The Wedding Day

by Catherine Alliott

  There was a silence. Flora got up from the table. ‘But, Mum –’

  ‘Come on, my darling, chop-chop. You go and pack, and I’ll do this.’

  I bustled over to the table to clear the plates, to avoid her eye. Avoid saying sorry. I knew my voice would crack, and anyway, I could do that in the car. Say sorry I’d mucked things up for her, as usual. Mucked up her holiday, just as I’d mucked up her short life. Say sorry, I couldn’t even get that right. I fumbled miserably with the plates and cups and saucers, loaded them into a pile, and turned for the kitchen.

  Mr Malone cleared his throat. ‘Er, listen. When did that estate agent guy say a house would be free?’

  I paused, plates in hand. Didn’t turn round though. ‘A couple of weeks. He couldn’t be sure though.’

  ‘Well, hey,’ he said gruffly. ‘This place is huge. I’m not expecting company for a while, why don’t you stay on till you get someplace else?’

  I turned. Gave a tight little smile. ‘Mr Malone, that’s extremely kind, but we couldn’t possibly accept.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Flora. ‘Because …’ I turned to my daughter. ‘Well, darling, we just can’t! We don’t know this man and –’

  ‘Oh, not that old baloney again. Whadya want, a formal introduction? My full résumé?’ He got to his feet and stuck out his hand – then, realizing my hands were full, thrust it in his pocket. ‘Matt Malone, OK? So quit with the Mr Malone routine. I head up the psychiatric department at Boston University Hospital – and you can check that out with the boys in the white coats back home if you wish. I’m here to get some peace and quiet – not to cut up bodies and put them in bin liners as you clearly assumed, although I know a man could – and to do some work. By day I’ll be working on a thesis I should have had finished months ago as it’s getting published in the fall – I might, incidentally, commandeer that study I spotted earlier – and when I need a break, I might get a bit of fishing in. Unless you’re the house guests from hell, I can’t see our interests are going to conflict that much, since I guess you’ll want to be either out on the beach or on the ocean. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, you are right. We will be out for most of the day, won’t we, Mum?’ Flora turned to me eagerly.

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘And since the house is on three floors, I suggest I take the top one – which I see has a tub but no shower in the quaint old English style – and leave you the first floor, which also has a bathroom. Would that suit?’

  I stared at him speechless. ‘Midday meals could be taken on the beach for you, and on the hoof for me – unless we happen to coincide in the kitchen, in which case it might be friendly to open a can of beans together like Flora and I did this morning, without you flying into a rage and waving a rolling pin like something out of welfare. Am I going too fast for you?’

  ‘N-no, but …’ I put my fingertips to my temples and shut my eyes. ‘Hang on, what about your family? Gertrude said she’d met you with your wife. Surely she’ll be coming out? Surely she won’t want –’

  ‘Not for some time,’ he interrupted, shortly. ‘She’s working.’

  ‘Oh. Right. What as?’

  He paused. Raised his eyebrows. I blushed at my nosiness.

  ‘As a consultant radiologist, since you ask.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I mumbled, taken aback. ‘I, on the other hand, being semi-academic, get a much longer semester break, which is why I took this place on in the first place.’

  ‘You’re … a psychiatrist?’ I ventured. ‘A shrink?’

  He gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘With elegant consulting rooms in midtown Manhattan? Where movie stars come to lay their coiffed heads and share their innermost thoughts with me for hundreds of bucks an hour, is that what you’re thinking?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘I’m a clinical practitioner specializing in drug research. I treat psychotically ill patients in a high-security hospital.’

  ‘Oh!’ I stepped back in alarm. Nearly dropped the bloody plates.

  ‘Wow.’ Flora blinked in awe. ‘Real psychos.’

  He smiled. ‘Not necessarily.’

  I straightened up. ‘My fiancé’s a doctor too,’ I said importantly. ‘A general practitioner. In London. Belgravia, actually.’

  ‘Excellent news,’ he said quickly, ‘I’m delighted for him. So we can all be medics together. And now I must go commandeer that study. Do I take it you accept, Mrs O’Harran?’

  I licked my lips. ‘Annie.’

  ‘Annie.’

  ‘I’d – obviously have to pay you?’

  ‘Why? This place belongs to your relative. You expected to have it free. I didn’t.’

  ‘No, but … well. Perhaps we could share it. Share the rent.’ I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be beholden to him. Didn’t want a landlord-tenant situation going on here. ‘I’d feel happier,’ I said decisively, standing up straight. ‘What did you pay?’

  He mentioned a sum of money so colossal I nearly fell over.

  ‘Gertrude asked you for that!’

  ‘Listen, I’m not asking for anything.’

  ‘No, but I …’ I gripped the plates hard for support. ‘I insist.’

  He shrugged. ‘OK. Now all I ask is for some peace and quiet and to be left alone.’

  I bristled. ‘Certainly I’ll leave you alone! You may have a thesis to deliver, but I’ll have you know I have a book to write. A novel to finish. A certain well-known London publisher is clamouring for my next chapter, and if anyone needs peace and quiet, it’s me!’

  ‘Fine, whatever,’ he said brusquely. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  ‘Golly.’ I swallowed hard. ‘I suppose we do. But I don’t know what David will say …’ I dithered for a moment. ‘Maybe I should …’

  ‘Well, go ask his permission, for God’s sake,’ he said, exasperated.

  I stiffened. ‘I don’t have to do that!’ I snapped, raising my chin. ‘Yes, Mr Mal – Matt. You have a deal.’ I turned to stalk inside, then thought better of it. Paused. Turned my head. ‘And, um … thank you,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Very much.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He nodded curtly before stalking inside himself.

  Chapter Eight

  It was only later that evening, as I went to ring David, that I realized the enormity of what I’d done. My hand rested hesitantly on the receiver. Golly, what would he say? How favourably would he react to the news that I was sharing a house with a complete stranger? David was an easy-going man, but he did marvel at my impulsiveness sometimes. Lunacy, he’d been moved to call it on occasion. Would this be just such an occasion, I wondered? It was.

  ‘You’ve done what?’ I held the receiver a couple of inches from my ear. ‘Annie, are you mad?’

  ‘No no, listen,’ I insisted, ‘it’s fine, really. You haven’t seen this house for years, David, I know, but if you recall, it is jolly big. Deceptively big, and on three floors with … ooh, six or seven bedrooms, and he’s right at the top with his own bathroom. I promise you, we hardly see him. We’ve spent a whole day together, and I swear you wouldn’t even know he was here!’

  This much was true. Matt had indeed holed up in the study as promised with a pile of books and files, emerging only occasionally to make himself cups of strong black coffee which he overfilled and then slopped, in a slovenly manner, all the way back to the study. Slightly unnerved by his presence and not being able to get straight down to work as smartly as he had, I’d hovered, on the pretext that I was dusting or hoovering the sitting room, but actually wanting to be around in case – well, you know. In case he made improper remarks to Flora or something. Not that Flora was around to hear them. Having discovered the bookcase from heaven, she’d taken a pile and decamped down to the creek with her boogy-pack, her Ambre Solaire and a large bottle of Evian.

  I crept down mid-morning and found her, supine at the water’s edge, lying on a towel in a bikini, foot tapping, engrossed in Daphne du Maurier and totally at peace with the world. She looked
up when she saw me.

  ‘YEAH?’ she yelled loudly, above her music.

  ‘Everything all right, darling?’ I called.

  ‘WHA’?’ she bellowed, squinting in annoyance at me.

  ‘Shh.’ I held a finger to my lips. ‘I just wondered if you were OK? Not bored? Or lonely?’

  She took her earphones off and regarded me wither-ingly. ‘No, Mother. I thought you were going to work in the summer house?’

  This we’d discovered at the bottom of the garden, a little green wooden slatted affair, on the crest of the hill just before the woods, with a perfect view of the sea. And since Matt had commandeered the study, it seemed the perfect place for me and my laptop.

  ‘I was. I mean – I am.’

  She nodded, snapped her earpiece back on smartly, and went back to her book.

  I crept back up the hill through the leafy glade, following the twisting, sandy path. She was right, I should get my head down, get on with some work, but hell, it was nearly lunchtime. Flora would be hungry soon. I’d better make her some sandwiches. Oops, no butter in the fridge.

  Better nip to the shops.

  I knocked tentatively on the study door.

  ‘Yep!’ he barked. I jumped. Popped my head around.

  ‘Just going to the shops,’ I said brightly, eyes roving quickly round the room, taking in the chaotic mess he’d made of the place already. I glanced back at him. He was staring at me incredulously.

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Well, you know,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve left Flora on the beach. Thought she might wonder where I was.’

  ‘She’s thirteen, isn’t she? Can’t she handle being alone for five minutes?’

  I bristled. ‘She’s nearly thirteen, and rather immature, actually. I also thought we should discuss shopping.’ I sidled inside. ‘If you like I could buy a load of groceries and we could halve the bill. Only it seems rather silly for us both to buy food when –’

  ‘Whatever,’ he interrupted brusquely. ‘Whatever domestic arrangements you’d like to implement will be just fine. Shop till you drop and hand me a bill, only please …’ He jerked his head eloquently towards the door.

  ‘Well!’ I shut the door soundly and stood, fuming, on the other side. Was he the rudest man? Still, I reasoned, at least we didn’t see him.

  ‘I promise you, David,’ I echoed down the phone, ‘we don’t see him at all. He’s writing some paper, totally wrapped up in it.’

  ‘But you don’t know him, Annie. He could be anyone!’

  ‘But he’s not anyone, Gertrude’s met him, and he’s the head of the psychotic – or whatever – department at Boston Hospital. He’s a medic, just like you!’

  ‘He’s a bloody shrink, you mean,’ he retorted.

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said nervously. ‘Sort of.’ I’d forgotten David’s rather low opinion of that branch of the profession. ‘But on the academic side. Research and all that. You can look him up.’

  ‘Thanks. I will. I can’t quite believe you’ve done this, Annie. Why didn’t you go to a hotel?’

  ‘Because all the cheap ones were booked up and … Oh, David, the thing is, it’s so heavenly here: the house and the creek and the beach, and Flora’s loving it and … well, we’d unpacked and everything, you see. Spent a whole night here. Thought it was ours. We’d got used to the idea of it being ours, I suppose,’ I said lamely. Like a child, not wanting to give back a toy.

  He sighed. I was moderately encouraged. A sigh was better than a bark.

  ‘Oh well, what’s done is done, I suppose. But – how does it work? I mean, what’s happening this evening, for instance?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ I said eagerly. ‘He worked for most of the day, but this afternoon he went out fishing and caught loads of mackerel. He’s cooking them now on a barbecue for our supper.’

  ‘Is he. How cosy.’

  ‘Oh no, not at all. Not cosy. I mean … he’s not like that at all, David. He’s much older than me – well, about ten years, I suppose – and sort of going grey at the sides.’

  ‘Excellent news.’

  ‘And quite sort of … thick set. Not my type at all.’

  ‘Now there’s a relief.’

  ‘And terribly grumpy, too. I mean really, really bad- tempered. Only comes out of his study to grunt and bark about something. Deeply unpleasant actually and – Oh!’

  I broke off to find Matt standing behind me in the hall. I blushed hotly. He held out his hand.

  ‘I’m on the phone!’ I said, horrified. Bloody man. What was he up to? And how long had he been there?

  ‘You’re also doodling with my pen. My fountain pen. May I?’

  ‘No I’m –’ I glanced down. ‘Oh.’ I handed him the pen. He turned and went back to the kitchen.

  ‘See?’ I hissed down the phone to David. ‘That’s what he’s like. All the time! Just emerges from his cave to spit at us. That’s what we have to live with!’

  ‘Right,’ he said wearily. ‘I don’t think there’s any “have to” about it, Annie, but as long as you’re happy.’

  ‘Oh I am, I am, but I’d be so much happier to see you. When are you coming, David?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Not for a bit, I’m afraid. I’ve got one or two tricky … Well. Things are a bit difficult at work at the moment.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  It suddenly occurred to me that his voice was strained. And it wasn’t just to do with me sharing a house with a total stranger. I frowned.

  ‘What is it, David?’

  ‘Um, nothing really. But … remember I told you about Mr O’Connell? The jeweller? The one who drank a lot?’

  ‘God, yes. The one who was convinced he had every medical condition under the sun. Didn’t he think he was having a heart attack the last time he came to see you?’

  ‘Yes. Well, he did,’ David said shortly. ‘He died.’

  ‘What!’ I gaped. ‘He came to see me again this morning – still reeking of the night before – and complained of a pain in his arm. The man could hardly stand up, he was so drunk. I sent him home to sober up, and he collapsed on the stairs outside as he was leaving.’

  ‘Oh my God. You mean he died there?’

  ‘Almost. Laura heard him cry out and shrieked for me to come. I ran downstairs and tried to resuscitate him, tried everything. We called an ambulance, but he died on the way to hospital.’ His voice wavered slightly at this. I’d never heard it do that before. I sat down heavily on the hard oak pew.

  ‘That’s not your fault, David.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I’m a doctor, aren’t I? He comes to see me for the second time, suspecting a heart attack, and this time with a pain in his upper arm. And I send him packing.’

  ‘Yes, but he was drunk, and – and he’s been coming to you for years like that. Plastered, imagining things …’

  ‘Not really years. Months. And his wife says he drank out of fear. Says he knew he was dying.’

  ‘His wife?’

  ‘She rang me. An hour or so ago. She was almost incandescent with rage and emotion.’

  ‘Well, upset, obviously –’

  ‘Telling me I was a fraud. A quack. Saying I’d effectively killed her husband. Saying …’ he struggled.

  I was appalled. How dare she! David, my sweet, kind … I licked my lips. ‘David. David, listen to me. This is ridiculous. Outrageous! God, how on earth can it be your fault? Even if you’d sent him off in an ambulance, he’d have died anyway!’

  ‘Not necessarily. They could have resuscitated him in the ambulance and treated him in hospital.’

  ‘Yes, but how many doctors would have done that with an outrageously pissed patient? You did what anyone else would have done, you sent him home to sober up! Relax, darling, it’ll be fine. It’ll all blow over.’

  ‘That’s not really the point though, is it, Annie? Yes, professionally, and in the eyes of the BMA, I’m sure it will be fine. But a man’s dead. It’s how I feel about it that’s important.’
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  I swallowed, humbled. Anything I said now would be wrong.

  ‘Anyway,’ he rallied slightly, ‘the point is I don’t think I should just swan off on holiday at the moment. It wouldn’t look right. Wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘Oh. Well, no, I can see that. But maybe at the weekend? Not this one, but next weekend?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll ring you, darling. Sorry to sound so gloomy. Doesn’t help that I miss you so much too.’

  ‘Oh, and I miss you!’ I said enthusiastically. ‘So much. Think of the wedding, David, the honeymoon in Mauritius. Think how happy and relaxed you’ll be then!’

  ‘Yup.’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘Anyway, have fun. I’ve got some paperwork to do now. Bye, my darling. I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. Bye.’

  I hung up. Stared dismally out of the mullioned window into the front garden, at the wind-tossed, overgrown lawn. Poor David. How awful. And how unfair. He was such a dedicated man; he worked so hard. Too hard, I often thought, putting in too many long hours. And he was always so careful. Always sought a second opinion if necessary, and sent patients straight round to Harley Street specialists if he wasn’t sure. His uncle, Hugh, had impressed upon him the importance of doing that, when he took David on as a partner; when he’d worked alongside David for a few years before he died.

  And I knew David missed him. Personally, obviously, but professionally too. Missed having a sounding board, a buffer; someone to nip next door and thrash out a problem with, discuss a diagnosis, say: Take a look at this rash, Hugh, or this lump, what d’you think? I’d tried to persuade him to take on a partner, to have another doctor in the practice, and not be quite so solitary, but he’d said he wasn’t busy enough to warrant it, and if he couldn’t work with Hugh, who’d been such a brilliant man, he’d prefer to work alone. So he did. And he was so conscientious. So meticu

  lous. To have this sort of accusation levelled against him was outrageous!

  Pensive and maudlin now, I let myself out through the front door, and wandered slowly round the side of the house to the back garden. On the terrace, Matt, who made such a colossal mess inside, was making an equally spectacular one outside. Bags of charcoal had tipped out on to the York stone, and a white wine marinade and piles of slimy fish were slopping from a dish over on to a table he’d set up beside a brick barbecue. All of this was just about visible behind clouds of billowing black smoke. I sat down at the table and chairs, slightly apart from the action, and bit my thumbnail anxiously.