I close my eyes and an image of Jody McBride immediately flashes before me. I turn it over and over in my head. What if Jody has waited for this moment to ruin our lives all over again? What if this is her final act of revenge?
“Would you like a sherry, love?” Elspeth says.
“No thanks.”
She pours me one anyway, but I can’t drink it. I look at the clock. Half past twelve. He’s half an hour late now.
I stand at the window. A group of die-hard smokers puff away under the cover of a large golf umbrella.
“I’m going to the church,” I decide. “I have to tell them something.”
“You don’t have to do that dear,” Elspeth says.
“I want to.”
All our friends and family are in there. Some of them have travelled a long way to get here. I ought to go in and see them.
Mum holds the umbrella over my head as I step outside. To my amazement, the skies clear and the rain stops almost instantly. We walk across to the covered archway and Mum folds away the umbrella. I peer into the church, hoping against hope that Deacon’s somehow slipped inside without anybody noticing.
The room falls silent and there is a lot of rustling as everyone turns to stare. My cheeks blaze as I walk down the aisle to the front, where Rhett sits with a squirming baby Sophia.
“I’m going to make an announcement,” I tell him.
“Just a bit longer,” he begs. “I don’t know what’s happened, but he must be on his way. He would never let you down. You know that.”
“Ten minutes,” I agree, plonking myself down in the pew beside him.
I glance across the aisle. My brother Julio is sitting there, right at the front. Even though I didn’t invite him. He takes my glance as an invitation to join me.
“Deacon said I should come,” he says. “He thought we might both regret it if I didn’t.”
I smile weakly. That was a risky strategy. But how like Deacon. He doesn’t even like Julio, but he knows he’s important to me, in spite of everything.
“I’m glad you came,” I manage.
* * *
Mum rifles through her handbag. “Here, I brought you your post from the house.”
“My…post?”
Why on earth did she bring this to the church?
“Go on, read your letters,” she says. “It’ll help pass the time.”
“Mum, nobody writes letters anymore.”
In fact, the last person to write me a letter was Alicia.
I glance down at the pile. What’s this one then? Doesn’t look like a bill.
I slice it open with my fingernail:
‘Thank you for the kind invite. Love to come. A’.
I think frantically back to my guest list. I didn’t invite anyone with the initial ‘A’. I look round again. It’s not…it can’t be Alicia?
No, I watched her die with my own eyes. Deacon pronounced her. But Jody’s still alive, isn’t she? Jody could have done this.
I glance at Mum’s watch. Five more minutes. And if he doesn’t come then, well…the wedding is over. Ruined. Everyone’s going to go home. Or will they expect to go on to the reception? It’s all paid for isn’t it? They might as well party without us.
Us.
We’ve been an ‘us’ for over a year now. Long before that, if we’d only admitted it to ourselves.
I get up and walk through to the church hall, where we’re having the reception. It looks really beautiful – all the tables are covered with white linen, with little crepe centrepieces. On the top table sits the wedding cake. The icing is white, but each layer is different, one chocolate, one orange and one coffee. At the top, is a miniature bride and groom holding hands. At least they’re supposed to be. The groom is not there. I peer under the table and find him lying helpless on the floor. I brush him off and return him to his rightful position on top of the cake.
Mum pokes her head in. “It’s quarter to. Just thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks.”
I can’t put it off any longer. It’s not fair to let it drag on indefinitely. I’m out of time.
I walk up to the front of the church.
“Everybody, can I have your attention please?”
I look around the church, crammed with family and friends from all the different, compartmentalised bits of our lives. I see the sadness in their eyes and I want to yell at them to stop it. Their pity is only making this worse.
“Everybody…”
Bang on cue, the gothic doors swing open. Deacon staggers in. He is soaking wet, his shirt stained with blood. He leans against the wall and I wait anxiously for him to get his breath back. His face looks hot despite the cold and he holds up his hand to indicate that no one should say anything. Not till he’s ready. I rush towards him, desperate to find out what has happened, but as I am halfway across the room, I notice a change in him. He is grinning ear to ear.
“Late for my own wedding!” he says, and everyone laughs politely. “I’ll never live it down.”
My heart crumbles. Everyone cheers and tears dampen my cheeks.
Mum tries to stop me as I make my way to the back of the church.
“Isabel, it’s against convention!”
“Sod convention,” I say, my words echoing round the church. Damn, churches have good acoustics.
“Are you hurt?” I whisper, as Deacon peels off his shirt.
“No,” he says. “Not my blood.”
“What?”
“Had to deliver a baby at the roadside.”
“All OK?”
He nods. “Was a bit of a tricky one. The mother was driving herself to the hospital as she thought she had ages to go, but the baby thought otherwise. She drove into a hedge, poor thing. But don’t worry, she’s fine and so is the baby.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Couldn’t get a signal. You know what it’s like in some of the villages round here. Luckily I managed to flag down a tractor.”
“This woman,” I ask. “Did she have dark curly hair?”
He looks out me oddly. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess.”
The vicar clears his throat and we both turn towards him.
“Are we ready to proceed?”
Deacon glances at me. “More than ever.”
I allow myself a look round the church at all our assembled friends and relations. It is only then that I notice Julio’s mum. Deacon must have invited her too, probably so he’d have someone to sit with who doesn’t think he’s a prize pillock. She’s alright, his mum. I’ve always liked Antonia.
Elspeth appears with a damp towel and a clean shirt and Deacon wriggles out of his blood-soaked shirt. The replacement one is bright green with Hawaiian prints all over it. I’m guessing it is the Vicar’s holiday shirt.
“Do you need a hand?” I ask.
“No, we don’t want to spoil your dress,” Deacon says.
I laugh. If only he knew. Deacon goes and takes his place at the front and the organist warms up while I step out into the covered archway outside. A moment later, I am joined by Kate and Siobhan, my bridesmaids, who both look sensational in their shimmering ice-blue dresses.
“Let me do something about your hair,” Siobhan says, whipping out a comb.
I look at the door longingly.
“He’s already seen me. I might as well…”
But there’s no arguing with Siobhan.
“Get a grip, woman. You are not getting married like this.”
She swiftly crafts my hair into an elaborate Jane Austen style bun.
“Wow,” Kate gasps. “You look amazing.”
“Ready?” Siobhan asks.
“Yes,” I say, taking my bouquet.
She throws the double doors open and the organist begins the wedding march.
I float down the aisle, savouring every moment as I make my way to Deacon. I try not to think about how close we came to not making it. How terribly things have gone wrong, and
yet here we are, surrounded by all the people we love, both of us grinning from ear to ear.
“Dearly beloved…”
A dark figure stoops at the back of the churchyard. A scarf conceals her face, and an old shawl covers her body. It is amazing, the way everybody looks through her, just because of the clothes she is wearing and the way she hunches her body. She shuffles along on her stick. The limp is real. Both feet have been badly burnt in the fire. Even now, wearing shoes is painful and she knows that her body will never fully recover. As for the battle for her mind, that was lost years ago.
She watches as Isabel emerges from the church, her eyes glistening with happy tears as she dances about in the confetti, thrown by her friends and family. They are all there, Julio, Kate, Rhett and Deacon. All laughing and hugging and having fun, while as far as they know, she is dead. They haven’t even waited a year to hold the wedding. They haven’t shown her the respect she deserves. She hobbles towards them, her heart pounding as she pictures the impact she is about to have.
At that moment, a police car rolls up outside the church and two cops get out.
What is going on?
The policewoman is looking at Deacon as if he is God Almighty, and fragments of their conversation drifted over to her.
“Thank you…my sister…baby doing well. Thank you so much…”
She lets out a sigh. The policewoman and her partner aren’t showing any sign of leaving. Haven’t they got work to do? They pose for pictures with Isabel and Deacon and then accompany them to their fancy car.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” she mutters, as she hears Isabel invite them to the reception.
This is not the moment to reveal herself, she can see that now. Well, fine. If there is one thing she is good at, it’s waiting. Enjoy your wedding, Isabel. Until death do us part.
Also by Lorna Dounaeva
The Perfect Girl
She was beautiful, popular and successful, the one they all wanted to be. So who, or what, was she running from?
When reclusive writer, Jock falls for vivacious Tea Shop owner, Sapphire, he is amazed that she seems to feel the same way about him. He watches with pride as Sapphire is crowned May Queen at the town's May Day celebrations, but his joy turns to heartbreak when she runs off into the crowd, never to return.
As the days pass, he becomes increasingly desperate. Everyone he speaks to seems to love Sapphire. No one has a bad word to say about her. So why did she run away like that, and what is stopping her from coming back?
The Perfect Girl is a claustrophobic British thriller set on the English/Welsh border.
(The Perfect Girl was previously titled May Queen Killers)
* * *
The Perfect Friend
He wasn't the kind of writer to attract rabid fans…
Jock Skone led a quiet life, typing novels with two fingers on his laptop. His readers were quiet and cynical. They didn't queue around the block to meet him, or send him underwear in the post. So he had no idea that anyone cared that he was struggling to write his latest book, or that someone was watching him closely, plotting a sinister surprise.
The Perfect Friend is a light hearted story featuring Jock and Dylan from The Perfect Girl
McBride Vendetta Series Book One
FRY
She acts like she's your new best friend, but is she really a deadly enemy?
When Isabel nearly runs over mysterious Alicia, she is filled with guilt. She helps Alicia get a job at the supermarket where she works and soon, Alicia is acting like her new best friend. Then fires break out all over town and she suspects Alicia knows more than she's letting on, but it’s Isabel the police suspect. In order to survive, Isabel must question her own innocence, her sanity and the very fabric of her morality.
Lorna Dounaeva’s debut novel is a sizzling psychological thriller that will make you question how well you can ever really know a person.
FRY is a very British fast paced psychological thriller.
* * *
McBride Vendetta Series Book Two
Angel Dust
It's every parent's worst nightmare…
When Isabel's daughter, Lauren is snatched from outside her school, she suspects Jody McBride is behind the kidnapping. Yet the detective in charge of Lauren's case seems more interested in picking apart her statement, and investigating members of her family.
Can Isabel persuade the police to take her seriously, or will she have to take matters into her own hands? In order to save Lauren, she must take a stark look at her own relationships, and consider how well she really knows her daughter.
McBride Vendetta Series Book Three
Cold Bath Lane
Who will pay the price for her silence?
Nine-year-old Jody is does well in school, despite living in a run-down part of East London.
Then one terrible night, her life changes forever, and Jody is forced to make an impossible choice between telling the truth and keeping her family together.
The police bring her in for questioning, and pressure her to tell them what really happened but is Jody ready to admit it, even to herself?
Will the truth win out, or will Jody be sucked into a web of lies in order to protect her family?
This disturbing crime novel is utterly gripping and impossible to put down.
* * *
The Christmas Party
Will one mistake ruin her perfect Christmas?
Rochelle is planning the perfect Christmas. She just needs to get through one last morning at work, and then she'll be off to a swish hotel with sexy silver fox, Richard. But people at work are looking at her strangely, and she realises that she does not remember everything that happened at the Christmas Party the night before, and if she does not remember soon, her entire Christmas could be in jeopardy.
Can Rochelle face up to what she did last night, or will her world come crashing down on her, ruining her perfect Christmas?
Afterword
If you’ve enjoyed this book, I’d be eternally grateful if you’d consider posting a review. A couple of lines are plenty and it makes all the difference to authors, as we rely on word of mouth to get our books known.
* * *
Thank you!
Lorna
* * *
P.S. I hope you’ll consider joining my readers’ club to receive updates on new releases and giveaways at www.lornadounaeva.com
* * *
You can also contact me at [email protected]
About the Author
Lorna Dounaeva is a quirky British crime writer who once challenged a Flamenco troupe to a dance-off. She is a politics graduate, who worked for the British Home Office for a number of years, before turning to crime fiction. She loves books and films with strong female characters and her influences include Single White Female and Sleeping with the Enemy. She lives in Surrey, England with her husband and their three children, who keep her busy wiping food off the ceiling and removing mints from USB sockets.
For Denis.
Acknowledgments
A big thank you to Virginia Malcolm.
* * *
Editor
Maria Dounaeva
* * *
Cover
Coverquill
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