The Wedding Day

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘You’ve had your hair cut!’ I said, unable to stop myself. He grinned. ‘I do, periodically, otherwise it’d be down by my knees. Tod, you want some breakfast?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Sure,’ he said listlessly, scuffing his toe. Head down, he followed his father indoors.

  I watched them go and, knowing better than to prise Flora out of her room and persuade her to be friendly and welcoming, wandered down to the summer house to work. I was still in my pyjamas, but these were decent ones, bought down here, and hell, I was supposed to be on holiday. I bit my thumbnail miserably and tried not to think about Adam. What the hell was he up to? Winding poor Flora up like that, weeks before I was due to get married – and me, too. What was his game? Because a game it surely was. God, it was outrageous. David would be furious. Not that I’d tell him, I thought nervously, sitting down at my table and switching on my screen. I didn’t want to set that particular cat screeching amongst the pigeons.

  At my feet was my ancient cassette recorder and, as was my wont when I was writing, I reached down, selected a tape, and snapped it in, as my laptop simultaneously lurched into gear. Both machines were as old as the hills and took a while to respond, but when they did, Mahler’s Fifth Symphony somehow seemed more arresting than my last paragraph. I leaned back, shut my eyes and listened.

  Ten minutes later I was aghast to find tears of regret running down my face as memories flooded back. Horrified, I snapped to. I sat up smartly, nervously wiping my face, and, glancing around to check no one had been peering through the window, switched off Mahler and shoved in a jolly Chopin concerto, before turning my attention to Lucinda De Villiers instead.

  Actually, her needs were quite pressing. Having spent an hour in here last night after the barbecue – knowing for various reasons that I wouldn’t sleep immediately – I’d manoeuvred Lucinda into a tantalizing position in her garden shed. Terence was expected at any moment, to prick out the dahlias, and she was draped seductively against the potting bench, wearing only the skimpiest of Joseph shirt dresses. For a moment I couldn’t quite remember what she was doing there, then … ah yes, on the verge of an adulterous afternoon bonk. Now, last night, with the champagne storming in my blood and the moonlight flitting across my screen, this had seemed like a good idea, but this morning, with Flora’s cracked little voice ringing in my ears and the makings of a monumental hangover, it didn’t, necessarily.

  I rested my chin in my hands, chewed my little fingers and gazed out of the window. When Flora went past a few minutes later, en route to the beach, I raised my hand, but she stalked haughtily on, fully dressed – patently emphasizing the fact that she was unable to wear a bikini now she had an audience – with an armful of books and her headphones clamped to her head. I sighed. Then, raising my hands for all the world like a weary concert pianist forced to embark on yet another ground-breaking symphony, tapped away.

  Lucinda paced the tiny shed, wishing she’d thought to install a bigger, more sumptuous one, with a sofabed perhaps. Why were these structures so rudimentary? She’d have to lure Terence into the comfort of the house – thank God it was Consuela’s day off – but her bedroom was so overlooked. That sinister artist chappie, Justin Reynolds, who lived at the back, was bound to be painting in his studio again. It would have to be the spare room at the front. She tapped her foot impatiently. If only Terence would hurry up! Her new thong was killing her. More like dental floss than lingerie.

  Suddenly she heard his masculine tread echoing across the York stones. The door handle turned.

  ‘Mrs De Villiers! By ’eck, what are you doin’ ’ere!’

  His young face looked startled in the gloom, and Lucinda wondered nervously just how young he was? Could he remember the Bee Gees, she wondered?

  ‘I was … looking for a reference book, for plants,’ she murmured, letting her manicured nails linger over a pile of Suttons Seeds catalogues. ‘Thought we might have some of that topiaried box in pots on the terrace.’

  ‘Oh aye. Golden balls?’

  Lucinda blinked. Golly. Quite forward. Still, nothing wrong with that.

  ‘Why not?’ she purred. ‘And maybe some pointy dwarf conifers as well?’ She edged closer, letting her Poison waft towards him.

  He took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘Could do, but the common dwarf’s only semi-erect. You might want summat more upright.’

  Lucinda caught her breath. ‘Yes!’ she breathed. ‘Yes, definitely. Don’t want anything – semi – about it.’

  ‘Aye, well you’ll be looking at summat more vigorous then. I’ve got one in mind that shoots up a treat. It’s a big ’un.’

  ‘Splendid,’ she gasped wantonly. ‘Eh oop, lass, yer shirt button’s coom undone!’ Lucinda glanced down at the pearl button on her dress, deliberately left provocatively open.

  ‘Oh!’ She clutched at her bosom, which was small but heaving. ‘So it has. In fact’ – she pulled hard – ‘it’s come off!’

  ‘By ’eck, that’s torn it. You’ll never see in this light.

  ’Ere, let me look.’

  He got down on his hands and knees, thus affording Lucinda another glimpse of his tantalizing backside. Heroically she resisted scrambling about with him, but feeling rather faint now, wondered how on earth she was going to lure him housewards, away from these dirty, uncomfortable surroundings …

  I glanced up thoughtfully. Perhaps I should have made more of the dog-walking side of Terence’s job? That could have placed this particular tête-à-tête in the nice warm kitchen, where Patch and Woo-Woo had their cushions. Wouldn’t that have made more sense? Then, as Terence was brushing her little Woo-Woo, Lucinda could toy playfully with the terrier’s fringe, thus demonstrating how sensual she could be, when lingering in Terence’s own, secret thickets?

  I gazed out of the window to the seascape beyond. Beside me, next to the comfort cassettes, was a pile of poetry books, and, on top, my favourite, Emily Dickinson’s. I reread a classic for the thousandth time, wishing, as ever, I could write like that, when something made me glance up. Tod was passing by my window, hands deep in his pockets, his thin shoulders hunched, making for the beach.

  I read a bit more, choosing her later poems, which usually inspired me to mediocre things, but, after a while, could resist it no longer. I put the book down, turned off my computer, and crept out, shutting the door softly behind me. I tiptoed to the edge of the lawn where the rough grass marked the edge of the wood. The tide was out, and if I stood on tiptoes and craned my neck, I could just see a flash of sand through the trees. But no more. I hesitated for a moment, then carefully picked my way through the leafy glade, down the steep winding path, until I came to a clearing.

  I crouched down, shaded my eyes, and peered. There was Flora, standing on a rock at the water’s edge, with – yes, Tod beside her. I sat down quietly, careful not to snap any twigs. They were plunging their hands into rock pools searching for smooth stones, then skimming them across the estuary. I watched as one jumped three – four times. There didn’t appear to be much chat going on, but quite a lot of shrugging and toe-scuffing, the adolescent equivalent of communication. Good. That was a start. Mindful of being seen I carefully stretched out my legs and leaned back in the soft emerald ground cover. I watched a while longer, then held my face up to the sky. I shut my eyes, savouring the dappled sun on my face, when suddenly I heard a rustle behind me. I swung round, just as Matt, silent as a cat, crouched beside me.

  ‘Oh! You startled me!’

  ‘Shh …’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘Seems we had the same idea. Indulging in a spot of spying?’

  I flushed. ‘Well, I wasn’t spying exactly, but I just thought I’d see … you know …’ I gestured vaguely beachwards.

  ‘Whether or not left to their own devices and without us poking our noses in, they could perform the human equivalent of canine bottom-sniffing?’

  I smiled. ‘Something like that.’

  He peered through the trees. ‘They appear to have ach
ieved it. Gratifying to know they’ve acquired a few social skills along the way, albeit Neanderthal. Not at each other’s throats yet then.’

  ‘Not yet, but early days.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ Matt settled back on his elbows beside me. ‘Tod’s a bit’ – he squinted into the sun – ‘on the shy side, I suppose. With girls.’

  I considered this. ‘Funnily enough. Flora isn’t. She’s better with boys, more relaxed. She finds girls scarier. Admittedly, most of them at her school are pretty fast. And I suppose certain boys would intimidate her, but not a boy like Tod.’

  ‘I’m sure my son will be delighted to know he has such a devastating effect on women.’

  I smiled. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant … Well, I don’t think he’s entirely what Flora was expecting.’

  ‘Oh? So what was she expecting?’ He turned to look at me. ‘An all-American jock, already six feet tall with a bull neck and visible testosterone surges, chucking a ball in the air and chewing gum as he ran a practised eye over her in her nightie?’

  I smiled. ‘Something like that.’

  We watched as, tiring of their stone-skimming, they squatted down together on a rock. They appeared to be intent on drawing some sort of hieroglyphics on it, with sharp stones.

  ‘Odd age,’ I reflected. ‘This stage. Neither a child, nor an adult.’

  ‘True,’ he muttered back. ‘Old enough to know what you want, but not old enough to make any choices.’

  I glanced across at his moody profile; his eyes fixed on the beach and his mouth set, and wondered what he meant by that? He caught me looking.

  ‘Just the one?’ he murmured. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I can’t help noticing Flora hasn’t got any siblings.’

  ‘Oh. Oh no. Well, I had her very young, when I was only twenty-three. And it was such a struggle, we didn’t have any money, so we thought we’d wait a bit. Have a couple later on, when we were more solvent. Of course we never were solvent, but when we tried again later, I lost them. Lost three, actually.’ I swallowed.

  ‘Miscarriages?’

  ‘Yep. And the last one’ – I sat up and hugged my knees hard – ‘well, it was at twenty-two weeks. Almost a proper baby. Was a proper baby. We … named him. And I had to deliver him. Then bury him.’ I breathed hard, remembering. Adam and I, in a heap, sobbing on the bed in the ward with the curtain closed around us. Then later in the hospital chapel, holding each other so close.

  ‘I couldn’t face going through it all again after that. Neither could Adam.’ I shook my head.

  ‘But … I thought you were going to try again? Didn’t you say –’

  ‘Oh yes, with David.’ I turned to him. Smiled. ‘But that’s different. David says medical science, and in particular obstetrics, has come on leaps and bounds since then, and there’s all sorts of things we can do to ensure I hang on to them. A snip here, a tuck there – I don’t know.’ I laughed gaily. ‘And certain drugs, too, that I can take. He’s very clued-up of course, being a doctor. Knows all the right people.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And then straight into hospital for bed rest the moment there’s even a hint that all’s not well. He says he knows one woman who spent seven months in bed, but had a perfectly healthy baby, which is, after all, all that matters. Emotionally he’s very different from Adam. Adam and I both went to pieces. Like a couple of kids. We couldn’t even help each other.’

  ‘Well … naturally.’

  ‘Yes, but David’s much more of a rock. So much more stable. Which is what I badly need. And he’s much more pragmatic too. He says if it doesn’t work, we don’t collapse in a heap, we just try again.’

  ‘You try again.’

  I glanced at him. ‘Hm?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He pulled a beech leaf from a low branch on a sapling beside us and began shredding off the green with his thumb and fingernails, revealing a skeleton. I laughed.

  ‘I used to do that.’

  ‘So do it.’

  I expertly skinned one and put it next to his. We regarded our two skeletons, laid bare together.

  ‘He seems like a nice guy,’ he said, at length.

  I frowned. ‘You haven’t met him, have you?’

  ‘No, I meant Adam. Just from the drink I had with him on the terrace the other day.’

  I gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, Adam. Yes, men always like him. He’s one of the lads. Always at the bar buying a round, hail fellow well met and all that.’ I shifted my bottom on the hard ground, realizing I was still in my pyjamas. He didn’t appear to have noticed. And I didn’t want to talk about Adam. Didn’t want to think about him, after what Flora had said.

  ‘And you?’ I said quickly. ‘Only one, yourself?’ I shaded my eyes with my hand, regarding his granite-like profile. Don’t come the personal questions with me, mister, without getting one winging straight back in return.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘just the one. Madeleine … well, she found Tod quite a handful. And he was a tricky baby, up at night for years, that kind of thing. We did try later, but she’d developed something called endometriosis.’

  I nodded. ‘I know. Sticky tubes.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He spread his hands. ‘And, of course, as things have turned out …’

  ‘Quite,’ I agreed softly. ‘Hurting one child is bad enough, why bring more into the equation?’

  We gazed down at the beach below, where Tod and Flora had rolled up their jeans and were wading in the shallows, trying to catch crabs with their bare hands. Tod dropped a rock into the water causing a huge splash and making Flora shriek as the water sloshed up at her, whereupon an even louder shriek went up behind us.

  Matt and I swung around, then looked down at the water again to check it hadn’t echoed up from there, but the children had heard it too, and had turned, shading their eyes and gazing up at us.

  ‘Annie!’

  I stood up and turned around. ‘ANNIE!’

  This time, as my name rang out, I saw Clare, plunging through the trees into deep shade, looking wildly about for me, then spotting me. Ignoring the winding path, she came crashing straight from the top, through the brambles and branches, towards me. Her face was scratched and her hair all over the place. She was covered in mud, but still in the ridiculous clothes she’d been wearing the night before.

  ‘Clare!’ My hand shot to my mouth, appalled. ‘Oh Annie, thank God! Thank heavens I’ve found you, something terrible’s happened.’ She clutched my wrist, trembling, her voice cracking.

  My heart stopped and I went cold. Thought of Mum. ‘What!’

  Her eyes were huge in her grubby face, and they gazed out at me, anguished. She swallowed hard.

  ‘I think I’ve slept with Theo Todd!’ she gasped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I stared at her, horrified. ‘Think? What d’you mean, think?’

  She collapsed on my arm. ‘Oh Annie, it’s awful,’ she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I got so horribly drunk, and you know me, I’ve never been drunk, never!’

  It was true, she hadn’t. Hardly touched a drop. ‘And – and Theo, well, he led me away, up the dunes, and I was so excited. It was so exactly what I’d wanted, what I’d fantasized about for ages, and he kept pouring me drinks – he had a bottle of vodka and some orange juice – and the thing was, we could see you all, sitting by the fire, happy and singing, and the children were fine and no one seemed to have missed us, so we crept even further away, giggling and holding hands like a couple of teenagers, right up on to the golf course. And it was so dark and thrilling and – oh I felt such a rush, Annie! I felt so brave, so young, and, oh God, I was so pissed ! And Theo kept pouring more and more liquor down me, and then we found this bunker –’

  ‘A bunker!’

  ‘Yes, and we lay down in it – collapsed into it – and then he was all over me. His hands were everywhere, and –’

  ‘Er, Clare?’ I jerked my head, alarmed, at Matt, but she
was unstoppable.

  ‘And I remember him taking off my bra top – I still had this ghastly bikini on – and I kept giggling and thinking it was terribly thrilling and romantic, and he had his face buried in my bosoms going “brrrmmmmm” ’ – she vibrated her lips – ‘like that, and sort of batting them from side to side, calling them my fun-bags and jelly buns, and I was joining in and –’

  ‘I’m out of here,’ muttered Matt, holding up his hands and turning away.

  ‘Clare, for God’s sake!’ I hissed. I shook her arm. God, her breath! I took a step back. ‘What on earth were you thinking of!’

  ‘And there we were lying in this bunker,’ she gasped, ‘and rolling around and kissing and, oh God, I don’t remember if he took his trousers off, and I don’t know what happened to my sarong but it’s all torn and – I just don’t know!’ she wailed, wringing her hands.

  ‘Clare, what are you saying?’ I said, aghast. I held her shoulders and shook her. ‘Of course you’d know! You’d remember if you slept with a man, for crying out loud, and your clothes were all over the place, so – presumably you did!’

  ‘Presumably I did,’ she sobbed, raking her hands desperately through her hair, ‘but the next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake by Michael, in the back garden!’

  ‘Michael found you in the garden?’

  ‘Yes, at four o’clock this morning! Oh God, Annie, and everyone knows, literally everyone. What am I going to do?’

  I turned away, dumbstruck for a moment. Then I swung back to her.

  ‘And you can’t remember how you got there?’

  ‘Well, I vaguely remember Theo and me staggering back there from the golf course – I mean, it’s only down the lane – staggering and burping and holding on to each other, but other than that, no, not a thing.’ She dropped her voice very low suddenly. ‘And Michael’s so furious. So furious.’

  ‘Well, I’m not bloody surprised!’