The Wedding Pact

by Isla Gordon

  August interrupted his thoughts. ‘Is it because I’m going to be here too? Are you nervous about introducing her to friends? I know we’ve already met, but it’ll be different tonight, won’t it – chatting to each other properly. I hope she likes me.’

  Friends. Flynn sliced the chicken in front of him into long strips. Poppy had already met a couple of Flynn’s friends from work. August was more than a friend. She was way more than his flatmate. He stole a glance at her. Like it or not, he didn’t have any family left in the UK, so she was the person in the country that he felt closer to than anyone else. Perhaps that would change in time, and Poppy would become his closest confidante. But right now …

  ‘I hope you like her,’ he answered.

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ she waved the knife hazardously in the air. ‘She seemed nice enough when we met the other day. Also, you’re a nice guy, so you wouldn’t go out with an idiot. Do you think things are getting serious?’ August gasped all of a sudden, pointing the knife towards him. ‘Are you going to want to live with her?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Like I’ve said before, after what happened with Yui, I’m going to take my time moving in with a girlfriend again.’

  ‘You took your time with Yui, though; you were together for a year, it’s not like you rushed into it. So try not to measure everything against that, this is a completely different relationship. But also,’ August added, ‘take as many years as you need because I don’t want you to move out.’

  ‘I wouldn’t move out anyway, you’d have to move out,’ he said, with a smirk.

  ‘Oh here we go,’ she laughed. ‘You’d have no sob story about living in a hotel this time, my dream home story still stands strong.’ August tipped the contents of her chopping board into the wide pan and grabbed a lime to start rolling about on the counter under her hand, releasing all the juices inside. ‘I still have to just stop what I’m doing sometimes and do a happy dance over living here, after all these years of wishing. I’m a lucky girl.’

  ‘You’re going to be in London so much when you get that starring role in a West End play, that you won’t even need this place,’ replied Flynn.

  ‘I can’t believe you’d want to piss off my dead grandmother by forcing me to move out of the home that her dying wish was for me to live in.’

  ‘It was not her dying wish.’

  ‘She will haunt you … ’

  At that moment the doorbell buzzed, signalling that Poppy had arrived. Flynn put down his own knife and gave his hands a quick wash. ‘I’ll go and get her up here. No talk of ghostly grandmas, okay?’

  ‘She heard that,’ August retorted. ‘She says you’re already on thin ice and she wouldn’t want to make the dining table move across the room while Poppy is sitting at it.’

  Flynn grinned and walked out of the apartment, poking his head back in quickly to add, ‘Seriously though, it’s way too early to worry about Poppy and I living together.’

  Chapter 52

  August

  August watched Flynn go to the door and took off her apron, checking her appearance in the mirror. She was comforted by his last comment, and she had the feeling he was a bit, too.

  Poppy entered the flat in front of Flynn, casting her eyes briefly around the living room before they came to settle on August.

  ‘Hi, Poppy,’ August said, greeting her warmly.

  ‘Hello, August,’ Poppy replied, a little less warmly. Was that just her way, was she shy and a little guarded? Or was she cautious about the fact that her boyfriend lived with a female flatmate? August could understand that. She’d have to put Poppy at ease. Show her there was nothing else going on.

  Even if August had felt there might be, for just a moment, when she got caught up in that kiss. She realised she had to be mindful not to entangle herself in Flynn and Poppy’s relationship when she was already dealing with the complexities of starting to like a man who thought she was married. She paused for a moment, thinking of Abe. How often she was flip-flopping at the moment. One minute she was telling herself she had to walk away, stop picturing herself starting up anything with him, as it was too complicated. But the next she was imagining scenarios where she told him the truth, and he was happy, and not at all mad about being lied to, and they were happy. Just like Flynn and Poppy.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ August asked, heading towards the kitchen, tipping a picture frame onto its front en route, a frame that housed one of the ‘wedding day’ photos of herself and Flynn embracing on the beach. She didn’t think Poppy had noticed the faux pas, or the cover-up.

  ‘Do you have wine?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘Always,’ August replied. ‘Red? White? I don’t think we have any rosé at the moment … ’

  ‘Red, please.’

  ‘Flynn? Want some wine?’

  ‘Yep, cheers August!’

  As August poured the wine, she watched Flynn and Poppy from the corner of her eye. He took her coat, smiling at her, relaxed, but not completely. She wrapped an arm around his waist. She was dressed in a stylish black jump-suit and heels, her red hair loose and red lipstick on her mouth. She looked very cool and for a second August, in her lemon-coloured jeans and electric-blue sweatshirt, felt like a children’s TV presenter compared to her. Not that it mattered what she looked like compared to Poppy.

  Taking the two wines back into the other room, and fetching herself a Budweiser (she liked beer with fajitas), August joined them.

  The evening went well. Well, it went fine. August couldn’t help but feel that Poppy was being a little short with her. She was about to offer a cup of tea to the two of them, along with a comment about how they’d be doing her a favour because her eyebags would need all the cold tea bags they could get in the morning, when Flynn said, ‘August, I think Poppy and I are going to pop out for a drink.’

  ‘Great! I’m going to give my mum a call and catch up with her,’ August answered. She wasn’t planning to do that at all, but she didn’t want them to feel they had to invite her. And actually, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be invited. If August was honest – not that she’d say this to Flynn – she was getting kind of exhausted by having to work so hard with Poppy.

  ‘Okay,’ said Flynn, and he leant over and gave her a peck on the cheek, something that surprised the both of them a little, and Flynn stepped back quickly.

  August saw Poppy give the tiniest shake of her head. Oh shit. She was going to be mad at Flynn now. And like the feeling you get playing Jenga, when the tower wobbles and you know it’s close to crashing down, August knew the path had been laid for her to become a source of contention in Flynn’s relationship. Poppy would never be happy with them being so close, with them living together so closely.

  ‘Bye, Poppy,’ August said, slapping on a smile and glossing over what had just occurred. ‘Great to meet you properly.’

  ‘And you,’ Poppy replied. ‘What a lovely home you both have.’

  Was there a hint of something in that, something bitter or sarcastic, or did August imagine it?

  August held the door open for them and Poppy exited first. As Flynn walked out, August whispered to him, oh so quietly, ‘Careful when you leave the building.’

  Flynn met her eye and gave a small nod. She was confident he knew what she meant: don’t be romantic with Poppy until you’re down the hill. On the way in, she knew he’d walked up the stairs twirling his keys. On the way out, she knew he would check on his phone for bars or pubs not too far away, walking distance-wise. It was how they’d agreed he would keep his hands occupied and avoid holding onto Poppy’s.

  Out on the landing, Flynn waved a goodbye to August, and Poppy too turned her head.

  She caught August’s eye and gave her a tight smile.

  And like a flash, August remembered where she’d seen Poppy before.

  Chapter 53

  August

  It was seeing her there, on the landing. Something about the backdrop, the flip of Poppy’s red hair, the stern look in her eye.
It had all come together, and August closed the door hastily, taking a moment to catch her breath.

  Poppy had been here before, not when August was hiding in the wall cupboard but before before – she was at the open house. She was the woman who’d stormed past her and Flynn on their way in, the one who’d also known Mrs Haverley’s intentions of only renting to a married couple, and she’d been pissed off.

  Did Flynn know Poppy had wanted to live here before they’d moved in? Did Poppy know they’d lied to land the apartment? Would she care?

  August ran to the window to watch the two of them walk down the hill. Of course she would care, of course she would, that’s got to be why she acted so coolly around August.

  Poppy looked back up at the house, right at the window August was looking out of, and like a fool August ducked. Her heart was beating fast.

  Maybe Flynn had already told her, after all, and August had just misunderstood. Maybe he knew full well she’d come to view the apartment, they’d had a good laugh over the coincidence, and he’d let her in on the secret. After all, it’s not like they had to pretend to everyone, only Mrs Haverley, mainly, and they’d decided to keep things clean by telling the same tale to the other residents in the property.

  Ha, keep things clean. Things were beginning to prove anything but clean.

  So yes, Flynn had probably told Poppy all about them and she just hadn’t realised. And if he hadn’t yet, she’d just nudge him to do so. It would be fine.

  But there was a wringing in her stomach, a horrible feeling of worry. August stood and looked back out of the window, following the distant figures of Poppy and Flynn as they rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill, now arm-in-arm.

  What if this wasn’t just a coincidence? What if Poppy knew exactly who Flynn was when she’d approached him in that bar? Because that’s what Flynn had said, wasn’t it? That she’d hit on him?

  Which led her to question … What if the game wasn’t over at all, and August and Flynn hadn’t been joint-winners; what if they’d just moved to the next level, where a whole new antagonist awaited?

  *

  August spent the rest of the evening trying to distract herself while she waited for Flynn to come home. If he even came home – maybe he’d go back to Poppy’s tonight. It was perfectly feasible, and she couldn’t call and check up on him because it was none of her business; she wasn’t really his wife. Nevertheless, she waited.

  Sometimes she managed to convince herself that it was of course a coincidence, and also that of course Poppy had told Flynn she’d been to view the house, the first time he’d brought her here. And so Poppy hadn’t landed this particular rental, she’d probably forgotten about it by the following day, and had found herself a fantastic place to live.

  At other points in the evening August spiralled, weaving all sorts of imaginary hypotheses to herself about her future. Poppy had tracked Flynn down expressly to expose them. She’d go to Mrs Haverley and tell her everything. August and Flynn would need to move out but Mrs Haverley would have reported them to the police and to a renters’ governing body and they’d struggle to ever find a home again and they’d have to go to court and Flynn would move back to Japan and August would have to leave Bath and then she’d be in the paper and every audition she ever attended for the rest of her life would have the casting director question, Weren’t you that girl who conned an old lady?

  Whoa.

  At that point August would screech the brakes on and take some deep breaths, telling herself this was nonsense, make believe, big worries based on very little fact. And the cycle would begin again.

  When she heard footsteps on the landing at close to midnight, she muted the television and stood up.

  Flynn entered their flat. ‘Hello, I wasn’t expecting you to still be up,’ he said. She could tell he’d had a couple more drinks, and he seemed cheery.

  ‘Hi,’ August answered. ‘How was your evening?’

  ‘Really nice,’ Flynn answered with honesty, leaning against the back of the sofa. ‘I feel … lighter. Poppy being here, going for a drink, the fact she got on so well with you, it all felt lovely and unforced.’ He yawned.

  ‘That’s good,’ August said, still standing there, wringing her hands. ‘Do you want a coffee or anything?’

  ‘Better not, I’ll be awake all night. Thank you, though.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ August tried to move past him towards the kitchen, because she felt like she needed something to hold on to. But Flynn caught her in a hug.

  ‘Thanks for this evening,’ he said, his voice in her hair, scented with wine. And her shoulders sunk a little in his embrace, wondering if she should say anything at all. ‘I know I don’t need your approval, but you’re my closest friend in this country.’

  Friend. ‘Tell me how you met Poppy, again?’ she asked, as if she’d forgotten.

  ‘In the pub,’ Flynn replied, and he collapsed onto the sofa, lying down with his head on a cushion and closing his eyes.

  August returned with a glass of orange juice and studied him for a moment, dark eyelashes, dark hair, lips that she knew were soft because she’d had the pleasure of kissing them, though Poppy was in charge of that now. August wondered fleetingly if she and Flynn would ever kiss again. For show, of course. But then realised it would never happen if Poppy stayed in the picture.

  Flynn’s eyes opened. ‘What’s up?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’m just thinking about Poppy,’ August took a seat on the armchair, sitting forward, unable to relax.

  ‘You like her, right? She’s nice?’

  ‘She’s nice,’ August agreed, trying to pick her words carefully. ‘Did you know her before you met her in the pub?’

  ‘Did I know her before I met her?’ Flynn asked, but he wasn’t making fun of her, it was more like his foggy brain was trying to unscramble what she was asking. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s just that she looked familiar to me.’

  ‘Well, you’ve lived in Bath for a while, maybe you’d worked together for a bit, or jived together in the discotheque.’ He sniggered at his silliness.

  This wasn’t the right time. As much as August wanted this off her chest, it would be selfish to throw this at him now when he was tipsy and happy, just to try and make herself feel better. Instead of continuing, therefore, she said, ‘Maybe that’s it.’

  His eyes closed again, his face content, and as she watched him for a beat his breathing slowed, the smile in the corners of his mouth relaxing, and he began to drift to sleep.

  ‘Flynn?’ she said. When he didn’t rouse, she crept closer, until she knelt before him, her face near his. ‘Flynn?’ she whispered.

  He stirred, only as much as that his hand raised and rested down upon hers, warm and heavy. ‘Mmm?’ he murmured.

  ‘Do you want to go to bed?’ she asked him, hoping to coax him into having a good night’s rest – not on the sofa – so maybe he could be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and she could speak to him tomorrow morning.

  ‘With you?’ he asked, confused at the question, and then fell back to sleep again.

  ‘Never mind,’ August replied, standing up and tiptoeing to her room, closing the door to the whole mess behind her.

  The following morning, August was up early and in her running gear. She waited impatiently for Flynn to rise and shine, ‘accidentally’ being a little noisier around the flat than she would usually be.

  At a few minutes to 9 a.m., Flynn opened his bedroom door and said, ‘Is it Sunday?’

  ‘It is,’ she said, handing him one of his own-recipe banana smoothies. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Okay once I’d peeled myself off the sofa and got into bed,’ he rubbed his still-cricked neck. ‘You’re very awake.’

  ‘I am. Do you want to go for a run with me?’

  ‘Not really,’ he yawned and she reached over and snatched the smoothie as he was about to take a gulp.

  ‘This is only for runners.’

  ‘T
hat’s harsh, who else are you going to give it to?’

  ‘I’ll drink it myself.’

  ‘You already have one. Drink two and you’ll puke within five minutes. Last night was fun, huh? The dinner went well.’

  August relented, handing him back the smoothie, but instead of answering his question just coaxed, ‘Please? Come for a run?’

  He yawned again, a big, long yawn, and by the time it had finished he seemed ready to take the plunge. ‘Okay, but nothing massive.’

  ‘You’ve clearly never run with me before,’ August replied, and she drank her smoothie in small sips while he went and changed out of his pyjama bottoms.

  August hadn’t decided quite how to broach the subject of whether Flynn’s first girlfriend after Yui might have targeted him as sabotage, but she hoped that the run, the first half at least, would pound some great ideas into her.

  Chapter 54

  August

  Leaving the house, August was pumped, or at least, pumping herself up like she was about to start a marathon. The air was cold outside, the sky overcast. It was everything a November Sunday should be, with bare tree branches that tapped and scraped against window panes, roads dark grey thanks to a layer of overnight rain that hadn’t dried fully yet, and the breeze had a definite chill, not strong enough to be considered blustery but more the kind that follows you inside, clinging to your scarf ends, causing you to exclaim about there being a ‘hell of a draught out’.

  Flynn had barely finished stretching before August took off down the hill. She ran a step ahead of him, dictating their path, and leading them through the length of the Royal Victoria Park, through the deserted streets in the centre of the town, and towards the River Avon behind the abbey.

  August ran fast, faster than she usually did, as fast as she could manage until they reached the river. She was pink, panting, her breath rough in her upper chest. She came to a stop with a stitch in her side and sweat beads on the back of her neck, in her elbow creases and forming on her upper lip. Resting her hands on the cool stone of the wall above the river, August stretched her hips backwards, facing the ground, and wondered how she still didn’t know what to say.