The Wedding Day

by Catherine Alliott

  She put her hands up to cover her face, then sank down on her knees to the ground. ‘He’s thrown me out!’ she sobbed through her fingers. ‘Told me to go. Sent me home, says he doesn’t want me here, says he’ll tell the children Mummy’s been called back for an urgent meeting in London.’ She took her hands from her wet face and wiped her cheeks with the inside of her wrists. ‘He says it happens all the time anyway,’ she said bitterly. ‘Says it’s the story of our family life, so they won’t question it.’

  I crouched down beside her. ‘Yes, well, of course he has to say that, Clare. He has to save face, but don’t worry, he doesn’t mean it.’

  ‘He does though, he does!’ She turned her grubby, tear-stained face towards me. ‘He means it this time. What am I going to do!’

  She started pulling up clumps of grass in a tortured fashion, just as, through the bracken, Flora and Tod suddenly materialized, having climbed up the path from the beach.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Flora in astonishment, stopping short in front of her aunt, who appeared to be enacting a dying swan in the fens.

  ‘Never mind,’ I muttered briskly, getting to my feet and ushering the pair of them quickly on past her. ‘Now listen, Flora. Clare’s had a bit of a shock and I need to talk to her in private. Why don’t you take Tod up to the house and play table tennis in the garage or –’

  ‘Tod’s brought his surfboard. I’m going to get mine and we’re going to go round to Polzeath to surf. Can I have some money for a burger?’

  ‘In my purse on the hall chair,’ I muttered. ‘Take a tenner, and be careful. Take your mobile, too. How are you going to get there?’

  ‘We’ll walk across the cliffs,’ she yelled back at me, as they raced as one up the path towards the house, taking advantage of my abstraction to surf alone and have money.

  ‘Come on,’ I said firmly, squatting down beside my sister again and taking her arm. ‘I’m going to get you into a nice hot bath and then we’ll decide what to do.’

  I hauled her to her feet. She was heavy and dumbly quiescent now. I put my arm around her and helped her through the rest of the wood like an invalid. We made our way up the overgrown lawn and, as we got to the house, I glanced nervously in at the study window. Matt, happily, had his head down, deep in the paranoia, and had the tact not to look up as I led her past and in through the kitchen door.

  Once upstairs I started running a bath for her. She was quiet now, shivering a bit as she stood in the bathroom, a pathetic figure in her dirty bikini top and torn sarong, her white shoulders hunched and miserable. She started to pull off her bra strap with shaky hands. I took her in my arms. Hugged her hard.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I assured her fiercely. ‘Honestly, Clare. It’ll all be fine, don’t worry.’

  She nodded miserably into my shoulder, hiccuping wordlessly.

  When she’d taken off her clothes and got in the bath, I flew next door into my bedroom, shut the door, and rang Rosie.

  ‘What the hell happened last night?’ I demanded. ‘Ooh, Annie, it’s awful,’ she breathed excitedly. I could tell she was horribly gripped. ‘Clare’s had a ding-dong with Theo Todd!’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ I said through gritted teeth, going to the far end of the room, away from the bathroom. ‘She’s here! But what the hell happened?’

  ‘Well, after you and Flora went, we all started packing up, you see, putting the barbecue stuff away and everything, and then we suddenly realized Clare and Theo were missing. It was all a bit embarrassing actually. Michael was wandering round the dunes looking for them rather hopelessly, sort of half-heartedly calling “Clare!”, and everyone was standing around looking awkward, heads down as they packed their cooler bags, trying not to notice but exchanging knowing looks, and you know everyone was there, Annie, the Stewart-Coopers, the Fields, the Elliotts, all that London crowd, all the people Michael and Clare have regular dinner parties with –’

  ‘Yes, I know who was there, Rosie!’

  ‘And all the time Michael was trying to pretend to the children that it was quite normal for Mummy to go for a walk with Mr Todd.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I groaned. ‘Giles and Becky and Luke!’

  ‘Well, Giles guessed immediately, of course, and went very pale and started whacking the sand with a cricket stump and swearing softly, and then Becky started to cry because she was frightened and didn’t know where Mummy was. And of course Michael knew. And we all knew that he knew, that was the worst thing, and then suddenly he stopped searching and went absolutely still and quiet. He just stood there, staring out to sea, and everyone was hovering around looking embarrassed and trying to pretend they were still packing their picnics, and then someone muttered something stupid about calling the police.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

  ‘At which point Helena gave a strange, hollow laugh, like a bark almost, and said that if she did that every time her husband disappeared she’d be on intimate terms with the police by now, and that she for one was going home and he could bloody well find his own way back. And she stalked off to her car with her children and her nanny, at which point Michael said quietly, “Right. Let’s go too.”

  ‘So we all trooped back up the dunes and across the golf course, and piled into his people carrier, about ten of us, in complete silence. Even my children were quiet, which is a first, but they’d sensed something pretty dreadful had happened. So anyway, we drove back, and Dan and I put all the children to bed – Becky and Phoebe were really upset, I can tell you – and Michael went out looking for her again.’

  ‘And that’s when he found her? In the garden?’

  ‘Much, much later, at about four in the morning, having been searching all night. He said he knew she was with Theo, but he was worried in case they’d gone for a swim or something. And knowing she was pissed –’

  ‘Rosie, she’s still pissed,’ I insisted. ‘Honestly, she stinks, and you know Clare, she doesn’t even drink, for heaven’s sake. And she says she can’t even remember if she slept with him!’

  ‘Course she bloody did,’ retorted Rosie caustically. ‘Convenient amnesia. Christ, she was with him all night! Anyway, Michael’s livid. I mean really fire-breathing livid. Didn’t think he had it in him, to tell you the truth, in fact – Oh. Gosh, sorry Michael. I didn’t … No no, it’s Annie. I was just …’

  There was a muffled exchange. A pause, then: ‘Annie? Is she with you?’

  I hardly recognized his voice. It was harsh and rough. ‘Yes but, Michael, listen,’ I said quickly. ‘I know you’re furious and I don’t blame you, but honestly, she was so out of it. She doesn’t remember –’

  ‘Oh she’s out of it, all right. She’s out of it full stop,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ve had it with her, Annie, after this. Completely had it. For precisely seven months she’s broken my balls over one inadequate fumble with a girl at a Christmas party which I stupidly admitted to. She’s made my life a total misery, to the point where I’m scared to open my mouth for fear of her flying at me, wondering if she’ll bite my head off, or the children’s heads off, all of us treading on eggshells and pandering to her every whim, and then she bloody well fucks Theo Todd at a family beach party. With all our children present, and our friends, and in a completely tarted-up, tits-out, premeditated way. Well, I’m thrilled actually, Annie. Thrilled to bloody bits, and you can tell her that from me. I didn’t know I was looking for an excuse to get away from her, just thought my mis- erable life would go on ad nauseam, but now I’ve got one, I’m clinging to it with both hands, I can tell you. I’m not going to pussyfoot around the queen bee any more, pander to her sour, bullying ways; I’m not going to wonder if every sentence I utter is going to be pounced on and sneered at, or stay late at the office, dreading going home, and longing for Monday mornings so I can escape the house. Oh no, she can sod off. Tell her to go back to London and pack up, and make sure she’s out of our house in two weeks when I get back with the children. I’ll speak to her through my solicitor then.
I’ll sue her for adultery. We’ll have a nice, old-fashioned, no-holds-barred divorce.’

  ‘Michael, you don’t mean that,’ I breathed. ‘You’re just upset.’

  ‘I bloody do mean it, Annie. I can’t tell you the sense of relief I felt when I realized what this meant about an hour ago. At first I thought: What the hell am I going to do? Then I thought: Well, I’m going to bloody leave her, that’s what. Halle-bleeding-lujah. I think I’ve been subconsciously looking for a chance to leave this mess of a marriage for years, and now she’s provided me with one. You can thank her for that, from me.’

  ‘Michael –’

  ‘Tell her goodbye, Annie. And tell her I’ll see her in court. You can’t imagine how relieved I am not to be seeing her sour, accusing face glaring at me over the breakfast table tomorrow morning.’

  I breathed in sharply as the line went dead. Stared at the receiver. There was a sound behind me. I turned to see Clare, hair wet, eyes wide, wrapped in a bath towel, in the doorway.

  ‘Michael?’ she breathed.

  I nodded. Licked my lips. ‘And?’

  ‘And … he’s a bit cross.’

  ‘How cross?’

  ‘Well,’ I struggled, ‘he wants you to go home.’

  ‘I know,’ she nodded. ‘Back to London. And then?’

  I swallowed. ‘He wants you out of the house. But he doesn’t mean it,’ I said quickly, seeing her face collapse. ‘It’s just because he’s upset now. He’s angry, that’s all. He’ll come round; he’ll get over it.’

  She shook her head dumbly. Came slowly into the room and sat down, ashen-faced, on the side of my bed.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘He won’t. I know Michael. Once he’s decided something, set his mind to it … he’s much stronger than you think, you know.’ She looked up at me. ‘Not really a timid little man at all.’ She stared beyond me, through the window to the sea. ‘But you wouldn’t know that, because I’ve knocked all the gumption out of him. I’ve pushed him, you see, Annie,’ she said flatly as I sat down beside her. ‘Been needling him for years. This isn’t just about last night. But now I’ve pushed him too far.’ She shot her fingers up through her hair and held on to her head tightly. Gripped it as if it might explode. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve pushed him over the edge!’

  ‘But … why, Clare? Why have you been so hard on him?’ She let her hands drop and shrugged hopelessly, tears streaming unheeded down her face now. Clare never cried. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just couldn’t help it. I just kept nagging and digging at him – I always have done, in a way. But after his thing with Patty –’

  ‘It wasn’t a thing, Clare,’ I said sharply. ‘Just a snog, for God’s sake. At an office party!’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she whispered, ‘but I used it. Pretended it was more! Wanted it to be more, to fuel my cause, to gather ammunition against him, so he had no defences. Used it to make his life a misery!’

  ‘But why, Clare? Why?’ I asked again, mystified. ‘Because …’ She tilted her face to the ceiling. Gazed up, eyes swimming, searching, racking her brains for the truth. ‘Because … because my life is such a misery!’

  Her face dropped and she buried it in her hands and wept. I put both arms around her heaving shoulders and held her close.

  ‘It’s always been such a misery,’ she sobbed, ‘for as long as I can remember, and I’ve always had to pretend it was so bloody perfect! Right from way back, when I swotted for exams and was hassled by Dad, and got into a better university, and got a better job, and a richer, more successful husband than anyone else, and had more children and a brilliant full-time career and up and up the sodding ladder of life I went, climbing at quite an astonishing rate, like a bleeding mountain goat I was so flaming agile. And then this exhausting holiday every year, self-catering and relentless bucket and spading.’ She paused for a moment, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffing loudly. She gave a cracked laugh. ‘No cushy Mark Warner hotel for us with three meals a day and crèche facilities thrown in, oh no. Not for the Faraday family; that would be cheating. God, Annie, I’m so tired. So utterly exhausted, and actually, not ever even remotely happy.’

  Her face was empty, naked almost in her despair.

  ‘And Michael was, you see,’ she went on sadly. ‘Before I squashed it out of him. He was often happy. Larking with the children, enjoying them, wrestling in the garden with them, playing the fool with them, and I hated that. Resented it.’ She looked bleakly into space. ‘All rather unattractive and undernourished, isn’t it?’ She gave a wry smile. ‘But it’s the truth. And I resented you, too.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. In your scruffy clothes and your terrible car with your one child and your little house and your failed marriage –’

  ‘Oh, thanks!’ I blinked. ‘Because even though you’ve been through some ghastly times,’ she ploughed on regardless, getting it all out, ‘you’ve had some really riotous, throw-back-your-head-and-roar times too. With Adam, in the old days, when you two used to come to our dinner parties and laugh so much about things I didn’t understand you nearly fell off your chairs; and then taking off, the two of you, in that dreadful old van to France, to camp by rivers with Flora in a pouch; no money, no cares, just lots of laughter and sex and having – well, fun. With Flora too. I’ve seen the two of you clutch each other you’re laughing so much, and hopefully with David, and – and I’ve never had that! Do you know, last night, in those dunes with that ghastly, groping, geriatric pisshead, Theo, it was the first time in years – ever, even – that I’ve felt … free. Liberated. Happy. Just being pissed and taking my clothes off and laughing and … Oh I don’t know,’ she trailed off miserably.

  ‘But … why don’t you do that with Michael?’

  ‘Because Michael has to suffer!’ she screeched, fists balled. ‘Michael has to suffer because I have to suffer, because my life is so shitty. Don’t you see?’

  She regarded me slightly manically now, her eyes wide and green, full of tears and anguish.

  I blinked. ‘I … think so, Clare. A bit. But …’ I wrestled with something. ‘This huge ambition –’

  ‘To be the best,’ she said fiercely. ‘The first. To succeed at all costs, always. Crucial.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, crucial. You were so lucky, Annie. You got away. You were the one that got away.’

  She stared down sadly at the carpet. I followed her eyes to a tiny beech leaf, blown in through the open window probably, being wafted about on the tatty pink carpet in the breeze. This way and that, whichever way life took it. How she saw me, I supposed.

  ‘And he does mean it,’ she said flatly. ‘He’s had enough of me. No man could take the assault I’ve sustained on Michael and not crack at some point. It’s just ironic that I dealt the final hammer blow myself. Smashed it for him. Smashed our marriage,’ she said sadly.

  We were quiet for a moment, huddled on the edge of the bed, my arm around her. Silent. It took me back to a day at the farm, long ago, when we were about ten and fourteen. Her very first boyfriend had ditched her, and she’d allowed me to console her. I’d felt hugely grand and proud, my arm round my big sister’s shoulders in the room we shared together, overlooking the rolling, sheep-dotted hills. I remember being disarmed and touched by this rare and human collapse, but suddenly she’d snapped to. ‘He was too much,’ she’d hissed abruptly, shaking me off. ‘Too good-looking. That was it.’

  After that her men had tended to be less attractive, and if there was any ditching to be done, she did it. Always had the upper hand. As she had done with Michael.

  ‘What will you do?’ I murmured. ‘I mean, now. Will you go home?’

  She licked her lips. ‘I’ll have to ring Donna first. She’s at her mother’s. Ask her to come down here. Cut short her break, and come and help Michael.’ She started to get off the bed. ‘He’ll never cope, never. Four children –’

  ‘He’ll cope,’ I interrupted softly, pulling her back by her towel. ‘Don’t. Don
’t ring Donna. Let go, Clare.’

  She turned back. Stared at me. ‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘You’re right. He will cope. That’s the awful thing. They’ll be fine. It’ll be me who won’t be.’ Her voice was very small. ‘But I can’t just leave!’ Her face crumpled. She turned to me appealingly. ‘Can’t I stay here?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but …’ I hesitated. She needed to get away. Michael needed her to get away. ‘Why don’t you go to Mum’s?’

  She gave a hollow laugh. ‘What, alone? Home to Mum without my husband and kids? Hi, Mum, Michael’s kicked me out?’

  I shrugged. ‘She’s never judged. Always just been there. Should you ever need her.’

  ‘For you, maybe.’

  ‘And you. It’s just you’ve always been too proud to ask.’ She ran her hands through her hair again, despairingly. ‘Such an admission of defeat …’

  ‘Dad’s not there, Clare,’ I reminded her softly.

  She looked up and met my eyes. Nodded. ‘No. Dad’s not there. Just his ghost.’ She shivered. Then sat up straight. ‘Right. Well, maybe. Maybe tomorrow. That way, I’m not alone in London, am I? Still close by. But – tonight?’

  ‘Of course. Of course stay,’ I assured her, hugging her hard. My eyes filled as she rested her damp head on my shoulder. My big sister. So much more crushed in defeat for her seeming invincibility normally. So much more humbled through her colossal, misplaced pride.

  After a moment, she took her head off my shoulder and held it in her hands like cracked china. ‘Tired. Just so tired,’ she muttered. ‘And my children, Annie … My children. Can’t bear to think about it.’ I could sense a wave of terror approaching.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said firmly, as more tears threatened. ‘Here.’ I reached up and pulled back the bedcovers. ‘Come on,’ I urged gently, helping her in. ‘Sleep. You’re exhausted.’

  ‘Don’t think I will,’ she muttered dully, but she let me fold her legs up anyway, her face pleated with fatigue. ‘So much to think about. So much I’ve wrecked.’

  ‘Try,’ I insisted, lightly crossing the room and closing the shutters, instantly plunging the room into darkness. ‘You’ve been up all night, and we’ll talk later, when you wake up. Things will seem so much better then, they always do. You’ll see.’