‘We only went there once too, for our twenty-fifth anniversary, but Sally never stopped going on about it. After that, every restaurant we went to was measured against La Coupole. She loved the Frenchness of it.’
‘It is pretty French,’ Melanie agreed.
‘When did you go?’
‘Oh’ – Melanie speared some salmon – ‘it was years ago now. I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.’
For the rest of the meal they chatted amiably about the difficulties involved with the new VAT rate. It was hardly the most scintillating subject. Melanie passed up the offer of dessert. Phil, as ever, insisted that he drove her home. He stopped at the top of the driveway and turned off his engine. This was a new development: Melanie was used to Phil leaving the engine running while she let herself out of the car.
‘Let me walk you to the door,’ he said that night.
‘It’s fine,’ said Melanie. ‘I can see it from here. I won’t get lost.’
‘I’d still like to walk you there.’
‘OK,’ said Melanie. She would think of some reason not to let him in when they got there. That was her prerogative. At the door, she took out her keys and hesitated. She did not want to have to offer him coffee.
‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ she began, preparing her spiel about an early start.
‘Yes,’ said Phil, ‘it has.’
‘So . . .’
Phil took both Melanie’s hands.
‘Look, Melanie,’ he said, ‘you’ve probably been wondering where this is going. I know I have. It’s been three months and we haven’t even shared so much as a kiss.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Melanie.
‘No,’ Phil responded, ‘it’s not OK. A beautiful woman like you. You must be wondering what on earth is wrong with me.’
Melanie felt her entire body tense as he squeezed her hands more tightly.
‘You deserve to be cherished and desired. You deserve to be kissed all over and made love to day and night.’
Now Melanie felt slightly queasy.
‘But I know I’m not going to be able to do that.’
Melanie’s insides dissolved with relief.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ said Phil. ‘I can’t keep taking you out and spending half the evening talking about Sally. It isn’t fair on you. It isn’t fair on her memory either. I’m not over her, Mel. I don’t know how long it took you to feel ready again, but two years is nowhere near long enough for me. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be over her. I thought I could fill the gap, but . . .’
‘It isn’t that easy, I know. But it doesn’t matter. Really it doesn’t. We can be friends, you and I. I will always be there for you if you just need to talk.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘I do.’
Melanie shook her hands free of Phil’s grip and gave him a hug instead.
‘It will get better, I promise.’
‘Thanks. I didn’t know how you’d take it, but I guess you know what it’s like.’
‘Oh, I’m disappointed,’ Melanie lied, ‘but I’m not surprised. You take care of yourself.’
Phil nodded his goodbye.
That was the problem with really loving someone: the feelings persisted long after the object of your affection had vanished from your life.
As she undressed for bed, Melanie found herself thinking about La Coupole. She and Keith had sat side by side on a banquette in the corner of the enormous room, which was lit so well everyone in it could have been a film star. They snuggled close, their thighs pressed together. After a couple of glasses of wine, they weren’t shy about kissing over their steak frites. That was one of the last dinners they had shared as a couple. It was certainly the last truly romantic one.
If Melanie had known on that evening how she would feel looking back on it over the years, would she have done anything differently?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
20 February 2011
The Giovanni Lucciani dresses had arrived at last. Diana immediately made an appointment to go back to the salon and try hers on. As Melanie had warned her, the dress might need some tweaking and Diana wanted to be sure that she allowed as much time as possible for any required adjustments.
Diana could not wait to get her wedding dress on again. She was almost certain that she’d made the right choice, but moving quickly would ensure that if she hadn’t, there was time to buy another one. Diana was only going to get married once. She didn’t want to look back over her wedding photos and wonder if she’d made a mistake.
‘No, this is definitely still the one,’ she said, as she admired her reflection in the mirror.
‘Good job,’ said Melanie, ‘because we can’t take it back. It’s been made especially for you, you know.’
‘Of course, but if it had been wrong, Dad would have coughed up for something different.’
‘Good job he doesn’t have to, eh?’
‘Yeah. But do you still think this is the right dress for me? I mean, do you honestly think this is the best I could look in a wedding dress? Because if you think that I might look even better in something else . . .’
Melanie shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else wear that dress quite so well.’
That was exactly what Diana needed to hear. She was still the fairest of them all.
She had Melanie take a shot of her wearing the dress on her iPhone to post on Nuptialsnet later on.
Kate got the call on the same day.
‘You need to come in as soon as you can to have another fitting,’ Heidi told her.
‘Really? It’s the right size, isn’t it?’
Heidi sighed. ‘We’ve got to make sure it fits like a glove. There are bound to be adjustments. You don’t want to be hoicking the corset up all day long, do you? What kind of bridal consultant would I be if I sent you up the aisle in a baggy corset?’
‘OK,’ said Kate, ‘I’ll have a look in my diary.’
She relished the thought of another afternoon in Heidi’s company about as much as she relished the idea of an afternoon with the dentist. As she’d left the Bride on Time salon that first afternoon, she hadn’t factored in the subsequent fittings at all. Kate looked at her diary. It was packed with meetings related to her new job. There was one day free. Well, almost free. Her new colleagues were fairly understanding when Kate explained that her mother was about to begin radiotherapy and she had wangled some compassionate leave. She could do the dress fitting then. She didn’t know which of the two appointments she dreaded more.
‘Monday,’ she said to Heidi.
Monday rolled round.
‘Hmm. You seem to have got a bit broader in the beam since you were last here. Someone couldn’t lay off the mince pies, I suppose.’ What a greeting Kate received as she arrived at Bride on Time.
She didn’t know how to respond.
‘Well, you’ve got how long?’ Heidi asked. She looked at the tag on the dress. ‘Middle of next month?’ she exclaimed. ‘We’ll have to let the bodice out. I don’t know if we’ve got time to do that.’
‘Actually,’ said Kate, ‘the wedding’s been put back. It’s 30 April now.’
‘Good job.’
Kate must have looked hurt.
‘Now, I know that what I’m telling you might sound a bit upsetting, but I really am only saying it for your own good. You’ve got more than two months. I’ve seen girls lose a stone a month before their weddings from all the stress. You can do it if you try.’
Kate couldn’t remember when anyone had last spoken to her in such a patronising tone. When was the last time someone had told her she could do something if she tried, as though she were a child learning how to play scales on piano and work out long division?
‘I don’t think I’ll be losing a lot of weight before the wedding,’ said Kate firmly. ‘You’ll have to let the bodice out.’
‘It’ll spoil the line,’ said Heidi.
Kate almost sai
d, ‘I don’t care.’
‘I understand,’ she said instead, ‘but I’ve got a lot more to think about right now than losing a few pounds for the wedding.’
‘It’s up to you,’ said Heidi. ‘It is the most important day of your life, not mine.’
Kate balled her hands into fists as Heidi yanked on the ribbons at the back of the bodice again.
‘Have you practised peeing?’ Heidi asked.
‘What?’
‘Peeing? I know it sounds funny, but I say it to all my brides. You’ve got to practise going in your dress, otherwise you’ll get yourself into a right old state on the day. You’ve got a maid of honour, right?’
‘My sister, I suppose.’
‘She’s going to have to help you, I’m afraid. If you go into the cubicle front ways, she can hold up the back of the skirt, so you need to practise mounting the loo the wrong way round, facing the cistern. Have you got a long dressing gown? You could have a go in that. Doesn’t matter if you get it a bit wet.’
Oh God. Kate grimaced at the thought.
‘Shall I give you a demonstration?’
Kate looked away as Heidi squatted over a chair.
The list of premarital humiliations seemed to be endless. From the very first dress fitting, Kate had come to feel like an animal being prepared for slaughter. All those people talking about her as if she wasn’t there, the pulling and the prodding, the tutting about the size of her waist. Everyone seemed to think that her engagement gave them the right to comment. Was she on a diet? Did she have an exercise plan? They suggested so much preparation: waxing, varnishing, hair practice, make-up practice, even bloody peeing practice now.
Ian was not going through any of this. Kate was pretty damn certain of that. This upcoming wedding had hardly impacted on his life. All he had to do was put on a suit and turn up at the appointed place. Kate knew for a fact that he wasn’t even going to get his hair cut.
Peeing practice. It was just too much. To hear Heidi talk about it – and, boy, did she want to talk about it at length – it sounded like an arcane ritual, something akin to foot-binding. It made Kate feel less than the woman she considered herself. She was a bloody partner at a law firm. She owned a flat. She paid her own bills. She was equal to any man and now she was being told how not to get wee on the skirt of a frock. Why was she wearing such a big bloody skirt in the first place? It was bondage, that was what it was.
Kate clamped her jaw shut.
It got worse.
‘Don’t forget to buy a crochet hook to do the buttons,’ Heidi continued. ‘Your sister’s going to be at it all day otherwise.’
Heidi was oblivious to Kate’s expression of horror as she continued to fuss with the hem, arranging it just so.
‘Ideally, what you also need is someone to get you out of the dress at the end of the day. Is anyone in the wedding party pregnant?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Kate asked.
Heidi had perfected the drape of the hem over the shoes. She stepped back and admired her handiwork.
‘A pregnant guest won’t be able to drink and you need someone sober to get these hooks undone. If your husband tries to do it, he’ll only pull them all off in his excitement. Not a great start to your wedding night.’ She gave Kate a faintly obscene wink. ‘Oh, yes, the number of brides I’ve had who lost all their buttons . . .’ Heidi continued. ‘If you haven’t got a pregnant guest, ask someone like your mum to stay a little bit sober, then she can accompany you up to the bridal suite and hubby can wait outside while you get ready.’
Even the word ‘hubby’ set Kate off that morning. She felt a bubble in her ribcage. Was that her stomach lurching in the confines of the bodice? A picture flashed into her mind, a scene from a ballet – she couldn’t remember the title – in which a newly married girl submits to having her hair cut off by her older wedded sisters. Only too clearly she imagined herself kneeling at the bottom of the marriage bed being unbuttoned by her mother and Tess while Ian waited outside with a hard-on straining the front of his best suit trousers.
Kate abruptly stepped down from the crate. Heidi’s mouth formed a horrified ‘O’ as she raced to check the back of the skirt for damage.
‘You could have put your heel through it!’ she said. ‘What on earth are you thinking?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kate. ‘I’m a bit distracted. I’ve got to get to the hospital for my mum.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Heidi, softening her expression from bulldog to shih-tzu, ‘now I remember. You’re the one whose mum’s got cancer.’
Don’t talk about it, Kate begged Heidi silently. Please don’t talk about it now. Heidi launched into a long speech about a friend’s husband who’d died three weeks after getting the all-clear.
‘It’s easier for the man to be left,’ she concluded. ‘Men are never on their own for long. Not like Melanie, who owns this place. She’s been a widow for thirteen years.’
Kate zoned out while Heidi finished unhooking the dress.
That half an hour with Heidi made accompanying Elaine to her first radiotherapy session seem a complete doddle to Kate. At least no one in the hospital was looking at her arse. While her mother was in the waiting room, Kate popped out into the hospital car park to call Ian. She told him what the bitch at the bridal shop had told her, but if she was hoping for sympathy, she was unlucky.
‘Well, I suppose most women do go on a diet before their wedding, don’t they?’
‘Do you think I should go on a diet?’ Kate asked.
‘That wasn’t what I said. It’s just that most of the girls in the office . . .’
‘If you think I need to lose a few pounds, then why don’t you just come out and say it?’
‘I don’t think you need to lose weight,’ said Ian. ‘Unless you do.’
It was the wrong answer. Kate hung up on him. And then she called Matt to see if he still wanted to go for a drink.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
That night’s quick drink with Matt lasted from eight until closing time. They talked about Kate’s mum and the radiotherapy, then moved quickly on to other things. Matt’s Christmas: ‘Just terrible.’ Kate’s postponed wedding: ‘A relief.’
Matt raised an eyebrow.
‘I just mean a relief in that I don’t have a lot of time to devote to wedding-planning at the moment. There’s so much to do at work, and I want to be able to come down and look after Mum, and—’
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me,’ said Matt. ‘I know how stressful these things are, and coupled with your mum being ill and starting a new job . . .’
‘Take my mind off it,’ Kate begged him.
‘With pleasure.’
Matt brought the subject back to their college days. Kate was relieved to be laughing about old times again. Matt had always had a skill for mimicry and when he impersonated their college friends, it was as though they were right there in the room. He did an especially wicked impersonation of Helen.
Kate felt like she hadn’t laughed so hard in a long while. She felt like her old self again. Happy-go-lucky and not in the least bit prone to worrying about her parents, her job or her weight. She wanted the evening to last for ever. It might have done, had Kate not faced a crack-of-dawn drive back to London in the morning. She couldn’t afford to be late when she was still so unproven at her new firm.
‘But we’ll do this again,’ said Matt as she was preparing to leave.
‘At the weekend,’ Kate promised. ‘I’ll come down again on Friday night.’
There was a West Ham home game on Saturday. Ian would not be coming with her. Matt had stopped asking when they would be introduced.
In her rush to get ready to meet Matt, Kate had left her phone at her parents’ house. She got back that night to find several messages from Ian.
‘I know I said the wrong thing this afternoon,’ he told her voicemail. ‘You don’t need to lose any weight. That woman in the bridal shop is a body fascist. I love you j
ust the way you are.’
But as she listened to Ian’s message, Kate remembered the way Matt had taken hold of one of her wrists that evening, looping his thumb and forefinger round it to see if the wrist still fitted neatly inside. It did.
‘You haven’t changed at all.’
He said he had always admired her fine features and delicate bones. Seeing his hand next to hers sent a shiver through Kate’s body as she remembered what it had been like when they made love. They locked eyes for a moment and she knew that he was remembering the same thing.
Kate didn’t text Ian back until the following morning.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ian was not unaffected by the rise in Kate’s stress levels. It seemed that he could barely open his mouth any more without saying the exact wrong thing. Even apologising for those things he wasn’t sure he actually needed to apologise for no longer seemed to appease her. He would never have said it to Kate’s face, but it was as though he was suddenly up against 24/7 PMT.
Was this normal? He’d heard from the girls at work that planning a wedding was the ultimate stressful experience in a woman’s life, but those other girls weren’t like his Kate. They were nowhere near as intelligent and resourceful as she was. He could see how organising a wedding might be beyond their capabilities. Not hers.
Was it still about Kate’s mother, perhaps? Ian couldn’t understand that. Hadn’t the consultant said that Elaine’s treatment was going well? It wasn’t as though she was in hospital as an inpatient any more. There really was nothing to worry about on that front, surely.
Ian wished he had someone to talk to. He just wanted to know if the way Kate was behaving was normal. Alas, his own father was hardly the role model he craved. He’d left Ian’s mother when Ian was just seven. Their father-son relationship had never been the same after that.
Ian had one friend whom he thought he might be able to confide in. Ian felt he could call him a friend after eight years of sitting side by side at West Ham home games. Keith was the season-ticket holder who had the seat adjacent to Ian’s in the West Ham stadium. He was a few years older than Ian. He seemed like a good bloke. Salt-of-the-earth type. Secretly thoughtful. After five years of nodding acquaintanceship, they had started to share information about their lives away from the football. And then they started to share a few beers after the game. The next time West Ham played at home, Ian resolved to ask Keith what he knew about girls.
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