The Wedding Pact

by Isla Gordon

‘Yes,’ Mrs Haverley replied. ‘Weddings are quite lovely.’ With that, she moved into August’s room, and behind her August and Flynn glanced at each other.

  August held her breath.

  ‘I see you purchased another bed.’

  ‘We did,’ August confirmed, aware she was becoming repetitive. ‘We use this as our spare room.’

  ‘Do you have many overnight guests?’ Mrs Haverley asked sharply.

  ‘No,’ Flynn and August said in unison, and Flynn added, ‘August has family not too far away so we like to be prepared in case they want to come into Bath.’

  That’ll be the day, August thought, but Mrs Haverley nodded. ‘Fine. How do you find the bed in the master?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ exclaimed Flynn.

  ‘Very soft,’ chimed in August.

  ‘Thank you,’ they added together.

  ‘I don’t like a soft bed myself, too much bounce,’ Mrs Haverley said, inspecting the doorframe. She looked directly at August then. ‘But I am old and have a bad back, of course, and you are young. I expect young people don’t mind a bit of bounce.’

  Mrs Haverley stalked past them out towards Flynn’s room and August was dumbstruck for a moment. Had that been a twinkle in Mrs Haverley’s eye? Had she just made a bit of a naughty joke? No …

  In Flynn’s room it was back to business, and Mrs Haverley ran her finger over the window pane like Mary Poppins checking for dust, and there was a quiet tap on the door.

  August excused herself for just a moment to see who it was, and as she walked away she heard Mrs Haverley spot the scripts on the windowsill and ask, ‘What are these?’

  ‘Those are August’s – she’s an actress and they’re scripts, one is for an audition she has coming up,’ Flynn replied.

  ‘What has she been in?’ she heard her reply from the other room.

  Poor guy, she’d be back to rescue Flynn in just a moment. Opening the door, expecting to find her most regular visitor, Callie, to be standing there with her yoga mat or some more baked goods, she was surprised to see a smiling, and slightly dishevelled, Abe Haverley.

  ‘Hello,’ August said, taking in his stubbled jaw and just-got-out-of-bed hair. He wore a sweatshirt with the sleeves drooping down over his fingers, jeans, and trainers with the laces tucked in instead of done up.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, his expression sheepish. ‘Is she here? I completely overslept.’

  ‘She’s here,’ laughed August. ‘I didn’t know you were coming along too, we’ve started “the tour” without you.’

  ‘Mum asked me to come down to Bath at the last minute yesterday – she needed a hand with some things – so I’m a bit all over the place.’

  ‘I have a pot of coffee on if you’d like one?’

  ‘That would be amazing.’

  Abe followed her into the kitchen and she watched him as he took a gulp of the strong, black coffee she poured him from the percolator. How was this the same stuffy grump of a man they’d met on their first day? He cleared his throat and stood tall, and for a second she saw a flash of Serious Abe again, until he said, ‘Now, if Mum asks, I’m late down because I was on the phone with the internet company, all right?’ She nodded, and he grinned, placing a hand on her shoulder for a millisecond. She liked that they had a little secret, a little moment.

  Returning to Flynn’s bedroom with Abe in tow, she heard that the conversation hadn’t progressed too far.

  ‘You’re not sure?’ Mrs Haverley was asking with incredulity. ‘You’re not sure if your wife has been on the silver screen?’

  Flynn must be wracking his brain in there, August thought as she hurried back in, he must be worried about saying ‘no’ if she had and he’d forgotten.

  ‘He just means he’s not sure of the title,’ August said smoothly, entering the room. ‘I had a small part in an Italian film, years ago, the title is quite complicated but roughly translates as “Fun adventures on a Tuscan vineyard”.’

  ‘Do you speak Italian?’ Mrs Haverley asked.

  ‘No, thankfully I just played a tourist on a wine tour, so my couple of lines were in English. Look, Abe’s here!’

  Mrs Haverley simply nodded at that, and at her son, and opened the window, sticking her head out to wipe her finger along the glass on the outside. Abe walked across the room to join her.

  ‘Is that true?’ Flynn whispered to August. ‘You were in an Italian movie?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ nodded August, and then added, ‘Well, actually, no. But I did audition for it. I just didn’t get the role.’

  Mrs Haverley brought her head back in, sighed, and lingered in the room for a moment longer. Without a word about the state of the window, she nodded and exited, as swiftly as she’d entered. She and Abe moved through the bathroom and kitchen with a similar tight-lipped rigidity, and with every passing minute August and Flynn could feel beads of sweat forming at the back of their necks.

  Back in the living room Mrs Haverley faced them, her mouth pinched, and regarded the two of them for a moment.

  August reached for Flynn’s hand to add an extra layer of happy-couple-dom, at which Mrs Haverley gave a curt nod and turned towards the door. ‘Everything seems in order,’ she said, her long fingers clasped over the doorknob. Looking over her shoulder back at them she asked, ‘Nothing is broken or causing bother, I trust?’

  ‘Nothing,’ August and Flynn confirmed in unison, standing before her, hand in hand, like the creepy twins from The Shining.

  Mrs Haverley’s eyes swept the room one more time as she cracked open the door, a draught of September air from the landing wafting in. And then she stopped, her head tilted to the side, and her eyes narrowed.

  ‘You got married in Cornwall?’ she asked.

  August gulped. ‘Yes.’

  ‘On a beach?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Flynn, keeping his voice light and chirpy.

  Mrs Haverley pointed a finger towards the photo she’d commented on earlier. ‘Steep Holm.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Flynn. He could feel August’s palm beginning to sweat against his.

  ‘That’s Steep Holm in the background of your wedding picture, the island off Weston-super-Mare.’

  August turned her head in slow motion to look at the photograph.

  Mrs Haverley, her voice low, asked, ‘Why is it there if you married on a beach in Cornwall?’

  Flynn and August looked at the photo, and the very small blob on the horizon behind Flynn’s shoulder. A thousand thoughts raced through August’s mind like a lie-based Wheel of Fortune machine. It tried to locate, as quickly as possible, the most feasible excuse.

  Ratatatatatatat – The wedding pictures had been ruined so they tried to recreate them nearby? A bit far-fetched.

  Ratatatatatatat – This was actually the engagement shoot? Believable, but would they then need to go and take another set of wedding pictures? She didn’t have another white dress.

  Ratatata-ta-ta—ta—ta— gaslight a poor lady in her late seventies into thinking she can’t believe her own eyesight? She’d run out of thinking time so that had to be the winner.

  ‘It does look like Steep Holm, doesn’t it?’ August laughed. ‘It’s actually a cargo ship sailing past in the distance. We asked the photographer to photoshop them all out, but she must have missed this one and we never noticed.’

  Flynn laughed with hearty gusto. ‘That photographer, we’ll have to ask her to redo that one, won’t we love?’

  ‘We sure will, honey,’ August chortled, angling the two of them between Mrs Haverley and the photo, so that their bodies were blocking it. ‘Thanks for pointing that out, Mrs Haverley. And thanks for coming over.’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ added Flynn.

  ‘Lovely to see you,’ said August, holding the door open.

  Mrs Haverley gave one of her no-nonsense nods once again, and seeming satisfied, left their flat. Abe went out along with her, meeting August’s eye for a second as she was closing the door.

  As the door shut,
August let out a sigh. ‘Hubby, fetch me my laptop,’ she said to Flynn. ‘I appear to have some photoshopping to take care of.’

  As he dutifully went off to get her computer for her, she let her breathing return to normal. But what was normal? Because this didn’t feel much like a normal way to live, more like a web they were getting tangled further and further into.

  Chapter 35

  August

  ‘Happy Anniversary!’ cried Callie and her mum, standing on the landing and holding a huge cake covered in mint icing.

  August blinked. ‘Thank you?’

  ‘I couldn’t remember the exact date you got hitched last year, but you said early October, which is now, so I figured you love birds would be celebrating for days.’ Callie pushed past August and plonked the cake down in her kitchen, slicing four great slabs and throwing open cupboards until she found plates.

  Flynn appeared. ‘What’s the cake for? Yum!’

  ‘Our anniversary,’ August explained. ‘Our wedding anniversary.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Flynn. ‘Yep, it’s our anniversary, good memory, Callie. Nothing gets past you.’

  ‘Maud and Allen send their best wishes as well,’ said Callie’s mum.

  ‘Oh yes, and I know Mrs H probably does but I haven’t seen her yet this week.’ Callie dug a camera out of her pocket. ‘I’ll be popping in tomorrow though, so I’ll tell her all about it.’

  The cake was moist and light, a chocolate centre to the mint icing, making the whole thing taste like a reverse After Eight. Callie’s mum had outdone herself with the baking this time, it even beat the brownies from a few weeks ago.

  While they ate, Callie nattered away about her new quest for a boyfriend, inspired, she said, by the two of them and their lovely relationship. A twist formed in August’s stomach at that, at the thought she was misleading Callie who was so sweet. She really needed to put some thought into whether or not to confess. But, it was a good thing that Callie was moving on from her divorce, whether it was thanks to them or not, wasn’t it?

  ‘Must dash, yoga-with-Mum time, come up if you want, Aug,’ Callie said, standing up as soon as she was done with her slice. ‘First, let’s have a photo of the two of you with the rest of your cake so I can show Mrs H tomorrow.’

  August and Flynn dutifully stood side by side, holding the plate with the cake in front of them.

  ‘It’s not a bloody church coffee morning,’ Callie’s mum admonished. ‘It’s your wedding anniversary. Give us a smooch.’

  August tilted her cheek towards Flynn and he gave it a chaste peck, to which Callie groaned.

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Haverley wants to see us full-on snogging, Callie,’ said August, imagining the look of horror on her landlady’s face at being forced to look at such a photo.

  ‘You don’t know her like I do,’ laughed Callie, holding up the camera again. ‘And I bet she bloomin’ does. Come on, give her something to bother putting her glasses on for.’

  August and Flynn looked at each other over the cake, their eyes flittering briefly to each other’s lips. It was clear they were both trying to work out the best thing to do in this situation.

  August was pretty sure Flynn’s look said, Come on, let’s just kiss, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She tried to convey to him that she was thinking, It’s okay, let’s do this, but she couldn’t tell if he’d read her right.

  Callie lowered her camera. ‘What’s wrong with you two? Did we interrupt you in the middle of an argument or something? Oh bloody hell, Mum, we need to leave them to it.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ said August, seeing the embarrassment on their faces.

  ‘It’s me,’ chimed in Flynn, a brainwave hitting him. ‘I have a cold sore coming, I can feel it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Callie stepped away, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  ‘Yep, it’s tingling away. I don’t want August to catch it.’

  ‘Quite. Listen, keep hold of the cake plate for as long you need, okay?’

  ‘Will do,’ Flynn smiled, and August showed them out, though they didn’t need much help fleeing.

  August leant against the door after they’d left, her heart beating fast. It really caught up with her sometimes, these lies, the spontaneity they required. And that was a close one. Too close.

  ‘Flynn,’ August blurted out.

  ‘Hi,’ he replied, noting the wringing of her hands, her nervous pacing. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘That – that is what’s up,’ she motioned to the door. ‘That was a little too close for comfort.’

  Flynn laughed. ‘Nah, we got away with that pretty well, I’d say.’

  ‘I think we’ve got to try it, man,’ August said, looking directly at Flynn. ‘I think we have to try kissing.’

  She marched towards the cupboard where they kept alcohol and pulled out a bottle of Malibu, swigging it straight from the bottle, holding eye contact with him, a thousand thoughts darting through her mind. ‘What do you think? Are you up for it?’

  He watched her, amused. ‘Try kissing? You’ve kissed people before, right?’

  ‘Millions! Well, not millions, but yes, I have done a lot of kissing. And now I think you and I should.’ She waved the Malibu bottle at him. ‘If we just get this out of the way and have a kiss then if we’re ever put in the position again where we need to kiss each other or whatever in front of other people we won’t be awkward and stand-offish, and give the game away. We’ll just be like, Oh yeah sure, I’ll kiss my husband, no big deal, we do this all the time.’ She took another swig. ‘It’ll just be a thing we do, like the hand holding. Just acting. Rather than it being a THING.’

  ‘What’s with the Malibu?’

  ‘Liquid courage.’

  ‘You need that with me?’

  ‘Probably not, but I was a lot more confident about kissing strangers in my younger days, and I always drank Malibu on nights out.’

  Her breathing slowed, like she was afraid of falling if she breathed too deep, as his gaze softened and he began to make his way towards her.

  Wait. Should they?

  Flynn stepped over to her, standing right in front of her. He put one of his hands on her shoulder, and with the other he stroked her hair off her face. ‘I’m not a stranger,’ he said, his lips, level with her eyes, curling into a gentle smile.

  Should they, though?

  August felt like time had slowed right down, all of her worries dropping over the ledge of her mind, and now it was just about Flynn’s lips, inches from hers. Without turning, she placed the Malibu bottle somewhere behind her, she wasn’t sure where, it could be suspended in mid-air for all she knew; she certainly was. And then she moved her hands to his forearms. ‘No, you’re not a stranger,’ she confirmed, her voice quiet. She felt completely safe.

  Chapter 36

  Flynn

  Holding August, touching the skin of her face, really looking at her in close-up, Flynn tried to push away thoughts of whether or not they were doing the right thing. This had the potential to change their whole relationship, and they already had a really good thing going, living together as flatmates. The more seconds that passed, the more he took her in in front of him, the deeper he thought he might fall.

  The decision was taken out of his hands the moment she inhaled, looked him straight into his eyes and said, a smile playing on her lips, ‘So kiss me.’

  They moved closer together until they were breathing the same breath, and their lips grazed each other’s, barely a kiss to begin with, more of an exploration.

  They smiled into each other, Flynn’s arm tightening just a touch around her waist, August’s hands on his upper arms, tiptoeing upwards until her fingers touched the back of his neck and he tilted his head down further, pressing his lips a little more onto her hers.

  As they discovered each other’s lips, Flynn tried to keep himself in check, afraid of showing too much of what he was feeling right now, and he hadn’t even had a chance to process exactly what that was himself yet. He
only knew he wanted to remember everything about this moment.

  This kiss was light years away from the accidental peck that time he’d first walked into their flat and he’d met Bel. That one was laced with guilt over his recently ended relationship with Yui, while this was all about August. Only about August.

  Chapter 37

  August

  The minute their lips touched, August was swept away, all at sea in Flynn’s arms. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, and it was delicious. She didn’t need that liquid courage; this was so much better than a moment with a stranger in a club. She kissed Flynn with everything she had, all the happiness she’d felt since moving into Elizabeth Street with him, all the lonely moments she’d felt since James left, and she kissed him hard because she didn’t want it to end but she knew this probably shouldn’t happen again.

  This didn’t feel like a practice kiss, or a fake kiss in the name of acting, to her at least, this felt like a first kiss. Oh God.

  Should they have done that?

  A small bubble of nervous laughter made its way up through August’s chest, and though she tried to suppress it, out it came. Flynn pulled back, the moment ending, their lips unlocking. He laughed too.

  ‘I think we nailed it,’ he said.

  ‘I think you’re right.’ She blushed a little, and then briefly hid her face against his chest, giving herself just a few more moments in his arms.

  Flynn looked down at August, and he seemed reluctant to let her go. ‘We could keep rehearsing, if you want,’ he suggested, his voice quiet.

  August was a doer, a risk-taker, someone who grabbed onto life, or at least that’s what she aspired to be. Many, many times she had just gone for what felt right rather than being someone who thought things through carefully first. And though it hadn’t always worked out in her favour, she liked that about herself. Right now, a huge part of her was enjoying Flynn in this new and exciting way, and it would be so easy for her to throw her arms back around his neck and spend the rest of the day making out with him. But her conscience, that real killjoy part of her she hated to listen to, was shouting at her loud and clear today. This is not a good idea, things could get very complicated, very fast. He’s your flatmate. It will become awkward and one of you will want to move out. Don’t do this.