The Perfect Couple

by Lisa Hall

  ‘Sorry, I got freaked out. You didn’t see anyone out there, did you?’

  ‘No?’ Amanda looks at me questioningly. ‘Em, are you sure you’re OK? You look ever so pale. I didn’t see anyone out there, not even you.’

  ‘Right. Sorry. I think I must have been imagining things. Too much booze.’ I am unable to raise anything more than a thin smile and I gesture towards the lifts. ‘I’m going to go up, if you don’t mind. I’m exhausted now.’

  I walk slowly towards the lifts, feeling like an idiot. There was no one out there, Amanda said so. There was no dark shadow chasing me. I give a little laugh as I get out of the lift and reach my room, sliding my key into the lock as my phone buzzes. It’s probably Rupert, I think, he’d asked me to text when I was back at the hotel to let him know I was all right. But when I look at the screen it’s an unknown number. I swallow, an inexplicable ripple of fear running through me. I haven’t had anything since the letter calling me a bitch, and Amanda said herself there was no one following me just now, so why do I feel so apprehensive about opening the text message? Maybe it’s Sadie, texting from one of the other’s phones – she said she was almost out of battery earlier. I’m being ridiculous, I think, but when I open the text message there is a photo. Me, in the dim light of the streetlamps, looking across the street with fear etched into my features, one hand gripping the ‘bride’ sash that lays across my shoulder. There is one word under the photograph.

  BITCH.

  I give a cry of horror, my hand flying to my mouth, before I jab a finger at the delete button, erasing my image for good.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s the first Saturday in September and I am getting married in approximately three hours. It’s only been nineteen weeks since Rupert proposed in Sadie’s garden – much to Sadie’s horror, she was under the impression that the perfect wedding would take at least a year to organize – but the day has arrived. Originally, I had thought that we wouldn’t tie the knot until the following summer, but Rupert was keen to make things official and once I had come around to the idea of a quick wedding, I had set my heart on September – my favourite month. Other people didn’t seem quite so keen.

  ‘September? Really?’ Sadie says, as I tell her and Amanda over lunch once Rupert and I have it confirmed. ‘Well… I suppose September is a nice time to do it.’

  ‘You do know Rupert and Caro got married in September?’ Amanda says, a frown creasing her brow.

  ‘I… Rupert said they were married at the end of the month. We’ll be getting married on the seventh,’ I say, my heart sinking. Once I had discovered that little fact, I wasn’t at all sure about getting married the same month as Rupert and Caro, but Rupert had told me I was being silly. That it didn’t matter what month we were married in, just that we did it soon, because he doesn’t want anyone else to snap me up. I had laughed, although if I am really, truly, honest with myself, I would have preferred a little more time. Deep down I know I am doing the right thing, but what happened with Harry has left me battle-scarred.

  ‘I suppose you must do what you feel is right,’ Sadie says, ‘if you think September is OK, then September is OK. Although personally, I always thought April was the perfect month for a wedding.’ I remember feeling relieved, as though she had given Rupert and I her blessing.

  Now, I am in a hotel room, mere hours away from saying, ‘I do’.

  ‘Hold still, let me shove these pins in.’ Sadie stands behind me in the mirror, her mouth full of bobby pins that she pokes relentlessly into the back of my up-do. ‘There. God, Em, you look stunning.’ Sadie holds a small hand mirror up to the back of my head to show me, and I preen this way and that, secretly a little amazed by the transformation I’ve undergone.

  Sadie has been a godsend helping with the wedding plans, and while I am so grateful to her for agreeing to be my Matron of Honour, I can’t help but feel a little bit odd that my Matron of Honour is a woman who I’ve only known for six months. As a child, I always thought that my wedding would be made up of family and life-long friends, but that was before my mother moved us from pillar to post, always in search of bigger and better. I think of her last wedding, the photos she had emailed over of herself in yet another ivory gown, a greying, older man at her side. I had offered to fly to Florida, to be there when she said her vows, convinced that she has finally found THE ONE, but she told me not to worry, that it was too expensive. I feel a pang of guilt when I think of Mags, the only proper friend I’ve had in recent years, before I push the thought of her away.

  ‘Sorry you had to make do with my hairdressing skills.’ Satisfied her job is done, Sadie sits on the edge of the bed and pours us both a glass of champagne. ‘I can’t believe your hairdresser let you down at the last minute. How are you feeling? Nervous?’

  I take a cautious sip, careful not to smudge my make-up. The hairdresser being a no-show, and then telling me via text that I had cancelled the booking when I had done no such thing, had my blood pressure through the roof this morning but thank God for Sadie and her willingness to help. It’s not quite how I envisaged my hair on my big day, but it’s better than anything I could have done myself. ‘No, not really. Surprisingly un-nervous, if the truth be told. That must mean I’m doing the right thing, eh?’

  ‘It’s not too late to back out,’ Amanda pipes up from where she lounges on the bed, pillows piled up behind her as she puffs on a vape, a glass of champagne in her other hand. A cloud of sickly-sweet smelling smoke surrounds her thick dark hair as she smiles, but there is a touch of something caustic in her tone.

  ‘She’s got a point. You could call it off now, there’s still time,’ Sadie says, and I think she’s joking, only she’s not smiling. ‘Only kidding, Rupert and Emily are perfect for each other, aren’t you, Em?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I let out a laugh, something made up of relief and nerves, before I take another, larger sip of wine, trying to quell the sudden fluttering in my stomach. ‘This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Rupert is everything I ever wanted.’ I honestly can’t wait until one o’clock, when I will become Mrs Milligan.

  ‘Shame your parents couldn’t be here, Emily,’ Amanda says, swinging her legs round so she is sitting up. Her hair and make-up are perfect as always, and I haven’t seen her even pick up a mascara wand since she got here. ‘We were looking forward to meeting them.’

  ‘They live in Florida,’ I say, trying not to let Amanda’s words get to me, not today. Amanda made a few comments the previous evening as we had dinner together, mentioning Rupert and Caro’s wedding a couple of times as she got more and more drunk, but I refused to react. ‘Unfortunately, they just couldn’t make it over. They had already booked a cruise.’ I had sent my mother and – Jim? Jack? I couldn’t remember his name – the clipping of my engagement from The Times but hadn’t heard anything back. I had no idea if my mother was on a cruise or not, although chances were, she was. But I didn’t want to confess that to Rupert’s family, so it was just easier to tell a white lie.

  ‘Oh, gosh. So, they booked this cruise before you even met Rupert then?’ Sadie says, her eyes widening.

  I turn my gaze back to the mirror under the pretence of checking my lipstick, and pretend I haven’t heard Sadie’s comment, my eyes flicking towards Amanda’s reflection in the glass. I think back to the image of myself in the street in Brighton, fear written all over my face, and I shake it away. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

  ‘Em, you should probably think about getting into your dress. Shall I give you a hand?’ Sadie takes one last sip of champagne and places her empty glass on the bureau, as Amanda gets up and stretches.

  ‘I need to get dressed. I’ll be next door if you need me. Emily, I’ll see you at the church.’ She stalks away, her legs even longer than usual in her tiny hotel dressing gown. I say nothing, but watch her leave, feeling myself exhale as the door closes behind her.

  ‘Now.’ Keen to dissipate the tension that thickens the air, Sadie bustles over
to the wardrobe to where my dress hangs – the dress it has taken us hours to decide on. It’s a simple, elegant Grecian style dress that would be better suited to a beach wedding – at least that’s what I thought at first glance, but Sadie was adamant I should try it on – and I fell in love with it as soon as the silky fabric pooled over my body. ‘Let’s get you into this dress. You’re going to look amazing – Rupert won’t know what hit him.’

  The ceremony goes off without a hitch, even though I am nervous all the way through that I’ll stumble over my words or call Rupert by the wrong name. The butterflies in my stomach only fade away when the vicar announces that Rupert ‘may now kiss the bride’ and Rupert turns to me, bending me backwards from the waist in his arms as he presses his mouth to mine. I am flushed and laughing when he pulls me upright, my bouquet almost tumbling out of my arms. I grin at him, mouthing the words, ‘I love you,’ relieved that it is done, that our fate together is sealed. My legs turn to jelly as Rupert smiles back at me, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me close. When the vicar turns to the congregation and says, ‘May I present to you, Mr and Mrs Milligan,’ the church full of family and friends cheer, and Rupert raises my hand in his in a gesture of celebration.

  But as we descend down the steps into the aisle, I can’t help but feel a sharp pang as I realize that I don’t have a single person there just for me. No family, and without Mags, no friend. I blink back the tears that spring to my eyes, telling myself they are ‘happy tears’, because I finally found what I’ve spent my life searching for, and I follow my husband out into the bright September sunshine.

  Later, after a meze meal – I didn’t want to force our guests into a three-course dinner, not in the prolonged heat that means glorious wedding day weather – Will makes a speech, welcoming me into the family, which moves me to tears. Knowing how close they all were to Caro, I am aware that some people thought Rupert might be making a mistake, moving too fast, but there is no sign of that, not today, and I feel the warm arms of acceptance around me. Gathering up my dress so I don’t trip, I stand, a hush falling over the room. I see Rupert’s mother glance at his father – quite clearly, the bride making a speech isn’t really the done thing.

  ‘I know this is unusual, but in my father’s absence I thought perhaps I should make a speech. Rupert,’ I look down at him, a fond smile creeping across my face, ‘Mr Milligan. My husband.’ I press my hands to my face in glee as a ripple of laughter fills the room. ‘Today is the start of the rest of our lives together, and it honestly couldn’t have been more perfect. The sun came out, you look adorable, and all of our family and friends are here to celebrate with us. It’s no secret to the people in this room that you have been through some hard times, and we haven’t known each other for as long as is perhaps expected, but I want you to know that I adore you. I am so ready for our life together. This is all I’ve ever wanted, and after kissing a few frogs, I finally met my prince. I’m so glad I applied for that job – even if I’m not quite as good at cleaning as I made myself out to be.’ Another swell of quiet laughter. ‘To us, Rupert, and our perfect life together.’ I clink my champagne glass against his and lean down to kiss him, feeling giddy with happiness. The room erupts with applause and as I sit back down, I see Sadie discreetly dab at her eyes with a napkin.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the band are here, and I think it’s about time I took my bride onto the floor for our first dance.’ Rupert stands and holds his hand out to me. ‘What do you say, Mrs Milligan?’

  ‘Definitely time,’ I laugh up at him and get to my feet, kicking off the tiny heeled pumps that Sadie picked out for me to wear. Following Rupert onto the dance floor as someone, somewhere, dims the lights, I loop my arms around his neck before stiffening as the first strains of music reaches my ears.

  ‘What?’ Rupert stops, frowning as I tug my arms away, my hands flying to my mouth as my brow creases. The song is ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John.

  ‘This isn’t our song,’ I gasp in confusion, looking up at Rupert. His face is like thunder as he gestures to Will to get the band to cut the music. ‘Rupert, did you ask them to change our song?’ The music carries on, as Will is forced to mount the stage and physically tap the singer on the shoulder.

  ‘No, Emily, I wouldn’t do that. I take it you didn’t either?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t.’ I press my hands against my stomach, each chord striking my skin like a thousand tiny needles. Finally, the music changes, the first notes of ‘At Last’ by Etta James fill the room and Rupert pulls me back into his arms. I try to go with it, but although my feet are moving, I am stiff, my joints like cardboard.

  ‘Darling, try and enjoy it. This is our first dance, everyone is watching. I’m sorry about the mistake, I don’t know what happened,’ Rupert murmurs into my ear, and to anyone watching it looks as though he’s whispering sweet nothings.

  ‘Relax?’ I whisper back, pinning a smile onto my face, even though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing. The moment has been spoiled now. ‘That was the song you had your first dance to with Caro, wasn’t it?’ I try to swallow down the tears that make it difficult to speak. ‘Amanda mentioned it when we were discussing what song we were going to have over lunch one day.’

  ‘Oh, Em, I really am sorry. I have no idea how this happened. You must know I would never have changed the song, not without talking to you, and certainly not to that song.’

  ‘No. No, of course I know that.’ I take a deep breath, trying to push away the anger that bubbles beneath the surface. ‘But if you didn’t change it, and I didn’t change it, then who did? Someone here must have done it deliberately to upset me. You. Us.’

  I haven’t told him about the letter, or the text message I received in Brighton, worried as I am that it might be Harry trying to get in contact with me, but now I’m regretting it. I should have showed him – maybe then he would realize just why I’m so upset now.

  ‘No one would do that – they’re our friends, Em! It’s more likely the band got us mixed up with another couple. It’s the end of the wedding season, darling, there are bound to be a few hiccups. Please, let’s just forget it, and enjoy our day. Yes?’ He nuzzles into my neck as he whisks me across the floor and I can’t help but melt a little. I don’t want to argue with him, especially not on our wedding day and in front of our guests, so I just nod in agreement, forcing a smile and giving our guests a little bow at the end of the dance.

  Once I see that Rupert is busy talking to some old university friends, I take a moment when the band are on a break to snag the singer and ask him about the song change.

  ‘You asked me to change it,’ he says, slightly belligerently.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ I inject a note of steel into my voice, one hundred per cent certain that I never requested for the song to be changed.

  ‘You did,’ the singer argues, ‘you left me a note on top of the speaker. Here.’ He fumbles in his pocket, bringing out a crumpled piece of paper that looks as though it has been torn from a notepad, the kind I remember my grandmother using to send airmail letters to her sister in Canada. As he unfolds the pale blue sheet, I see the words:

  CHANGE OF PLAN! PLEASE PLAY ‘TINY

  DANCER’ – ELTON JOHN AS FIRST DANCE!

  SORRY FOR THE SHORT NOTICE. E.

  The writing is all block capitals, and although I don’t think I can recognize it, I know it isn’t mine and while I can’t be certain, I’m pretty sure it’s not Rupert’s.

  ‘Right. Thank you. I’m sorry for the confusion.’ Ignoring his puzzled look, I take the note from him and plastering yet another fake smile on my face, quickly cross the dance floor, stopping to snag my shoes from under the top table, and march out into the evening.

  I lock myself in the posh block of portaloos in the garden, my hands shaking slightly as I slide the lock to the cubicle closed. I thank God silently that Rupert had insisted on the most expensive block, the ones with mirrors and cubicles and actual tiny sinks with jars of
pot pourri on top of them. Alone, I open the note again, my eyes scanning over the words as I rack my brains to think who could have done something this cruel. It was intentional, there’s no doubt about it, but I think that hopefully, Rupert and I reacted in such a way that everyone else must have thought it was an error on the band’s part. I am so engrossed in trying to work out who requested that the song be changed, that I don’t realize I am no longer alone in the portaloo until I hear my name.

  ‘That must be Emily’s idea.’ A woman’s voice, thin and reedy with that plummy undertone that all Rupert’s friends seem to have, but I’m not sure I recognize it.

  ‘Oh, of course. Why else would Rupert drop the Osbourne? Becoming Osbourne-Milligan was Caro’s idea, wasn’t it? And Rupert carried on being Osbourne-Milligan after she died. Definitely Emily’s idea.’

  I sit bolt upright on the closed toilet seat, tucking my dress out of the way and drawing my feet up so the cubicle appears empty. I hold my breath, afraid of giving myself away.

  ‘What do you think of her anyway? It’s all a bit quick, isn’t it?’ A smacking sound, like someone is refreshing their lipstick.

  ‘Rupert on the rebound, do you think? Or maybe she’s just after the money. Caro left him at least a couple of mill, I’m sure.’ A spritz, and then a sickly-sweet perfume wafts on the air, catching in the back of my throat. BITCH. The word floats through my mind and I have to bite down on my tongue, to tamp down the fury that rises as I listen to the women tear me apart just feet away.

  ‘Of course, Rupert is very attractive. He was bound to move on sooner rather than later. Although he was devastated at what happened with Caro. I was at the party that night, you know.’

  I hear a gasp of delicious shock from the other woman, and I shift slightly, my nerve endings singing. The party. Someone else had made mention of a party just before Caro died. I lean forward as far as I dare, trying to hear what they say next.