was, or what the hell was going on. I called him, but it went straight to answerphone. I tried again and got the same.
I wasn’t going to give Pammie the satisfaction of calling her, so I opted for second best – James.
He picked up on the second ring. ‘Hi, Em?’
‘Yes,’ I managed. ‘Do you know where Adam is? He went out early this morning and I can’t get hold of him.’
‘You sound shaky, you okay?’
No. Your family’s seriously fucked up.
Instead, I said, ‘Yes, I’m fine. Any idea where he might be?’
‘He’s with Mum. He took over from me a few hours ago, so I could come home and get some sleep.’
‘Did he say anything to you?’ I asked optimistically, trying to stop the desperation from creeping into my voice. ‘We had a fight, and he’s talking about calling the whole thing off, James. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Jesus.’
‘He seems adamant it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Do you want me to come over?’
No. Yes. No. I don’t know.
‘Em? Do you want me to come over?’ His voice was rising with concern.
‘No, just get him to ring me. He’s not picking up his phone.’
‘This might be for the best,’ he said, almost inaudibly.
What? Had I heard him right?
‘To give you both time to make sure it’s definitely what you want.’
‘How can this be for the best?’ I cried. ‘But then, why would I expect anything different from you? You’ve been set on sabotaging this relationship since the very beginning. I bet you’re loving this, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve only ever had your best interests at heart.’
‘The only thing you’ve ever wanted was to get one up on your brother.’
‘That’s not true,’ he said quietly.
‘Right now, I don’t really care. I just need to find out what the hell’s going on.’
‘I’ll go over to Mum’s now and call you from there,’ he said solemnly.
I couldn’t think straight until I’d spoken to Adam. There was so much to discuss. He couldn’t back out now. What would people think? The plans and sacrifices they’d made to be there, to share our special day. Time off work, babysitters, train tickets – and that was just our guests. What would I say to the hotel, the registrar, the florist, the entertainment?
I called Pippa. She only had to hear me say her name and she was on her way. ‘Don’t move. I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ she said.
She took one look at me in the doorway and said, ‘I swear to God, if he’s laid a finger on you . . .’
I shook my head numbly. ‘Pammie’s got cancer, and Adam’s gone AWOL.’
She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
‘Exactly,’ I said.
There was nothing she or anyone else could do, apart from make me tea and wait. The waiting, the not knowing, was excruciating.
It was gone 10 a.m. when my mobile rang. Adam’s name flashed up on the screen.
In that split second, Pippa swooped in, swiped the phone from my hand, and put it on loudspeaker.
‘Now, listen to me, you motherf—’ she said.
‘Em?’ said the male voice.
‘If you don’t get your arse back home within the next half an hour . . .’ Pippa went on.
‘Em, it’s James.’
Pippa handed me the phone. ‘Is he with you?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘Yes, but he’s not great. His mind seems pretty made up.’
My heart broke into a million pieces. ‘Put him on.’
‘He doesn’t want to talk to you right now,’ he said apologetically.
‘Put him on the phone now!’ I almost screamed.
Pippa rubbed my leg, and caught hold of the hand that was flailing in the air, searching desperately for something tangible to hold onto, to keep me steady, even though I was already sitting down.
I heard a mumbling and then Adam’s voice. ‘I’ve made the decision,’ he said matter-of-factly. How could he sound so cold? ‘We’re postponing the wedding until Mum’s recovered.’
‘But—’
‘It’s done, Em. I’ve already started ringing round, the people that I have numbers for, anyway. And I’ve spoken to the travel agent and she’s looking into where we stand with moving the honeymoon or recuperating any costs.’
If it was possible for my blood to run cold, I felt it then. An icy coolness started in my neck and coursed downwards through my chest and into my intestines, whirring around and around, up and down. As it reached the hot acidity of my stomach, I threw the phone at Pippa and ran to the bathroom, retching.
It sounded as if she was talking underwater, and I couldn’t make out any
words, as I hung my head over the toilet, its very appearance prompting a contraction in my gut, propelling hot bile to sear up my throat.
Within seconds, Pippa was kneeling down beside me, holding my hair and rubbing my back.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll sort everything.’
I went to shake my head, but threw up again.
Pippa forced me to have a shower and wash my hair, promising that it would make the world a slightly less intimidating place.
I gave her my contacts book and, by the time I came back into the living room, there was only the hotel and registrar left to talk to.
‘I think that’s something you need to do, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I could be anyone.’
I nodded in sad agreement.
‘I’ll make us a cup of tea,’ she said, taking herself into the kitchen and busying herself with much banging and slamming of cups and cupboards.
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s unusual,’ said the insensitive wedding co-ordinator at the hotel. ‘We’ve never had anyone cancel this late in the day before.’
‘It’s not out of choice,’ I said dourly, barely aware of what she was even saying. I’d switched onto autopilot, unable to feel, or deal with real people and emotions. I felt like a robot, going through its pre-programmed manoeuvres, fearful of short-circuiting.
I was vaguely aware of the phone being taken out of my hand. ‘Hi, it’s Pippa Hawkins here, maid of honour, I’ll be assisting you with anything else you need . . .’
My head dropped into my folded arms on the table, and my body began to shake as the sobs took hold.
31
Adam finally showed his face an hour before we were meant to be getting married. Our flat had seen a constant stream of visitors during the day and night that he’d been gone, all checking up on me, making sure I hadn’t thrown myself off a bridge. But only Pippa remained, when he eventually returned home looking dishevelled, his face ruddy.
I’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but now, as he stood before me as I sat at the dining table, he looked like someone I’d once known. Not the man that I’d loved and lived with for the past eight months. It felt like we’d shared a fleeting encounter at some point in our past lives, and I could barely recollect the details. I didn’t know if that was my brain’s way of protecting me against the reality. Of cushioning the blow of what was really happening.
I could see Pippa picking up her coat in the corner of my eye, but I stared straight at him, daring him to come back at me. He avoided my gaze.
‘I’m going to go,’ said Pippa. ‘Okay?’
I nodded, my eyes never leaving Adam.
The sadness and sense of embarrassment I felt had been replaced by a very real anger now, so close to the surface that I felt like a feral animal being pulled back on its lead. He only needed to say one word, any word, and the chain would be off.
‘I need you to understand,’ he said.
I was up and out of my chair so violently that it fell backwards onto the floor.
‘You don’t get to tell me to do anything,’ I spat. ‘I have been through every possible emotion, and you dare to come in here and patronize me, telling me I need to understand?’
For a minute, I thought he was going to raise a hand to me – his shoulders were pulled back and his chest was puffed out, but then he deflated, like a popped balloon, and the air literally rushed out of him. I didn’t know which I preferred. At least if he retaliated, I had something to work with, something to spar with. But this hollowed-out version of his former self was pathetic to watch, a crumbling ruin that was difficult to garner respect for. I wanted him to stand up and be counted, not collapse in a childlike heap at my feet.
‘We need to talk,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re damn right we do,’ I said.
‘Like adults.’ He pulled out a chair from the other side of the table, the only thing that was stopping me from launching myself at him, and sat down wearily. He looked how I felt. Exhausted.
There was a fleeting moment when I thought she might have told him the truth. Had the guts to tell him what she’d really done, but as I tried to imagine the scene in my head, it just wouldn’t come.
‘So?’ I asked.
‘You need to calm down,’ he said.
‘And you’re patronizing me again, so if we’re going to get anywhere, you’d do well to stop that.’
He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So, seeing as I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, why don’t you start by trying to explain where the hell you’ve been and why you’ve been unreachable for the best part of thirty-six hours?’ I was biting the inside of my lip and could feel the metal tang of blood on my tongue.
‘I can only try to explain how I felt, how it felt,’ he said.
I crossed my arms and waited.
‘I was fully committed to getting married today. You need to know that.’
My expression didn’t change.
‘But when Mum told us her news, it just felt as if my whole world had imploded. It felt like everything had crashed down around me. I thought of the wedding, the honeymoon, Mum’s diagnosis, and none of it felt real.’
‘You lost perspective,’ I offered.
‘Yes, maybe I did. But it just didn’t feel like I could function. I couldn’t have walked into that chapel and held it all together.’
‘No one was asking you to,’ I said. ‘You were getting married, and had been told that your mother has cancer. No one would have expected you to be anything other than emotional.’
‘But it was like a full-on panic attack, Em. I had this crushing feeling in my chest, and my brain just seemed paralysed. I couldn’t have got myself together in time for the wedding.’
‘Yet here you are, seemingly out the other side, with forty-five minutes still to go,’ I commented bitterly.
‘Are we going to be able to get past this?’ he asked, his head down.
‘I need to be on my own for a bit, to work this out.’
He looked up at me, his face desolate.
‘I don’t care where you go, but I don’t want you here, not until I’ve decided what I want.’
‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
His words didn’t warrant a reply.
‘Mum and Dad are staying here tonight, as they thought they were going to their daughter’s wedding, and have now got nothing better to do. And Pippa and Seb will be here too, so . . .’
He lifted himself out of the chair. ‘I’ll go and pack some things.’
‘You do that,’ I said, turning my back on him to walk into the kitchen, where I poured myself a generous glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
I heard the front door gently shut a little while later and fell down onto the sofa, crying. I didn’t know whether it was because today should have been my wedding day, or because Pammie had finally won. I’d literally laughed in her face when she said Adam would marry me over her dead body. Now who was laughing?
32
I didn’t take Adam’s calls for ten days. Not because I was playing mind games, or seeking attention, but because I genuinely needed to be on my own, without his influence, to work out what I wanted. I forced myself to go back to work, even though I had the time booked off, naively believing that having a purpose would make me feel better, but when I found Adam loitering outside my office, I could no longer ignore him. I’d spent all that time not knowing how I was going to feel when I next saw him, or if I was going to feel anything, so when my breath was literally taken away just at the sight of him, I thought it must mean something. I felt winded, as if the air had been sucked out of me.
‘This isn’t fair. You can’t cut me off like this,’ he begged.
‘Don’t tell me what’s fair,’ I said, without breaking my stride as I headed towards Tottenham Court Road tube station. ‘I need time and I need space.’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m not ready to have this conversation here and
now,’ I said, increasing my speed.
‘Can you just stop for a minute?’
I turned to face him. He’d lost weight. His well-made suit hung off him and his belt didn’t have enough holes to pull it tight around his waistband, leaving a gap big enough to fit my hand. His face looked gaunt, and it seemed as if he hadn’t shaved since I’d last seen him.
‘What for?’ I barked, already knowing that it was worse than my bite. I didn’t have the energy anymore, it had all been spent.
‘Can’t we please just sit down, talk things through?’
I looked across at Golden Square, its daffodils standing proud, yet, with the sun going down, it wasn’t quite warm enough to take up one of the benches. There was a cafe on the corner and I signalled to it. ‘Five minutes,’ I said. ‘We can go over there for a coffee.’ Though I could have killed for something stronger.
‘Thank you,’ he said gratefully.
Ironically, those coveted five minutes were spent talking about everything other than the reason we were there. I told him that baby Sophie was walking, and he told me his gym membership needed renewing. It felt unbearably awkward making small talk with the man I had lived with. He may as well have been a stranger, I felt that detached from him. A hot tear threatened to fall at the realization, but I stopped myself from blinking and held it in.
Another five minutes was going slowly by, with both of us, at one point, looking out of the window, lost for words to say.
‘We’ve been here ten minutes and you haven’t even asked about Mum,’ he said.
It hadn’t occurred to me. Why would it? Because I knew that she was perfectly fine: free of cancer, free of conscience, and free of morality.
‘So sorry,’ I said, unable to keep the vitriol out of my voice. ‘How is Pammie?’
‘We’re not going to be able to move on if you can’t accept her, and accept what’s happened,’ he said. ‘This is nobody’s fault, Em. It’s just how life pans out sometimes.’
‘Am I supposed to forgive her because she says she’s ill?’ I asked.
‘She doesn’t say she’s ill, she is ill,’ he said sternly. ‘How are you going to feel if, God forbid, something happens?’
