The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street

by Rachel Dove

  She used to laugh at her mother and her old-school ways, hoarding things that didn’t have a place in the modern world. Now she did it too, and thank God she had. Thumbing through the Westfield phone book, she felt close to her, and her heart squeezed in pain at the fresh wave of loss she felt. Thank goodness for Cassie and Lynn. The thought of being alone was never far from her thoughts these days. She thought of Darcy, what he would think of her if he knew she had spent the night with a stranger. Would he even care? She had studied the pictures from the press so many times now, she felt as if she could draw them from memory.

  She was glad her mother wasn’t here, in a way. The thought of her sitting in the church watching her only child get jilted was too much to bear. She wondered what kind of person could do that to another person. The Darcy she knew would never have done something so callous. Except he had. He’d done it and never looked back. The photos proved it. She could understand him wanting to get away. God knew she had wanted to escape herself. She could just about forgive him for going on their honeymoon, if she really willed herself to. The honeymoon she had booked, planned and helped pay for, given that he and his family had paid for the wedding. The honeymoon had been her contribution, her small way of exerting her independence. But it was fine. He needed to get away, escape the flak for what he’d done.

  Fair enough. She could swallow that, in time. It was the arm in the photo that bothered her. What did it mean? Had he used her ticket to take someone else? Had he met someone there? Was it all for the press? They didn’t seem to know who she was, and as it was just an arm, they didn’t have much to go on. If it had been staged for the press, wouldn’t Darcy have made sure they could actually see her? At least with a face, a body, there would be more context. Maybe she was wearing a resort uniform? Perhaps she was just a member of staff, passing him a cocktail to cheer him up. Maybe she was minging. She could be a moose for all Maria knew. Anyone could have attractive-looking arms. Look at Madonna. Her arms were epic, but looking at them disembodied in a photo, you couldn’t tell whether it was the Queen of Pop or Iggy Pop. The crazy thought cheered her no end. The owner of the arm could indeed be no one, just a passing holidaymaker. The thought that Darcy could be that cruel didn’t bear thinking about. She’d loved the man he was. It felt like he had died too, in a way. The thought of him being out there, kissing another person with his lips, cradling someone in the arms that used to encircle her, was damn near killing her.

  She felt the physical pain of her loss, and took a moment to will her body to breathe again. Grief and a hangover. Never great. She lowered herself to the floor, pulling the phone book onto her lap. Thumbing through, she looked for an electrician who wouldn’t charge the earth for a Saturday-morning callout. They didn’t have one in Westfield, tending to fix what they could themselves, but this was out of her league. She could call one of the villagers, but given that everyone seemed to be giving her a wide berth, she didn’t relish playing the jilted bride and damsel in distress. That would be one step too far in terms of feeling pathetic. She needed to prove to everyone, and herself for that matter, that she could still stand on her own two feet. She’d done it before, and she would again. She had to. And it was then that she saw it. The little box advert, staring out at her from the paper. Chance Electrics. Chance. It spoke to her. That’s what she needed. Hope. A chance to solve this problem, get her business back up and running and the home lights burning so she could at least keep the wolves from the door while she recovered.

  This is it, Maria. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, spurring her on. You can do this, my girl. You don’t need anything else. Use what you already hold. She nodded at her mother’s photo and picked herself up off the floor. Thank goodness there were still phone boxes in the village, she thought to herself as she headed to the nearest one. Pressing in the number, she smiled to herself. No weekend callout fee either. It really was a sign.

  Cassie was hiding in her bathroom, pretending to get ready. She had applied her liquid eyeliner three times already. Any more and she was going to end up looking like Marilyn Manson. She could still hear Tucker in the kitchen, humming along to the radio and banging things around. Why was he still here? Robbers made less noise. She half-hoped he was robbing her, because then at least he would go and she could avoid the awkward conversation she knew was coming. This was precisely the reason why she never brought people home. Sanctuary Cottage was just that to her, a sanctuary from her parents at first, and then her job, and now she had a rogue Australian running around, rummaging in her cupboards. She couldn’t even ring Maria because her phone was on charge in the living room. She needed to fake a work emergency or something, but what would she say? A carrier pigeon had flown in through the bathroom window? Hogwarts owl? She couldn’t hide in here all day, that was certain. She needed to woman up, go out there and face him. Say ‘thanks for the hot sex, don’t forget to wipe me from your memory on your way out of the door’. What kind of weirdo hung around in the morning anyway, let alone made breakfast? It was definitely bad man code, she was sure of it.

  A polite knock came at the door, making her jump.

  ‘Cassie, you okay in there?’ His Aussie twang reverberated through the wood.

  ‘Er, yeah, I’m fine. Do you need something?’ She tiptoed to the door, listening for sounds of movement.

  ‘Well, I thought we could maybe get lunch, if you like? I don’t have to work till later. Do you fancy it?’

  ‘Lunch?’ Cassie said, incredulous. ‘Why?’

  An amused chuckle came back. ‘It’s what people do, eat at certain times of day. Sometimes they even do it together, have a conversation or two.’

  Cassie cringed. She couldn’t think of anything more toe curling, aside from turning up to court dressed as a pirate.

  What have you come dressed as today, Cass? Professional suicide? Arrgghhhh, me hearties!

  ‘Er, no, sorry, I can’t. I have a lot of work coming up, I have to work. All weekend. And next week. The whole month, actually.’

  He said nothing, so she put her ear to the door. She couldn’t hear anything.

  ‘Okay, so lunch next week then. You eat lunch at work, right? I’ll call you…’

  Oh God. What was his deal? Did he feel bad? He obviously didn’t do this very often.

  ‘Er, yeah?’

  ‘Right, it’s a date then. I’m going to go now, let you get on with work and stop listening behind doors.’

  Cassie sprang back from the entrance, cursing under her breath.

  ‘Nice mouth,’ he laughed. ‘See you next week! I left you something in the fridge.’

  She stared at the door, head cocked to one side till she heard the front door open and close. She came out of the bathroom, heading to her bedroom to look out of the window. Looking out from behind the blinds, she saw him heading down her path. He looked like he was walking down a catwalk. Weird or not, Cassie did have to recognise that the man was an absolute hottie. Shame she wasn’t the type to do second dates. Or even first ones. Hell, having breakfast with him had been a first, even with Maria as a buffer. She was just admiring his butt wistfully when he stopped at the gate, turned and looked straight at her.

  ‘Shit!’ she said, jumping back behind the curtain. Sneaking a peek, she saw him blow her a kiss before walking off towards Westfield centre. Uber hadn’t quite hit the village yet. The villagers were still getting over high-speed internet arriving. Summoning a taxi with the click of a button was more than some of them could take, for now. Hopefully he wouldn’t go shooting his mouth off in the village about where he had spent the night. With Maria already in the spotlight, the last thing she needed was for people to think she was hanging around with random men. But as Cassie herself always said, the best way to get over a man was to get under another. It would have done Maria some good, something to take her mind off Arsy Darcy. As long as it wasn’t a regular thing. Maria wasn’t like that anyway. All she had ever wanted to be was happy and married.

  Cas
sie watched Tucker walk away till he was out of sight, and then headed downstairs. It was like stepping into the twilight zone. It didn’t even feel like her house. She looked into the lounge. Same in there. He had cleaned up. Really cleaned. She could smell polish, cleaning sprays. Walking into the kitchen she was hit by a horrible smell. She gagged and headed to the window, throwing it open. What the hell had he done? She looked around and saw the bottle on the side. Bleach. The man was insane. She’d pulled Mr Mop. Every surface had been cleared, wiped clean. She could see her work surfaces for once. It felt like she had been robbed. Flicking her foot on the pedal bin, she only saw an empty bin liner. He had even taken the rubbish out. She looked in horror towards the now very shiny fridge freezer. He had even scrubbed the fronts of the damn appliances. Who knew what horrors awaited behind those doors. What would it be? A severed head? A ransom note?

  She walked across the gleaming kitchen floor, pinching her nose against the smell of cleanliness around her, and curled her fingers around the metal fridge handle. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

  Her fridge was mostly empty, aside from a bottle of wine in the cooler. It was always empty, which begged the question of where he had got breakfast from. In her alcohol-pickled stupor this morning, she hadn’t even realised that she didn’t own a tin of beans, let alone the makings of a full English. Had he been shopping? Oh, dear Lord.

  On the bottom shelf was a package wrapped in tinfoil. When she opened it, she saw a ham salad sandwich, cut in half and placed neatly on a plate. On the top was a note, written on a small piece of paper.

  Thanks for last night, and since I know you’ll probably say no to lunch, I made some for you.

  Jesse Tucker

  He had left his number, written there underneath his name. A stupid name at that. Who had a last name as a first name, anyway? Another reason never to call him. And she wouldn’t be eating his food either. Not a chance in hell. She shut the fridge door again and headed upstairs. She needed to get to the gym, try and get rid of this hangover. Hopefully the stink of her gym bag when she got back would mask the gross smells here. She just hoped Maria wouldn’t expect her to keep things like this. It was never going to happen. Who would want to live like this? Life was for living, not cleaning. Cassie headed out, grabbing her phone on the way past. A minute later, she came back and grabbed the sandwich, tucking it into her bag. If she got hungry later, she might as well eat the damn thing. No one would ever know.

  Chapter 6

  The thing about ice cream that not enough people knew was that it had amazing restorative properties for the body. It soothed the soul, helped some sugar work its way around the sluggish body system when hungover, and cheered up the most melancholy of hearts. Since she no longer needed to fit into a wedding dress, or a honeymoon bikini, she felt that eating the emergency tub of Rocky Road from the icebox was allowed. It was the weekend after all, and it would melt anyway – since the whole shop was still down. It had been two hours, and even though the ‘open’ sign was flipped, no one had come into the shop. At this rate, next year she wouldn’t even have a shop to hide in. She sat on the floor, back against the countertop, legs pulled up to her sides as she balanced the tub on her knees. She could see her mother’s picture on the wall, and she looked at it as she did every day. In the years since she had passed, Maria had always missed her. When she’d signed for the shop, the first person she had wanted to call was her mum. When Darcy had proposed, Lynn and she had shed a tear or two about the fact she wouldn’t be there.

  This time was different. Maria was broken, and she knew it. In her dehydrated, exhausted state, she felt the loss of her mother as though it were yesterday. She shovelled another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and looked at her mother’s smiling face.

  ‘I miss you so much, Mum. I have so much to tell you, and I don’t even know what to do anymore.’ A sob escaped her lips, and she sucked in a shaky breath. ‘Darcy… Darcy left me, and I got drunk… and there was a man… and the business…’ She dissolved into sobs, shoving the spoon into the half-empty tub of melting ice cream. ‘I miss you so much. I really want to pull it together, but I don’t think I can this time.’ She heard a noise at the side of her, but ignored it.

  ‘I just need someone to be there for me, Mum, for once. Why does everyone leave?’

  ‘Huh-hum.’ There was that noise again. Maria looked to her left and, through tear-stained eyes, saw that the shop door was ajar, and in front of it was a very puzzled-looking man. Quite a good-looking one at that.

  ‘Oh, shit!’ She jumped up, throwing the carton to one side and standing up so quickly she got a post-alcohol head rush. ‘Oh, ow!’ She grabbed her head with both hands, trying to quell the lightning bolt that was striking between her ears. He went to step forward, placing his bag on the floor and closing the shop door. He flicked it to closed, and then just kind of stood there, watching her. Maria was suddenly very aware of the fact that she had been caught mainlining ice cream, looking like a bag lady and talking to a wall. She wiped her eyes ineffectually. Looking down at the floor, she saw that the discarded ice cream tub was now lying on its side, dribbling its contents onto the hardwood floor. It felt like a metaphor for her life, discarded and dribbling away.

  She took another stab at wiping her face with sticky fingers.

  ‘I’m really sorry, can I help you?’

  The man didn’t say anything for a beat. He just looked at her, an odd expression on his face. She looked right back, trying to figure out who this man was and why he was just staring at her.

  ‘I’m the electrician. Are you okay?’ He was looking at her as though he was expecting a gust of wind to whip through the shop and blow her away. In turn, seeing him standing there, among the beautiful silks and trains of the front display window, Maria couldn’t help thinking how strong he looked. He was dressed in a simple black T-shirt and workers’ trousers in a dark gunmetal grey. He had actual guns, big arm muscles she could make out under his short sleeves. It was then she noticed his pockets were filled with assorted tools. He jangled a little as he moved closer, taking one slow step after another towards her.

  ‘I’m James Chance. I believe we spoke on the phone. Maria, is it?’

  She nodded mutely, blinking back the tears that kept threatening to erupt. He took another step forward.

  ‘Okay,’ he said softly. ‘Why don’t you point me to the fuse box, and I’ll let you freshen up while I get started. That all right?’ She noticed his eyes then, blue-green, like beautiful glass marbles, topped off with thick, dark lashes against the darker cropped hair that peeked out from his baseball cap. They were looking at her with concern. It was a look she was all too used to nowadays, and she shrank away from it. The man picked up his toolbox and slowly walked closer to her. She walked zombie-like to the back room and pointed to the fuse box.

  ‘It’s there. I’ll just… er… go upstairs.’ She headed to the back stairs and looked back at him.

  ‘You okay down here?’ She realised she was about to leave her business, and her till, unattended, in the presence of a complete stranger.

  ‘I’m fine, don’t worry – and listen, I am trustworthy. I have ID, if you want to see it, or I can come back another time?’ The thought of him not fixing the electrics was incentive enough to swallow her fears. He didn’t look like a serial killer. Although what serial killers looked like was anybody’s guess. It wasn’t like they had a club badge or bought matching T-shirts.

  ‘No, no!’ she squeaked. ‘I really can’t afford to lose any more business right now. I really need the electrics fixing. I won’t be long, please stay.’ It didn’t escape her attention that she was begging a man not to leave. This was obviously her life now. Trying to hold a man down. Yay. Feminism was alive and kicking in Westfield.

  He looked at her kindly. ‘I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.’ She smiled back, oddly comforted by his words. He turned away, and she headed up the stairs.

  Looking in the mirror in
the bathroom upstairs, Maria groaned. No wonder the bloke had been looking at her funny, what with talking to the wall. And this. Looking at her reflection was like looking at a poster of Zelda from Terrorhawks. Minus the good hair. Hers was stuck up all over, from a mixture of being tousled during stranger sex to leftover hair mousse. Plus what looked and smelt suspiciously like toothpaste. She put the plug in and ran the hot water, nipping to the rail in the other room to see what clothes she had on the hangers. Making her own clothes had its perks.

  Heading down the stairs fifteen minutes later, wearing a simple summer dress and tights from her accessories stock box, her hair scraped back into a tidy bun, she could hear the soft bangs of metal on metal, followed by the occasional grunting and muttering.

  She stood beside him and he turned at the noise. His gaze flicked over her, his eyes looking her up and down, and she flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘Sorry, I’m having a bit of a day.’ She brushed her dress skirt down self-consciously. It was a plain navy blue, brightened up slightly by a thin red belt and sheer tights.

  James looked at her and smiled. ‘You look nice. Are you okay? It’s not my business, but—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Maria said, plastering on a fake smile. It was her stock response nowadays; it didn’t even have any meaning anymore. Who was fine these days, really? ‘Can you fix my box?’

  Her eyes widened as her words hit the air. ‘I mean, my fuse box, er… my electrics. Can you fix it?’

  His lip twitched and he looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned back to the box and pointed. ‘This is outdated. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s worked as long as it has. The fuse wire was shot, so I’ve fixed it for now, but you really do need to replace it all, rewire the lot.’

  Maria felt like she’d been punched in the gut. ‘Is there any way we can avoid that, maybe patch it up?’