by Ali Harris
I walk across the lawn towards Adam, who is standing in front of the lake surrounded by a group of guests. My body is here but my brain is drowning in memories. I stop and hold on to a tree before I faint again. I’m trying to calm my breathing, to prevent the panic attack that I can feel rising up through my body. I look at the clear, tranquil water of the lake glimmering in the spring sunshine and try to remind myself that nothing has changed.
Kieran’s gone and no one knows my secret. And hopefully no one ever will.
‘There she is! Come here, my beautiful, perfect wife!’ Adam calls, and waves.
I pause, take a deep, calming breath and then I let go of the tree and with a smile on my face I walk slowly towards my husband, my wedding dress threatening to trip me up with every single step.
I’m standing on the lawn sipping tea from a china cup in what I hope is an elegant, ladylike way, a string quartet playing behind me as I hold court with some distant family of Adam’s.
‘Yes I am very lucky, yes of course I know what a catch he is! Why did it take me so long to say yes? Er . . . well, you know a girl has to be a hundred per cent sure these days, ha ha!’ I can tell from their expressions this is the wrong answer. ‘No, seriously, the truth is it was just very hard to find a gap in Adam’s diary.’ They nod sagely at this. They understand how busy and important he is, his whole family does. ‘And,’ I continue, ‘I didn’t want a long engagement so I kept him hanging on until I knew we could marry as quickly as possible.’ I pause. ‘Couldn’t risk any other girl getting her hands on him!’
They laugh along with me and I smile brightly before making my excuses and walking away. They’re happy that I’ve given them a funny but believable reason for my indecision that is far preferable to the truth: that I just wasn’t sure before.
I’m gagging for a glass of champagne and a proper chat with someone who actually knows me. To be honest I’m still feeling embarrassed and shaken by what happened during the ceremony. Not just about falling over, but what – no, who – precipitated it.
Despite the vast swarm of guests I’m surrounded by I suddenly feel incredibly alone. There is only one person I can talk to about what happened in the church.
‘Milly,’ I hiss as a goddess in gold glides past me, holding two glasses of champagne aloft. ‘You, me, in the Portaloo now!’
‘You saw who?’ Milly gasps and looks down at me in horror.
I’m slumped on the toilet, skirts held aloft by Milly, white lace knickers down by my ankles, and clinging on to my champagne flute as I self-consciously try to empty my bladder (and my conscience) before my best mate.
‘Kieran Blake.’ I whisper his name quietly in case anyone else has come in.
‘Former breaker of your heart?’ Milly hisses.
I nod.
‘The guy who swept you off your feet for a single summer and then nearly destroyed your life, leaving me and Loni to pick up the pieces? The one who watched his own brother die because of his own stupid recklessness and left you to carry the guilt?’ I close my eyes. ‘He was here? And that’s why you fell when you came down the aisle?’
I nod again.
She narrows her eyes. ‘So, how did you feel?’
I look at her and then down at my feet guiltily. ‘Like I was drowning.’
‘Did you talk to him?’ She pauses briefly. ‘Well, did you?’
I shake my head.
‘Good. You know that him being here doesn’t change anything, don’t you?’ she says urgently. ‘Except to prove what a selfish bastard he still is.’ She looks at me, as if waiting for me to echo her character assassination of him. But I can’t. What happened to Elliot wasn’t his fault.
‘Milly, you don’t know him, that isn’t fair—’
She rolls her eyes as if she has heard this a million times before. Milly tends to make snap judgements. It’s partly to do with her job as a hedge fund manager that she operates entirely on gut instinct. And so far it has seen her become a partner at one of the biggest investment companies in the City, marry her perfect man and make brilliant decisions in all other aspects of her life including: The flat she bought eight years ago (a two-bedroom dump opposite Greenwich Park acquired in an auction without seeing – now worth nearly a million pounds). Her clothes – the woman has never got it wrong, ever. Her hairstyle – a chic, sharp bob that she had cut aged thirteen after seeing Pulp Fiction – and has never ever changed because she nailed her look right then (I mean, who manages that as a teenager?). So when she says she never liked Kieran and that she always knew he couldn’t be trusted even before he left me, I should listen. She was my saviour after that summer. She visited me throughout the year that I barely left Loni’s house, and when he didn’t come back when he said he would, she and Loni intervened and moved me up to London to live with her.
I didn’t really have a choice in the matter and that suited me. As far as I was concerned I didn’t deserve one any more.
‘You know how I feel about Kieran Blake,’ Milly says now. ‘He tried to ruin your life once and he didn’t succeed. I can’t believe he’s come back today of all days to do it again. Well, I hope he realises he’s too late . . .’
I don’t reply.
‘Bea?’ Milly says, grasping my arms and looking into my eyes. ‘This doesn’t change anything, does it? Him being here? I mean, you know that you and Adam are perfect for each other, don’t you?’
I think of how I felt after my fall, and when I said my vows, and I know she’s right. Kieran coming back hasn’t changed anything.
‘I do,’ I say for the second time today. And then again, more emphatically, ‘I do.’
Chapter 8
‘I’ve waited for this moment for eight long years, Bea. Do you know, wherever I’ve been in the world, at any particular moment, when I close my eyes I’ve always been taken back to this beach, gazing at this view. With you . . .’
I stare at Kieran and then shake my head, fighting a compulsion to laugh manically at his words even as a desperate sob rises up through my body. I want to throw my arms around him and tell him to fuck off at the same time. Clearly I’m having some sort of breakdown. And not just of the marriage kind.
Instead I say nothing. I just lift some sand in my palm and watch as the grains slip through my fingers like time itself. I glance up at Kieran. He’s looking at me dreamily, like he too has one foot in the past and one in the present. He crouches down and tries to put his arm around me.
‘Kieran—’ I protest sharply, pulling away. ‘Don’t. Just, don’t. Have you forgotten—’
‘I’ve never forgotten you, Bea!’ Kieran says fiercely. ‘You should know that. How could I forget what we went through together?’ He reaches out his hand. I look at the ring on his finger and then at him and pull my arm away from his touch.
‘I was going to say have you forgotten about my wedding. You know, the one you just crashed? Funnily enough I don’t feel like reminiscing with you right now.’ I turn away from him, my pulse throbbing, heart pounding, hands shaking. I don’t want to look at him or be drawn into this conversation. But even though I have my back to him his image is still imprinted on my eyes. I can feel his presence in every one of my pores. It’s like he is insidiously making his way under my skin again and I’m unable to resist him.
I can’t help it. I glance over my shoulder and study him defiantly, without restraint. He has undoubtedly grown into a strong, fit, capable, magnetic man. But then I blink and it is as if the sand-timer has suddenly been flipped and the years dissipate before my eyes like a sandcastle swallowed up by the incoming tide. His gym-honed body shrinks and becomes the lean surfing machine it was when he was in his early twenties, his cropped hair grows long over his eyes, the sunken lines around his mouth and forehead fade into nothingness. I know he is imagining me too as I was then: with longer, looser hair, less make-up, fewer frown lines. And without the wedding dress.
‘Why are you here, Kieran?’ I ask warily. Wearily. ‘Why now?’
<
br /> He waits for a moment before he answers. ‘It just felt like the right time, I guess.’
I force a laugh. ‘Oh really? Right for who?’
Kieran looks at me sorrowfully. ‘You’re angry at me.’
‘No, I’m angry at me.’ I exhale. ‘This is not the time, Kieran. Eight years ago was the time.’ I go to stand up but find I can’t in this stupid tight dress. I flail around for a moment like an upturned beetle before giving up.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Kieran smiles.
‘No, thank you.’ I slump back on the sand and fold my arms.
Kieran sighs and turns his back to me. ‘Bea, I know you don’t want to hear this right now but I need you to understand something. No matter how far I travelled and how long I stayed away, you’ve always been with me. You, Elliot, that summer’ – he looks down – ‘that night. In many ways I feel like I never left. A big part of me has always been here, with you.’ He steps towards me as if taking my silence as acquiescence. Acceptance. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Bea . . . you’re the only one who understands me, who knows where I come from, who I am. You’re the only one who could ever understand what it’s like to lose someone you love . . .’ His voice cracks. ‘I still miss him, you know. Every day.’
I close my eyes and instantly see an image of Elliot jumping gleefully off Cromer Pier. I hear his cry as he slipped and caught his head on the side. I see his lifeless body as Kieran dragged him out of the sea.
He reaches out and offers me his hand and this time I find myself taking it. As I do I notice the tattoo of a star sign just visible on his wrist. Gemini. The twins. I run my finger over it for a second and he clutches my hand and then smiles sadly, his lips flicking up and then down in a quick movement like a cat’s tail. Instead of getting up I pull him down so he’s next to me.
We sit in silence watching as a flock of Brent geese arc across the sky. It’s then that I allow the memories to come flooding back of that halcyon summer when we met. He was twenty-five, I was twenty-two. He and his twin brother Elliot had been to Norfolk many times before but had never stayed long enough to settle down. They were ex-foster kids whose foster parents had split up and then moved abroad, neither of them willing to go on looking after them. He told me that when they were in care, he and Elliot became wilder and wilder until their lives effectively evolved into an extended childhood game of chicken. When they turned eighteen and left the care home, they worked their way along the coast, finding jobs at campsites, in bars and restaurants, each encouraging the other to go for the next prohibited thrill.
The very first time we slept together, Kieran told me he didn’t answer to anyone. He made his own decisions and always followed his heart and his instinct, wherever they took him. I remember exactly how he’d looked at me when he said that. ‘And now I know why they brought me here,’ he’d added, lowering his head and resting it on my chest as we fell asleep under the stars, entwined round each other’s bodies. We didn’t untangle ourselves for another four months. It was blissful. My summer of love. Until . . .
I remember with a jolt what he’d said to me the day he left after Elliot’s funeral, on this very beach: I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I feel a sudden wave of remorse as I remember how Adam looked when I told him the very same thing earlier today.
‘What am I doing?’ I didn’t mean to but I realise I’ve said this aloud. Using his arm as a hoist I pull myself up to my feet before trying to run down the dunes, my feet sinking into the sand, grains flying up around me and into my eyes as I stagger awkwardly across the beach. Kieran’s empty words from all those years ago are still echoing in my head. I just need some time. You’ll wait for me though, won’t you? I need to know you’ll wait . . .
‘Bea!’ Kieran calls. ‘WAIT!’
‘WAIT?’ I swing around, fuelled by fury, fear and guilt. ‘What do you think I did for an entire year, Kieran? I waited for you, I waited and waited but you never came. And I understand why, I do. You blamed me for Elliot’s death. I know you said you didn’t but when you didn’t come back I knew. I bet you couldn’t bear to even think about me, let alone look at me . . .’
‘What? Bea, no! You know I told you it wasn’t your fault!’
‘I don’t want to hear it!’ I cry, putting my hands over my ears. ‘It’s too late, OK? IT’S TOO LATE!’
He lurches forward but I start to run across the beach, hands still clasping my ears as if trying to drown out the crescendo of noise that is the deafening roar of my long-buried guilt.
A young man died because of me, and I’ll never ever forgive myself. I don’t deserve to be happy. Kieran has reminded me of that. Thank goodness I realised in time.
Chapter 9
Adam expertly finishes telling an anecdote of one of our first dates that has everyone roaring with laughter and then ahhh-ing with pleasure. Then he takes my hand and strokes my ring finger with his thumb as he turns to me and raises his champagne glass to signify the end of his speech.
‘So will you join me in raising a glass to my beautiful and perfect wife, the woman I love with all my heart – the new Mrs Hudson. Thank you for finally agreeing to marry me,’ he says jokily and there’s a ripple of laughter and an outburst of applause as we kiss.
Once we’ve sat down, I allow myself a moment as the applause continues to take in the opulent and lavishly decorated marquee: the gold chairs complete with gigantic satin bows, the enormous crystal-encrusted chandeliers suspended from the draped ceiling, creating a stardust effect on the shiny floor. The round tables are covered in pristine white tablecloths. In the middle of each table is a jaw-droppingly gigantic floral centrepiece in a mirrored vase; lilies standing tall and gypsophila cascading like a fountain, the vase flanked by two tall white tapered candles in antique silver holders. Ornate silver-pronged candelabras sit on a fake mantelpiece behind the head table, alongside a large display of white freesias that spell out ‘Adam and Bea’. I know it is meant to be a touching detail but the effect is slightly funereal. Each guest has a blue Tiffany box at their place setting; the female guests’ contain a bracelet with one specially chosen silver charm. The men have cufflinks. It is an astonishingly extravagant detail, embarrassingly so, actually – and yet I know the blue boxes are mere drops in the vast oceanic expense of the day.
Loni winks at me. ‘So much for your low-key wedding!’ she whispers. ‘The Hudsons could have fed a small country with the amount they’ve spent on this wedding!’
Cal leans across Loni and waves an empty bottle. ‘Shis,’ he slurs. ‘Thish ish good shtuff. Thish wine is about eighty quid a pop!’ Cal’s hospital shifts mean his body clock is all over the place – and what with that and the twins’ still-erratic sleeping patterns, he’s a total lightweight these days.
He blows a kiss to Lucy, his childhood sweetheart, who is sitting with their girls, Nico and Neve, at a table far further back than I requested. They appear to have been relegated in favour of Adam’s dad’s business contacts, even though I’d specifically asked for them to be seated in front of the top table. But I don’t have time to think about it any more as just then Jay stands up, adjusts his glasses, draws out his iPad and pulls down a screen. He grins and Adam groans audibly and our guests start laughing as a picture of Adam aged three appears on it. He’s beaming brightly and is dressed in a suit and is sitting in the boardroom at Hudson & Grey.
‘My little boy!’ Marion exclaims.
‘Ahhh, my baby,’ George adds, wiping a pretend tear away before delivering his punchline. ‘It was the proudest day of my life when . . . the company was born!’
Everyone laughs and I squeeze Adam’s hand. I know his dad’s obsession with his advertising agency has always been a sore point. It’s no surprise to me that Adam ended up following in his father’s footsteps. It felt like his career path was pre-determined. George’s first love is his career, and so joining the company was Adam’s only chance to get some attention. He shares his dad’s talent and vision too – if not his passion. I know
there are other things he would love to do. He told me on our very first date when I asked him. ‘Study art, paint, be a designer . . . but they’re all pipe dreams, not reality. I’m lucky to work with such inspiring people, and closely with my dad, even if sometimes it can be tricky . . .’
‘I always knew Adam was destined for greatness.’ Jay points at the screen. ‘Even at this young age he was asking the secretaries to stay late and play with him.’
‘He’s his father’s son!’ George guffaws.
‘Adam has always known exactly what he wants out of life,’ Jay continues. ‘Unlike the rest of us who seemed to veer precariously through our twenties from one job to another, one relationship to another, Adam has always known his goal: to follow in his father’s footsteps. Not just in business but in a long and happy marriage, too . . .’ I see Marion pat her coiffed hair proudly as George jokily pulls a pained face and downs his glass of red.
‘Obviously Adam has never been short of girlfriends . . .’ Jay continues. ‘We met at uni and I knew instantly that if ever a ginge like me was to succeed with the ladies, I needed to stick with a guy like Ad . . .’
‘Ain’t that the truth!’ one of Adam’s schoolfriends calls out.
‘But I was there the night that Adam met Bea,’ Jay laughs, ‘and I can assure you that no one has ever turned his head quite like her. And he’s never looked away from her since.’
