The Bridesmaid

by Nina Manning

  Then I see an unrecognised number amongst my text messages. I click on it and read.

  Hello, Sasha, I do hope you are well. I found your number on your delightful little website. I haven’t heard back from you after my last correspondence via email and I wondered if perhaps you were available for some lunch one afternoon? You and I haven’t seen one another for some time, and with Caitlin’s wedding so close, now might be a good time to catch up. What do you say? My treat. I know a splendid little French place close to your area, I could meet you there.

  Regards, Ava

  My initial reaction is to text back, telling her in a not so polite way to do one. But after I take a few deep breaths, it occurs to me that Ava and I hadn’t spoken properly for a really long time. Josephine’s funeral had been fleeting, with little time for intimate conversations. I wonder if, after all this time away from Saxby and the Clemonte clan, it was time to go back and have that conversation with Ava.

  I meet her the following day at the French restaurant she referred to in her text. It is a small intimate place with only ten or so tables, all classically set with white tablecloths, starched white napkins and small clear vases with a single red carnation. I have walked past it a handful of times, but never thought much of it from the front, and I can’t help being annoyed that Ava seems to know more about my local eateries than I do.

  I arrive ten minutes early so I can get seated and wait for Ava, but it appears she’s had the same thought and is already seated in the far corner. Her dark hair is swept back in a graceful style. She is in a pale pink shirt and white trousers. Her nails are painted a deep red that match her lips. The red crescent breaks into a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as I approach the table.

  ‘Sasha, so good to see you.’ She holds her hands firmly in front of her, as a sign she is unwilling to greet me with even a formal handshake. I sit down opposite her, that fuzzy feeling in my gut returning immediately, like some sort of annoying muscle memory. I remind myself, I’m thirty-three, not thirteen. She can’t intimidate me any more.

  ‘Hello, Ava,’ I say, trying not to let my voice waver.

  ‘I’ve ordered sparkling water, I hope that’s acceptable. The menu is quite something, do take a look.’

  I quickly eye the small menu in front of me with a handful of starters and mains. A salmon mousse choux pastry and jambon persille jump off the page.

  Ava looks across the other side of the restaurant. ‘They have a sweet trolley, how perfectly quaint!’ To anyone looking in, we may look like old friends.

  ‘Would your daughter like to see the wine list?’ A waiter is at my side, yet addressing Ava. Is it that obvious to everyone that she is the one with the money?

  ‘I’m not her daughter,’ I say abruptly.

  Ava looks at me, her fake enthusiasm dwindling. ‘No, no you’re not,’ she says.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the waiter bows his head in apology. ‘I thought I saw a similarity there for a moment.’

  ‘And no wine for me, thank you,’ I say as I let my gaze fall to the menu in front of me again. I see how expensive the food is and then I curse myself for agreeing to come here. If I let Ava pay, then she will have won the power battle, but if I pay my half, then I will be forking out a fortune on one lunch. I had been brought up to be frugal, even when we had some surplus income at Saxby, my parents were saving it to buy the house they live in now.

  As though Ava has read my mind, she speaks.

  ‘Do feel free to order anything you fancy, Sasha. It’s my treat – after all you have made the effort to meet with me. I know it’s been some time.’

  ‘So why have you decided to get in touch now?’ I know I sound blunt, but this is how I need to be with Ava; she seems a little too bright, considering our history.

  She clears her throat very delicately, holding her hand to her mouth as she does so. ‘It’s come to my attention that…’ Ava pauses. She is never lost for words and her stalling throws me. ‘Caitlin gets married in September, and, well, I have seen the guest list. Caitlin saw fit to involve me with the seating plan – awkward aunties and so forth. There are sixty-seven guests at the wedding, all of whom I can name. Except one. They are simply down as “guest”.’

  A slight panic comes over me. I have seen the guest list, but it was the one thing Caitlin had been adamant she would finalise. Ava is looking at me, waiting for me to say the words that will make her feel at ease.

  ‘I can only presume Caitlin has a friend who is unsure, who may change their mind at the last minute. Or perhaps it’s a plus one?’

  ‘Well, yes, yes, I’m sure.’ Ava holds my gaze and then the waiter comes over again.

  ‘Two soupe à l’oignon, and two sole, please.’ She looks at me briefly. I nod. She hands the menu to the waiter, who nods and leaves.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you. I know this place fairly well and those are two of the finest dishes.’ She looks at me and waits for my response.

  I swallow down my annoyance. ‘They sound perfectly fine,’ I say, keeping my tone neutral and light.

  Ava clasps her hands back in front of her again and begins to discuss the weather, before asking after Oscar – initially calling him Oliver, a slip-up I see straight through.

  ‘It’s a shame Caitlin could not bring herself to marry at a church. I know it’s not the thing these days, but I am rather old-fashioned. Always have been and always will be, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, I always found you and your family to be very…’ I pause to think of the word. ‘Traditional,’ I say. ‘But I liked that about you all.’ I find myself adding without thought, and I watch as Ava’s face seems to soften for a moment, but before long, the hardened expression is back.

  ‘I know you did,’ Ava says after a beat. She then clears her throat and looks down at the table, focusing on the knife and fork that she carefully adjusts on her napkin.

  ‘How’s business, Sasha?’ Ava looks up brightly as I take a sip of my water, trying not to flinch at the bite of the sparkle; I would have opted for still.

  ‘Business is really good, thank you, Ava.’ I eye her suspiciously; it’s strange how she seems to have taken such an interest in my business recently.

  ‘You have a new client, no?’ She tries to make the comment sound throwaway.

  ‘I have. A model.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Roxy. Lovely girl,’ Ava says. ‘Of course, I’m not into all that vlogging – sounds very technical to me – but it’s strange how sometimes paths can cross.’

  I feel my back prickle as I quickly begin to piece together what is happening.

  ‘I mean, I say I’m old-fashioned, but I do know a lot of people, who also know a lot of people.’ A small smile plays across her lips.

  ‘Are you saying it was you who put Roxy in touch with me?’ I say slowly as the realisation dawns.

  ‘It’s easy when you know people, Sasha. I could throw a few more clients your way if you feel you have the capacity to take on more work?’

  I narrow my eyes at her.

  The waiter is back at our table with our soups. The umami aroma hits my nostrils; a scent that would usually draw me in, now repulses me. The waiter steps to a small table next to him and lifts a humongous pepper grinder. He holds it up next to me, questioningly. I shake my head. Ava looks up and smiles graciously.

  ‘Oh yes, please.’

  The waiter slowly begins grinding the pepper mill. The sound seems to reverberate around the room. I take a few deep breaths and try to calm down as the three of us are suspended in what feels like the longest few moments of my life.

  Finally, Ava thanks the waiter, who does another slight head bow, and retreats from the table. Ava picks up her spoon and dips it in the soup.

  ‘Try it whilst it’s hot. It’s delicious.’

  ‘What. Do. You. Want,’ I seethe.

  Ava looks up over her spoon, which was nearly at her mouth. Then she puts it in her mouth, swallows and dabs at her mouth with her napkin. />
  ‘I want to know that everything is going to be okay. This mystery guest has thrown me, Sasha. I wish to feel at ease at my daughter’s wedding day, and I have to say, right now, I feel a little on edge.’

  I try to cast my memory back to the guest list. I have a copy at home on an email. Why had I not noticed the unnamed guest before? I was too busy with favours and invites and hen holidays. And I suppose it was something I knew I didn’t need to really worry about. I had probably glanced over it to see which names stood out and then forgotten all about it.

  ‘Ava, I can assure you that I have no idea who Caitlin’s mystery guest is.’

  Ava runs her tongue across her teeth and smacks her lips together. ‘Okay. Then we let that go to rest. Eat your soup, before it gets cold.’

  I pick up my spoon, but my appetite is still frozen. I’m thinking about who Caitlin could possibly be inviting that she doesn’t wish me or Ava to know about. I had always wondered about this aspect of Caitlin, that like her strange behaviour as a child, she has always been able to spook me somehow. Then there was her cagey behaviour over the last year, which has become even more questionable as the wedding gets closer. I’m wondering if I’m not alone in my extracurricular activities. For what this chat with Ava has brought to light is that Caitlin could also be planning something behind my back.

  14

  Saxby House, Dorset, New Year’s Eve 1988

  We sat around the fireplace in the main lounge; the adults had lit so many candles that it looked as though we were about to hold a seance. Beverly had brought out hot chocolate for us and glasses of brandy for the adults. ‘For the shock,’ Rayner had said when she put in the request to Beverly who nodded approvingly. ‘I mean it was quite alarming. One moment I was anticipating a soufflé, the next moment, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face! I had no idea there was a storm forecast for tonight, did you? It’s like something out of an Agatha Christie novel,’ she said, pouring a large dash of brandy into her steaming hot chocolate.

  ‘Yes, a real whodunnit. Was it Mr Plum in the study with the candlestick?’ Maxwell guffawed.

  ‘That’s Cluedo, darling,’ Ava retorted. ‘And nobody died.’

  ‘Or did they?’ Chuck piped up. ‘Should I do a quick head count? How many of us are there now?’

  ‘Drinking champagne will be even easier in this light,’ Caitlin whispered to me. But I was no longer sure. I knew now that it was Hackett’s face at the window I had seen. Beverly told us all the cracking noise was probably the surge of electricity before it went out. As Rayner had said, there was no sign of a storm. Suddenly, I was no longer hungry.

  But Beverly and Judith carried on regardless, carefully navigating their way back and forth from the kitchen until they had put out ten soufflés on the table which was now alight with candles of all shapes and sizes. Since the lights went out, people were finding themselves a seat wherever they could. I found myself between Chuck’s parents, whilst Caitlin shot me an array of angry expressions across the table.

  ‘Jolly good show, girls,’ Maxwell hollered to Beverly and Judith as they scurried carefully back to the kitchen to prepare the beef wellington.

  I had never tasted a soufflé before so when I put the first spoonful in my mouth, an incredible party erupted amongst my tastebuds. This was followed by another two courses of the beef, then a chocolate fondant pudding, which I devoured in minutes.

  A cheese board was on its way with more brandy, whisky and coffee for the adults, so Caitlin and I took the opportunity to slip away.

  ‘Was it fun between the olds? Why didn’t you sit next to me?’ Caitlin was walking a bit strange. I had seen her swipe a spare glass of champagne during the dinner, and with everyone chatting and the darkness of the room, I knew she had got away with it. I decided she was now slightly drunk, and this suspicion was backed up further when she asked me if I wanted to go upstairs and see her room. In the few months I had known her, I had never been in the upstairs of the house, so I said yes without hesitation; I didn’t need to be asked again. I had been dying to see the rooms and other parts of the twelve-bedroom manor house since we had moved in. Only Mum had seen it all, but she had never taken me around with her.

  We each took a tall candle that was stuffed into an old-fashioned holder, like something from A Christmas Carol. We went out to the hallway where the main staircase was. I followed Caitlin tentatively, the light from our candles casting dancing shadows up the wall, and I could just about make out the odd spiral or pattern of the wallpaper.

  As we climbed the stairs again to the second floor, I could smell something like mildew. When we reached the landing, I felt a strong breeze coming from ahead.

  We turned right and headed down a narrow corridor, which was lit up enough for me to see several doors on either side. Some were open ajar; others were closed shut. We walked past the first door on my left, which was wide open; the room was dark, a silhouette of the end of a large bed just visible. The curtains were drawn back and a window was pushed wide open, the curtains flapping widely in the breeze. I went to speak, to ask if we should close it, when I heard a familiar sound coming from Caitlin. Her murmurings had begun, but they sounded so much more intense in the claustrophobic corridor. I felt my body shudder as the skin on my bare arms erupted into goosebumps. A hollow clanking noise panicked me, and I spun around to where we had come from. The feeble light from the candle only reached the end wall; to the left a black abyss loomed where the staircase was. Caitlin’s murmurs had become louder, her words more pronounced. ‘I can see you, I can hear you.’ My skin prickled. I looked around, trying to see who she was talking to. A slither of me wished for someone to discover us; to realise we had gone and come and look for us. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to be up this far in the house with Caitlin without any adults around.

  Caitlin raised her voice even more, and I spun back around to face her. Although she still had her back to me, I was able to catch the last words she spoke.

  ‘Shall we play a little game?’

  Somehow I knew she wasn’t talking to me.

  Caitlin turned around and faced me. She held the candle just below her chin, so her face was illuminated from below, distorting her features and casting wild shadows on the walls either side of us.

  I took a step back as I didn’t want the breeze that came from the room to my left to blow out my candle. Caitlin moved closer so she was almost shoulder to shoulder with me. I heard a howl of wind, and a gust of breeze shot past my legs. I thought about our warm, cosy cottage and I longed for the warmth of our log fire; long after everyone had gone to bed, it continued to heat the sitting room.

  ‘Did you drink any of the champagne tonight?’ Caitlin asked, I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek as she hissed out a whisper. I knew she was now talking to me.

  ‘Yes,’ I lied, although I knew I had only brought the glass to my lips just before the electricity went out and I had felt her stares from across the table throughout the meal.

  ‘It was good, wasn’t it? What would you say it tasted like?’

  ‘I, um, I don’t know, it was the first time I’ve drunk any so I have nothing to compare it to.’

  ‘Well, try,’ Caitlin said, no longer whispering.

  ‘I, well, lemonade, I suppose.’ I thought about the lemonade I had drunk when I arrived; it had come out of a small bottle, and it tasted so sweet, not like the cheap two-litre bottled stuff Mum would buy from the supermarket.

  ‘Lemonade? That was a fifteen-year-old vintage champagne. And you thought it tasted like lemonade?’ Caitlin’s voice became a little high-pitched.

  ‘We all have different tastebuds, Caitlin.’ I felt bubbles of anger and fear in my stomach.

  ‘Well, I wonder if you have any taste at all,’ Caitlin whispered again, and I wanted to say did she mean to say tastebuds, but before I could get the words out, she had taken a breath in and blown out the candle I was holding.

  ‘Caitlin, don’t!’ I said, pan
ic gripping my throat. I heard the ridiculousness in my high voice, for what was the use in telling her not to do something, when she had already done it?

  But I could feel my heart rate speeding up as I looked around at the walls that seemed to suffocate me. I was a mere pawn in whatever game Caitlin was playing here. I no longer had any power and as much as I wished that I could gain some control back, I knew only too well what was going to happen next and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it. For if I went to grab the candle from Caitlin, I could risk knocking it out of her hand. I simply took a deep breath and prepared myself for what was about to happen. Caitlin lifted her candle to her lips and whispered, ‘Goodnight,’ followed by a small blow that plunged us into a darkness so black that I thought I must have gone blind.

  The terror that ran through me was overbearing, and the only thing I knew to do was to open my mouth and scream.

  It felt like hours but could have only been a few minutes until there were people around me, all holding candles and illuminating the hallway once more. I felt as though my heart might have burst out of my chest and as I looked around and caught the faces of Chuck, Ava and Tim. I suddenly felt incredibly stupid and regretful. Now I could see the corridor in the half-light, I could see it would have been easy to navigate back down towards the stairs. But instead, I had cried out like a little girl, for which I felt foolish and embarrassed. However, that didn’t take away the pure terror that still pulsated around my veins.

  ‘You’re shaking.’ Chuck touched my arm. ‘She’s shaking, do we have a blanket?’

  Ava stood up and went into the room where the window was open. I heard her slam the window shut, and she came back with a large throw.

  I looked up and down the hallway and noticed that Caitlin was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Sasha, are you okay? What happened? Why is your candle out?’ Chuck said.