The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street

by Rachel Dove

  Which was fine, because she was getting pretty used to the men in her life leaving. She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling. The peace of the hospital had finally descended, the odd shuffle and bleep outside the closed door as people milled around.

  She laid a hand on her stomach, trying to picture the baby that was apparently residing in there. A baby conceived in tequila. The poor thing was probably pickled. It would probably come out like George Best, clutching a bottle to its breast and asking where its father was. Which was a whole other problem. She thought of Lynn and her excitement. If she didn’t keep the baby, what would happen then? Cassie would understand, but Lynn? Perhaps not. Thinking about Lynn’s goodbye, something clicked. You are not alone.

  It was true. What had this baby done, to warrant being evicted from its home? Fair enough, perhaps its conception was a rather shady story, to be airbrushed into a rose-tinted version later, but who was born in perfect circumstances? Out there in the world, there were many walking, talking products of too much drink, a sad event, a moment of passionate abandon, a weakening of rubber. Did that mean they meant any less, that they weren’t as worthy as those born into love, heralded by perfect planning? It was 2018, for Christ’s sake. There were sex robots. Actual sex robots. Not to mention bacon jam. Orange people in power, like the revenge of the Oompa Loompas. Another single mother wouldn’t break society. She thought of her own mother, who had raised her single-handed after her father’s death. Did they struggle sometimes? Yes, sure. The struggles she didn’t remember so much, though; what she remembered was the love. She’d never felt truly alone till her mother died, and what Lynn said was true: with this baby, she would never be alone again. And really, what was she waiting for? She was single, with no prospects on the horizon or inclination to date again. Her business was struggling, but she was still fighting. Maybe she could do it. The thought of not doing this was just not for her. She was pro-choice, and this was her, making her choice.

  She rubbed her hand in small circles along her flat stomach.

  ‘I’m here, baby. It’s not perfect, but we’re together. We’ll work it out. Just you and me.’

  She thought of her mother, looking down on her in approval. She would say, ‘You can do this, my girl.’ And she would. They would see. She just had to get rid of Darcy before he found out. National coverage of the contents of her uterus was the last thing she needed. She didn’t even know why he was sniffing around again. Hadn’t he got a floozy to bed? Sunburn to soothe? He could just jog on. The last person she needed to see was him. She didn’t want to have to explain herself to him. He would judge her, and she was the injured party here. Getting knocked up on a boozy night out wasn’t the brightest move, but she didn’t need to be told that by the lowlife who had deemed it acceptable to leave her at the altar in front of their friends and family, and hotfoot it away on their honeymoon, which she had paid for, with another woman. And tank her business in the process, which, let’s face it, dealt in happy endings and eternal love. People never wanted to hear about jiltings and broken dreams; it didn’t go down well with the cake tastings and flower arrangements.

  But now, maybe it hadn’t all been for nothing. Maybe this colossal nightmare of the last few weeks had been meant to happen. Maybe this was the plan from the big man upstairs. She looked up at the ceiling, resting both hands on her tummy as she went to sleep. Maybe this was just what she needed to pull herself out of her funk.

  Hope.

  Chapter 10

  Cassie had eventually dropped a very emotionally overwrought Lynn off at home and was just pulling up to the cottage when the headlights highlighted the outline of a shadowy figure, near to her front door. Her heart thumped in her chest as she pulled up, instinctively flicking the interior locks closed on her car. It can’t be Darcy, he doesn’t know where I live. He’s never been here. The thought of Darcy was in fact preferable to who else might be there, lurking. Through her job, she often encountered some disgruntled husbands who didn’t take kindly to paying their ex-wives what they deserved, or to having their own fancy legal teams defeated by a young single woman. Things were out there on the net; people had a way of tracking people down. Would Darcy have the balls to come here? She revved the engine once, as a warning. Come close, shadow in the darkness, and I shall run you over with my car.

  A figure shifted in the night, coming out from behind the large bush in the garden. Cassie reached into the side-door pocket for her car tool, an all-in-one thing she had bought once after reading about being trapped underwater in a car. She pulled it out and grasped it in her hand, feeling for the weight of it. It had a metal spike at the end, a small, stubby one, meant to smash a window, but she felt sure it could do some damage if she needed it to. She killed the engine, leaving the lights on, and drew a shaky breath.

  TAP TAP TAP.

  ‘Arrghhh!’ she screamed as she saw a figure outside her car window. She grabbed the door handle and shoved the door open with all her might. ‘You’re not taking me down! Arggghh!’

  She dived out from the car, grabbing her keys and bag and running for the front door, jumping over the writhing lump she had laid out with her door.

  She had almost got to the door, keys shaking in her hands, when she heard a muffled voice from behind her.

  ‘Cassie, it’s me, Tucker.’ He sounded winded, far away. She dumped her bag near the front door and turned.

  ‘Tucker?’ He stood up from the grass, looking like he was struggling to remain upright.

  ‘Yep… it’s me. Obviously that was my fault for surprising you. Lesson learned. We had a date, and when you didn’t show at the restaurant… I guess I thought something might be wrong. Are you okay?’

  She ran over to him, helping him to the front door.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I totally forgot about our date. I thought you were some kind of crazy stalker. What were you doing in the bushes?’

  ‘I wasn’t in the bushes, I was standing near them. It’s bladdy cold out here. I feel stupid now, obviously.’

  She let him in and ran back to sort her car out and grab her things. Luckily, she had a good bit of peace and quiet here, so there weren’t any concerned neighbours ringing the police or twitching the curtains. When she went back into the cottage, she looked at Tucker, who was slumped on one of her sofas, and gasped. His T-shirt was torn, and he had a deep cut on his forehead that was dripping blood onto his shirt and smart trousers, and her couch.

  ‘Jesus, Tucker, we need to get you to the hospital.’ Tucker turned to look at her, wincing at the movement.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, shallow breaths making his words come out short, stunted. ‘I think that would be for the best. I feel like I just wet myself.’

  ***

  Sitting in A&E, Tucker looked white. Deathly pale, if she were to allocate a shade to it. He hadn’t said much in the car, and she had been too mortified and guilty to try to attempt conversation herself. So they had driven in silence, aside from the odd grunt of pain from him. She had wrapped some ice in a tea towel, and Tucker was now holding it to his head wound to try and stem the staunch of blood.

  Cassie gave him a reassuring pat and headed to the reception desk.

  ‘Er, hi,’ she said through the glass to an eager-looking receptionist.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, smiling. She looked like Rosie O’Donnell, but on happy pills. ‘Booking someone in?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, pointing to a very white-looking Tucker. ‘My er… friend… Tucker, he needs help. He has a nasty cut on his forehead, and I think he might have a cracked rib or two.’

  The woman nodded, tapping away on the keyboard in front of her. ‘Okay, address? Age? Date of birth?’

  ‘Erm, have you not got a form we can fill in?’

  The woman looked up at her. ‘First date?’

  Cassie’s mouth dropped. ‘Sort of. I actually stood him up.’

  The receptionist looked over Cassie’s shoulder. ‘Point him out to me again?’

  Cassie poi
nted at Tucker, who raised his hand weakly and gave them both a little finger wave.

  ‘And what happened?’ she asked. Cassie looked at a small fingermark on the glass screen in front of her.

  ‘He got hit with a car door.’

  ‘A car door?’ Another tapping of the keys. ‘Did he get run over?’

  ‘No, the car was stationary at the time.’

  ‘Did you notify the police?’ Tapping.

  ‘Er, no, not yet. We’ll see how the night goes first. Listen, he might have internal bleeding, so if we can hurry this along…’

  ‘No problem, you can give his details once you get seen. It shan’t be long now. Are you staying with him, to take him home, or do we need to call someone?’

  Cassie shook her head. ‘No, I’ll stay.’

  The receptionist nodded. ‘No problem.’

  Cassie started to walk back to Tucker.

  ‘For the record, next time a man like that wants to take you out on a date, it’s probably better just to show up, not hit him with an automobile, you get me?’

  Cassie turned to look at her and the receptionist winked. ‘We see all sorts here, my dear. Let’s hope it’s something funny to tell the grandkids, not a parole officer.’

  Cassie could hear her chuckling as she walked back to Tucker.

  He still looked pale, green even, but he flashed her a gorgeous smile as he gingerly turned his bottom towards her on the seat. He moved one of his hands away from holding his torso to wrap his fingers around hers as they rested on her lap. She flinched but didn’t move her hand.

  ‘I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, or rather whispered through gritted teeth due to the pain. ‘I was just worried about you. Is someone after you? Are you in trouble?’

  Cassie shook her head. ‘No, sorry to have worried you. First of all I thought you were Maria’s ex.’

  ‘The lowlife jilter?’ he checked. She nodded, loving him for not only remembering but taking her friend’s side.

  ‘Yep, and then I thought you might be a client’s ex.’

  His eyes widened slightly. ‘I’m a divorce solicitor,’ she explained. ‘Some men are not happy with what I get for their ex-wives.’

  Tucker was rubbing her hand supportively, and she had never felt so awkward. What were they doing here, like this? Were they a couple? A drunken fumble and a couple of dates didn’t amount to much, but he seemed so relaxed in her company.

  ‘So, did you mean to stand me up then? Should I take a hint?’ He tried to laugh, but abruptly stopped and winced at the obvious pain he was in.

  ‘Oh God, I’ll go and chase them up.’ She dashed off to reception, but the receptionist looked at her apologetically as she spoke on the phone. She opened up a low partition in the screen and passed out a clipboard with a form on it, and a pen. Reluctantly, Cassie took it and returned to her seat.

  Tucker was sitting back in his chair, watching her walk over to him. Even with a tea towel wrapped around his head, he was pretty hot.

  ‘Mr Tucker?’ a nurse called from down the corridor.

  ‘We’re on,’ he said and went to stand – went to, but didn’t succeed. What he did instead was groan and moan in pain. And squat, halfway between standing and sitting. He looked sheepishly at Cassie.

  ‘I might need a little help, then you can go if you like.’

  Cassie looked at the doors to A&E, where her car sat waiting in the car park. If she left now, after seeing him in of course, that would be that. He probably wouldn’t press charges against her for the whole car episode, and he certainly wouldn’t bother her again. She looked at him, and then at the doors once more, before deciding. She strode straight past him, into the foyer. Right to the main doors, where a line of wheelchairs she remembered seeing were stationed. Grabbing one, she headed back into reception, where Tucker was trying to commando roll his way out of the chair, and the nurse was still shouting his name.

  ‘Here, we’re coming!’ she shouted across to her, and stopping the chair in front of Tucker, she helped him into it. He looked surprised to see her but said nothing. She put her hand on his shoulder before wheeling him across the room, and he kissed it between his.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said softly.

  ‘Ya will?’ he said, smiling through a split lip.

  ‘You’re peeing blood. It’s the least I can do.’

  He chuckled all the way down the corridor, wincing every time.

  Maria woke up to the sound of humming. It sounded like a low hum, deep and full of bass. Can’t be Lynn, she thought, in her half-asleep state. Darcy?

  She opened her eyes and was relieved to see James. He was reading a book, some political thriller she had seen advertised, and humming away to himself.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ she croaked, making him jump. He closed the book and leaned closer.

  ‘Sorry, do you want me to go? I just wanted to check on you.’

  ‘No,’ she croaked again, her mouth dry. She looked at her watch. 7.30 a.m. ‘How come security let you in?’

  He stood up and filled a beaker with water from a jug on the bedside table. She pulled a straw out of a small box nearby (Lynn thought of everything) and put it to her lips. She drank greedily and nodded when she had had enough. She was slumped on her side and tried to sit up.

  ‘Oh, hey, hey, hey, let me help.’ He put the cup down quickly on the overbed table and went to her side. She caught a whiff of his aftershave as he leaned in close, putting his strong arm under her and helping her to sit up.

  ‘Better?’ he asked, plumping up her pillows.

  ‘Yes, much,’ she nodded, suddenly feeling both grateful he was there and mortified that she was feeling a bit crusty, lying in bed with a nightie Lynn had brought in (frilly), scratchy big pants (think M&S kidney warmers) and a hairdo that looked a lot like something could nest in it quite happily.

  ‘I’m a mess,’ she said, trying to brush some stray tendrils back. They were starting to feel like dreadlocks.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he said, brushing her off. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘No,’ she said a little too quickly. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘Security have been told by the nurses to let me in; they apparently think I’m your new partner.’

  Maria sank down into the pillows. ‘Oh God, so not only did I pass out and have to be taken to hospital in front of the cameras, but now I’m apparently a slut as well.’

  James shook his head, a deep frown furrowing his brow. ‘No one thinks that, and if they said anything remotely like that, they would answer to me.’ His jaw clenched. ‘They know that Darcy bloke is your ex. Cassie filled them in and told them in no uncertain terms to keep him away, unless they wanted a lawsuit that would make their grandchildren’s eyes water.’

  Maria took his hand in hers, trying not to cry. Damn hormones. ‘Thanks so much, James, for helping me.’

  He opened his mouth to speak and was staring deep into her eyes when a nurse breezed in, holding a bedpan.

  ‘Aw, you two are so cute together. You feeling better, honey?’

  The pair looked sheepishly at each other, but then James winked, making Maria laugh.

  ‘I’m much better, thanks.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, coming to the bed and thrusting the disposable bedpan at her.

  ‘Sorry, love, but we need a urine sample. Check you and the baby are tip-top before we discharge you, okay? Does Daddy want to wait outside?’

  Maria saw James’s face change from happy-go-lucky to absolute shock in about two and a half seconds. She wanted to open her mouth, to explain, to the nurse, to him, but she was in shock herself. What could she say? Actually, this isn’t the father, and the man stalking the wards isn’t either? She was still digesting it when she felt James’s lips on her cheek.

  ‘I’ll wait outside, darling. Just give me a shout when you’re done.’ She went to look at him, to suss out what he was thinking, but he was already ou
t the door. The nurse continued with her business, pulling the covers back and making Maria feel even more undignified as she flashed her big pants during the walk to the toilet. She put the cardboard bedpan into the toilet seat and sat down to fill it.

  At this point, another form of slight humiliation was just par for the course. She wondered when it was that her life had turned into a soap opera. When did life in the village get so complicated? Most of all, she wondered whether or not she should actually call the real father, or just raise the baby to think he/she had been magically conceived, by angel dust, or even sperm to your door. They did that now. That was modern life for you. If you had the money, you could order the sperm to be delivered to your door, to make the baby yourself. Like pizza delivery, but you didn’t get it free if the sperm courier didn’t deliver in thirty minutes or less. Or maybe you did, since temperature was as important to sperm as it was to pizza.

  As she walked out of the toilet, bedpan of pee in hand, she wondered when her life had become so messed up. The nurse smiled and took it.

  ‘I’ll let you get back to your man now,’ she beamed. ‘Leave him out on that corridor for too long and you might just lose him to one of the staff.’

  Maria laughed along with her. Little do you know, she thought to herself. When you get out onto that corridor, you’ll see the scorch marks where yet another man ran for his life to avoid me. And I’m not even with him!

  The nurse covered the pan with a disposable towel and walked out. Maria was just settling into her bed when she felt a presence behind her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ James asked, watching her cautiously. She looked at him, startled. ‘Sorry, do you want me to go? You look tired?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘Er, no, no, I’m fine. They said I should be able to go home later. They said they need the bed, but I think they just want shot of my visitors.’ She laughed at her own attempt at a joke.

  James nodded slowly, wringing his hands together.

  ‘Sit down, James, it’s fine.’ She pointed to the chair next to her bed and he sat down in it.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked again, leaning in.