by Nina Manning
‘Where is Caitlin?’ Ava dropped the throw at my feet, where Chuck took it and put it around my shoulders. Ava walked to the end of the corridor and knocked on the final door on the right. When there was no answer, she walked back towards me.
‘Do get her back downstairs and off to the cottage.’ Ava stepped over me and headed down the stairs. I wasn’t sure who she was expecting to take me home; Chuck was a child himself and I had barely said two words to Tim all night.
Chuck lifted me up by my arm and Tim carried my candle. Once I was on my feet, Tim went ahead and lit the way and Chuck stayed by my side, talking to me all the while about everything and nothing to try and distract me. As we reached the end of the corridor, just before the last lick of light was swept away down the stairs, I took a swift glance backwards and saw a small face peering out the furthest room on the right at the end of the corridor and even with the mere glimmer of light that was left, I could see that Caitlin was wearing the biggest smile across her face.
The next afternoon, New Year’s Day 1989, I sat and watched The Princes Bride on VHS. I cocooned myself into the lounge, wrapped in a blanket with the door closed, the curtains half drawn, and the log fire burning. I had tried to forget about the incident on the second floor, and I knew it was unhealthy to keep replaying it, but my mind would not rid itself of the horror. I had been genuinely terrified when Caitlin blew out her candle and left me in an alien environment in the pitch black. But several other things were bothering me this morning. One, the way I had embarrassed myself in front of Chuck. It had only occurred to me when the mortification kept playing over and over in my head that maybe I saw Chuck as something more than a friend. Two, that Caitlin could hate me enough to do something like that. I was trying so hard to fit in with her and her family, and yet after what happened, I was wrestling with the possibility that, in fact, Caitlin did not really like me. And if that were true, then our friendship would be over. But I didn’t want it to end. Ever.
A stream of light spilled into the room, and I looked up from my film to see Mum standing in the doorway. She had been over at the house all morning helping Beverly clear up after the party. In the end, it had been Beverly who walked me back to the cottage, and after I had left, the adults carried on until the early hours. The downstairs rooms were in quite a mess apparently when Mum went over there at the crack of dawn to get the fires going.
In the end, I had been in bed before midnight. The late-night party I had envisaged being a part of fizzled out into an early night with a mug of Horlicks. When Mum and Dad had asked me why I had come home so early, I had told them the food was rather rich and I was feeling rather full and very tired. But the look on Mum’s face at the doorway now made me think she hadn’t bought my story last night. It was a look of sympathy and also knowing. And when she pushed the door open further to reveal Caitlin standing a few inches behind her, I knew that she had sussed out that there was more to me cutting my night short than I had initially let on. Mum didn’t say anything more, but just left me with that look.
Caitlin stood there in the doorway. She looked flushed, as though she had been out for a walk already, and I was sure I saw her give a slight sniff as she loitered in the doorway. Not only had I not been for a New Year’s walk this morning, but I was still sat in my pyjamas.
‘Can I, er, come in then?’ Caitlin said.
I gave a little shrug of my shoulders.
‘Oh, bor-ing – you’re not going to be like that about it, are you? It was a little joke, to try and add a bit of edginess to the evening.’ Caitlin came in and sat down in the chair next to the sofa. ‘I came here to check you were okay. Chuck said he had never seen a girl shake so much as you last night.’
I screwed my face up. ‘You blew out the candles and left me stranded on the top floor with no idea of how to get down again.’
Caitlin shook her head. ‘You sound slightly hysterical, Sasha.’
‘Are you here to apologise or not?’
Caitlin stood up. ‘I don’t do apologies.’
I felt a jitter of terror as my mind automatically replayed the events of last night. There had been something really odd about Caitlin’s behaviour. Maybe I could put it down to the champagne she had drunk, but the way she had spoken last night was as if she had been speaking to someone near to us. But all I really wanted her to do was to say sorry and for us to be friends again.
I gave a small sniff, and Caitlin took that as her cue to come over and sit next to me on the sofa.
‘You can’t sit in here all day watching this tripe. Why don’t you come over to mine in a while and have a cup of hot chocolate with me in the kitchen? All the adults have gone for a huge walk before lunch.’ She pulled her bottom lip down. ‘I’m lonely.’
I stayed staring at the television, barely blinking. Finally, Caitlin spoke again.
‘You know you’re like a sister to me, don’t you?’
I shifted my body slightly so I could look at Caitlin.
She looked right at me. ‘I’ve always wished I had a sister. And when you moved here, it was like my dream had come true.’
I couldn’t help but smile, and when she shifted herself so she was even closer to me, I felt a little wave of joy flush through me. I would put the whole thing behind me eventually, I was sure I would. But Caitlin knew what she was doing when she blew out the candle. She had been bored with adult company and angry at me because I let her down with the champagne. And yet, she was here, telling me I was like a sister to her. And I felt like a sister to her.
Caitlin kicked off her wellies, and I pulled the blanket back. She climbed in next to me on the sofa. We looked at one another and we both smiled, the memory of last night already easing.
Mum poked her head around the door.
‘Would you girls like a hot chocolate? I’m just making one.’
‘Oh, yes please, Mrs Cunningham.’ Caitlin made her voice sweet and light. Mum smiled and went back into the kitchen, where I heard the sound of a saucepan hitting the Aga.
I felt overjoyed that Caitlin was here, that we were still friends. We looked at one another and smiled again.
I wanted so desperately to just put it all behind me. But there was a small part of me that wondered if I would ever truly forget what she did to me that night.
15
London, July 2009
Two months until the wedding
* * *
I meet Caitlin at the wedding dress shop at 4 p.m. as we have arranged. Of course, she’s late – fashionably or not, I will never know. She has become so secretive and quiet these last few months, and after everything that Ava has told me about the extra mystery guest, I am feeling more and more detached from her.
I am beeped into the shop and sit down on the grand white sofa. I kick off my pumps and receive the complimentary glass of champagne from Wendy, the shop owner and dress consultant, whose hair is perfectly coiffed into a high-set style. She is wearing a beige suit jacket and skirt; the jacket cinched in at the waist giving her an air of 1950s elegance.
I like the idea of holding a glass of champagne under the circumstances, but I know I will only have a few sips. Champagne never brings me feelings of joy or celebration because of how I was first introduced to it.
I take three or four sips and feel the bubbles working their way into my system. The shop door squeaks open and Caitlin appears in the doorway. She looks into the room at first as though she has looked straight through me and hasn’t seen me at all. Then she seems to come to and walks over and stands in front of me. She’s wearing her uniform of black pencil skirt and cream blouse tucked in. I miss the old Caitlin who would wear anything and not care what people thought. She has become so conservative.
‘Right, what are we doing then?’ She flops down on the sofa next to me and rubs her head, as if she has the beginning of a migraine coming on. I pat her on the leg. I know I must do the very best for her as her bridesmaid; this is my gift to her. It has to mean something. I want her to
remember me like this after it all.
‘Come on, it’s your wedding, we need to get you focused. Today it’s the choosing of the dress! This is an exciting, monumental day. Then after this, it’s fresh air and water for every meal.’ I joke but I know that Caitlin has lost a significant amount of weight recently; whether it’s intentional, I don’t know.
‘I thought I heard voices. Hi! I’m Wendy. Can I presume this is the bride?’ Wendy hands Caitlin another glass of champagne.
‘You can presume and you would be correct.’ Caitlin takes the glass from Wendy and swallows the amber liquid in two gulps. I watch as Wendy looks on with half horror, half intrigue.
‘Well, hopefully that’s loosened you up a bit. Now let’s find you that dress!’ She lets out a hollow laugh.
Caitlin stands up and follows Wendy through a white door. I pick up our bags and follow behind. We come out into a large circular suite with rails of dresses all around the edges. I’m surprised it’s me who lets out a little gasp, whilst Caitlin just plonks herself in one of two white chairs next to a white large settee in the centre. There’s a small table with another two glasses of champagne, which she goes straight for, ignoring the array of lustrous material around her. I’m still taking small sips from my first glass.
I remind myself how it is that Caitlin has left it this late to choose her dress. As Chuck mentioned the other day, it is the sort of thing that most brides do first, but as soon as Chuck proposed in April, the first thing Caitlin did was book us all a holiday. Me and a handful of Caitlin’s school friends claimed it as her hen holiday, but she refused to refer to it as that. In hindsight, it was the perfect Caitlin thing to do, to want to just get out of the country and get drunk for a week.
‘So who is the lucky man?’ Wendy asks, her eyes almost bulging out her head. This is the most exclusive wedding dress shop in the area and she is dying to know if she knows the groom.
‘Charles Everly-Beckwith,’ Caitlin announces. Caitlin reels off Chuck’s name with such disinterest, I wonder why she is marrying him at all. She doesn’t know how lucky she is.
Wendy smiles. ‘He sounds absolutely delightful.’ I can sense she’s a little disappointed at not knowing the name, but then Chuck is such a private person, it’s no surprise he’s so successful and yet remains almost anonymous.
It’s obvious Wendy is going to have to run this show, with me chivvying Caitlin along. Once upon a time, she revelled at the attention of a big occasion, but ever since Josephine died, it’s as though she has lost all her spark and enthusiasm for the sort of simple celebration that she would have turned into a major event when we were younger.
Wendy begins pulling dresses of all various styles and colours out from rails and placing them on a smaller rail next to the chair where Caitlin sits.
‘I think we might be looking at something conservative, off-white, showing a little shoulder, a little leg maybe, but definitely no cleavage.’ Wendy looks pleased when Caitlin nods enthusiastically at the ‘no cleavage’ part. She sifts through her collection and pulls out an off-white dress.
‘This is a full length off the shoulder, with lace sleeves. On the skirt, there is a lovely split just to the right of the middle, to give it that little extra je ne sais quoi, but overall it’s a lovely subtle look that wouldn’t be replicated by any of your guests.’
Caitlin and I both stare at the dress Wendy is holding. I know both of our minds are working on overdrive. I know we’re both thinking exactly the same thing, that this dress is almost an exact replica of a dress she and I know so well. A dress that I had seen as a child at Saxby. A dress that had belonged to Ava.
Caitlin and I both speak at the same time, but our words do not match.
‘Yes,’ Caitlin says.
‘No,’ I say.
The tones of our voices are polar opposites, mine high and panicky, Caitlin’s firm.
We look at one another.
‘This will be my little homage to Mama on my wedding day. What do you say, Sash?’
Wendy looks forlorn. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, when did she pass?’ Concern firmly etched across her face.
Caitlin lets out a laugh that is loud and brash. ‘Oh goodness no, Mama is alive and well and living in Surrey.’
Wendy looks confused now but clears her throat. ‘Did your mother wear something similar for her wedding?’
‘So she says, I mean she was wearing it in the photo, so I suppose that’s proof enough.’ Caitlin touches the fabric delicately.
I narrow my eyes at Caitlin. I was used to hearing strange things coming from her mouth, because that’s who she is, and I usually got her quirkiness, but even I was struggling with this statement.
‘Yes, yes, yes, that is the one, and look, Sash, I think it could be just my size, what do you say? I could pop it on and we could have this whole thing wrapped up in a jiffy, just in time for a pre-dinner drink.’
My mind flashes back to Saxby, Caitlin with her mother’s wedding dress, the vibrant shock of red across the front that shouldn’t have been there.
Caitlin takes the dress from Wendy and goes to the changing cubicle at the back of the room.
‘Erm, do shout if you need help. We don’t like our ladies to get in a pickle with their dresses – that’s what all us helpers are for,’ Wendy says, sounding nervous and wringing her hands.
A few awkward minutes later, Caitlin appears in the dress. It’s slightly ruffled and baggy at the front where it needs doing up at the back, but I can almost see the end result, and when the lump forms in my throat I swallow it down with a shake of my head and a smile. It suddenly feels very real.
Wendy rushes over to Caitlin and begins arranging the dress in all the right places before finally doing it up at the back.
‘Well, it will need some basic alterations, taking in here at the waist and maybe slightly on the shoulders.’ Wendy tugs at the dress to indicate the areas. ‘If you feel it’s the one? I must say, I rarely get a bride who comes in and chooses the first dress she sees, but it does happen.’
‘Yes, this absolutely is the dress. Sasha, do say something,’ Caitlin says, turning to face the mirror behind her, angling slightly to the left and then the right, then putting her right leg out in front of her to reveal the slight split Wendy had mentioned.
I take a deep breath and despite my reservations about the similarity, I speak the words I know she will want me to say.
‘Yes, Caitlin, this is the dress for you.’
We leave the bridal shop the opposite of how we arrived: me feeling defeated and Caitlin on a high with a slight spring in her step as we walk along the street.
‘Please do let me know the moment you hear that the dress is ready – I want to go back and try it on again straight away.’ Caitlin pulls out her phone and checks messages as we walk.
‘Okay,’ I mumble.
‘Oh, Sasha, you need to lighten up.’
‘I just want your wedding day to be happy, for everyone to see you in a wonderful dress and for there not to be any animosity between you and Ava, just for one day. Is that not what you want as well?’ It feels good to be saying something genuine. There will be enough surprises on the day as it is.
‘My life has been one long saga of animosity between me and my mother. Do you honestly think anything will change just because I am getting married?’
I know Caitlin is right, but somehow I hoped that this one time, things might be different, things might settle for just a day, a few hours at least. Caitlin and Ava’s hidden issues had been rife when she and I were children, but somehow I had presumed Caitlin would mellow out with age, and all the things she had been harbouring as a child would stay in the past. But if anything, her animosity towards Ava has grown even fiercer, and even more so now Josephine isn’t here to be the happy balance that’s needed in the mother–daughter–grandchild triangle.
I do miss Josephine. She always was such a beacon of light in a house that seemed to hold some of the darkest secrets I have ever known
about a family.
I am glad that Caitlin is in such high spirits after the dress fitting, so when she suggests we carry on drinking, I try to get on board, even though I am desperate to get home and chill out for the evening.
The day is still incredibly warm, so we choose a bar that has floor to ceiling windows that have been pulled wide open to create a terrace of sorts.
I go to the bar, order myself a mocktail and a double gin and elderberry tonic for Caitlin.
‘Ooh, I say, Sasha, that looks rather fancy.’ Caitlin points at my virgin cocktail as I join her at the table. ‘Can we have those at the wedding, what is it?’
‘Rum and fruit juices,’ I lie. I don’t want Caitlin giving me a lecture on how I need to be drinking for her today on such an important occasion – the very occasion she couldn’t have given two hoots about an hour ago. It was only because she had discovered a dress that would rival her mother’s that she decided she was back on board with this wedding.
‘Righto, add it to the list. It’s not too late, is it? I want something bright and vibrant like that in everyone’s hand when they arrive at the venue.’
I take my organiser out of my bag and add it to my list of things to do in the ‘Caitlin’s wedding’ section.
‘So are you excited about the wedding?’ I casually say as I jot down cocktails on arrival.
‘Now I have that dress, yes I am.’
‘Even without the perfect dress, are you looking forward to starting your life with Chuck?’ I say, drawing a circle around the note.
‘God, you make everything sound so dramatic.’ Caitlin breathes in loudly and blows out the breath.
‘Just answer the question.’ I look up at Caitlin. The sharpness to my tone makes Caitlin look back at me. She blinks slowly.
‘Yes, Sasha, of course I am looking forward to being married to Chuck. It’s the next step in the journey – I’ve known him forever. I think we will make a great team. I mean, we already do.’
