by Dani Atkins
My hand gripped tightly on the door knocker, as a fleeting glimmer of hope ran through me. Perhaps they too had moved? Sarah had never said but then we hadn’t spoken of his family at all in the intervening years. Some wounds just go too deep.
If she was shocked by my appearance on her doorstep after a five-year absence, she hid it well. She also hid her reaction to my damaged face, which I knew she must have noticed with the wind whipping my hair about my head in long chestnut banners. I hoped I was as good at masking my own shock when I saw how much she had aged in the intervening years. Although she smiled and reached out to envelope me in a welcoming hug, the grief was so deeply etched into her face that I realised no new emotion was ever going to be powerful enough to erase it. Guilt sliced through me like a knife wound. It was my fault she looked like that. My fault she had lost her son.
It hadn’t been an easy afternoon, and by the time I got back to the hotel, the tension and the emotions of the day had brought my headache to a never-before-experienced crescendo of agony. My first action on returning to my room was to blindly fumble in my toiletry bag for the bottle of pills. I ignored the dosage instructions on the label and immediately dry-swallowed two tablets instead of one. As I waited for the medication to kick in, I ran a deep hot bath in the small white-tiled bathroom.
The headache was still with me as I slid under the fragrantly perfumed water; slightly better when I emerged pink and beginning to shrivel almost half an hour later, and back to a manageable dull ache when I realised it was already time to get ready for the evening ahead.
I tried to keep my mind away from my visit with Jimmy’s mother, knowing there was much I needed to consider about what she had said that day, and knowing too that this night was not the time to do so. I couldn’t afford myself the luxury of thinking of that now. First, we all had to face the night ahead; a night of reunion and a time of celebration, all the while trying to ignore the fact that, for the first time, we would be meeting as six instead of seven.
‘Baby steps,’ I murmured again to myself as I settled before the dressing table and began to apply my make-up.
Sarah had chosen the location for the dinner well. We were booked at a fancy restaurant on the other side of town. A place far too expensive and sophisticated to have been visited by us in our student days. I got there deliberately early, a good thirty minutes before our allocated time, hoping it would give me some sort of mental advantage. Having given Sarah’s name to the maître d’, I declined the suggestion to wait at the bar and asked instead to be seated straight away.
I was ushered to a large circular table in the far corner of the restaurant. I chose a chair facing the doorway, wanting the advantage of being able to see who would arrive next. I could certainly have done without the large mirrored wall directly opposite our table though. I’d already spent far too much time stressing over my reflection in the hotel room, I didn’t really need the indulgence of another half-hour of wondering whether my choice of midnight blue dress with the deep V neckline had been the right one. Having brought no alternative for the evening, there wasn’t really much I could do about it either way. Nervously I kept checking my reflection, each time pulling my hair forward, making sure it swung deeply across my cheek.
Phil was the first to arrive, looking tanned and much more muscled and broad-shouldered than I had remembered. He crushed me to him in such a bear hug of an embrace, I felt sure some ribs were going to give way in the process.
‘OK, need to breathe now.’ He laughed and released me, sliding into the chair beside me.
‘You’re looking good, Rachel,’ he began, and I had to almost sit on my hand to stop myself from automatically reaching up to check my hair was still hiding my face. If he noticed, he was too polite to say. ‘It’s been way too long. How have you been? Are you still living in Devon?’
We filled in the gaps in our histories, keeping it light, and his story was sufficiently varied to take us through until the next arrival: Trevor and his partner Kate. I didn’t know that Sarah had invited partners, but as I introduced myself, after receiving a lift-you-off-your-feet hug from her boyfriend, I realised that Sarah had been wise to have included outsiders at our group’s reunion. Somehow new faces would take the pressure off.
For the first time I counted up the place settings at the table, and wondered who the extra seat was for. I didn’t have to wait long to find out, for Sarah burst into the restaurant with an infectious grin, a bundle of Getting Married helium balloons and her fiancé Dave in tow.
‘Who brings their fiancé to their hen night?’ joked Phil, standing up to shake Dave’s hand warmly in greeting.
‘What can I say? He just can’t bear to be apart from me.’
I gave her my warmest smile and then nodded my head towards the balloons.
‘Classy.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Well this is a really nice place,’ pronounced Dave, pulling out a chair for Sarah before settling himself closely beside her. ‘Very posh.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she confirmed, and then stage-whispered across to me, ‘Better get on the phone and cancel that “entertainment”, Rach.’
By this time, Trevor had been approached by the wine waiter and while a discussion ensued over what to order, Sarah took the opportunity to lean over and whisper in my ear.
‘How are you doing, hon? Really.’
‘Hanging in there,’ I whispered back, and when I saw the concern cloud her brow, I knew I had to try harder. ‘I’m fine, stop worrying about me.’ She gave my hand a quick squeeze and leant back in her chair.
The first awkward moment occurred shortly after our chosen drinks were delivered to our table.
‘So who are we missing then?’ asked Trevor blithely and an uncomfortable silence ricocheted between us as the double-meaning of his innocent remark hit home.
‘Matt and Cathy said they might be a little late,’ Sarah quickly supplied and Dave, who really was in tune with his future wife, immediately forestalled any awkward moment by embarking on a long and improbable story about his recent experience with a parking attendant.
We were all still laughing when I noticed a few diners at other tables glancing up in appreciation towards the entrance to the restaurant. Without looking up, I knew they had arrived. Individually they had both always had the ability to turn heads, I knew that only too well from my own time spent by Matt’s side. Together they were phenomenal. Magazine-photo perfect. Movie-star beautiful. The combination was almost breathtaking and as they made their way towards us I noted that they both looked, if anything, even more stunning than they had five years earlier. I’d never felt so plain in my entire life. And empty. Because I knew that in another life, with another turn of the dice, there would have been someone sitting at this table to reassure me that was simply not so.
Cathy had dressed to stun, that much was obvious. The figure-hugging black halter-neck dress did exactly what it was supposed to do; the neckline and thigh-high split simultaneously allowing tantalising glimpses of both cleavage and long tanned legs. Her hair was blonder than I remembered and fluffed to perfection about her face. But it was Matt who drew my eye; who had always drawn my eye, I admitted honestly. Like Phil, he too looked taller and broader than my remembered image. His dark suit and crisp white shirt looked expensive, and from their immaculate fit I guessed they hadn’t been bought off the peg. His face was leaner, more chiselled than it had been, although his eyes, as they met mine and smiled in greeting, were still the same. I tried to smile convincingly back, thinking suddenly that this was just like earlier today when I had stood before my old house; that strange feeling that here was something that was mine, but yet clearly wasn’t mine all in the same moment.
There was the usual round of greetings and I was glad of the flurry of hugs, handshakes and hellos, for it meant that by the time Matt leant down to kiss me lightly on the cheek, I had pretty much suppressed my purely hormonal reaction at seeing him again. Cathy too leant over to kiss me he
llo, and I saw something unreadable flicker behind her eyes as she took in my scarred face. Not that the scar itself should be a shock to any one of them. They had all visited me in hospital many times in the immediate aftermath of the accident. Until I had driven them all away, that was.
The evening was a success and a failure both at the same time. On the surface we all appeared to be playing our roles just fine. There was the happy couple-to-be, surrounded by their old friends, gathered together from far and wide to wish them well. But it felt like we were all second-rate actors in a rather unoriginal play. We all said the right things, raised our glasses for toasts at the appropriate moments, but somehow the effort of not saying something about the last time we had all sat together around a dining table together was so immense that it suffocated any real pleasure out of the evening. I wondered how it felt to Kate and Dave and if they were aware of that too.
I had assumed, wrongly, that most of the old group had still met up during their university breaks, so it was surprising to learn that although they had seen each other in ones and twos, not once had there been an event where everyone had been together in one place. I hadn’t known that the loss of Jimmy and my own disappearance had so effectively caused the glue between us to dissolve.
At least there were no awkward gaps in the conversation to contend with. There was enough ground to cover in bringing everyone up to date with their lives that silence wasn’t the problem. We learnt that Matt had been working in his family’s business since finishing uni and Cathy was something in PR – she did explain it, but to be honest I wasn’t listening properly. I was far more fascinated with her body language than the words she was actually saying. From the moment she had sat down at the table, her every action seemed to screech out her possession of Matt. She was all but entwined around him as we waited to be served. In fact, given that most of her limbs seemed to be twisted in some way around his, I couldn’t help wondering if she’d have an arm free to eat at all. And the weird thing was, I knew this show of display was all for me. But why? It had been years since Matt and I had broken up. Broken apart, in fact, would be a better way to describe it. And after several excruciatingly painful and abortive attempts, he had finally stopped trying get in touch in the hope that I was going to change my mind. I’d made it perfectly clear that I didn’t want him in my life. And it was as true today as it had been back then, so what was with Cathy’s astonishing behaviour?
As our last course was cleared discreetly away, the wine waiter appeared at my elbow to refill my glass. I quickly covered its surface with my hand.
‘No, no more for me, thank you.’
‘You’re not driving, are you?’ queried Trevor, who clearly had no intention of abstaining from any proffered alcoholic beverage.
‘No, I came by taxi,’ I replied. I’d been wondering when someone was going to notice that I’d had no more than a couple of sips of wine all night. ‘I just think I’m going to need a clear head to cope with Sarah tomorrow. If not, she’ll drive me totally crazy.’
Sarah pretended to look offended and everyone laughed. They all seemed to accept the lie. In truth, I was worried to drink any alcohol at all after the amount of painkillers I’d taken that day. And then, as if by thinking of it I’d woken a sleeping dragon, my headache flared up again in a sudden blazing torch of agony. I got to my feet, hoping nobody had noticed that I’d needed to rest my hands on the table to steady myself.
‘If you’ll excuse me a moment,’ I said to no one in particular, and using every effort in my power I walked, in what I hoped was a straight line, towards the Ladies.
Once safely in the rather opulent cloakroom, I let out a long shaky sigh of relief and lowered myself gently onto a small velvet-covered bench. The pain was still searingly strong behind my eyes; so intense that my vision was begin to blur at the edges. It had only been this severe and intense a couple of times before, and I’d had much more warning on those occasions. Never before had the pain just erupted as it had done just now. I didn’t doubt for a minute that the tension I’d been under all day had probably not helped the situation.
My fingers felt oddly shaky as I reached into my handbag for my pills. I almost cried in frustration as the childproof cap nearly defeated me, cracking my fingernail in my haste to prise open the container. Two pills again, once more without water. I closed my eyes against the brightly lit room and waited until I felt a little more in control.
I knew now that the time for putting off those hospital tests was long past. This wasn’t just going to go away by itself. However frightening the results might be, something was seriously wrong and not knowing exactly what it was wasn’t going to make it any better. There was, I supposed, some sort of black irony in realising I was still suffering from the effects of my injuries during the one and only time I’d returned to the place where I had sustained them.
Just let me get through this wedding weekend, I promised myself, and I’ll make the appointment first thing on Monday.
By now I realised I had probably exceeded the amount of time I could reasonably be in the Ladies without having Sarah come looking for me. I didn’t want her to think the reason I’d been missing so long had anything to do with tonight’s territorial display put on by Cathy. And I certainly didn’t want her to come in and figure out the real reason was because I was suddenly terrified there was something seriously wrong with me.
I got to my feet and was pleased to find that I didn’t feel nearly as shaky as I had before and my vision was no longer blurred. I rinsed my hands under cool water and then carefully saturated and squeezed out one of the small folded flannel towels from the basket beside the basins and pressed the wadded cloth against my forehead. I was on the point of leaving to return to the others when the door of the cloakroom swung open and Cathy walked in.
‘Everything OK?’ she asked, and though she’d used the right words the tone was all wrong. Or perhaps it was just that her eyes held zero interest in my response. When had Cathy become so hard? Sure, there had always been an abrasive side to her, but we’d still been friends. What had I done to her to warrant this attitude? If anything, she should be grateful. It was clear she had always been interested in Matt; so I’d have thought she’d have been pleased that I’d voluntarily taken myself out of the picture on that score. And besides, that was all years ago. Teenage stuff. Surely we were beyond all that now?
‘I’m fine. Just a little tired, it’s been a hectic week at work,’ I fabricated.
‘Sorry, what did you say you do again?’ Nice to know she’d been paying attention when I’d been talking about it earlier.
‘I’m a secretary.’
‘Oh, yes. Never did get to go into journalism then? That was what you were going to do, wasn’t it?’
Bitch. How could she be so thoughtless? Surely she knew only too well why and how my plans for that particular life had been cut short and how I’d never been able to go to university as had been intended.
‘No.’ I hoped my voice sounded less venomous in reality than it did in my head. ‘Obviously everything changed after…’
She nodded, and may have looked just the smallest bit shamefaced for the clumsy way she had forced the topic in a difficult direction. But just when I thought she might be showing just a modicum of compassion, that was completely obliterated when she made a great show of brushing back her blond mane of hair from her perfectly immaculate face and leaning closer to the mirror as though scrutinising for imperfections. There were none, I could have told her that. Whatever she saw, be it her own perfect reflection or my own scar-damaged one, the malice seemed to instantly dissipate. Clearly deciding that there was no competition to be feared here, she turned and gave me an artless smile.
‘I hope you won’t take offence, Rachel, but have you ever thought of seeing someone to see if something could be done about your face? You used to be such a pretty girl.’
Her use of the past tense was certainly not lost on me. For a wicked moment I considered playing
dumb and innocently asking: ‘My face? Why? Is there something wrong with it?’ But I didn’t. And anyway, as much as I was unhappy with the way I looked, I had no intention of visiting any plastic surgeon she was about to recommend to me. And I’d be crazy if I expected the shallow and unthinking person Cathy seemed to have become to understand that the problem wasn’t that nothing could be done, but more that I didn’t feel I deserved to have things improved. Certainly my father and Sarah, who had both raised this topic years before (with a great deal more tact and diplomacy) had been unable to comprehend what they saw as my martyred logic.
Fortunately the door of the cloakroom swung open at that moment to herald Sarah’s arrival. There was an urgency about her entrance that was almost comical. She swept the pair of us with a knowing look and I knew she had instantly assessed what had been going on. I recognised a look on her face from many an altercation in our past, and shook my head almost imperceptibly. Reluctantly the fire in her gaze was doused. I realised then she had almost been looking forward to saying something to Cathy that definitely should remain unsaid.
‘Have we moved my party in here then, girls?’ she breezed, joining us at the mirror and linking her arm through mine, a move that even the densest person could not fail to realise was a display of solidarity. Cathy was insensitive, but not entirely dense.
‘No, no. Rachel and I were just catching up. Let’s go.’ But then Cathy, being Cathy, couldn’t resist one last poisoned dart. ‘I’m sure Matt will be worrying about what’s happened to me.’
If he was worried, he hid it well.
However, as I settled back into my seat, I picked up on the threads of the one conversation that I had been dreading would be instigated all night. I felt my heart plummet in my chest like a wrecking ball.
Phil was clearly in the middle of saying something to Dave about Jimmy.
‘… such a tragic and stupid waste… such a great bloke…’
Dave murmured a non-committal response, and I guessed that Sarah had already pre-warned him to try to divert the conversation from this topic if it surfaced.
