The Wedding Day

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Is this you with your psychiatrist’s hat on?’ I asked, forcing a smile.

  ‘No, it’s my Matt Malone hat. The one that fits me best.’

  I reached down and tugged at some more dandelions, knowing he was stumping me with common logic.

  ‘Annie’ – he cleared his throat – ‘I was badly hurt too, like you were with Adam. And I didn’t find a saviour like you did, although I had a few kind offers. A couple of them I took up, too. One was a female registrar with great legs; another, a cute neighbour two blocks down with a shy smile and a cat that jumped on the bed at inopportune moments. But both of them purely transitory. Both on a ships-in-the-night basis. Nothing platonic, you understand, but nothing emotional either. A physical healing, sure, but I never let my heart get involved. It wasn’t ready. Wasn’t fit for action.’

  ‘Wasn’t?’ I made myself look up from the grass. ‘You mean it is now?’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ His eyes collided with mine. Blue, focused, and very frank. ‘Road-tested and everything.’

  The blood stormed into my cheeks and the silence that ensued was alive with intensity, crackling with electric current. I held his gaze.

  ‘Annie, I think there’s something going on here that both of us are denying. Some subject we’re skirting politely around, which has nothing to do with David’s reasons for entering the medical profession or embarking on a relationship with you, but more to do with something the two of us have thrown into the equation.’

  All of a sudden the garden seemed oddly still. Unnaturally quiet. The CD had come to an end inside, but I knew that was immaterial. No amount of teenage music and bright lights and jolly banter on the terrace could blanket this moment. It was out there suddenly, in the open, like a shining sea creature coming up out of the water through the murky weed and plankton. The rising up of a truth. And it would have happened whatever, and wherever; it was naive of me to pretend otherwise. On top of a bus, in a crowded room, in a little blue rowing boat out at sea, under the stars by a campfire. He was right. This was something un deniable, and of our making.

  I stood up quickly and stooped to pick up the children’s plates from the grass, hoping to break the intimacy of the moment. I made a stack of crockery on the table, but was aware that he was standing behind me, and that my hands were trembling. I gazed down at the bits of steak and lettuce stuck to the plates, numb with a mixture of horror and longing.

  ‘Annie.’

  I turned and, in that instant, when he looked at me, I was in pieces. He folded me in his arms, and the world as I knew it burst like a bubble. His lips found mine, warm and responsive; his hands held me close. He smelled of the sea, grass and fresh air as I kissed him. This man, this stranger, whom I’d known all of six days, who’d strolled into my life and rocked my world. Who’d opened up a room in my heart I hadn’t known existed, or if I’d suspected, had kept firmly locked. As one long kiss unfurled after another, it seemed to me I was going deeper and deeper into this forbidden place. As we paused for air, I simultaneously came to my senses.

  ‘We’re right under Flora’s bedroom!’ I breathed. ‘So we’ll go inside,’ he reasoned, hands in my hair, lips softly touching mine again. ‘God, you’re lovely, Annie.’

  And the thing was, I felt lovely in his arms. And so we went in, making it just through the French windows, where his hands cupped my face again, kissing my neck, tasting me, savouring me, inside my shirt, my shoulder.

  ‘We can’t!’ I gasped. ‘The children – upstairs.’

  ‘Of course we can’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I can kiss you, can’t I?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I panted. ‘You can kiss me.’

  And so he did, until a ring on the doorbell had me flying from his arms and shooting across the other side of the room.

  ‘What was that!’ I gasped.

  He shrugged. ‘Doorbell, I guess. Strange time to call.’

  I flew to the little bay window that overlooked the porch, wiping my mouth in horror, tugging down my shirt, convinced it was David. My heart was racing. I peered around.

  ‘It’s Adam,’ I breathed in relief. ‘Oh, OK.’ Matt was clearly relieved too. He scratched his head. ‘Boy, you sure have a full quota of admirers. I never know which Romeo’s gonna show up next.’

  I turned to him anxiously. ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘I guess show him in, Annie.’ He went into the kitchen and started to fill the kettle. ‘Be hospitable, get the cookies out. Or maybe he’s a gin-and-quails’-eggs man, you tell me. But either way, if you leave him standing out there any longer he’ll stroll right round the side of the house thinking we can’t hear the bell cos we’re in the garden, and come in anyway, so – Ah, Adam. Welcome!’ Matt stuck out his hand and beamed widely as Adam appeared through the French windows.

  Adam shook the proffered hand, nonplussed. ‘Hi.’ He frowned. ‘Sounds suspiciously like you were expecting me.’

  ‘No, no, not expecting, but certainly a pleasant and delightful surprise. Always a pleasure to welcome friends to our little abode. Just making coffee: will you have some?’

  ‘Sure, why not.’ Adam ran his hand through his curls, taken aback. ‘Blimey, I’d forgotten you were still here, actually. Forgot you two have this weird kind of modus vivendi.’

  ‘Oh, not weird,’ said Matt, shooting him a blow-torch grin. ‘Not when we have so many unexpected visitors keeping us sane and normal. Not when we’re overflowing with guests to iron out our troubles with and keep us from feeling blue. Pretty much open house here in the summer season, eh Annie? Party’s never over. Coffee for you too?’

  ‘Please.’ I suppressed my amusement. Suddenly felt brave. If he was going to brazen this out, then I could too. I folded my arms and watched as Adam strolled speculatively around the sitting room, hands in pockets. It was a controlling, territorial tactic, and one he’d employed a lot in my London house. As he stopped to stare up at a print of a gull above the fireplace, it struck me that he was really quite a small man. And going a bit thin on the back of his head. Why had I never noticed that?

  ‘Never been inside before,’ he mused, glancing round at me. ‘Bit dark, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s because we haven’t treated you to the light show yet,’ said Matt, reaching under a standard lamp and switching it on with a flourish. ‘Da-dah! White-man magic.’

  Adam smiled good-naturedly and fished in his pocket. ‘Here.’ He handed me Flora’s watch. ‘She left it behind. I was passing, so I thought I’d drop it in. Thought she might need it.’

  ‘No one “passes” this place, Adam,’ I said, placing the watch in an ashtray. ‘It’s pretty much off the beaten track.’

  ‘No, well, I …’ He looked almost uncomfortable. ‘I wanted to see you. Have a word.’

  There was a pause. ‘Oh, Lord, don’t mind me.’ Matt threw up his hands in mock horror. ‘I’ll check out the sunset.’

  He placed a tray of coffee in front of us, flashed Adam another smile, then took his own mug and sauntered out into the garden. I watched him go. My eyes were shining. Yes, I thought. Yes, this was the way with Adam. Mocking, deprecating, cocky. Why had I never cultivated this particular distancing technique before? I turned to look at my ex-husband and felt a miraculous, almost airborne quality. I perched on the edge of a table.

  ‘So. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?’

  He slipped into the sofa, cradling his mug. ‘Well, not urgent, as such. I just …’ He stopped. Scratched his chin ruefully. ‘You know Annie, this isn’t quite how I envisaged this little tête-à-tête. I mean, you perched up there and that guy hovering down the garden. Come sit by me.’ He patted the sofa, grinning slyly. ‘And let’s turn the light show off.’

  I smiled. ‘No, thanks. Come on, Adam, spit it out.’

  He looked surprised. Licked his lips. ‘Right. Look, Annie, maybe over supper tomorrow. Maybe we could have a chat. I gather the Bistro’s not too busy over at Pad-stow. What d’you say? Just the two of us.’

>   I set my coffee aside. Sighed. ‘Adam, if you’ve come here to say what I think you have, that things aren’t going too well with Cozzy, that you’ve realized the error of your phil-andering ways, that you’re sorry you let our marriage slide and couldn’t go the distance, but that was then and this is now and you’re no longer emotionally immature and pretty sure you’ve got your shit together and let’s have another stab at it and – oh yeah’ – I held up my finger – ‘you miss waking up beside me in the mornings, my head on the pillow, et cetera et cetera, then I have to tell you you’ve picked a bad moment.’ I stood up and went to the sink. ‘I was just washing up the supper things and, as you know, I can’t abide an untidy house. So unless you’d like to dry up?’

  I turned and threw a tea towel at him. It landed on his head. He regarded me in astonishment.

  ‘Well, stone me,’ he said finally. ‘I seem to be about as irresistible as a greasy plate.’

  ‘Oh don’t take it personally.’ I ran the taps hard. ‘It’s just I’ve heard it all before.’ I pushed up my sleeves and began rinsing crockery with fiendish efficiency. ‘I heard it when I found you’d been shagging Shirley in our bedsit in Clarendon Road; I heard it when you slipped away with Antonia after Love’s Labour’s Lost in Cardiff; heard it when I found Sally’s sex letters to you in the bedside table in Brighton, and if I said: Yippee! now, grabbed my coat and slipped into the passenger seat of your convertible outside, I’d no doubt hear it in six months’ time too. And the thing is, Adam, I know that right now you really, really mean it. You do want me to come back, and sincerely believe it’ll be for ever, but you just can’t help it, can you? The fact is that some people are born with honour, and some aren’t.’

  He blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s true. You either have it, or you don’t – like good health or an Irish accent or blond hair or an artistic eye. It’s a natural force and, actually, one of the strongest, and most incommunicable. Sadly, you don’t have it. But never mind, it’s not your fault.’ I turned. Gave him a bright smile. ‘Come on, Adam, dry these plates up for me, there’s a good chap. There’s something terribly attractive about a man at the draining board, and you never know’ – I twinkled at him – ‘I might change my mind. Might forget all about that integrity nonsense for a moment and give you a quick one on the sofa anyway. Just for old times’ sake.’

  He stared at me, slack-jawed. Poleaxed. Then he snatched the tea towel from his head, threw it down huffily and stood up.

  ‘Right. Well, if that’s the way you want to play it, Annie, taking the piss out of all our years together, the sanctity of our marriage vows, our –’

  ‘Ooh, I think you’ll find there’s only one person who took the piss out of those, Adam.’

  ‘And won’t even consider the happiness of our daughter, our child, the saddest casualty in all of this mess –’

  ‘And the only person I’ve ever really considered. Look.’ I threw the dishcloth angrily in the sink with a splash and strode to the back door, hands dripping. I flung it wide. ‘I’m sorry you’ve fallen out with Cozzy, and I’m sorry this Cornish holiday isn’t working out for you, but it’s working out for me. So please take your sentimental heart and your bullying ways and your pathetic bowl of self-pity elsewhere, and dump it all on someone else’s doorstep!’

  Something flashed in Adam’s eyes. I’d slipped up, and he knew it. He got up and sauntered towards me, hands in pockets, a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Ah, so it’s working out for you, is it? Yes, well, clearly. You’re not clutching the furniture like you usually do in my presence. Not blushing and running your hands through your dishevelled hair like some timid little creature, trying to look at me with loathing when any fool can see the longing in your eyes as I brush past you while you shakily spoon the tea leaves into the pot. In your own home, and even with your boyfriend present.’ He was standing very close to me now. He reached up and stroked my cheek. Then he let his hand fall gently to my breast.

  I slapped it away angrily. ‘Piss off!’

  He raised his eyebrows, still smiling. ‘Hm, interesting. Not even a frisson. I’m impressed. Tell me,’ he drawled, cocking his head down the garden in Matt’s direction, ‘does the good doctor know about this?’

  He winked at me. Then, whistling softly, he strolled out of the back door, and around the garden to his car. I stood and watched him go for a moment, then slammed the door hard. It rattled in its frame. I stared at the wooden panels, fists balled to my sides. Suddenly I put them to my eyes, burst into tears, and ran up to my room, slamming the door behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I tossed and turned that night, and finally heard Matt come up at about midnight. His door closed softly above me. Thereafter, I slept fitfully, dimly conscious of my dreams billowing around, of even a few pertinent images. I woke again, suddenly, at five, eyes wide open. I lay there, staring into the darkness, waiting to be filled by tears and terrible regret, or by relief – whichever it might be. I waited and waited, but all I felt was a ghastly, mind-numbing confusion.

  And then, I knew. I got up, woozy with lack of sleep, but heady with resolve as I seized my dressing gown and tottered to the bathroom.

  It was still early, only seven o’clock, when, already dressed, I stole into Flora’s room next door.

  ‘Flora darling, wake up.’ I shook her shoulder gently. ‘Hmm? Wha’?’ She rolled over, her arm draped above her head. She peered at me through bleary eyes. ‘Wha’s going on?’

  ‘I thought we might go to Granny’s today, sweetheart. You know, we said we’d go and see her while we were down here, and we haven’t yet. Come on, get dressed.’

  She turned her head and peered at her clock in astonishment. ‘Why so early?’

  ‘Because it takes an hour and a half to get there, and I want to miss the traffic and go while it’s cool, that’s why. Now come on, buck up.’

  ‘God, Mum, we’re supposed to be on holiday!’

  ‘Now, Flora,’ I hissed abruptly. ‘Please.’

  Something in my tone brought her up short. Perhaps it was also in my face, with the underslept, shadowed eyes, the wild hair and the grey pallor, and perhaps it reminded her of a mother she thought she’d seen the back of, but either way, muttering darkly, she dragged herself out of bed.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she grumbled, hauling herself off to the bathroom.

  I, meanwhile, tiptoed downstairs to make her some toast. Yes, this was a good idea, I thought as I manically buttered away, my hands shaking slightly. I needed to get away; needed to think; Mum’s was the perfect place. I needed to consider so many things, like what I was doing letting a man I hardly knew kiss me like that, so passionately, when I was getting married in five weeks. I dropped the knife with a clatter. Put a hand to my cheek in horror.

  Rallying, I made a piece of toast for myself, but then couldn’t face it – felt sick at the sight of it, actually – so I put two on Flora’s plate and took it up to her, mounting the stairs two at a time, adrenalin making me agile.

  ‘Here darling, some brekkie,’ I said with forced jollity as I breezed in and intercepted her in the bathroom. She had her head in the basin, brushing her teeth. ‘I’ll put it on your bedside table, shall I?’ I hovered. ‘There’s a cup of tea, too. You can eat it as you get dressed.’

  She turned from the basin, mouth full of froth, and gave me an incredulous glare. ‘Wha’s the ’ush?’ I interpreted, but I ignored her and slipped away to pack.

  Yes, to pack. An overnight bag, definitely, but actually, secretly, enough clothes for a few days. I’d sneak some in for Flora too, without her seeing. No point alerting her to the length of our stay. But a protracted stay was definitely in order, because the thing was, I figured, hands trembling as I packed, the reason last night had happened, the reason we’d ended up in such a – a comprom ising position, was all to do with proximity. Yes, that was it. Heavens, it was well documented. When people of the opposite sex were cooped up together for
any length of time, emotions were unnaturally heightened and things … well, things that wouldn’t normally happen happened. Take office affairs, for instance. It was the convenience factor: no effort required, just stroll over to the photocopier and Bob’s your uncle – or your brand-new lover. Holiday romances too. And that was all last night had been, I decided firmly, throwing shoes, trousers, T-shirts in a bag: a holiday romance. Where all the senses are heightened by the sun and the sea and romantic fishing trips and beach picnics, and where no proper work or routine intrudes. And a few drinks helped, of course. Except that I hadn’t had much to drink, I thought in dismay. Just a couple of glasses.

  Anyway – I shook my head dismissively – the point was this would never have happened had I not been sharing this wretched house. If only I’d listened to David, I thought miserably, dropping my toothbrush in. Oh, my poor David! I should have listened to him. Should have gone up the road to the Complete Angler, but I hadn’t wanted to. Not just because of this gorgeous house, but … because of the gorgeous man in it. I froze as I admitted it to myself. Yes. Yes, he was gorgeous. Damn.

  But I would book it, I thought frantically, chucking a handful of underwear in the bag, the Complete Angler, the moment I got back, or – or – maybe somewhere even further away? More far flung? Eastbourne perhaps. Or Bournemouth? Or were they full of old ladies? Old ladies. Perfect. Just what I needed. Just so long as there weren’t any red-blooded American psychiatrists prowling around too.

  I paused for a moment in my packing to gaze out of the window at the familiar view beyond: the farmland on the opposite side of the creek, the gulls circling the recently mown hay, looking for rich pickings. Oh God, what had I done? Well, I’d kissed a man, that’s all, I reasoned soberly, picking up a huge bottle of shampoo and pouring some into a smaller bottle. Golly, hardly a heinous crime; hardly even a leg-over situation. But it was made worse, somehow, by the fact that it had felt so right. So good. I gazed at the haystacks. His hands in my hair, his breath on my face, close up and – oh! Damn. Shampoo on my pants.