The Nothing Girl

by Jodi Taylor

  The day before the wedding was cold but sunny. Russell put a halter on Boxer and made me walk with him up the lane on to the moors.

  ‘It’ll do you good,’ he said. ‘You need some colour in your cheeks and it’s not going to do my reputation any good at all if you turn up tomorrow looking like an early Christian martyr. And I certainly don’t want your aunt leaping to her feet and stopping the ceremony because you’re in too much of a state to say, “I do”. So get your coat, grab a pair of wellies, and let’s be off.’

  It was a good idea. Once I was out in the fresh air, I felt much better. We strode along with Boxer jumping and shying at monsters hiding in the hedge, sinister puddles, and strangely shaped rocks.

  ‘Why does he do that?’ I said, as Russell coaxed him past a hostile telegraph pole.

  ‘Well, like Andrew said, he’s a bit of a big girl’s blouse. He’s an ex-racehorse. He led a pampered and luxurious existence until they discovered that although he could go like the wind, it was generally in the wrong direction. He hates horseboxes, crowds, other horses, noise, the rain – you name it. He belonged to a friend of mine and both he and I lost rather a lot of money on him. Sadly, failed racehorses get a pretty raw deal, sometimes. He’s gelded so he couldn’t be bred from and he’s such a basket case no one would want to anyway. He certainly couldn’t hunt. He might have been sold privately – he’s a good-looking horse, but he’d most likely have ended in a horsebox somewhere, travelling for sixteen hours without food or water, dragged out at the other end, and turned into dog-food. Or sausages. Or whatever. So I bought him. Usually I ride him up here, but since there’s three of us and it’s a nice day I thought we could walk together. It’s all been a bit hectic recently, don’t you think?’

  I nodded. Thomas walked beside me, peering over hedges and generally enjoying himself. I stroked Boxer’s shoulder, hoping Thomas wouldn’t think I was being unfaithful.

  ‘I’d like to ride,’ I said, quietly. I thought no one heard.

  We passed another farm.

  ‘That’s the Braithwaites’ place,’ said Russell, waving to a man crossing the yard with two dogs and a bucket. ‘He rents land off me for his sheep.’

  ‘Fifty pence each,’ I said. He looked surprised. ‘I pay attention.’

  He laughed and then it took us five minutes to persuade Boxer through the gate at the top of the lane. Thomas and I skipped through, out onto the open moor, and waited patiently.

  ‘Aren’t you going to … let him off the lead?’

  ‘No. He has the sense of direction of a tea-bag; I’ll be looking for him all night and he’ll probably end up in Tesco on the Rushford by-pass.’

  We followed the path along a pretty stream that bubbled over rocks and gravel beds on its way down off the moor and through Russell’s fields to join the River Rush. There were no trees this high up and the wind was fresh and clear.

  ‘A good tip,’ said Russell. ‘If you ever get lost on the moor, just find water – there’s plenty up here – and follow it down.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, and thought no more about it.

  I sat that night in my empty bedroom. I’d lived here since I was eighteen and now everything had been packed up and sent off to Frogmorton. My room looked empty and unfamiliar. I wondered what would become of it. My dress hung in the wardrobe; shoes and gloves were on the shelf. Aunt Julia’s hairdresser was coming at half past nine the next morning.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ said Thomas.

  ‘A bit strange.’

  ‘Are you afraid?’

  ‘No. No, he doesn’t frighten me at all. Should I be?’

  ‘ No, I don’t think so. I think Tanya hit the nail on the head when she said he was just a little boy who hasn’t grown up yet. Well, that’s going to change. ’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He has responsibilities now. It’ll be interesting to see how he handles them.’

  ‘And Francesca. How will he handle her?’

  ‘I thought you discussed this.’

  ‘We did. He made it very clear. He was completely honest about it. I thought it seemed a small price to pay for getting a life.’

  ‘Are you having second thoughts?’

  ‘No, it’s just pre-wedding nerves. I know what marrying Russell Checkland entails,’ I said. Wrongly, as it turned out. ‘He promised to be discreet. He promised he’d never hurt me and I believe him.’

  ‘So no regrets, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So no reason not to get a good night’s sleep?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you remember,’ said Thomas, ‘when we first saw this room? How excited we were?’

  ‘I do. That seems a very long time ago now.’

  ‘ It was a long time ago. Since we met, you’ve taken your exams; got a degree, and now you’re going to be married. You’re all grown-up now, Jenny. ’

  A horrible, cold hand closed around my heart. ‘Thomas, are you leaving me?’

  ‘No, no. I told you. I’m here for as long as you need me and you’re going to need me for a while longer.’

  ‘I’ll always need you,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘No, you won’t.’

  Don’t ever get married.

  Seriously.

  Don’t ever get married.

  Forget the Archbishop of Canterbury deploring the decline of traditional marriage. Forget whichever politicians are currently lauding family values in an effort to distract attention from their own upcoming, exclusive tabloid exposé. Forget any of the rose-tinted idiots banging on about your wedding being the happiest day of your life. Weddings are a long, rain-drenched nightmare when the only sounds are your relatives venomously hissing in dark corners. I don’t know how anyone who doesn’t have a giant, golden horse gets through them.

  It started with my hair. Never before a cause of disagreement, it was propelled into the front line because, given the simple nature of my dress, I wanted a simple French pleat.

  Aunt Julia wanted virginal ringlets.

  I coped by simply shaking my head every time she spoke, thus signifying disagreement and rendering it impossible for the poor hairdresser to get stuck in. Eventually, she got the message, and possibly lost a long-standing customer, but she didn’t look too unhappy and I got my way.

  Not like Aunt Julia.

  I felt quite sorry for her because she obviously didn’t want to dignify the occasion by looking as if she’d made any special effort, but she was constitutionally incapable of appearing in public looking anything other than her best. She compromised with a pearl-grey silk suit that only whispered ‘funereal occasion’, rather than what I’m sure was her first choice – deep, heavy black, closely veiled, and clutching a handkerchief to the corner of one eye.

  We met at the bottom of the stairs where Uncle Richard was anxiously consulting his watch at five-second intervals. She looked at me for a while and then started down her list.

  ‘It’s not white. What will people think?’

  ‘No one is attending apart from family members,’ soothed Uncle Richard, unsuccessfully trying to get her to the door. ‘No one will see. Now, come along, we mustn’t be late. Well, not more than fashionably late,’ he ended with a weak laugh.

  ‘Where is your veil? You must have a veil. No flowers, either. Jenny, I’ve held my peace, but I have to say …’

  ‘Tune her out,’ said Thomas. ‘It’s not important.’

  I tried. I also tried not to dwell on the fact no one had said how nice I looked. And I did. I really did. In addition, I was the bride, so even if I didn’t, they should have lied. I was a little hurt.

  ‘I think your dress is beautiful and so are you.’

  ‘Thank you, but you’re prejudiced.’

  ‘Not today. You look elegant and sophisticated, Jenny. A real class act. Russell Checkland is going to be blown away. Good for you.’

  Feeling slightly more cheerful, I climbed into the car. Fortunately, it was only a few minutes away.r />
  The next thing was the weather. It was raining slightly when we left, and the sky had that rather ominous grey-yellow look. Just as we pulled up, the heavens opened.

  Uncle Richard did what he could with an enormous golf umbrella and I was pretty well protected, Aunt Julia less so, so her already bad mood worsened considerably, and by the time we actually got inside, she was smouldering nicely.

  We were shown into a very pleasant room where Andrew and Tanya were already waiting with Mrs Crisp and Kevin. I was so pleased to see them. Kevin was wearing what was obviously one of Russell’s jackets. It was far too large and he peered out from between the shoulders, rather like a tortoise.

  Aunt Julia threw one scathing look at the people who not only had the temerity to be related to the man who was marrying her niece, but brought his staff to the wedding as well, and withdrew to the little cloakroom to repair some damage.

  The atmosphere lightened a little.

  Russell wasn’t there. I noticed Andrew quietly fishing out his phone, hitting redial, and then stuffing it back in his jacket pocket. In so much as he ever could, he looked angry.

  I felt a cold hand on me. Had he changed his mind? After everything, had he bottled out? Was I going to be left at the altar? I stared at Andrew who shrugged. Tanya smiled slightly, but she looked very tense. They’d lost him.

  Daniel Palmer wasn’t there, either, and he’d promised. Was it at all possible that Russell had finally persuaded Francesca to leave him? And she, unable to accept his marriage to someone else, had gone with him? Had that been his plan all along? It seemed a very, very likely scenario.

  We all waited in silence. Even Thomas seemed to have nothing to say.

  The doors opened again and Daniel Palmer walked in, shaking his umbrella. Alone. He looked up and scanned the room. Not finding Francesca present, his mouth set in a thin, hard line that vanished as he saw me.

  ‘Hello, Jenny. You look very pretty. I’m sorry Francesca’s not here yet. We were supposed to meet here, but you know what she’s like. I’m sure one day she’ll be late for her own funeral.’

  It was a good effort and Andrew rose nobly to assist.

  ‘Don’t feel too badly, Daniel, we’re missing the bridegroom too, so we’re nowhere near kick-off yet.’

  You could see him regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

  ‘Good grief. This foot in mouth thing is obviously genetic. It’s probably best if the two of you don’t have kids.’

  At that moment, however, the doors crashed open and Francesca chose to make her entrance. Jaws dropped. She posed in the doorway, giving us all the benefit of her flawless profile. She was furious. All the old childhood signs were there – the flashing eyes and flushed cheeks. She jerked her gloves between her hands. Something – or someone – had upset her.

  Ignoring the convention that said you don’t wear white or black to a wedding, she’d done both. She wore a figure-hugging white gown with black accessories. A tiny veiled hat nestled amongst her curls. Either accidentally – or not – she looked far more bride-like than the actual bride herself.

  There was rather a nasty pause. Daniel said, ‘Francesca?’

  She snapped, ‘What?’

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Aunt Julia walked back into the room. Any benefits she may have gained from a quiet ten minutes in the cloakroom were completely dispelled by the sight of Bad-Tempered Bridezilla glaring at her fiancé.

  She drew breath, but before she had time to utter, the doors opened again and Russell Checkland was among us.

  He was very, very, drunk. Swaying slightly, he fixed his eyes on Francesca and said, ‘I didn’t mean …’ and immediately everyone in the room realised that although they may have made separate entrances, they’d been together. And it hadn’t ended well.

  ‘Jesus,’ muttered Andrew under his breath. Tanya nudged him, none too gently, but the real star was Daniel Palmer, who, ignoring the fuming Francesca, moved forward and gently took my arm.

  ‘If you’re ready, Jenny, shall we go in?’ True, he had his own agenda, wanting Russell Checkland married off as quickly as possible, but I appreciated it, none the less.

  Russell pulled himself together, enunciating very carefully. ‘Thank you, Daniel, but I’ve got it.’

  Daniel ignored him and we entered the marriage room together, followed by Russell and Francesca and the rest of the guests.

  We dealt with the very natural confusion arising from the bride and groom having entered separately and with other partners, and the ceremony passed off without anyone disgracing themselves too much.

  Thomas stood beside me the whole time, breathing calm reassurance, helping me with the words and towards the end, asking to be congratulated on not having eaten their floral decorations.

  Russell hadn’t lost the ring and managed to get it on the right finger. He remembered my name. I suppose it was the best I could hope for.

  Aunt Julia remained rigidly silent and disapproving throughout.

  Francesca sighed loudly as I struggled.

  Christopher didn’t come. It was the only decent thing he ever did in his entire life.

  It was still raining when we left for The Red Lion, where Uncle Richard had hired a private room for a late lunch. Russell and I were booked into the honeymoon suite. The hotel staff were very sweet. We were shown into our private room and given champagne and flowers as if we were a normal couple.

  Andrew whisked Russell away. I suspected he was about to renew his acquaintance with Mr Splash of Cold Water. I supposed, somewhat drearily, I’d better get used to this. Andrew stuck his head around the door, whispered briefly to Tanya and disappeared again. She stepped magnificently into the breach.

  ‘Poor Russell has eaten something disagreeable. He asks we start without him. You will sit down.’

  We sat. I was isolated by the empty space on one side of me and Aunt Julia on the other. Francesca was opposite, very pointedly not eating anything. She turned an angry shoulder on Daniel and ignored everyone.

  Kevin hadn’t got used to unlimited food yet and ate everything in his path.

  Mrs Crisp surveyed the table with a professional eye, drank her own champagne, and started on Kevin’s.

  Tanya ventured one or two remarks but no one responded so she gave it up.

  We ate in silence. There were no toasts. There were no speeches. There was no cake. There was no groom. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

  Finally, Francesca spoke. ‘Wasn’t it funny when the registrar mistook me for the bride?’

  Aunt Julia’s hand twitched. I suspect she was fighting an urge to slap her.

  ‘I cannot see how she could make such a mistake,’ said Tanya, calmly. ‘You are far too old to be the bride.’

  Even Francesca was floored by such breathtaking rudeness. She gaped for a moment and then got to her feet, slightly less gracefully than usual.

  ‘Yes,’ said Daniel, hurling himself into another breach. ‘I think it’s about time we made a move. Jenny, congratulations again and thank you for a lovely lunch.’

  The bottom was falling out of my world, but I dragged up good manners and pride. Fortunately, no one ever expected much from me, so I simply said, ‘Thank you,’ and shook hands. They left, still not looking at each other.

  Aunt Julia collected her bag. ‘Yes, we must go before it gets dark, Richard.’

  It was half past four in the afternoon.

  I got a brief hug from her and a slightly longer one from Uncle Richard. ‘Remember what I said,’ he whispered. ‘Just one telephone call.’

  A troubled-looking Mrs Crisp took Kevin away. I smiled politely and said, ‘Thank you,’ to everyone as they left, concealing, I hoped, how desperately I wanted to be alone.

  Finally, just Tanya remained. I looked at her. She sighed heavily and fished around under the table for her shoes. Andrew reappeared at last. She stood up, her eyebrows raised in silent query.

  Andrew looke
d very tired and very fed-up. He said, ‘Jenny, I’m sorry. He’s gone. Just to walk it off, I think. He’ll be back soon.’

  Oh, my God. He was late for his own wedding, drunk at the ceremony, didn’t actually attend the reception, and then walked out. I stood in rigid humiliation.

  ‘Jenny,’ he said uncertainly, but I just wanted to be on my own.

  I made a huge effort, dragging the words from the pit of my stomach. ‘Andrew, I’m … sorry you were … stuck with this. … Tanya … thank you for your … support … today. I think I’ll … go to my room.’

  They nodded slightly, torn between relief and embarrassment.

  I left the room and silently made my way to the stairs. If the hotel staff were surprised I was making my way to the honeymoon suite alone, they were too polite to say anything.

  I wearily climbed the stairs, an unusually quiet Thomas beside me. Maybe Russell had already gone to the room.

  No, it was empty. My case stood at the bottom of the bed. I sat heavily and closed my eyes.

  Thomas said uncertainly, ‘ Jenny, it was just a little Dutch courage and he overdid it. He’ll be walking it off somewhere, you’ll see.’

  ‘No. Today was the day he realised he’d lost her for ever. Even if he ever persuades her not to marry Daniel, he’s no longer free himself. I think now he’s no longer available, she’s realised what she’s lost as well. It’s just an awful mess and today I’ve done the most stupid thing in the world. I thought I could have a normal life just like other people. What was I thinking?’

  Thomas made no answer, but my question was rhetorical anyway. I took refuge in practicality. I unpacked what I needed, undressed, and packed up my lovely dress that no one had noticed. If this was the happiest day of my life then I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of it.

  I had a long, hot bath. I was in there for nearly an hour, but still no sign of Russell. My husband. I wondered if it was worth getting used to those words.

  ‘Come on,’ said Thomas. ‘Let’s have some tea and watch Doctor Who. You’ll like that.’

  For him, I made an effort. I didn’t fancy tea, but they had hot chocolate, so I made myself a drink and curled up on the bed. Thomas stood comfortingly close and we watched Doctor Who.