by Sandie Jones
Rachel tries to shake off the feeling that she’s trapped in a waking nightmare, but the malaise is hard to shift as she imagines what she’ll do if she’s forced into a corner like that. She fantasizes that she’d stand up and storm towards Ali, knocking tables over as she goes, until she’s face to face with her.
‘Do you want to tell your guests what you’ve been doing?’ she’d scream. ‘With my husband!’ She’ll turn on her heels, without waiting for Ali to answer.
She forces the scene from her head as she watches Jack pick his wallet up from the bedside.
‘Why don’t you take some euros out of that and leave it here?’ says Rachel. ‘It’ll make your pocket bulge.’
A split-second look of humour crosses Jack’s dark eyes before he pulls out a few notes and throws the wallet into a drawer.
‘I know how you feel about her,’ says Rachel, testing him. ‘But just remember that she makes your brother happy – very happy.’ She says it in a way that begs to be questioned.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asks, taking the bait.
‘Last night I discovered them making out in the pool,’ she says, eyeing him carefully. ‘They were really going at it – and then she stepped out of the water, buck naked, to tell me that they just wanted something to remember each other by before he went to the hotel for the night.’
She watches Jack crick his neck as if trying to release the tension that’s building up. Knowing that Ali would so unabashedly flaunt what she and Will were doing, right under his nose, will no doubt make him feel like he’s in a pressure cooker. Especially if she went running straight to him afterwards for a repeat performance.
‘So, they couldn’t have waited for a few hours?’ asks Jack, looking as if he has a bad taste in his mouth.
‘Apparently not,’ Rachel says smiling. ‘And why should they? Would you, if you were with someone like Ali?’
His jaw spasms involuntarily.
‘It must be liberating to be that young and high on life,’ Rachel goes on. ‘I wish I was more like her.’
‘I don’t ever want you to be more like her,’ he says sharply.
Is that so you can keep us poles apart? she thinks to herself. Have the best of both worlds? How does the saying go? A cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. Rachel doesn’t need to ask which one she is.
He takes one more look in the mirror at himself and shakes his head. ‘Anyway, I’d better be going.’
‘I’ll see you there,’ says Rachel. ‘Try and enjoy yourself.’
‘Will do,’ he says curtly, closing the door behind him.
She jumps in the shower, where her racing thoughts don’t give her a moment’s peace – the how, why and wherefores assaulting her from every angle. But by the time she steps back out, her overriding realization is that, twenty-four hours ago, every single one of the scenarios that are playing in HD and on surround-sound in her head weren’t even on her radar.
Sure that Jack is long gone, she pads over to his side of the bed and retrieves his wallet from the drawer. Knowing she can take her time to find any incriminating evidence to prove that he’s doing what she thinks he is, she carefully goes through the wad of receipts, placing each insignificant one face down on the bed to ensure they stay in order. As she discovered last night, most of them are bills for innocuous items such as a meatball marinara from Subway, or a black-cab ride from Euston to Knightsbridge. But nestled in the middle of the stack is one so brash and loud that it literally takes Rachel’s breath away.
It’s not that, as a piece of paper, it stands out any more than the rest of them. It has no bright colours and doesn’t have bells on. But the words at the top send a bolt through Rachel’s chest that makes her whole body crumple. She stares at it – hard – waiting for the letters to change into something else, and when they don’t, hot tears sting her eyes, mercifully blurring her vision, but she already knows what’s there.
Tiffany & Co.
Her brain rushes to conjure up another retailer with the same name, that won’t mean that Jack’s spent two hundred and seventy pounds on a present for his mistress. But the words ‘silver heart’ in the item description and accompanying barcode are hard to ignore.
She throws her hands on her head as she paces the room, unable to fend off the heat that is creeping around her neck, strangling her. She can’t do this; she needs some air.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she wonders how she can possibly hold it together. Seeing Noah, resplendent in a pale-linen suit on the terrace below, brings home the utter hopelessness of the situation, because whichever way she turns, there’s a reminder of the very deep shit she’s in.
As if sensing she’s there, he looks up and smiles, holding a glass of champagne to her. ‘Do you want me to bring one up?’ he asks.
She shakes her head vehemently, strands of wet hair slapping her across the face. Pulling the towel tighter around her body, she steps back into the room, forcing herself to think. She can’t throw herself into the torturous brouhaha that now seems inevitable, especially when she knows she has little chance of coming out unscathed.
She could lock herself in her room and refuse to come out. She could feign illness, say she must have eaten something dodgy. Christ, the way she’s feeling right now, she could even go to the airport and get herself a flight home.
Though, whilst that might remove her from the here and now, if she has any chance of saving her marriage, she needs to deal with all this head on. Because she can’t face a whole lifetime of living in limbo, breathlessly waiting for the tipping point to come.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s standing in front of the mirror with blow-dried hair, wearing a belted dress and wedges, though she can’t remember doing any of it. As she’s putting the final touches to her make-up, a text from Ali pings through on her phone.
Sorry, I need your help again!
What is she supposed to do? Ignore it and play right into Ali’s hands by showing her how much their last conversation has unnerved her? No; she refuses to give her what she wants.
‘It’s me,’ she says, knocking on Ali’s door a couple of minutes later.
It opens, but it’s not until it closes again that Rachel sees Ali standing behind it in her wedding dress. Her body is encased in a strapless bodice, barely containing her breasts, which seem to be two-thirds out, one-third in. White lace clings to the in-and-out of her waist and follows the curve of her hips. But as it skims her thighs, it loses the lining that has kept her skin from view, revealing her toned and bronzed legs beneath the sheer fabric.
‘Well, what do you think?’ asks Ali, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘Honestly.’
‘Your hair looks lovely,’ says Rachel.
‘But you hate the dress,’ says Ali, on the verge of tears. ‘I must have put on a few pounds since the last fitting because these weren’t so . . .’ She eyes her breasts like an enemy. ‘And my arse wasn’t so . . .’
Rachel has a straight choice. Get this day over and done with by making the least amount of fuss possible, or railroad into it, starting here and now, until not a semblance of the happy event is left. Though, even as she’s thinking it, she knows she would have done the latter before now, if that was the kind of person she was.
‘Your dress is . . .’ she says, trying to find the words. ‘It’s stunning . . . you look stunning.’
‘You’re not just saying that?’ asks Ali, sticking her bottom lip out the way she does. ‘You really think Will will like it?’
‘Is that who it’s for?’ asks Rachel, unable to stop herself.
Ali laughs nervously. ‘Who else do I need to impress?’
Rachel takes a deep breath, unable to decipher how long her pride is going to let her hang out to dry for. ‘Primarily, you should be doing this for yourself,’ she says, swallowing the litany of barbs that so readily leap to her lips. ‘He’ll adore it, but he adores you more, so you need to be happy first and foremost.’
Ali looks down
at herself. ‘I never imagined I’d ever wear a dress like this.’ She dabs at the tears falling onto her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘God, I swore I wouldn’t get upset.’
Rachel wouldn’t have expected anything less. She has no doubt that histrionics will follow her around for the entire day.
‘You’re bound to feel emotional,’ says Rachel. ‘It’s a big moment.’
‘You don’t understand,’ says Ali, fluttering her hands in front of her eyes in a futile attempt to stop crying. ‘I just can’t believe I’m here. About to get married. In this dress.’
Rachel smiles tightly.
‘Listen, I need to tell you something,’ says Ali, picking Rachel’s hands up and holding them in hers.
It’s as if Rachel’s heart has stopped pumping. Is she really going to do this now? Here, as she’s standing in her wedding dress?
‘What is it?’ she asks shakily.
‘It’s really important to me that you know . . .’
‘Yes?’ If this is going to happen, she wants it over and done with as quickly as possible. She knows the pain won’t be any lesser, but it will allow her to start rebuilding the rest of her life, whatever that’s going to look like, because, as crazy as it sounds, it feels like she’s been stuck in this state of limbo forever.
Ali looks down at the floor, and Rachel wants to slap her, to make her hurry up, if nothing else. ‘I just need you to know that, whatever happens, I want us to promise that we’ll always be friends.’
Rachel’s lips stick to her gums as she forces a smile. ‘What could possibly happen that would mean that we wouldn’t be?’
‘You know how families can be,’ says Ali. ‘Brothers fall out, people mess up. But you’ve been so kind to me since I’ve been seeing Will, and I want you to know that I’ll be forever grateful for that. I’ll always be here for you in return, no matter what.’
Ali pulls Rachel in for a hug, throwing her arms around her and holding on, as if her life depends on it. ‘Thank you,’ she says, pulling away with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, bloody hell, I’m going to cry again.’
Rachel looks at the woman standing in front of her, like really looks at her, as if she’s trying to get a glimpse into her soul, to see if what she’s saying is heartfelt. But Ali’s fixed smile thwarts any attempt to see what’s behind it, leaving Rachel to surmise that it’s probably all a crock of shit.
‘Anyway, we should probably get going,’ says Ali, turning away. ‘Can you just do the top buttons on this corset? It’s barely letting me breathe, let alone reach around to do it up.’
Rachel hooks the silk loops over the three buttons and smooths down any errant fabric. ‘You’re good to go,’ she says.
Ali steps into a pair of peep-toe stilettos, the lace of which matches her dress, and picks up the posy of fuchsia bougainvillea and white clematis from the chair.
‘Oh my God!’ she shrieks, just as Rachel puts her hand on the door handle. ‘I almost forgot.’
Rachel turns to see her picking up a delicate silver necklace off the dressing table. ‘He will absolutely kill me if I don’t wear this,’ says Ali, holding it out. ‘Could you just put this on for me?’
Rachel takes the chain, the weight of its significance bearing down heavily on every part of her. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she attempts to open the fiddly clasp and pass it around Ali’s neck.
The silver heart lies perfectly flat between Ali’s clavicles, whilst Rachel feels like hers has been torn out of her chest, and is flatlining on the floor.
18
‘You look lovely,’ says Noah, as they meet in the hallway.
‘Our car’s ready,’ she says, desperately trying to keep her voice from wavering. ‘We should get going if we’re going to be there before Ali.’
‘Rach,’ he says, taking hold of her wrist as she turns to go out the front door.
‘Don’t.’ She doesn’t even attempt to look at him.
‘You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening,’ he says.
‘I’m going to do exactly that,’ hisses Rachel, in a hushed voice.
‘Hey, you two,’ calls Paige from outside. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Coming,’ says Rachel through a false smile.
‘You okay?’ asks Paige, casually putting a hand on Rachel’s leg once they’re in the car.
She nods.
‘If at any time it gets too much, just say the word and we’ll split, okay?’
Rachel looks at her, unable to believe that she deserves such a good friend. The nicer she is, the more wretched Rachel feels about the secret she’s been keeping for so long. It’s as if she’s living on borrowed time because she knows that once Paige finds out that she and Noah have been lying all this time, there’s going to be no pulling her back from the storm of fury she’s going to rain down on them.
But for now, Paige smiles warmly, making Rachel’s blood turn icy cold. She searches Paige’s eyes for a hidden agenda, a sign that she knows more than she’s letting on, but all she sees is a naivety which only serves to show Rachel how toxic her own thoughts and actions are. Her chest rises and falls at the enormity of how selfish she’s been, wanting her perfect little life to continue without ruing the consequences of something she did twenty years ago. And how dishonest she’s been, to profess that Josh is Jack’s child, when there may be even the slightest chance that he isn’t.
‘Thanks,’ says Rachel, barely audibly.
‘What’s going on?’ asks Noah. ‘Is everything all right?’
Paige looks at Rachel with raised eyebrows, as if asking permission to bring him up to speed. Rachel finds it hard to believe that she hasn’t already, but if she had, then the topic of conversation would have been different on the terrace. If Noah had the slightest notion that Ali and Jack were at it, he would most likely have already taken Jack out by now. He wouldn’t stand for Rachel being treated like that and he would most certainly have taken the opportunity to tell her how she deserves better. No, he can’t know, and she doesn’t want him to because it will only make things even more complicated than they already are.
‘I’m just not feeling all that great,’ she says, in answer to Noah’s question. ‘I think I might be going down with something.’
‘I can always bring you back if you don’t feel up to it,’ he says.
‘We can always bring you back,’ Paige chips in. ‘I’m not sure that Noah’s got it in him to do a whole day of it.’
‘I feel okay, actually,’ he says. ‘I’m looking forward to a drink.’
Paige tenderly cups his face in her hand. ‘Well, just take it steady,’ she says. ‘No more scares. I don’t think I could go through that again.’
Noah smiles. ‘Sorry to give you such a fright.’
Paige takes his hand. ‘Just don’t make a habit of it,’ she says.
Rachel feels like she’s playing a bit-part in somebody else’s movie. She’s never seen Paige like this and if it wasn’t so ill-timed, it’d almost be funny.
The car tips forward as it descends a steep track; the imposing cliffs either side feel as if they’re closing in on them, creating a pinch point which makes it look like the end of the road drops straight into the sea. Rachel briefly wonders what would happen if the brakes failed, and can’t stop herself from putting the window down, just in case: she’s seen enough films to know that it’s often the only escape once a car’s submerged under water.
‘O-kay,’ says the driver as he mercifully stops just short of the end of the dust track. If he’d gone just a few metres further they’d be on the decked terrace in front of them, the only thing that seems to separate land from sea. He makes a point of pulling up the handbrake, hard.
‘It’s here,’ he says, gesturing to the left, towards a simple wooden shack of a restaurant with whitewashed panelling and a corrugated-iron roof.
‘How the hell did they find this place?’ asks Noah to no one in particular as he pays the cab fare. ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere.’
> ‘It’s as if we could just dive off the side and straight in,’ says Paige, in awe as she steps out and looks at the sea as it glistens in the afternoon sun. ‘It’s so freeing.’
Perhaps it’s a reflection of Rachel’s inner turmoil that she doesn’t share Paige’s sense of liberation. Instead, she finds the ominous cliffs suffocating; the black-winged Alpine swifts menacing as they circle overhead.
She’s tempted to ask the driver just to take her back to the villa, knowing that the next chance she has of getting out of here, her life may well be very different.
Noah leads the way across the flower-festooned terrace towards an uneven wooden staircase, ravaged by the salt water at high tide. The juxtaposition between the optimism of the cerise bougainvillea and the rickety platform that looks like it might collapse at any moment sends shivers down Rachel’s spine.
‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ asks Rachel, as she steps from the relative security of the platform onto the precarious staircase. It had looked like the steps could lead to nowhere but the sea, yet as soon as Rachel’s at that vantage point, she can see a tiny crescent of golden sand, a sheltered cove protected by rock formations that rise out of the water, forming an arch at one end and a bank of caves at the other.
Just shy of the water’s edge, is a white gazebo that looks like a dainty bird’s cage, set in front of six rows of chairs, each festooned with bright-pink flower garlands. It looks stunning, but Rachel refuses to say that, as if doing so will somehow condone what Ali’s doing.
She spots her parents-in-law: Bob, and Val in her big hat, beaming from ear to ear as they chat with Will and Jack, so immensely proud of their two boys. How would they feel if they found out one of them was betraying the other in the worst way possible?
