My One Month Marriage

by Shari Low

  He shrugged and – oh, flipping miracle – smiled. ‘That’s okay. I didn’t see you either.’

  Awkward pause. ‘Right, well, I’d better go. I’ll erm…’

  ‘You look really nice. Am I allowed to say that? I never know with all the rules about what’s appropriate now.’

  She chose not to mention that Kay’s comments about him earlier definitely didn’t fit into the category of ‘appropriate’.

  ‘I, erm… Yes. Sure. Thank you. I’ll see you later. Have a good night.’

  Face burning, she took off, practically jogging to the lifts. At this rate, her feet would be shredded by the time she got there. Luckily, a taxi was in the rank at the entrance to the hospital, so she jumped in it and gave him the address of Gino’s.

  Fifteen minutes of chat about Britain’s Got Talent, Strictly Come Dancing, the political divides of the country and the state of Scottish football later (he had cast-iron plans to improve them all), she was deposited at the door. Okay, she could do this. She was going to have a fantastic night. She would dance. Eat. Drink. Laugh. And be absolutely normal. Smile on. Let’s go.

  Gino was the first to spot her. ‘Yvie! Ah, my favourite! You just made an old man very happy.’

  Zoe immediately appeared behind him. ‘Don’t listen to him – he told me I was his favourite. I think he’s playing us off against each other. Just as well we both love you, Gino.’

  Gino threw his arms up in delight, almost taking out a whole tray of drinks being carried by a passing waiter. ‘Ah, you’re only human,’ he bellowed, before walking away, a booming cackle emitting from his considerable girth as he went.

  ‘I would actually fight you for him,’ Zoe said, deadpan.

  ‘Stilettos at dawn,’ Yvie giggled, before opening her arms wide. ‘Happy birthday, sis.’

  The warmth of Zoe’s hug had a peculiar effect on her, making her eyes fill with tears. That was a first. Shit, what was going on? Where was all this emotion coming from? It was like all her senses were heightened and she was flailing from one dramatic reaction to another. She swallowed the lump that had become lodged in her windpipe.

  ‘Did you see the Ibiza photos? I thought they were fabulous!’

  The lump got bigger, so all Yvie could manage was a stuttered lie. ‘Yeah, they’re… erm… great.’ The pics of their trip had gone up on the Kemp Hotels website a few days ago and Zoe had sent them all the link. Yvie had clicked on it, hoped, prayed – and then been absolutely devastated by what she saw. Three gorgeous, slim, happy women and then there was their fat companion. ‘You do not look fat, you look curvy and glorious and fricking spectacular,’ Kay had told her, but Yvie refused to see it. She’d closed the link. Deleted it. And fought with all her might against an urge to cheer herself up with something delicious. Instead, she’d started a diet again the next morning and then berated herself when it failed on day two, after a twelve hour shift left her reaching for a Mars bar.

  Zoe leaned in, so her mouth was almost at Yvie’s ear. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Not just because I love you – although I do – but for God’s sake can you talk to Mum? She’s been sitting over at the buffet with a face like a wet weekend since she got here.’

  No! This isn’t my job. I’m here to dance and eat and drink and take a night off from taking care of the rest of the world! Her reply – yet another dramatic reaction – screamed in her mind, but thankfully the fecking lump that was still in her throat stopped the words from coming out. Instead, the only thing that got by it was a murmured, ‘Sure,’ before Zoe was distracted by the arrival of Tom and Chrissie.

  Yvie hugged them both. She’d always loved Tom. He was exactly the kind of guy Zoe should have ended up with. Ned? She felt her heart begin to speed again. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think…

  ‘Sorry, have to go. Apparently, I’m on mother duty tonight. Not sure why I drew the short straw,’ she added, with a pointed glare at Zoe but her tone making it clear she was teasing.

  ‘Because you’re the closest thing we’ve got to Oprah,’ Zoe replied. ‘You’re like the fourth emergency service for this family. Police. Fire. Ambulance. Yvie.’

  ‘You forgot Haagen-Dazs. They’re my fifth.’

  The others laughed and Yvie bowed out, scanning the room for Marge. To the left, she spotted Carlo, serving a table in the far corner of the room but still managing to give her a wave and a smile when their gaze met.

  Scan right. Yep, there Mum was, over by the buffet, resplendent in… Holy fuck. A white top and trousers and a floor length red chiffon glittery cover-up. Yvie felt something inside her die. She’d turned up to an event wearing the same outfit as her mother, aged fifty-four. And it was red. With glitter. People were going to think they were some kind of mother/daughter cabaret act. Bollocks. Bollocks.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she used every ounce of strength to greet her breezily, giving her a warm hug, too. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘So do… Oh my, we’re wearing the same outfit!’

  Yes we are, Mother. She didn’t state the obvious out loud. Even worse than the matching styles was the fact that Yvie’s was a size 20/22 and Marge’s looked like it was in the 8/10 category.

  ‘I must be so trendy these days. You know, Nigel, my ashtanga teacher, was just saying that the reason I look so good is because I embrace youth and take such an interest in today’s styles and fashions. He sees me, Yvie, you know? He actually sees who I am.’

  Shoot me. Shoot me now.

  ‘I see you too, Mum,’ Yvie countered, popping a chunk of bruschetta from the buffet into her mouth.

  ‘Oh, I know, dear,’ Marge said, in a tone that suggested she absolutely didn’t. ‘You girls are all just so busy though.’

  Well, hello passive-aggressive dig. It was all Yvie could do to stop her jaw dropping. She spoke to her mother every single day, listened to her, encouraged her, tried to make her feel loved. And yet, she was apparently ‘too busy’. Yvie bit back her rising irritation and looked for a way out. Over at the bar, she could see Verity deep in conversation with Ned. There was a twosome she’d do anything to avoid. But wow, she looked incredible in that dress. Marina? Another scan of the room. Nope, she wasn’t here yet. Hell must have frozen over. Marina had never been late for anything in her life.

  Her mum was still speaking. ‘I don’t think Derek has ever truly understood me. As soon as his varicose veins have healed, I’m going to leave him, Yvie. I know I’ve said it before, and I know I’ve left him and gone back on more than one occasion, but I mean it this time. This chapter of my life should be about self-care and putting myself first…’

  Yvie couldn’t stand it. She actually couldn’t bear to listen to another moment of the same moans, the same self-centered twaddle she’d been listening to for years. Decades! Right here, right now, for reasons she didn’t even understand, she felt like it was going to make her head explode, blasting grey matter all over Gino’s beautiful cream walls. She glanced around, searching for an escape, only for her eyes to fall on Ned. As his gaze caught hers, he winked and she felt the tightening coil of pressure inside her snap.

  ‘Mum, I’ll be back in a second, I just need to nip to the ladies’.’

  Marge stopped, and there was no disguising her sneer of irritation.

  Yvie ignored it, turned, darted around the corner and…

  ‘Woah, there,’ Carlo said, spinning on his heels and flattening against the wall so that she wouldn’t send him flying.

  ‘Sorry, Carlo, I…’

  The feeling of suffocation gripped her throat and she knew she had to get out of there. ‘Is there a back door? I’m not… not… feeling well and I just need a bit of fresh air.’

  Carlo immediately switched to concern as he registered her rapid breaths, her flushed face, her shaking hands. He quickly opened a door behind him and steered her through the kitchen and out of the back door. Outside, in the alley, he pulled over a crate and gestured to her to sit.

  ‘Can I get you a
glass of water?’

  Yvie could feel the burning embarrassment rise, the redness creep up her neck and face, the suffocation tightening her chest even more. She didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to discuss it, she just wanted to get out of there.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m just going to grab a taxi and get home. Just a migraine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘Let me drive you…’

  ‘Carlo, you have a restaurant full of people in there. I’m fine. Honestly. I’ll text my sisters and let them know. Thanks…’

  With that she took off, striding to the end of the alley. She was a few steps in when she realised Carlo was running at her side.

  ‘At least let me make sure… Taxi!’ he shouted, spotting an empty one just as they reached the main road. This area of Glasgow was busy and teeming with cabs at this time of night.

  The taxi screeched to a halt and Carlo opened the door for her. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to get your family? They’ll want to come with you, to take care of you.’

  It took every ounce of strength she had to act somewhere near normal. ‘Absolutely not! I don’t want to spoil the party. Thanks, Carlo. It’s just a migraine. I’ll be fine after a lie down, I promise.’

  She closed the door, gave the driver her address and clutched on to the handle as he did a U-turn and headed in the direction of her home, her own words echoing in her ears. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she’d said.

  They weren’t even out of the street when the tears began to stream down her face.

  She wasn’t fine.

  She was so very far from fine.

  Right now, she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel fine again.

  25

  Marina – on Zoe’s Birthday

  ‘Dear God, woman, have you met your end in there?’ Graham moaned from the other side of the bathroom door.

  Christ Almighty. There were five other bathrooms in this house and yet he didn’t want to have to walk approximately twenty feet to use the next closest one.

  ‘I’m waxing a delicate area! It takes time!’ she shouted back, knowing that would send him bustling off. There was nothing like the mere thought of any form of treatment that could possibly stray near her vagina to make him run for the hills. It was a bloody miracle they had two children. Had he always been this uptight? When had the slick, go-getting, impressive guy she’d married turned into his father? Marina stopped the thought right there, before it led her to wonder when she’d become so fucking rigid and controlling that she’d turned into his mother.

  She’d just done what she needed to do and look how everyone else in this family was succeeding because of it. Graham was making more money than ever, because she made sure she supported him, his clients and his ambitions. Annabelle had been offered a place at the dance academy and was doing great, travelling to Edinburgh, with Marina ferrying her there at the crack of dawn on a Monday morning and then collecting her and bringing her home on a Friday evening. Oscar’s grades were hitting straight A’s and he’d made the first teams in rugby and hockey. Every one of them was winning and she just had to make sure she continued to provide the help and the push that they needed to sustain it.

  So why was she sitting on the edge of the bath, dressed for a party that she should have left for an hour ago, absolutely dreading going? Why did Zoe have to make such a bloody fuss of her birthday every year anyway? It was only another day. Honestly, that level of self-indulgence was just ridiculous.

  Right. Let’s go. Time to move. She just had to stand up, fix her lippy… And yet she wasn’t moving.

  On the granite top of the double sink vanity unit, her phone buzzed. Marina reached over and tilted it so she could read the screen.

  Are you at the party yet? Sorry, I have a splitting migraine and had to go home but didn’t want to spoil the fun so didn’t disturb Zoe. Can you let her know please? Have a great night. Love you, Yxxx.

  Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. She wasn’t even going to have Yvie there to distract her.

  Now she definitely had to go. One sister missing might have been acceptable, but not two.

  She clipped on her earrings, straightened her dress (Celine, black, off the shoulder, knee length, body-con, accessorised with strappy Jimmy Choo sandals), shoulders back, and slipped into organisation mode. Within ten minutes, she had Annabelle and Oscar pass inspection, ended Graham’s hunt for his cufflinks (in his flipping cufflink box where they always were) and shooed them all into the taxi that she, of course, had summoned. She was glad when Graham sat in the front, leaving her to get in the back with the kids. They both immediately pulled out their phones and she knew that would be them lost to her for the rest of the journey.

  In one way, that was a plus, because it meant she didn’t have to fake cheeriness. But on the flipside? It gave her way too much time to contemplate why she was dreading tonight so much.

  Ned Merton.

  Marina closed her eyes, glad of the darkness, and tilted her head so that it was resting against the window of the taxi.

  Six weeks on from the date night for that school fundraising committee and she could still remember every detail. After her initial rash agreement, she’d backtracked furiously, realising how absurd it was. She didn’t have time for this. She was busy. Couldn’t someone else do it? All her objections to it had been refuted by the chief fundraiser, a woman who could match Marina toe to toe in the stubborn stakes. For the sake of transparency and credibility, they needed to ensure it went ahead, she said. They needed photos so they could advertise it as a prize again this year, she said. Mr Merton was a very popular teacher, so it always raised plenty of money in the raffle, she said.

  Marina had realised she wasn’t getting out of it.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you want to go anyway?’ Zoe had asked her, finding the whole thing hilarious. ‘My boyfriend is lovely. I’ll vouch for him.’

  Zoe’s attitude had mollified her. And after all, it was a night out in a fabulous restaurant with no-one to organise, fetch, carry or check on. Besides, that woman at the school wasn’t going to give up. Time to surrender.

  ‘Okay, but I’ll only do it if you come along. Feels weird otherwise.’

  ‘Deal,’ Zoe had assured her.

  That’s why she’d turned up at Ned’s suggested restaurant (The View in the Kemp Hotel, of course – Zoe had got them a freebie for the school funds from Roger) at seven o’clock on a Thursday night, resolving to give this an hour of her time and then bail out and leave Zoe and Ned to it.

  The photographer sent by the school (Alfie Paton, age ten, accompanied by his dad, sporting the camera he got for Christmas) spent a good half an hour taking snaps of them pretending to drink, pretending to eat sumptuous appetisers, with Marina pretending she wasn’t wondering where the hell Zoe was. The photography team had just left, after announcing that they had enough footage and Alfie had to get home because it was nearly his bedtime, when the text came in to both Marina and Ned at the same time.

  So sorry, you two lovelies – won’t make it tonight – something’s come up at work and I need to pull an all-nighter. You two go ahead and have fun! Love you both xxxx

  Ned had visibly deflated. ‘Surprise, surprise,’ he’d said, but his smile was hiding nothing and the edge of irritation in his voice was loud and clear. ‘She’s got a big pitch tomorrow, so it’s not a shock really. I’ve been staying at my own place all week to let her get on with it.’

  Marina, meanwhile, had felt a raging exasperation. What the hell was Zoe playing at? Didn’t she see how completely inconsiderate this was?

  ‘Look, it’s fine,’ Marina had said, trying not to sound as snappy as she felt. ‘The school has their pictures, so all’s well. I’ve got a million things at home I could be doing, so we can just call it a night.’

  She was so sure that he’d want to bail out, that she hadn’t even considered that he would offer an alternative, so she was surprised when he’d said, ‘Me too. But, to be honest, it would p
robably involve beans on toast and crap telly, so if you want to stay here and eat Roger Kemp’s finest food, I’m up for that.’

  Marina had thought about it for a second or two. As offers went, it wasn’t the worst one – a fabulous meal, in a gorgeous restaurant and a chance to spend a couple of hours in the company of a man that didn’t seem to think she was only there to facilitate his every bloody breath.

  ‘Sure,’ she’d said, lacking conviction, but then immediately following it with a more assertive, ‘Why not!’

  ‘Great,’ Ned had replied, raising his glass again.

  Marina was suddenly aware of how they must look to the other diners in the restaurant. She’d dressed for the occasion, in a navy dress she’d bought for one of Graham’s company dinners – conservative neckline, stopping just above the knee but skimming her body like a glove so that it was demure yet sexy. Ned matched the look. He was in a beautifully cut suit, his wide smile perfect, his eyes full of mischief. She could absolutely see what Zoe saw in this man. And why Verity had such a crush on him before Zoe nabbed him. She’d asked Verity a few times since then how she felt about him and she swore she was completely past it and couldn’t care less. Now, being in his company like this, Marina wasn’t so sure. If she were single and a few years younger, she’d be attracted to him too.

  For the sake of the photos, and because they’d been waiting for Zoe, they’d just asked for starters. Ned called the waiter over and explained that no one else would be joining them now and asked to see the menus again so they could order main courses. As soon as that was done, and they were alone again, he opened with, ‘So, tell me about you. What should I know about Marina… actually, I don’t even know your surname.’

  Marina took a sip of her wine. ‘It’s still Danton. I didn’t change it when I got married. Thought I was too much of a feminist to be defined my husband’s name.’