‘I want to share our happiness with our friends,’ said Diana. ‘I like having people round for dinner.’
Ben liked to go down the pub and stand in a corner with his mates while Diana and her mates took up another corner of the room. He liked to go somewhere where it was too loud to tune in to the women’s conversations. He did not want to have to sit round the dinner table listening to Diana and Nicole talk about the wedding plans again. Ben was certain that Lucy had arranged a three-day conference for 200 people in Dubai with considerably less fuss.
But Diana wanted to play the domestic goddess. She invited people that Ben had never met before to share their weekends. It seemed the only criterion for an invitation was that the invitees were married.
‘Being engaged makes everything different,’ she explained to Ben. ‘We can’t hang around with all those single people any more. It isn’t right you being out with your mates when they’re on the pull. Someone might get the wrong idea about you.’
Given that his record was far from spotless, Ben could only accept the sentence handed down. No more socialising without his bride-to-be.
Diana ordered a hostess trolley from John Lewis online and threw herself into Delia’s complete cookery course. The only good thing about those Saturday-night dinner parties was the food. The rest of the week, Diana was on a strict diet.
Oh God, the diet. Ben felt as though he had been put on a diet too. Since the night of their engagement party, Diana had not touched a drop of alcohol. ‘Pure, liquid sugar,’ she announced. Neither had there been a loaf of bread in the house, except if they had guests. Biscuits were a distant memory, as were crisps and tortilla chips. It was miserable.
Suddenly, they had to go to the cathedral every Sunday too. The bishop may have been swayed by Dave’s excellence as a kitchen-fitter, but that did not mean that Diana and Ben could get away with paying only lip service to the idea of being part of the congregation. Diana did not mind too much. Each Sunday gave her a chance to dress up. She daydreamed through the sermons, imagining herself walking up the aisle to the delighted ‘Ooh’s and ‘Aah’s of her wedding guests. It was almost as much fun to walk in slightly late to the Sunday Eucharist.
‘Who is that elegant woman?’ Diana imagined the usual parishioners, who were uniformly dowdy, wondering.
Ben sat through the same sermons, focusing on the thud of his headache and wondering if he would ever get a Sunday lie-in again. And then, after the service, they would inevitably end up at the shopping centre. There was no end to the list of items Diana absolutely ‘must have’ in connection with the big day. Even Sunday afternoons were no longer sacred. Susie or Nicole would inevitably pitch up at some point, to go over the parts of the wedding machinery that were under their auspices. Ben simply couldn’t understand how Diana could have given up her job and yet still need to spend all weekend comparing floral arrangements and different kinds of sponge cake. He could only be thankful that he didn’t have to pay for it.
The wedding was going to be a ridiculously big event. Diana’s guest list looked set to dwarf that of Kate Middleton and Prince William. Her very first draft list had come to 187. The final cut was nearer 250 on her side alone. Even if Ben only invited his immediate family and closest friends, the list would soon hit 300.
‘Do you know two hundred and fifty people?’ Ben asked. ‘I mean, people you don’t know through Facebook.’
Diana straightened up as she prepared to defend her position. ‘I do know a lot of people, and you can’t ask someone without inviting their other half.’
‘But that means there will be people that neither of us know at the wedding. I haven’t met any of this lot.’ Ben indicated a group of eight names.
‘They’re from work. There is no way I can cut these people. You have to understand that my friends come in sets. I can’t invite one of the girls from the office without inviting all the others. Likewise, if I invite only half my friends from school, then you can bet that someone will be offended. I don’t want to offend anyone, Ben. You never know when you’re going to want them on your side.’
Ben examined the list again. On it were at least half a dozen women that Diana never seemed to have a kind word for. Now all of a sudden they were people she couldn’t afford to offend. It wasn’t even as though she had to face them at the office any more.
It wasn’t just the cost of it. Dave Ashcroft had made it clear that nothing was too good for his daughter, his only child. As far as Dave was concerned, Diana could invite the whole city. Ben, however, did not really like the idea of such a big party.
‘Why not?’ Diana asked him.
She didn’t seem to think that simply preferring a smaller event, peopled by guests they actually knew and cared about, was a good enough excuse.
‘We’ve got to fill a cathedral, Ben. A cathedral! It’s going to look rubbish if we only have people in the front two pews.’
Thank God Diana’s father had money. The recession didn’t seem to have hit him too badly. It was a relief, since he had lent Diana and Ben the deposit for their starter home and Ben was far from being in a position to pay him back.
On Valentine’s evening, Ben was acutely conscious of how little he could afford the charm he had bought for Diana’s horrible bracelet. She looked at it briefly. ‘The Eiffel Tower! Does this mean you’re taking me to France for the weekend?’
‘No,’ said Ben, ‘it means it’s the only Tiffany charm I could find that you don’t already have.’
Diana pushed the little blue box to one side.
‘Never mind. I’ve got some good news. Dad says that for our wedding present he’s decided to pay off our mortgage.’
Ben felt as though Diana’s words formed another golden rope round his wrist.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kate hid her disappointment when she awoke on Valentine’s Day to discover that Ian seemed to have forgotten it. He had left for work early that morning, leaving her sleeping. When she got up, Kate saw that he had opened her card to him and put it in pride of place on the mantelpiece. The book she had bought him was on the kitchen table. She could find nothing for her.
Kate went into her new office and put her head down. She had a lot to prove. That was much more important than Valentine’s Day. Lunchtime passed. Still nothing from Ian. Kate had thought that he would make amends for having forgotten and perhaps send her an emergency bunch of flowers. No. Kate found it hard not to look disappointed when three enormous bouquets arrived and were distributed among various girls in the office. Ian hadn’t even sent her a text to thank her for her card and gift.
‘What did Ian get you?’ one of her new colleagues asked. That made things even worse.
‘Oh,’ said the colleague when Kate admitted that Ian had forgotten. ‘That’s what men are like! The minute they’ve got you, they give up trying.’
‘It certainly seems that way,’ said Kate.
‘I’m sure he’ll have a surprise for you when you get home.’
‘It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t,’ said Kate. ‘It’s just a Hallmark holiday.’ She said it in such a way that she almost believed it.
Then Helen texted, I hope Ian remembered V Day.
He didn’t, Kate responded.
Mark got me a new filter for cooker hood, texted Helen. Married life.
Later that afternoon, Matt called. Kate had fallen into a pattern of speaking to him often since they had gone for their catch-up drink in December. There were plenty of excuses for a chat. She was grateful to be able to discuss Elaine’s ongoing treatment. But they had fallen into talking about everything else too. Matt knew all about the politics in Kate’s new office, for example. She told him things about her new company that she simply didn’t bother to tell Ian. Ian didn’t do office politics, and when she had tried to discuss the machinations of her own colleagues in the past, he had simply told her to ignore them. Matt seemed to understand that it wasn’t always that easy. Kate was aware that he was becoming quite a confid
ant.
‘Did you get my card?’ asked Matt.
‘What card?’
‘The enormous one covered with fluffy bunnies. It was attached to the hundred red roses.’
‘Oh, that card,’ said Kate.
‘I expect you couldn’t find it under all the other cards you were sent. I imagine Ian bought up Interflora.’
‘Not quite,’ said Kate. ‘How’s your Valentine’s Day so far?’
‘Total bag of shite. It’s Valentine’s Day and the only thing the postman dropped off at my house this morning was a letter from my soon-to-be ex-wife’s solicitor, claiming that I’ve got much more money than I ever knew I had and she wants half of it. How’s your mum?’
‘Starts radiotherapy next week.’
‘You coming down?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Call me. I could do with a night out.’
‘That’d be great.’
Kate was aware as she put the phone down that her mood had improved immeasurably at the thought of seeing Matt again. There was nothing to it, though. Nothing that might explain why she still hadn’t mentioned their renewed friendship to Helen, for example.
When she got home, she found that Ian had made a special effort to make up for having forgotten to mark the most romantic day in the calendar. He handed her a bedraggled bunch of roses as she walked into the kitchen.
‘I got them from the garage,’ he said.
‘You could at least pretend they’re from Moyses Stevens,’ said Kate.
‘Don’t want you to think I’m wasting all our money on furbelows.’
There was little chance of that. ‘What’s this?’
Ian had laid the table. On both the plates he had put out was a Marks & Spencer ready meal, still in its box. A bottle of wine from no vineyard Kate had ever heard of stood in the middle of the table.
‘All this for less than ten pounds.’
‘Great,’ said Kate.
‘We don’t have to eat it here. We can eat it in front of the television.’
‘Even better.’
From time to time, especially when she was with Dan, Kate had craved the simplicity of a television dinner. There were never any television dinners with Dan, unless he was feeling very unwell. At first, that was wonderful, but gradually Kate came to realise that by keeping up the romance, Dan was keeping her at arm’s length. He was preventing her from becoming part of his ‘real’ life. By contrast, Ian had never hidden anything from Kate, but sometimes she thought such a total lack of mystique was just as bad as Dan’s refusal to let Kate see his ‘day to day’. As she looked at the cheap bottle of red, Kate tried to remember the last time Ian had taken her out. He really did seem to believe that now they were engaged, there was no longer any reason for them to ‘date’.
‘Do you know how to cook these things?’
Ian passed her the ready-meal boxes before she had time to take off her coat.
‘Thanks.’ Kate tossed the ready meals onto the kitchen counter. They landed rather more heavily than she had intended. It sounded as though she had thrown them down aggressively.
‘What’s the matter?’ Ian asked. ‘Have I done something wrong again?’
‘Why does it always have to be about you?’ Kate asked. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m . . . I’m getting my period,’ she lied. She took the ready meals out of their cardboard sleeves. ‘Twenty minutes at gas mark six. It says on the back.’
Ian didn’t even move to put the oven on.
Kate had a profound sense of dissatisfaction in that moment. When they first started going out, she thought that Ian had appreciated the stresses of Kate’s position as a partner in a law firm. He certainly wouldn’t expect her to become a little woman, she was sure. But since she had spent that time on gardening leave, he seemed to completely defer to her in all things domestic. He had even asked her how to turn on the tumble-dryer.
‘How did you turn it on before you met me?’ she asked.
Ian definitely did not seem to have taken into account the fact that Kate was now back at work. Leaving her in the kitchen, he had disappeared to take a relaxing shower. Kate stared at the two ready meals in front of her. She could tell Ian to cook his own bloody cardboard dinner or she could turn the oven on herself. Too exhausted from her first fortnight at the new office to argue the feminist position, Kate turned the oven on. Would the next Valentine’s gift she received be an extractor-fan filter like Helen’s? Was this it for the rest of her life?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Melanie didn’t want to be going out to dinner that night. She wasn’t sure which was worse, to spend Valentine’s Day alone, or to spend it with someone she simply wasn’t that excited about. The girls at the salon seemed certain that Valentine’s Day alone was by far the worse option. They had fussed about their Valentine’s dates ever since they came back to work after Christmas. Sarah had been borderline miserable for weeks as she pondered whether or not her fledgling relationship was serious enough to guarantee her a date for the most important romantic date in the calendar. Heidi had limped on with a relationship well past its sell-by date in order to ensure that she likewise wasn’t at home alone on the fourteenth.
‘I can’t stand the thought of having to shag him any more,’ she admitted to Sarah within Melanie’s earshot, ‘but I’m going to carry on until the weekend after Valentine’s, for sure. We’ve been together for five years. He’s bound to get me a good Valentine’s Day present, isn’t he?’
Melanie could hardly believe such cynicism. And yet wasn’t she guilty of the same? She was going out with Phil that night because she didn’t want to be alone either. She already knew that Phil wasn’t going to replace Keith in her heart. She had known that from the first time they went out together. But he was a decent bloke. He had good manners. From time to time he made her laugh. And it was nice to be taken to the better restaurants around Southampton. It was just . . . she would have to tell him it was going nowhere before she found herself in the position of having to turn him down at the bedroom door. So far he hadn’t been pushy, but Melanie was sure that he hadn’t been taking her out for almost three months just because he enjoyed their conversations about travel and music.
She made the mistake of confiding in Heidi.
‘I wouldn’t worry. He might never try it on,’ said Heidi. ‘He’s what – sixty? His prostate will be shot to pieces by now.’
Melanie winced. There were moments when she thought that Heidi was too coarse for a job at Bride on Time, but she was an excellent seamstress. She was worth her weight in gold when it came to making speedy last-minute adjustments. There had been numerous occasions when Heidi had saved the day for a bride who had lost too much weight in the stress of the wedding run-up or, conversely, failed to lose enough. For that, Melanie overlooked Heidi’s cruder pronouncements. Even so, Melanie decided she would have to be more discreet in the future.
Should Melanie just have given up on love? No one would bother too much if she did, she was certain. There was something romantic about announcing ‘I’m a widow’ when people asked about her personal life. It was a reason and an explanation in itself. She didn’t let people press her for the details. All she said was she was very happy by herself. But she wasn’t. Not really. Not any more.
She’d met Phil at a meeting of local business owners. Melanie liked these meetings, usually held in a pub, where small-business owners from the local area got together to moan about rates and rents and the local council’s lack of support. She had been seeing Phil at those meetings for years. She didn’t know much about him other than that he ran a small company specialising in computer spares and repairs. Then she asked if he might have a look at Bride on Time’s IT situation. While he was installing some anti-virus software on Melanie’s own computer, they got chatting. She discovered that he was a widower. His wife had died of ovarian cancer two years before. He told Melanie that he was relieved to be able to talk about his situation with someone who understood the pain o
f being left behind.
Now Melanie found herself glazing over when the conversation moved on to Phil’s wife, as it inevitably did after they’d both sunk half a bottle of wine. It was so clear that he’d loved that woman completely. He said that he was ready to move on, but Melanie knew that his readiness really only equated to wanting something, anything, to fill the gaping hole in his life.
On Valentine’s Day, the conversation about Sally, as Phil’s wife was called, came earlier than usual in proceedings. Phil had chosen a lovely restaurant, full of starry-eyed young couples and a few more established pairs just going through the motions. There were candles on every table. Phil had brought Melanie a rose. One young man proposed to his girlfriend the minute the waiter had taken their order. He said that he had intended to propose after the meal but would have been too nervous to eat if he hadn’t proposed first. Melanie couldn’t help smiling as she overheard the young couple’s excited chatter about where and when they might marry. Should she slip the girl her business card?
Only Phil did not seem buoyed up by the atmosphere in the room.
‘This was one of Sally’s favourite restaurants,’ he announced, after the waiter had delivered their smoked-salmon platters.
‘Oh,’ said Melanie.
‘It was her second favourite restaurant in the world.’
‘Which was her absolute favourite?’ asked Melanie, playing the game. One of the ways in which she knew Phil wasn’t for her was how easy she found it to engage in conversation about his dead wife. She wasn’t in the least bit jealous of his enduring attachment to the dead woman’s memory.
‘La Coupole, in Paris,’ said Phil. ‘Do you know it?’
‘Actually, I went there once. Just the once, mind.’
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