I find myself shuffling backwards behind the pillar in the hallway so that I can hear what they’re saying without being seen. It’s the sort of thing people do in Agatha Christie films – and I almost kick myself for not dressing up as someone from Death on the Nile.
‘You mean you can’t tell?’ Felicity laughs. ‘Oh, darling Ryan, my darling, darling Ryan. You Americans really should read more. I’m Juliet, of course. As in Romeo and Juliet. As in the pet name you gave me.’
My blood runs cold. Juliet. Never mind Juliet as in Romeo and Juliet. How about Juliet as in Ryan’s letter-writer? It can’t be true. Surely to God Felicity isn’t behind those?
‘My recollection,’ replies Ryan sternly, ‘is that you gave yourself that nickname. I told you I’d read more Steinbeck than Shakespeare.’
Felicity throws up her hands in despair. ‘You’re such a spoilsport. Well, I don’t care what you say, you’re still my Romeo. There’s no wriggling out of it. But, then, that’s not all you are, is it?’
‘Felicity,’ Ryan snaps, with a sharpness that could have sliced a lemon, ‘I don’t have time for this. I have guests to attend to.’
‘You’re a liar as well,’ she states.
‘That’s enough. I’m not having this conversation.’
‘Charming, I must say.’ She tuts. ‘And to think you didn’t even invite me to the party. After all we’ve been through.’
‘You’re right,’ he replies. ‘I didn’t invite you. So how come you’re here?’
‘I was invited by your new girlfriend.’
Ryan doesn’t say anything.
‘Does poor little Zoe know what a liar you are yet?’
Ryan still doesn’t speak.
‘No,’ she responds for him. ‘I bet she doesn’t. I bet she’s caught up in the whirlwind romance you caught me up in too, isn’t she? So, when are you going to throw her away like yesterday’s trash? Because that’s what happens to all of the women in your life, isn’t it, Ryan? You hook them in with the I’ve-got-such-an-injured-soul-because-of-my-poor-dead-wife routine. Then you seduce them. Then you get bored with them. Then you dump them. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Well, maybe, Felicity. Maybe you’ve managed to analyse my personality. Maybe you know me better than anyone else after only two fucks and—’
‘Three!’ she squeals.
‘Whatever. The point I’m making is, you don’t know me. You don’t know what’s going on in my life. And I don’t want you to, either.’
Then his voice softens. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m genuinely sorry. Because I didn’t mean to. Really I didn’t.’
‘Well that’s hardly any conso—’
‘But, as I’ve told you before, it wasn’t anything more than . . . Look, Felicity.’ He sighs. ‘It’s over. And I’d just like to get on with my life without any more of those letters. Please.’
He sounds genuinely regretful, as if he’s reaching out to her to see reason and hopes, perhaps naïvely, that there can be some sort of resolution to this. But if Felicity was a cartoon character I suspect steam would be coming out of her ears.
‘Can I point something out to you?’ she snaps. ‘About Zoe and about me?’
‘If you must,’ he says wearily.
‘I attended the Institut Villa Pierrefeu finishing-school. I speak four languages. I have prospective employers fighting over me. And I am a perfect size four. She, on the other hand, is a comprehensive-school flunkey who – when she’s not dressing as a seven-foot yellow canary – is dressing from Dorothy Perkins!’
‘Dorothy Perkins?’ Ryan repeats, mystified.
Felicity nods, as if she’s just revealed something tantamount to my having contracted a deadly contagious disease.
I’m waiting for Ryan to jump to my defence. To say he doesn’t give a toss that I dressed as Big Bird – in fact, he thought it was the best costume since someone won an Oscar for Moulin Rouge. To say that he thinks Chanel is overrated and, actually, he’d choose a woman who dressed at Dorothy Perkins any day of the week.
To say something – anything – that tells Felicity once and for all what he really feels about me. I’m waiting with such bated breath my lungs feel like they’re about to implode.
‘Whatever,’ he replies.
‘Whatever?’ repeats Felicity. For the first time in this conversation, I feel almost as exasperated as she clearly does.
‘Felicity, you’ve nothing to be jealous of when it comes to Zoe,’ he continues.
‘I never said I was jealou—’
‘It’s just a fling,’ he interrupts. ‘Nothing more than a fling.’
Chapter 73
I creep backwards and lose myself in the packed hallway until I stumble across Trudie. She’s with Ruby, Samuel, Eamonn and Andrew and they’re singing such a tuneless version of ‘Silent Night’ that I’m amazed everyone’s eardrums remain intact.
‘You okay to watch Ruby and Samuel for a bit longer?’ I ask, surprised to hear my voice wobbling. ‘I need to go for a walk.’
‘Course.’ She nods. ‘Something up?’
‘Oh, nothing. I’m feeling a bit light-headed after my fall. A bit of fresh air might do me good.’
I make my way through the house, feeling claustrophobic and numb. I’m suffocated by the colour and noise of the party – glasses clinking, children laughing, music pounding.
I feel a flicker of relief when I spot the conservatory door, which opens on to the garden, and I head towards it single-mindedly.
‘Hey, Zoe,’ I hear someone say. I feel a hand tighten on my elbow and turn hazily. It’s Amber.
‘You’ve heard about Paul and me, then?’ she whispers, with a beaming smile.
‘Oh, er, yes,’ I reply vaguely. ‘I – I’m really happy for you, Amber. I thought you’d make a good couple.’
‘We do, don’t we?’ she says dreamily. ‘You were absolutely right. I mean, cosmically speaking, we’re not a perfect match but . . . well, he’s lovely. And I suppose that’s all that matters.’
I try to smile and feel guilty that it proves so difficult. I’m happy for Amber, really I am, but her budding relationship is the last thing on my mind. ‘When did you get together?’ I manage. It’s the only question I can think of.
‘We’ve been going out for a couple of weeks now. I bumped into him while I was shopping and we went for a coffee. He’s one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met,’ she continues. ‘He’s . . . deep in a way I’ve never encountered before.’
‘Deep,’ I repeat.
‘Mmm.’ She nods. ‘Deep and nice. It’s a wonderful combination. So, what about you, Zoe?’ she asks. ‘Hasn’t there been anybody over here who’s taken your fancy? I’m sure you haven’t been short of admirers.’
I glance up and see Ryan entering the room as he uncorks a bottle of wine. He catches my eye and smiles. Suddenly I feel dizzy. ‘Uh, sorry, Amber, I need to step outside for a minute,’ I tell her.
‘Are you okay? You’re a bit pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ I mutter. ‘Honestly. Thanks for asking.’
As I step outside, I breathe deeply and the cold air fills my lungs. I head towards the bottom of the garden where no one can see me, Ryan’s words echoing in my head.
I know I’ve said it myself time and time again, but hearing him say it had stung so badly.
It’s only a fling . . . nothing more than a fling.
I fight back tears and gaze up into the dense, cloudy sky. Why am I so bothered about it? Isn’t it exactly how I’d seen our relationship? Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me and spin round, hoping and dreading in equal measure that it might be Ryan.
But it isn’t. It’s Felicity.
‘I saw you creeping off, you know.’
Her staccato voice grates on me.
‘Right,’ I reply coldly. In the light of what I overheard her saying, this isn’t much of a comeback. But I’m afraid that if I try to say anything else I’ll cry.
‘You hea
rd what I said, didn’t you?’ she asks.
I nod.
‘I’m sorry, Zoe,’ she offers, lowering her head.
‘Are you?’ I ask, hoping I sound at least a bit formidable now. Not like someone who’d lose at conkers with a five-year-old.
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘I am. But let me explain something to you. What Ryan did to me was so awful, he’s turned me into a – a monster. I’m convinced of it. And I’m not a monster, Zoe, really I’m not. You know that, don’t you?’
‘What about all those weird letters?’ I say, exasperated. ‘Forgive me for saying this, Felicity, but that isn’t my definition of well-balanced behaviour.’
She bursts into tears. I don’t just mean a little sniffle, either. I mean spontaneous, uncontrollable, struggling-for-breath crying. It’s one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen. I hadn’t thought Felicity was built with tear ducts until now.
‘I – I know,’ she manages, between sobs. ‘You’re – you’re absolutely r-right. B-believe me, if you’d told me a year ago that I’d be sending letters to my unrequited love I wouldn’t have believed you. It’s not very . . . dignified, is it?’
‘No, Felicity.’ I sigh. ‘It’s not.’
‘I loved him, Zoe. I really, really loved him. I don’t know if you can understand that. Have you ever loved someone who didn’t return it? Have you, Zoe?’
Have I ever loved someone who didn’t return it? Oh, God, if only she knew. Despite an acute sense of irony, I feel compelled to put my arm round her. As I reach over to her and pull her towards me, I’m shocked by how fragile she feels. Her shoulder is so bony I’m surprised an anatomy student hasn’t mistaken her for a study aid.
‘Let me tell you something about unrequited love, Zoe,’ she says. ‘It hurts like mad.’
I close my eyes. ‘I probably understand more than you think,’ I mutter.
Felicity has acted like a fool, but I understand the torture she’s been through. I understand what it’s like to be consumed by desire for someone you were once so close to – but you know will never be yours again.
‘Do you, Zoe?’ She sniffs. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Can I tell you something?’ she continues, with reddened eyes.
‘Of course.’
‘And, believe me,’ she says, ‘I say this with no hidden agenda now. I’m saying this as your friend.’
I nod reluctantly.
‘All those things I said to Ryan back there – I said them because I was angry and hurt.’
‘I know.’
‘A lot of it was nonsense – the things I said about you were awful.’
‘Look, don’t worry about it,’ I say dismissively. ‘It’s water under the bridge.’
‘But,’ she interrupts, ‘there was one part of it I meant. One part of it, Zoe, is absolutely true.’
I pull back and study her face. She’s completely sincere. There’s no doubt about that.
‘Ryan is using you, Zoe. That’s what he does. I don’t think he can help it. When I was with him, I followed a long line of women he’d been out with after Amy’s death. Women he used then threw away without a second thought. The fact is, he’s not in love with you or me or anyone. Unfortunately I think he’s still in love with his wife. ’
‘You’ve got Ryan and me wrong, Felicity,’ I tell her finally. ‘Ryan and I . . . it’s just a—’
‘A fling?’
I don’t answer.
‘That’s exactly what I thought when he and I were together, Zoe. But isn’t he getting under your skin? Aren’t you starting to miss him when he’s not there? To enjoy the feel of his arms round you a little too much?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘The point I’m making, Zoe – as your friend and nothing else – is that if you don’t get out now you’ll end up as hurt and as damaged by it as I am.’
Chapter 74
I head back into the house to look for the children, so disoriented by everything I’ve heard in the past hour that I feel as if I’ve stepped off a merry-go-round.
As hurt and as damaged . . . as I am.
One thing is for sure. After 14 April – my wedding day – I’ve had quite enough of that sort of thing to keep me going until Christmas 2080, thank you very much. So have I really been getting drawn into another relationship that so obviously represents trouble it almost has flashing lights?
It can’t be true, surely. Ryan is supposed to be a distraction from my woes, a bit of light relief – not another problem.
Oh, God. I could be one of those weird, dysfunctional women who only ever get together with bad men, who thrive on the drama of being used and abused.
I hadn’t thought I liked being used and abused. I’d always thought my dream man would be someone who’d want to shower me with love and kisses and always put the toilet seat down. But maybe not.
Maybe a pattern’s emerging. First Jason leaves me standing at the altar, and now Ryan’s only in it for a bit of fun and is bang on course to leave me heartbroken. But how can I be heartbroken when it’s only a fling? It is a fling, isn’t it? Oh, God, I’m sick of that word.
I stomp into the hallway and spot Ryan with Barbara King, who has been hitting the mulled wine with almost as much purpose as her husband has.
I watch as she drains her glass, slams it on the table beside her and throws her arms round Ryan like a sex-starved groupie who hasn’t had a sniff of a Y chromosome since 1904.
As she takes off his cowboy hat and whispers in his ear, I can’t help thinking it’s a gesture some might call overly friendly. In fact, it couldn’t be more friendly if she had her hand down his chaps.
My eyes widen as Barbara, presumably neither noticing nor caring if anyone is looking, lowers her hand to Ryan’s backside, her manicured fingers squeezing one of his buttocks like it’s her personal executive-stress ball. Then she stands on tiptoe and kisses his ear.
My chest tightens and I don’t want to watch this any longer.
I rush into the living room in search of Trudie, desperate for someone to confide in. But when I get there, I can see she’s got other things on her mind.
‘Zoe! Zoe!’ squeals Ruby, jumping up and down. ‘Trudie’s going to get married and I’m going to be a flower-girl!’
Trudie lets go of Ritchie’s hand and holds out her fingers to me. She’s wearing a delicate diamond ring you can tell is beautiful even though her hand is shaking so much you’d think it was experiencing turbulence.
‘Is it – is it true?’ I gasp.
Trudie’s eyes are awash with tears and, although she tries to speak, her lip is trembling too much to let her.
‘Yeah, it’s true,’ Ritchie answers for her. ‘I’ve found the greatest woman in the world. There’s no way I’m letting her go.’
‘You really don’t mind about the—’ she begins.
‘Sssh,’ he whispers, clutching her hand. ‘We can always adopt.’
With her mascara blurring, Trudie grins so widely she looks as if she might faint.
‘Well done, you,’ I say, hugging her as my own eyes fill again. ‘Bloody well done.’
‘Thanks, love,’ she mutters, pulling back. ‘But are you okay, Zoe? You still look a bit funny after your fall.’
I’m sure I’m an appalling friend for saying this, but despite Trudie’s amazing news, the rest of the evening drags. Badly.
When we finally get rid of the last guest and put an overexcited, overtired Ruby and Samuel to bed, Ryan tries to put his arms round me. But I wriggle away.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asks, concerned.
‘Oh, yeah,’ I say dismissively. ‘I’m just knackered, that’s all. Do you mind if I help clear up in the morning and head for bed now?’
‘Of course not,’ he says, a hint of dejection in his eyes.
When I get into my room, I open the window and a whoosh of cold air hits my cheeks as if I’m caught in the path of a snow machine. I pull my duvet r
ound me as I collapse into bed. I try to close my eyes but I feel far too agitated to sleep.
I’d somehow convinced myself that being with Ryan would help me get over what happened this year. But how empty it feels now, how pointless.
Who even wants a fling when it’s with someone who’s going to allow Barbara King to become intimately acquainted with their bottom, and when you’re just one in a long line of women?
As I sit up again, my eyes are drawn to something poking out from behind my chest of drawers. I climb out of bed and retrieve it. It’s the OK! magazine I bought in England on the day I left, all those months ago. The cover has coffee stains all over it, but as I leaf through the crumpled pages, I’m transported home so rapidly it’s as if someone’s opened a floodgate.
Suddenly I long to be in Woolton, ironing my uniform for nursery tomorrow and making sure I pack an apron to keep it clean during Christmas decoration-making season. I long to be kissing Jason goodnight as I head upstairs to bed, leaving him to watch the end of Match of the Day. I long to be drawing the curtains my mum made for us and jumping into bed to read a Jackie Collins until I drift off, stirring only momentarily when I feel Jason slip in next to me.
Suddenly I feel so homesick I ache.
I’m jolted out of my thoughts as a sound invades the silence. My mobile is ringing.
I suspect it’s Trudie, wanting to talk about her engagement. But I can’t bring myself to listen to her now, I really can’t. I lean over to grab the phone and try to work out whether I can cut it off without her knowing. But it isn’t her number on the screen.
It’s Jason’s. And for once I don’t have a doubt in my mind what I’m going to do.
Chapter 75
‘Jason. How are you?’ My voice sounds remarkably calm, considering that my heart is pounding so hard it feels ready to leap out of my chest and tap-dance across the dressing-table.
Suddenly there’s a loud crash, followed by so much clattering I have to hold the phone away from my ear. Then it stops.
‘Zoe?’ His voice is instantly recognizable, instantly familiar, instantly heart-stopping. ‘Zoe, are you there? Sorry about that. I dropped the phone.’
The Nearly-Weds Page 24
