by kendra Smith
Lulu put her foot back down on the sun lounger. ‘Things started to unravel. You changed. You said, “my body didn’t work to make a baby, but I can make this work”. And you pointed to your figure. You told me you were feeling invisible. We all told you not to, me, Dad, Zoe, James, but you said it was your body. The consultant who did it, well—’ She lifted her shoulder. ‘I mean, let’s just say I don’t think he had your psychological well-being at heart.’
Lulu looked up at her from heavily made-up gold eyelids from her morning’s ‘make-up try-out’.
‘And what did James do?’
‘He was always on another project – sometimes away for days. I think maybe he was just putting some space between you both. And I think you thought having a new you would be the solution.’
Vague memories floated to the surface like water-damaged photographs. Late night phone messages. Of unanswered calls. Of curt texts on both sides. Of hurt. Why hadn’t she supported James? But had he supported her? Was it too late to bind together the different ingredients of family life with love and hold it tight?
As if reading her mind, Lulu added, ‘He was away a lot. You were here with the kids or the “terrible teens” as you used to call them, “being both a mother and a father” you used to say. It was kind of love-hate. You loved them, but you hated how they’d changed.
‘James won the bid for that massive shopping centre in North London – remember? No? Anyway, he’d stay up there during the week and come back at weekends.’ Lulu had picked up her champagne glass from earlier when they’d had lunch. Her long fingers were twisting the stem, her ruby engagement ring glistening under the spotlights above the pool. Victoria shook her head. In her mind, he was still a junior executive at the firm. She couldn’t get used to the fact that he was now partner – with a secretary.
‘Lulu, I’m finding this difficult, piecing things together.’ She put her head in her hands and looked at her little sister, her words ringing in her ears. Putting some space between you both.
‘I know, sweetheart, but it will take time, remember what the doctors said: patience.’
‘Patience, patience…’ she felt impatient just thinking about it.
Lulu suddenly stood up and took off her robe. ‘I’m going for a dip. Last one as a single woman.’ Victoria noticed a look cross her face, then it was gone again. She draped her robe over the back of the chair and dived in.
Victoria sat staring at the ripples of water from Lulu’s dive and decided once and for all that she needed to put the past behind her and move on. In fact, she wasn’t exactly thankful she’d had the accident, but – and she was damn sure about this – it was certainly a day that changed everything. Tomorrow was Lulu’s wedding: she was going to plaster on a smile, she was going to be charming to everyone, she was going to support her sister and walk her down the aisle but – the most important bit – she was going to win James back.
29 Victoria
‘Right, I’ve put you both in the smaller honeymoon suite,’ the woman at the front desk beamed at them. She was wearing a grey mohair cardigan, bits of fluff from it were dancing in the sunlight behind her shoulder, a string of pearls looped round her neck and her lips were covered in crimson lipstick. They had just arrived at Treetops Country House Hotel, a boutique hotel nestled in the depths of the Sussex countryside. It had a private chapel attached to it, and twenty guest bedrooms. The wedding was at 3 p.m. Lulu was already there, her dad had hired a car and had made sure they were both there by 11 a.m. on her ‘big day’ and he’d sent Victoria some selfies of Lulu, him and Pickle in the grounds, Pickle with his new ‘wedding’ collar. He was allowed in the chapel, but not the hotel, so Victoria had found a local dog-sitter to take Pickle later.
‘And the, um, children are booked into an adjoining twin room next door,’ she continued checking her computer screen. She seemed very pleased with her room planning. Victoria was almost expecting her to wink at them.
‘Do you,’ James asked, ‘have any twin rooms, by any chance?’
Her face fell. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know Victoria and James hadn’t shared a room, never mind a bed for the last couple of months. She tapped away at the keyboard regaining her professional air, then looked up at them both: ‘I’m terribly sorry, no.’
‘Not a problem,’ he murmured, taking the keys from her.
Maybe tonight things would be different? Victoria’s stomach did a little somersault as James picked up their bags. ‘Thank you.’
Lulu was going to get some rest by the sound of her last text, but the signal was bad here, and texts were not always coming through. Victoria wanted to check on the chapel, check where Markie would be standing so Lulu wouldn’t see him till she was walking down the aisle as he was singing; she did a little fist pump – her secret arrangement would be brilliant! It was all very well having hymns, but Lulu would want proper music at her wedding, and Markie was the man for that.
She also had to make sure the flowers had arrived and were tied on the end of the pews – Marjory had arranged lilies. She had to hang up her dress (she’d found a beautiful midnight blue silk one on sale online), because Izzy and Jake had sat on it by mistake in the car. She had to sort out her hair, and find out if the in-house catering manager had some soft drinks on hand for the twins. An image of Izzy drinking wine on the skiing holiday flashed up. Well, maybe she could have one. Relax, she could hear Lulu tell her. Well, maybe she would, just a little. Her stomach did a little rollercoaster flip at the thought of James’s face when he saw her. She knew the dress looked good. No, she wouldn’t focus on that right now. James opened the door and they walked in. A memory nudged her brain as she glanced out the window. Then it was gone. She could hear the twins arguing in the next room, shouting about who had the TV remote. She smiled. They might be sixteen, but some things never changed.
James dumped their bags on the double bed and looked around as she fiddled with the kettle flex and plugged it in. ‘Tea?’ He turned and stared at her, then let out a deep sigh.
‘You do remember, don’t you?’ Her eyes darted to him and studied his frown, the way he was standing by the window with his hands in his pockets. ‘We had this room before.’
She stared at him. ‘We were here? And stayed in this room?’ He nodded.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘It was a weekend getaway.’ He coughed. ‘A romantic weekend away. Lulu had the twins.’ She wandered over to the window and stood next to him. Maybe the desire for a twin room wasn’t what she thought. It was because this was bringing back too many memories, memories of a happy time. But surely they could get that back? She had the killer dress… all they needed was—
‘Don’t think this is easy for me, Victoria, because it isn’t.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘I just, we just—’
‘Need more time?’
‘Maybe.’ He smiled at her and for the first time in a long time, it reached his eyes. She thought of the divorce papers in the hall desk, she thought of the special make-up she’d brought for today, she glanced at the bed and then up at James.
‘Look. I’m going along the corridor,’ he eventually said. ‘See if I can find Simon, wish him luck. I’ll see you later, OK?’
She nodded, then glanced at her watch. It was two o’clock. She needed to get a move on. The wedding was in an hour. She quickly went downstairs and practically skipped along the corridor towards the chapel. She opened the wooden doors and stepped inside; white lilies were tied at the end of each pew with lilac ribbons twisting prettily from them. The wooden organ at the top of the chapel was magnificent, silver pipes towering heavenwards, ready to accompany her sister down the aisle. It was cool and quiet in there, the pews a silent witness to thousands of weddings and emotions, and they seemed to have seeped into the fabric of the place. She studied the altar at the far end. Lulu would be there soon. She tried to imagine herself standing there, next to James, squeezing his hand. Maybe by tonight she would be holding his hand? Weddings had t
hat effect on people, didn’t they?
‘Oh, darling, there you are, I was just checking on the flowers!’ Marjory came bustling up. ‘Don’t they look magnificent?’ She shuffled down the aisle in her hotel slippers, towards Victoria.
‘It looks lovely,’ Victoria agreed. ‘Beautiful flowers.’
‘I know. She’s going to love them!’ Marjory beamed.
Victoria quickly pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Lulu. Good luck, sweetie! Do you need any help? She’d told Victoria she didn’t want any fuss, wanted to be on her own. Lulu had insisted that she’d do her make-up herself. Marjory was retying one of the bows on the lilies, then she stood up. ‘Everything’s going to plan!’ she said, as she walked past and gave Victoria’s shoulder a little squeeze.
30 Lulu
I’m in the honeymoon suite. I lean forward. ‘Of course we’ve been given the honeymoon suite, silly,’ I wave my mascara wand and admonish my reflection in the mirror, ‘we’re getting married,’ I giggle. Then I wait. For a feeling to register, for some emotion. I glance in the mirror and notice rose petals on the bed. I take a slug of vodka from my water glass.
There’s a knock at the door. Izzy pokes her head round. ‘Aunty Lulu?’
‘Hi darling, come in!’
‘Mum said you wanted to be left alone but I thought I’d show you my outfit. What do you think?’ She does a twirl. I swivel round from the dressing table and stare at my niece. She is in a white one-piece jumpsuit with a halter-neck. She looks terrific. The jumpsuit reminds me of David Bowie – not that she looks like David Bowie, of course, it’s just that she owns that vibe. Young. Sexy. Her whole life ahead of her. I remember when I first listened to David Bowie; I was transfixed and from then on was the biggest fan. The organ’s just started up downstairs in the small chapel. Hymns. Did I choose actual hymns? I reach for a tissue.
‘Oh Aunty, Lu, are you alright? You must feel overwhelmed. Getting married, imagine!’ Izzy walks over to me and gives me a hug. Overwhelmed? Yes, I am overwhelmed. And – there’s an emotion I can’t place. I look at myself in the mirror then I take a sip of my drink. It’s such a big day. My mind flashes to another day where I felt a surge of anxiety. No, not today.
‘Do you need any help? With your make-up and stuff?’ Izzy’s hand is on my shoulder and I look at her in the mirror standing behind me, so young and willing.
‘Yes please.’ My hand’s shaking. ‘I had a make-up try-out at the Spa, but I just can’t do it myself.’ I lean in to the mirror and judging by the Alice Cooper look I’ve got going on with my mascara running, I certainly need Izzy’s help. And quick. Vicky’s just knocked with a ‘I’m not stopping and you have five minutes’ from behind the door.
Izzy has her hands on my shoulders. ‘A bride should look like herself, Aunty Lulu, only better.’ She pats my shoulder and opens an eyeshadow palette.
I glance at her young face in the mirror and a thought crosses my mind. I get up and open the minibar. I pour her some of the hotel’s free ‘celebratory wedding prosecco’ into a glass and bring the bottle to the dressing table. ‘Cheers!’
Izzy looks at me then takes a sip. ‘Right, here we go!’ she says draining her glass. Then she refills her glass, picks up one of the brushes and tells me to close my eyes. The room seems to swim, but as I sit with my eyes closed for a while, I enjoy the gentle bristles on my cheek, the soft touch of Izzy’s fingers pressing on my temple, the fluttering feeling of a brush on my eyebrows, the smear of blusher on my cheeks.
About ten minutes later, Izzy squeezes my shoulder. ‘Open your eyes Aunty Lu.’
I stare at the woman in the mirror. She looks good. She looks young, she looks demure, she looks, well, great. With a veil clasped to her now-straight locks, falling to shoulder length, and tiny pearls in her ears she looks bridal. But she doesn’t look like me. Another slug of drink. I want to shove a denim jacket over this whole number and feel normal. My eyes go in and out of focus at the itsy-bitsy satin shoes sitting neatly next to the bed. I stare at the ruby ring on my left hand, whispering to me, reminding me that I am about to walk down the aisle, and I think about that kaleidoscope of emotions, about the dark hungry ones eating away at me, about the crash, about my guilt, about events in the past that terrify me and about how safe I’ll feel, about how this will make it all go away, that I will no longer be an in-debt children’s entertainer, and I pick up my drink from my dressing table. ‘Let’s do this,’ I say to Izzy as I pour a slug of vodka into both our glasses and we finish off our drinks.
I am poised at the top of the stairs, my sexy matron of honour by my side. Well, it’s Vicky, but she looks a million dollars in that dress she got online. ‘Vicky, darling, you look amashing in that dress! Good choice!’ I grab her arm. Her hair is tied up in some bun-y thing – Izzy probably did that – and there are wispy bits framing her face. My big sister is totally owning it. God, I love my sister! And Izzy! And Jake! And maybe James a bit! And – no.
‘Lulu, are you alright? Here, hold your bouquet and give me your other hand, Dad’s waiting for you at the entrance to the chapel, OK? Ready, honey? One step at a time.’ She passes me a small bouquet of pink roses and gypsophila, it’s very pretty – did I choose that? – and guides me down the stairs gently like I am an OAP, and the thought makes me snort out loud. I am shaking with laughter. I brush my veil to one side and it catches in my ring. I yank it and the veil rips. ‘Oops!’
‘Lulu! Careful, sweetheart.’ Vicky is using her passive-aggressive mummy voice. I know this because it’s the voice she used when the twins were potty training at the same time and I’d visit her and she’d say everything was very, very fine when it was very, very not.
‘Oh, nobody will notice!’ I let out a hiccup. We are at the bottom of the stairs now. ‘They will all be looking at your cleavage.’ Peals of laughter. Oh, they’re coming from me.
‘Lulu, have you been drinking?’ She squeezes my elbow.
‘Nope. Nope. Absolully nope. Yes.’ I’m nodding. ‘Just a teeny-tiny bit.’ I hold up my left hand and squeeze my thumb and forefinger together. ‘For the nerves.’
Vic’s eyes widen at me. ‘Right,’ she says. I can tell she’s Trying to be Calm. Her eyebrow twitches when she’s stressed and concentrating; I want to giggle again, but instead I purse my lips shut and look away. Then I realise that I probably have lipstick on my upper lip. ‘Vic, stop power-walking! Too fast! Hang on, have I got lipstick on my upper lip, like a granny?’ More peals of laughter.
Victoria stops dead, just by the door to the chapel, and fusses with my lipstick, using a tissue she has had hidden somewhere – it’s an art mothers have, having a clean Kleenex to pull out like a magician at a moment’s notice. She always has one, somewhere about her. Even in a sexy frock. Am-a-z-ing as Revel Horwood would say. Just as I’m thinking this, she dabs it on my upper lip, then produces a lipstick from somewhere. How did she do that? Did she carry that in her bra or something? I peer into her cleavage.
‘What are you doing, Lulu?’ She stands back a bit.
‘Nothing, nothing, sorry.’
‘Right,’ she says in her Mother Voice. ‘Ready?’ And those huge blue eyes look at me, like they’ve done a thousand times before, when I started at sixth form college, when Mum died, when I went for my West End audition and she was shoring me up, being brave, being on Team Lulu. I want to cry. But not now, not in front of Vic. She will be really mad.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ I say instead as I hear Bach’s ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring’ (I’d have preferred The Killers) start up and Victoria opens the doors of the chapel. Dad is standing there in a navy-blue suit and pale blue silk tie, a carnation in his buttonhole; I don’t think I’ve ever felt more love for him, a rush-y kind of swelling in my heart. Bless him. Pickle is beside him, barking, with a curious flashing bow tie collar – absolute genius – at just about the same time as I feel an awful lurch in my stomach.
31 Lulu
‘Lulu, pet, you look smash
ing.’ Dad reaches for my hand. I’m shaking. His hand is soft and warm and it reminds me of my first day at school. Mum and Dad on either side of me, but it was Dad’s hand I remember, because it was huge, covering my tiny, shaking fingers. Mum’s hands were always cold. He presses my fingers and my engagement ring pinches me and I flinch. ‘You look, beautiful, my girl. I’m very proud.’
I glance up the aisle and see Simon. He’s shifting his weight from one leg to another in a nervous sort of jig. Then he glances towards me and beams as there’s a crescendo in ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring’. I’ve never liked this hymn. It’s as if I’m in a movie of my own making. It’s so familiar, very Love Actually, and yet here I am, standing with two feet firmly on the ground and unable to move. I look up at Simon again and will myself to feel a pull. He’s in a light grey morning suit with a yellow silk cream bow tie. A vision of my old headmaster flashes before me and I take a deep breath. Looking at the guests in the pews, at Simon waiting at the top of the aisle, my breathing starts to quicken and – especially behind the veil – the whole thing takes on a dream-like quality. Where’s the voiceover telling people that the bride has arrived, that this is the moment? I smile to myself, but then, all of a sudden, I feel nauseous.
The organ stops and Pickle starts to bark. My eyes roam the chapel: there’s Marjory, standing solidly, hair sprayed into a stiff up-do. She looks like she might burst out of her too-tight turquoise dress with pride; there’s Izzy grinning at me, doing a discreet thumbs up, as I sway slightly into Dad, and he squeezes my hand again. Jake’s in a tweed jacket and tie – he looks like he’s about to be in a school panto; I have the strongest urge to laugh – and there’s James, immaculate in a dark lavender suit and white shirt. His head is tilted to one side, looking at me; they all are. Smiling and looking at me. And then he nods, it’s a tiny gesture, willing me on, sending positive vibes. My brother-in-law, in fact, looks absolutely drop-dead gorgeous today.
