by Ali Harris
‘Sorry,’ I say sympathetically. ‘But I just don’t think I can face anyone right now. I can’t bear thinking about how I’ve let everyone down.’
‘You haven’t let anyone down. Except Adam,’ Milly says pointedly.
‘How is he?’ I say quietly. I can’t say his name. I don’t deserve to.
‘He’s heartbroken. He feels like his life has been torn in two.’ She pauses. ‘And how are you?’
I consider her words. ‘The same.’
‘Then why?’ she demands. ‘I mean, I just don’t get it. You love him, he loves you, so why leave?’ She makes me sound like an investor pulling out of a sure-fire interest earner. I don’t answer. ‘Jay and I were with Adam most of the night,’ she continues. ‘He’s completely blaming himself.’
‘It’s not his fault!’ I exclaim. ‘I told him that!’
‘And so did we.’ She pauses. ‘Obviously we told him what a horrible, selfish person you are . . .’
‘You’re right, I am.’
‘Oh Bea,’ she sighs. ‘I’m joking! But why didn’t you talk to me if you were having second thoughts? You know I can always help when you’re being pathetic and indecisive . . . it’s what I do.’
This is true, but still, her words prickle. She does always help, if helping is steamrollering me into life choices I’m not always ready to make.
‘I – I tried . . . before I started walking up the aisle. But then I decided to just ignore my doubts and go for it . . .’
‘And that was the right decision! So what changed your mind?
Kieran did.
I don’t reply.
‘Seriously, Bea, what happened?’ Milly presses. ‘Maybe Cal got it wrong and you were concussed.’
I don’t tell her that actually I was thinking straight for the first time in years. I don’t say anything, in fact. The silence hangs between us; invisible but tangible all the same, like the missing sails on the boats opposite me. I want to open up to her, but I know she’ll judge me.
‘Well, if you don’t want to tell me . . .’ Milly says huffily, breaking the silence.
I look up and blink and raindrops begin to fall from the sky, landing like teardrops on my face. I step back into the amusement arcade. The noise of the games is ringing in my ears.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just . . . I – I don’t know . . .’ This isn’t true. I do know. I know damn well what happened.
There’s a lengthy pause before she speaks again. ‘Look,’ she says. ‘As long as you know that I’m here for you. If you need me.’
‘Thank you, Milly.’
Another silence in which I sense that she is giving me one final chance to come clean. Maybe if we were out together, or I’d drunk some alcohol, I would. But I’m not brave enough right now. I can’t tell her, I just can’t.
‘OK,’ she sighs resignedly at last. ‘I know you’re not ready to talk but I also know you can’t stay at Loni’s forever. Obviously you won’t be going back to your and Adam’s place but you always have a space with Jay and me at the flat if you need it. We’ve got plenty of room. You and me back together in Greenwich again – and in the same flat. It’d be just like the old days!’ she adds faux brightly.
‘Thanks, Milly,’ I reply, subdued by her generosity.
The old days. Her words echo in my head long after we end our call.
An hour later, after I’ve finally convinced Cal that it’s OK to leave me and he’s gone to work, I head down to the beach. I can’t face going back to Loni’s in case I’ve had any more visitors. It has stopped raining and I have an urge to go for a run. I’m not dressed for it but I don’t care. I pound along the sand towards the nature reserve, the sharp sea breeze blowing against my face, my calf muscles burning, my heart pumping, and I feel the mists part like the clouds above and my path ahead suddenly begins to appear more clearly than it has for years.
The old days.
I run for miles until I get to Holkham Hall. I weave my way up the drive through the oak trees and reach the lake. I stand there panting and holding my waist as I stare at the scene in front of me. Another wedding reception is taking place in the grounds today. Same marquee, different couple. I watch them as they thread easily through their guests; every so often they pause to kiss, or whisper to each other. Even when they are apart having separate conversations they seem together, their movements mirrored, eye contact frequently made. They look so happy.
That could have been me, I think, feeling like I’m witnessing the alternative reality of yesterday. I would have been clutching a champagne glass, chatting to our guests like this, basking in the glory of the most important day of my life.
But now I feel like I’ve crossed a line and instead of being on the path that was leading me to the future I am . . . where? Where will my new trajectory, my new life, take me? Am I always going to be suspended in time, unable to make any real decisions, any actual steps forward until I deal with the past? I may have run from Kieran yesterday but now I feel like my life has actually been on pause since the day he left. Maybe even before . . .
I watch an older man with charcoal-grey hair and a broad smile, and dressed in a morning suit, approach the couple. He shakes hands with the groom and kisses him on both cheeks and then, beaming with pride, he throws his arms around the bride, who must be his daughter.
My breath catches in my throat as I suddenly remember the last time my dad hugged me. I’d been in the garden, sitting under the willow tree. He’d embraced me, pressing his face against mine as he placed a book in my hands. Then he’d kissed my head several times before he quickly and quietly got up, turned round and walked across the lawn, into a white mist of magnolia trees, before disappearing out of the side gate, changing my life forever.
Chapter 14
Bea Hudson has just been carried over the threshold . . .
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‘Here we are,’ Adam says as he picks me up, swings open the door of our hotel room and carries me in.
‘You’re meant to carry me over the threshold of our home,’ I laugh, ‘not our honeymoon hotel!’
‘Oh sorry, my mistake!’ He goes to drop me and I squeal and cling on to him as he strides across the room and throws me onto the bed. I giggle as he lowers his body to mine then I close my eyes contentedly, relishing the warmth I feel as he covers me.
‘So we did it then, Mrs Hudson,’ he says, stroking back my hair and kissing me softly on my lips, my cheeks and my eyelids.
‘Not yet, we haven’t.’ I smile cheekily and tug at the buckle on his belt.
‘You could at least wine and dine me first!’ he says with mock offence.
‘I’m only hungry for one thing.’ I undo his belt and whip off his trousers and sit astride him again, feeling the hard swell of him between my legs. I take off my blazer and pull my dress over my head and lean down, brushing my lips over his softly and then biting his plump bottom lip gently. His dark stubble grazes my chin and I kiss his neck, working my hands down his body, pinging open his shirt buttons as I go. I lean against his chest so we’re skin against skin. Our kisses deepen, becoming more and more urgent as we allow ourselves to get lost in the welcome warmth of each other’s mouths. Nothing has ever felt as good as this.
‘Mmm,’ Adam murmurs as he flips me over onto my back. ‘If this is what marriage is going to be like, I’m glad I’ve signed up to it for the rest of my life . . .’
‘So am I,’ I smile. ‘So am I.’
I roll up on one elbow and nuzzle Adam’s neck. His arms are stretched languorously over his head.
‘Wow,’ I breathe, looking around the room.
Adam opens one eye, his lips curl up on one side and a line appears on his cheek like a comma, punctuating his smile. ‘That was pretty incredible, huh!’
‘I was talking about the room!’ He tries to grab me and I giggle as I bound out of bed and begin exploring our suite, opening doors and exclaiming as I take it all in. It isn’t a big, plush,
soulless room in a staid, overpriced suite overlooking the Eiffel Tower as I expected Adam to choose. Instead we’re in a quirky boutique room that is a rainbow of vivid, wondrous colour. ‘Ooh look at this beautiful wallpaper! It feels like we’re in a garden!’ I can’t disguise my delight at the trees that shimmer with pink blossom, the green leaves and flashes of bright blue sky.
The bathroom is small but perfectly formed with a roll-top bath and rose-pink and lime-green tiles. I gaze through the net curtains and out of the window that overlooks the little cobbled streets of Montmartre. ‘It’s perfect,’ I sigh. I peer out of the bathroom and spot Adam leaning over the bedside table to look at his phone. I put my hands on my hips and tap my foot but he doesn’t notice so instead I leap across the room and onto the bed and confiscate his phone.
He smiles apologetically then prods me gently. ‘You thought I’d get it wrong, didn’t you? You were imagining some expensive faceless suite on the Champs-Elysées. A suite most women would probably kill to stay in, might I add . . .’ His prod turns into a tickle.
‘But I’m not most women,’ I reply through my giggles, wriggling away from him and then switching his phone off and putting it on my bedside table.
‘No, you are definitely not. And that’s exactly why I married you . . .’ Adam says as he rolls towards me. He always says the right thing. He has always accepted me for exactly who I am.
Maybe now I’ve left Bea Bishop and my secret behind, I will too.
Next morning, after a gorgeous breakfast, we’re excitedly exploring the glorious and glamorous Champs-Elysées. It’s all very impressive but I can’t help wishing I could kick off my pumps and go and lie in the grass.
‘We’re nearly here,’ Adam says now and I stop behind him, taking a moment to enjoy watching him studying the map. His head is bowed over it, blue-black hair flopping over his forehead. He glances up and grins at me as I take a photo. He looks so much younger and less stressed than usual. I glance at the sign behind him. We’re standing on the corner of a pretty, maple-tree-lined street called the avenue Franklin D. Roosevelt in the 8th arrondissement. Adam takes me by the shoulders and turns me around to face the ornate stone façade of the Grand Palais; the historic exhibition site that was built in the architectural style of the Beaux-Arts.
‘Inside is the science museum, the Palais de la Découverte,’ he informs me in a perfect French accent.
‘Great! Are we going in?’ My heart sinks a little at the thought. I can’t think of anything worse than looking around a fusty old museum right now.
‘We’re not going in there!’ he laughs. ‘Come on, this way.’ Adam grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. I hear his phone buzz in his pocket but he pulls it out and switches it off. The gesture sends a warm glow through me.
‘What’s that?’ I ask Adam, pointing at a large sculpture next to the museum. He’ll know, because he always does.
‘It’s of a guy called Alfred de Musset,’ Adam says.
‘Bless you,’ I say as if he’s just sneezed and he laughs again.
‘Why, what do you think of it?’ Adam asks. I panic a little. I hate being asked my opinion on anything, I never feel like I know the answer, I’m constantly battling my inner instinct to shout, ‘I don’t know!’ It’s why I don’t like museums. They’re one of the many places you’re meant to be confident of your opinions. And it’s been a long time since I trusted my judgement.
‘I don’t know . . .’ I pause and try to gather my thoughts, forcing myself to take control, to be more like Adam. More like a Hudson. ‘I suppose, well, I – I guess I kind of like how he looks all whimsical and sort of . . .’ I pause. ‘In repose. As if he’s trying to make a decision.’ I feel myself grow in confidence as I speak and I tilt my head thoughtfully. ‘It looks as if he’s looking back and forward all at once.’ Suddenly I feel that I can relate to this strange piece of apparently unremarkable art. ‘He’s a dreamer,’ I finish assuredly.
‘He certainly is,’ Adam agrees and I feel a swell of pride at being right.
‘Maybe I’ve missed my calling as an art critic. Because that sculpture just kind of spoke to me, you know?’ Adam leans in towards me and raises an eyebrow.
‘That’s funny because he’s meant to be daydreaming about his former lover.’
‘Oh,’ I say, trying to stop my face reddening. Suddenly I’m not so keen on it after all. ‘Alfred de Musset, you say? Alfred de Muppet more like. I mean, what an idiot, getting hung up on his ex like that!’ Adam chuckles and I take his hand. ‘So where are we going?’ I change the subject swiftly.
Adam smiles and points at some old rickety stone steps. I peer and see that the steps curve down and round to somewhere just out of sight.
‘What’s down here?’ I ask as Adam takes my hand and we begin to slowly descend the steps.
He glances sideways at me and winks. ‘You’ll see . . .’
He leads the way down the higgledy steps, looking back at me to make sure I don’t stumble as I carefully follow. Ahead of him is a stone entrance: it’s like a giant has smashed his outstretched hand straight through a wall to make his way through. I can see a flash of green beyond, and, utterly intrigued, am led into a beautiful hidden garden, filtered by rich, golden sunlight. When Adam speaks again he’s smiling broadly.
‘Welcome to the Jardin de la Vallée Suisse, a secret garden in the heart of Paris that I found especially for you.’
My heart soars. He knows me so well.
‘Adam, this is perfect!’ I throw myself into his arms and he lifts me off the ground. Then he leads me over to a bench and begins unpacking a picnic lunch. I stop him as he pulls out a bottle of champagne and starts to open it. I just want to soak up this perfect moment.
‘Shh,’ I say. ‘Listen.’ Along with the birdsong, I hear the rustle of leaves, like soft-soled feet dancing across a stage, the gentle inhale of each flower as it bends to the sun, the exhale of the trees as the breeze sighs through the branches.
‘It’s beautiful.’ I sink back on the bench, allowing the view to wash over me. The scent of maples and lilac fills my nose, as does the summery, Mediterranean scent of lemon trees. Evergreens wall the garden, like elegant, emerald-clad ladies waiting for a dance at a ball.
I glance at Adam; both of us laugh as he pops the cork on the champagne and pours it into the two glasses he is holding. He begins to retell the moment he proposed to me in Kew Gardens and, as he does, I close my eyes and I feel like I’m back in that blissful moment, that the scent under my nose now is that of an English summer – lavender and jasmine, roses, not a Paris spring, and as he takes my hand now I feel like we’re actually back in that moment where he convinced me of the happy future I’d never believed I deserved. I hear him telling me again that he’ll look after me always, that he’ll make me happier than I’ve ever thought possible, and as the sun warms my face and his words my heart, I remember how ardently I believed him. I believed that I had a chance to make the right choice and so, despite the fear that had encased my being for so long that I wasn’t destined or deserving of a happy ending, I said yes.
As we lock eyes now and I’m pulled back into this moment, I tell myself again that I’ve done the right thing. I know Adam loves me and he’s not going to leave me. He won’t. I gaze around, taking in every inch of the beautiful hidden garden. Suddenly Adam is kissing my neck and as I turn and meet his lips with mine I feel myself letting go of the past and swirling towards a happy, sunny, floral oblivion – my future safe and secure in his hands.
Chapter 15
Bea Bishop has changed her relationship status to ‘Single’.
The luxury apartment of 5, Canary Wharf Place feels alien when I walk in. It’s a giant shiny spaceship of a building that doesn’t resemble a home in any way, let alone mine for the past five years. I walk robotically through the communal entrance and towards the lifts, observing the shiny lockers and the modern paintings like I’m seeing them for the first time. Heart pounding, I glance at Demetri,
the security guard, whom I catch staring at me, before quickly looking back at his computer screen without acknowledging me. Perhaps he doesn’t recognise me wearing the grubby old T-shirt and gardening jeans I pulled on this morning. Or with my new short hair. I chopped it off in Loni’s bathroom the night after my non-wedding. Loni stood behind me as I wept in front of the mirror and I could see she was fighting back tears too. I’d been growing my hair ever since I met Adam and the act of cutting it had felt like leaving him for a second time.
‘Shhh, shhh,’ Loni had said soothingly, as she’d brushed the tatty tendrils before gently tidying the ends with some proper hairdressing scissors so they fell in soft waves around my jaw. ‘You’ve always been too beautiful to be hidden behind all that hair. This is much more you. You look like my girl again . . .’
And I do feel more like me. I haven’t missed my wardrobe of suits, my rails of colour co-ordinated blouses and skirts, the high heels and the expensive jewellery that Adam loved to buy me. I glance down at my bare ring finger. OK, that’s a lie. I have missed my engagement ring. I keep finding myself circling it with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand just to feel some pressure there. The air around it seems lighter too, colder, like that one finger has been relegated to a social Siberia by the other fingers.
Which is where I feel I’ve been for the past two weeks, too. I’ve barely spoken to anyone except Loni, Cal and Milly. She’s persisted with me where all my other friends have gradually stopped ringing, texting or even sending me messages on Facebook.
‘You have to take your life off pause and work out what to do next,’ Milly said last night on the two-week anniversary of my non-wedding.
‘I know, I know,’ I’d said, staring blankly at some terrible early evening game show and pulling at a stray thread in my pyjamas as Loni delivered soup and sandwiches to my bed.
‘And that means going back to the flat, collecting your stuff and moving in with me.’
‘But I can’t!’ I’d protested, nearly spilling my soup in my horror.
