by Sandie Jones
If he noticed the intonation, he didn’t say. ‘They think it must have been a case of dehydration. She’s admitted to not looking after herself these past few days, being all stressed about the party and forgetting to eat and drink. She’s then gone and chucked back a couple of glasses of wine and it was goodnight-vienna.’
‘Wow, so that’s all it was?’ I managed.
‘Well, not exactly, dehydration is pretty serious in itself, but they’ve got her wired up to a saline drip and say she can leave as soon as the bag’s finished. I’m going to bring her back to ours for a few days, just so she can rest and I can keep an eye on her.’
I could feel the sting of tears at the back of my throat. ‘Why can’t James look after her?’ I blurted out, before I could stop myself.
‘James?’ he questioned, his tone a little tighter. ‘Because he’s busy and he’s got enough to deal with. That girlfriend of his is still giving him the run-around and I don’t think work is going too well. Anyway, we’ve got a spare bedroom now, thank God, so let’s put it to use.’
‘I assume she’s going to let us sleep together at ours?’ I asked curtly, trying to keep my selfish misery from creeping in.
He laughed, but it sounded empty. ‘I think she’s going to have to, don’t you? Now that you’re about to become Mrs Banks.’
I smiled through my tears, desperately trying to remember the moment he’d proposed; the moment that I’d spent years dreaming about. As a child, I’d imagined my prince going down on one knee and asking me to be his wife in front of thousands of people gathered in a town square. I’d had romantic notions of a cathedral wedding, with me dressed in vintage lace with a train the length of Princess Diana’s – Mum had been a huge fan of hers, and I remember the Sunday morning that she had woken me up, with tears streaming down her face, to tell me that the Princess had died. We sat in front of the TV all day, along with millions of others, praying that someone had got it wrong. I was too young to understand who she was and how big a deal it was, but I remember being mesmerized by the clips of her wedding to Prince Charles – by how beautiful she was, and how magical her day had been. I’d spent weeks walking up and down the landing in a white Disney gown retrieved from the bottom of my dressing-up box, with a sheet pegged to the back of it. Whilst I was in cloud cuckoo land, my dad was complaining to anyone who would listen that I was a fire risk, and Stuart was trying to relieve himself of his obligatory role as chief bridesmaid just as soon as he could.
I’d always assumed that when my moment came, it would be ingrained in my memory forever, be something I could tell my children and grandchildren about. I’d recount how I’d proudly shown off the promise of betrothal as it sparkled on my finger. How I’d looked deep into my fiancé’s eyes before whispering yes. The excitement of family and friends as they rushed to congratulate us and ask when the impending nuptials were likely to be.
Yet here I am, just a few hours later, barely able to recall if it had ever happened. I must have said yes; I had the ring to prove it. But as Pammie’s collapse had happened at precisely the same time, I couldn’t picture anything but the shock and horror etched on people’s faces, and the ensuing panic thereafter. It was as if our moment had never happened at all.
‘Might you stay up? Wait for us to get home?’ Adam asked.
I absently looked at my watch and acknowledged that it was three minutes later than the last time I checked. It didn’t matter. Even though it was now Saturday, and usually a work day for me, I’d already booked it off as holiday. Though I’d presumed I’d be sleeping off a monster hangover, rather than staying up on my own, into the early hours, wondering whether my future mother in-law was going to last the night.
‘I’ll try,’ I managed, ‘but I can’t promise anything.’
‘It’s been a hell of a night.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I was hoping we might be able to consummate our engagement.’
It was a statement rather than a question. I wondered how he could even think about sex at a time like this. But I guess in any other circumstances, it would have been a given. No doubt we would have spent the night and the entire following day in bed, alternating between making love and looking at wedding venues on our iPads. I couldn’t imagine doing either of those now. I guess that must be one of the fundamental differences between how the male and female minds work.
‘We’ll see,’ I said.
I put the phone down, poured myself another glass of wine, and sobbed hot selfish tears. Pity wasn’t an emotion I often applied to myself, but it was the only one that I could relate to. I didn’t feel happy or sad, I just felt incredibly sorry for myself, numb from the resounding questions spinning in my head. What had I done to deserve this? Was I really the best thing that had ever happened to Adam? Why did Pammie hate me so much?
But the question that banged on the door the loudest, the one I refused to let in, was: did she do it on purpose?
13
True to form, from the moment she’d arrived, Pammie had dominated our very existence, from moaning about the flat’s temperature, to pulling a sulky face when Adam told her I’d made up the spare bedroom for her.
‘But it’s a single bed,’ she whined. ‘A put-you-up, no less. I won’t get a wink of sleep in that.’
I knew what was coming before Adam even opened his mouth.
‘Okay, why don’t you go in our bed and Em can sleep in here?’ I could feel him looking at me to gauge my reaction.
‘Oh no, I can’t put you out like that. Why don’t you just take me home? I’ll be fine there.’
I plumped up the pillows, willing myself to turn the conversation off in my head. I needed space. I needed to get out of there.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Adam. ‘That’s not a problem, is it, Em?’
I shook my head, still not looking at him. I didn’t want to watch him as he pathetically grovelled to her.
‘But where will you go?’ she asked.
‘I can bed down on the sofa for a few nights. It’s honestly not a problem.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ she went on. ‘I really don’t want to put anybody out.’ How ironic, given that it seemed that that was precisely what she was put on earth to do.
Three days later, when she cleared the top of my dressing table into a box and replaced my lotions and potions with her own toiletries, I turned up on Seb’s doorstep. ‘I can’t cope anymore. Can I stay at yours for a couple of nights, just till she goes home?’
‘Of course you can,’ he said, ‘but are you sure it’s the right thing to do? You’re a proper couple now, not just playing at it. You’re getting married, for God’s sake, so you need to work through this together.’
‘There is no “together” when it comes to his mum,’ I complained. ‘It’s me against them. They come as a pair. He just doesn’t see what she does and how she behaves.’
Seb let out a heavy sigh. ‘Maybe he knows exactly what she’s like and chooses to ignore it.’
I slumped back into his sofa, laying my head on its orange upholstery, remembering the night before. ‘I do hope that’s organic mince you’re using?’ she’d sniffed haughtily as she watched me stirring bolognese. ‘It’s what Adam prefers, and is so much better for him.’
‘It’s also three times the price,’ I’d reminded her, wondering if ‘organic’ had even been invented when Adam was still living at home.
‘I’ve spoken to Adam twice today but I forgot to ask him what time he’ll be home.’ She’d then laughed, underlining how close they were. It wasn’t lost on me that when I’d called him at lunchtime, he was too busy to speak, but not, it seemed, to her. Twice.
‘He’s working late,’ I’d said abruptly. ‘He’ll be home around ten.’
‘Do you not worry about him working such long hours?’ she’d said.
I know I shouldn’t rise to it, and I’m all too aware that I give her what she wants, but I almost want to test how much she knows. To see if she really does know more about Adam than I do.
‘Why would I worry?’ I’d said.
‘Well, just that he’s doing what he says he’s doing.’ She’d smirked. ‘You never know what these young men get up to, especially someone as handsome as my Adam.’
I silently mimicked ‘my Adam’ as I continued to stir the bolognese, more furiously than before.
What was I supposed to say to that? What did she want me to say? That, up until now, it hadn’t even occurred to me? But, hey, now you come to mention it, you could be right. Maybe he is screwing his twenty-two-year-old blonde colleague.
Instead, I’d said, ‘He’s got a lot on at the moment, but normally he’s home by now.’ Feeling as if I somehow needed to validate him, his work, and our relationship. To offer an excuse for something he so often did, which, until now, I’d not questioned. Largely.
‘That may be so,’ she’d said. ‘But you need to be careful if he’s feeling stressed. He only needs someone at work to turn his head and he’ll be gone. It happens so easily these days.’
I sank further into Seb’s sofa, brought my hands over my face, and let out a frustrated scream.
‘She’s undermining me in front of him all the time. But does he pick up on it? Does he say anything to her? Of course not.’
‘He just wants an easy life, Em,’ said Seb. ‘It’s probably his way of placating her. He’s known her a long time, so we’ve got to assume that he knows what works and what doesn’t.’
‘But it’s not about placating her. It’s about standing up for me, the woman he supposedly wants to marry. Honestly, Seb, I’m really not sure I can go ahead if it stays the way it is.’
‘Well, then, you’ve got to talk to him. Tell him exactly how you feel and how you need his support and backup on this issue.’
I nodded sagely.
‘It’s important, Em. This should be one of the happiest times of your life. You’ve got a great new flat together, he’s gone and put a ring on it, and you’re supposed to be planning your wedding. This is your happy time.’
‘I know.’ I sighed. ‘I will talk to him. I have to. But can I stay here? Just for tonight?’
He nodded and went off to fetch another bottle of wine from the kitchen while I called Adam.
‘What do you mean you’re staying there?’ he barked down the phone.
‘I don’t want to argue,’ I said wearily. ‘We’re busy chatting and it’s getting late. I’ll pop back in the morning to get ready for work.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for you to stay there.’
‘Adam, I’m tired, and to be honest, I need a break, just for tonight. It’s gone ten already so it’s not as if you’re going to miss me.’
‘Get yourself home now,’ he said, before putting the phone down.
A burning sensation raged in my throat and hot tears sprang to my eyes. I battled to hold them back, but as soon as Seb walked back in the room, they sprang onto my cheeks.
‘Hey, what on earth’s the matter?’ he said, pulling me towards him, the bottle still in his hand. ‘What’s happened?’
‘He just . . . doesn’t understand,’ I said, between sobs.
‘Come on now,’ soothed Seb. ‘Stay here tonight and everything will feel better in the morning. I promise.’
‘I can’t . . . I’ve got to go home . . .’ I stuttered. I would have given anything to stay in Seb’s embrace – it felt safe – but I had to go home. Adam was right.
Two days have since passed, and I still haven’t had the guts to say anything. Not because I’m worried I’m wrong, or I’m scared of Pammie finding out, but I just can’t call which way Adam is going to go on this. How crazy is that? That I honestly don’t know how the man I love, more than life itself, is going to react. And therein lies the problem: however long I’ve known him and however much I love him, I’ll never be able to compete with his own mother. They have a bond like no other, one that simply cannot be broken or even tampered with.
‘Emily, Emily.’ I could hear her calling but needed to take one more deep breath before I answered.
‘Yes, Pammie?’
‘Be a love and pop the kettle on. I’m parched.’
I’d literally just walked through the front door. I was still in my coat, drenched from the sudden downpour that had started the minute I got off the train. She must have heard me as I struggled with the lock. I’d have to get the landlord to take a look at it before it seized up altogether.
I counted to ten and walked into the kitchen. All I wanted to do was pull out every sodding piece of crockery and smash it all over the floor. But, instead, I carefully placed her favourite cup onto the granite worktop and silently wondered how easy it would be to administer cyanide.
‘Oh, you are a dear,’ she said, shuffling in, much slower than I’m sure she was capable of.
‘How’s your day been?’ she asked, but I didn’t have time to answer. ‘You’ll see I did the washing up that was left from last night,’ she went on, picking up a cloth and wiping down the spotless surfaces. ‘If you leave that sort of thing lying around for too long, you’ll end up with all kinds of pests, and I doubt your landlord would be too happy with that. He’s probably got enough on his plate with that Italian restaurant downstairs. The mess and rubbish they leave out back is shocking. They’ll have rats running amok all over the place.’
I gave her a fixed grin. It had been a long day, and all I wanted to do was have a bath, get my pyjamas on, and chill out on the sofa with a box set. Sex with my fiancé, for the first time in almost a week – in fact, since he’d proposed – would have been high on my to-do list as well, but seeing as he was out on a work do, and we had the devil incarnate sleeping in our bed, the chance of any intimacy was highly unlikely.
‘Oh, you’ve got your hair different,’ she said, as if seeing me for the first time. ‘What have you done to it? Ooh no, I don’t like that. I prefer it the other way. The way you usually have it.’
‘I just got caught in the rain,’ I said wearily. ‘It goes a lot curlier when it’s wet.’
She gave a little snigger. ‘Don’t be letting Adam see you like that. He’ll wonder what on earth he’s let himself in for.’
My coat still on, I poured myself a glass of wine from the fridge and headed to the bathroom.
‘It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?’ was the last thing I heard before I slammed the door shut.
14
I waited up for Adam. His mother and I had spent the entire evening in a power struggle of the pettiest nature. From what we were having for tea, to who was in charge of the remote – anything that required a decision had us both vying for control. It was pathetic, and took me back to when I was a girl on the cusp of puberty, battling against the iron will of my ten-year-old brother.
‘But you promised,’ Stuart would whine, as I flicked over to Blue Peter. ‘You said I could watch Byker Grove tonight. You pinkie-promised.’
‘Did no such thing,’ I’d snarl.
‘Yes, you did. You watched Blue Peter yesterday. It’s my turn today.’
I’d glare back at him. I glared a lot during those years. A sullen look seemed to garner a far better response than the confused vocabulary that often spilled out of my mouth. The thoughts I had in my head rarely had any correlation to how they were voiced.
I find myself sulking again tonight, with Pammie, who I’ve now decided to refer to as Pamela, as it suits her better; it’s not nearly as friendly or affectionate-sounding. I also happen to know she hates it.
‘There’s a programme I wanted to watch tonight,’ she said.
‘Oh, me too,’ I replied, surreptitiously reaching for the remote on the sofa between us. ‘What’s it called?’
‘Britain’s Biggest Scams, or something like that.’
‘Ah, mine’s a drama.’ I feverishly flicked through the channels searching for anything that sounded or looked vaguely dramatic. I reluctantly settled on a repeat of Pride and Prejudice, something so far off my wish list that
, if Adam had been there, he would have referred to it as ‘my worst nightmare’. But such was the underlying battle of wills between us, that I would have gladly watched anything rather than let her get her own way.
‘Why don’t you go to bed?’ she said, half an hour later, as my eyes began to close and I loosened my grip on the remote, feeling it sliding towards the chasm between us.
Her voice coursed through me, bringing me back into the room.
‘What? Why?’
She laughed. ‘You’re obviously tired out. Go to bed, I’ll stay up for Adam.’
‘He’s thirty years old, Pamela’ – I saw her wince – ‘neither of us needs to stay up for him, least of all his mother.’
‘I always used to wait up for my Jim,’ she said.
‘He was your husband.’
‘And soon, Adam will be yours. It’s what a wife’s supposed to do. Not a single night went by when I’d go to bed without him.’
‘I suppose you put a ribbon in your hair as well, did you?’ I mumbled.
‘What?’
‘I think you’ll find times have changed since you were married.’
‘I’ll have you know I’m still married, young lady. And if you plan on your marriage surviving much past a year, you’d do well to take a leaf out of my book. You should be subservient. You shouldn’t even be out there working all the hours that you do. A woman’s place is in the home.’
I let out a loud guffaw. ‘Talking of home, when do you plan on returning to yours? You’ll have been here a week tomorrow.’
She made a grab for the remote control resting on my knee. I got there first. This was ridiculous.
‘When Adam is happy for me to,’ she snapped.
‘Adam? It’s not his decision.’
‘We spoke a couple of days ago.’ Her tone was conspiratorial, intended to let me know that they’d had a conversation which I had no part in. ‘And he said he feels more comfortable knowing I’m here, where he can look after me.’
But he’s not looking after you, I am, I thought bitterly.
