Deranged Marriage (12 page)

‘What’s really bothering you?’ Francesca could be very perceptive.

‘Don’t know really. Look, let’s plan my birthday celebration. Do you want to know what to buy me?’

The long-awaited day arrived; I was thirty. I had shelved all plans of parties, because I realised that I would rather spend time with the people I really cared about, my close friends. I know it sounds a bit boring, but at least it meant that I wouldn’t have to put up with a load of drunken strangers. In order to placate people I arranged to have a meal with my work colleagues after my birthday.

I had visited my family the weekend before (Joe was at a work conference), and I was spending the day with Joe and the evening with Freddie, Lisa, Max, Francesca and Joe. It was exactly what I wanted. Not very rock and roll, but then I was a grown-up now and I wanted to do grown-up things. My first dinner party of my thirtieth year, it seemed a good and civilised way to start.

When I woke up and saw Joe lying next to me, I finally realised that for once I was right, and this was my life and I would no longer let George run or ruin it. I shook Joe awake.

‘Happy Birthday!’

‘I can’t believe I’m thirty. I don’t know whether to be happy or in mourning for my youth, but I believe it should start with my first fuck of my new decade.’

‘Holly, you can be really dirty.’

‘Shut up and get your pants off.’

After we made love, Joe went to make breakfast. I opened the cards and presents that I’d been sent. A cheque from my parents and a necklace; a box of Jo Malone goodies from my sister and her husband; cards from various relatives; and Joe gave me a painting of a beach, which reminded me of home.

I spoke to my family, and Joe took me ice-skating, which was hilarious because neither of us could skate. Then we went back to my place.

I opened the front door and found a small package with a card attached sitting on the doormat. It had no stamp, and was wrapped elaborately with ribbons flowing everywhere. I recognised the handwriting on the card immediately. George!

‘Why couldn’t he leave me alone for one day,’ I said to Joe as I picked up the package with shaking hands. Instinctively I knew what it was, and I thrust it at Joe as I ran up the stairs, let myself into my flat and flew to the bathroom. I felt sick. When I came out, Joe was waiting for me with a look of concern on his face and the package in his hand.

‘Open it please,’ I asked him. He kissed my forehead and read the card. Looking concerned he handed it to me.

Dear
Holly
, it read,
Happy
thirtieth
birthday
to
my
future
wife
.
All
my
love
and
more
,
George
xxxx

I looked at Joe. ‘He’s lost it, completely.’

‘Holly, don’t let him ruin today, please.’

‘Joe, open the present.’ He looked at the wrapped box in his hand, then looked at me. I think he knew what it was. ‘Open it,’ I whispered. His hands shook as he removed the paper, he did it so delicately as my mother used to do when she was saving wrapping paper, a habit we never managed to get her to break. Finally he pulled out a small leather box. He stopped and looked at me again, but already I had tears streaming down my face. ‘Open it,’ I begged him.

The ring was platinum with a large solitaire. It wasn’t the sort of ring I would choose, a thought I banished as soon as it entered my head. The ring wasn’t relevant. What was relevant was that my boyfriend was standing in my sitting room holding an engagement ring bought for me by someone else. Although I was crying, the absurdity of the situation hit me. Joe looked upset, I thought he would soon be crying too.

‘I am going to take this ring and shove it up his arse,’ he said. I laughed. ‘Holly it’s not funny. Not even a bit funny.’ His face was full of rage and I didn’t doubt he would take the ring to George.

‘Sorry, but I am not letting him ruin today. We’ve had more fun than in ages because of him, so I reckon that we should just order a courier and get them to return it to him, without an explanation.’

‘I’d rather shove it up his arse.’

‘I know, but darling he’s already suing me, I’m not sure that it would be wise to have him suing you as well.’ I started laughing, as Joe stood there shaking his fist indignantly at the ring box.

‘Promise me something,’ I said as the tears of laughter streamed down my face. ‘Promise me if you ever want to marry me you’ll get me a nicer, more subtle ring.’ Finally, Joe cracked a smile and the situation that could have been a disaster was aborted.

I put the ring in an envelope and called a courier to bike it round to George’s flat in the city. I instructed them that if he wasn’t there to sign for it, they could just drop it through his letter box, after all that was what he did, although he probably delivered it himself. Then I persuaded Joe to content himself with tearing up the card. Suddenly I realised that I had been very selfish. I had been crying, confused and upset over George’s behaviour, but it was hard for Joe. He wasn’t allowed to exercise his macho instincts and beat up George, or even warn him off. I was the person dealing with it, but he had to deal with me and with the fact that his relationship was being threatened.

‘You know, one day we’ll laugh about this,’ I told him, trying to believe it would be true.

‘Maybe, but at the moment he’s gone too far.’

‘Let’s forget it just for today.’

‘OK, but if I ever get my hands on him.’

‘I know. If you do he’ll be pulp.’

Joe isn’t a big man. He’s tall, about six foot, and he’s slim. He doesn’t have a hard look about him, his features are almost pretty. His dark hair is shortish, his eyes are friendly, his mouth is nearly always smiling. George is bigger than Joe and I wouldn’t like to say who would win in a fight, but I have a feeling that George would. George is a maniac, he’s proved that and Joe isn’t. Maniacs are always stronger than sane people, like in films. When psychos are dying, it always takes them forever to draw their last breath.

*

Freddie turned up to help Joe with my birthday dinner. He gave me a beautiful white orchid, and brought a couple of bottles of champagne.

‘Thought you might need a drink,’ he said.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Now that you’re old of course. I was going to see if everyone in the office would chip in for a facelift but I think it’s a bit late for that.’

‘Freddie, I love you.’

Freddie and Joe insisted I take a long bath and get ready while they cooked. I was banished from the kitchen and made the most of the time I had to pamper myself. As it was my birthday, I put on a dress and some stockings and high heels. I put up my hair and applied my make-up as if I was going out. I was pleased with the result; I scrubbed up quite well even if I say so myself.

Everyone was sat round my dining table. I had received more gifts, drank more champagne, and we had just been given our starters: prawn cocktail. I realised that although Freddie and Joe had spent a long time in the kitchen, they hadn’t actually cooked much.

‘What’s for main?’ I asked as I scooped up a spoonful of prawns.

‘Beef Wellington.’

‘That’s ambitious,’ Francesca said, looking mildly relieved that he didn’t say fish fingers and chips.

‘Actually the butcher made it, I just ordered it,’ Joe admitted.

Francesca looked even more relieved.

‘But we did bake the cake,’ Freddie said.

‘You did?’ I asked, feeling touched.

‘Yes, and I think you’ll be impressed,’ Joe said.

‘I’m sure we will,’ Francesca agreed, but didn’t look very certain.

‘We could have gone out,’ Lisa said, playing with her starter.

‘It’s not that bad is it?’ Joe asked.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Max replied, then he laughed. ‘No offence to you guys, but well you bought a beef dish from the butcher, you shoved some prawns in the mayonnaise, it’s not exactly Delia Smith is it?’

‘But I appreciate the effort,’ I said quickly, in case they took offence. Just as the last prawn was being polished off, the phone rang. Immediately everyone went quiet. ‘I’ll get it,’ I said as Joe started to get up. As I walked to the phone, all eyes were on me.

‘Hello,’ I said, knowing full well who was on the other end.

‘Happy Birthday Holly.’ He sounded sad. Again I almost felt sorry for him but sternly and silently told my heartstrings to stop tugging.

‘Thank you.’ At least I could be civil.

‘Didn’t you like the ring?’ he asked.

I laughed. ‘George, it has nothing to do with whether I liked the ring, the fact is that I don’t want an engagement ring from you and I don’t want to marry you.’ I saw that Joe had got out of his seat, then I saw Freddie pull him back down.

‘Well that’s blunt. I’m still taking you to court, Holly.’

‘Fine George, that’s absolutely fine. Brilliant. Thanks a fucking bunch for calling me on my birthday to remind me of that.’ Actually I was quite calm but George had got away with enough.

‘Nice language. You didn’t have to be so horrible about the ring.’

‘I did. And now I have to go. See you in court.’ I hung up before he could respond.

My guests had gone all quiet.

‘Come on, don’t look like that. Let’s all get absolutely pissed, and forget about George.’

‘Right. Who needs more champagne?’ Freddie entered into the spirit.

Everyone stuck out their glasses. The beef was delicious, a credit to the butcher. But the triumph of the evening was a lopsided cake, decorated with jellytots and Smarties with the words,
Happy
Birthday
Hol
iced in very uneven letters. They put one candle on it and insisted on singing to me as they brought it out.

‘That is
so
sweet,’ Lisa said, giggling.

‘I’m not sure about sweet but you have made a wonderful effort,’ Max agreed.

‘It looks like a monstrosity,’ Francesca pointed out.

‘Yes, but at least we made it ourselves,’ Freddie said.

We cut the cake which tasted better than it looked. Then we kept on drinking and talking into the early hours when we were all too drunk to carry on.

I awoke on the second day of my thirtieth year with a monster hangover. I was so bad that I was actually sick. I knelt with my head over the bowl of the loo wondering why I hadn’t quite got the hang of being a grown-up. Then I smiled, because I was definitely happy. Being thirty was going to be all right after all, George or no George.

February turned into March, and it was time to go to court. Now I knew I would see him, whatever happened I would have to face him. I stood up, and brushed imaginary dust from my sensible navy outfit and went to the front door.

‘I have to go back to work, but call me the minute it’s over,’ Francesca said. I kissed her cheek and thanked her.

‘Let’s go Hol,’ Joe said, taking my hand.

‘Freddie?’ I asked.

‘I’m with you.’ He winked and took my other hand. With my two new men, I was as ready as I would ever be.

Chapter Thirteen

Love
and
Litigation

I felt like my old self for a while as I stepped into my suit. I was George Conway, the lawyer. I looked the part. In the legal profession, looking the part is so important. My suit was made to measure; charcoal grey, with three buttons on the jacket. A plain tie; I’ve always been a firm believer in plain ties. White shirt, crisp and straight from the dry cleaner’s. Plain black socks sitting snuggly in polished black brogues. I was ready and for the first time since I left New York, the adrenaline rush that my job gave me was revisiting.

I wasn’t proud of what I was doing, but I was proud of how I looked.

I know that if there has to be a villain, then that’s how I’ll be viewed. I’m sure that Holly sees me that way, and that upsets me. When there is someone special, someone you expect to spend the rest of your life with then you have to fight, with everything you’ve got, to get them. Love is such a rare commodity, that you have to do everything in your power to get it and keep it. That is simple common sense.

Of course, a few months ago I didn’t expect to be standing here, in my tailored suit, about to take the girl I love to court. But she left me no option, she had hurt me. She discarded my feelings. I believe that deep down I always knew that she was the one for me, I just forgot for a while but it all made sense now. Unfortunately, Holly was not yet as enlightened.

*

When I first met Holly, I hated her. She was always surly and she resented me because I was her friend’s boyfriend. I still remember Samantha, my first girlfriend, the first girl I snogged. I was besotted with her in an adolescent sort of way, but then she left to live in Australia and Holly and I became friends and we spent all our formative years together.

She was always with me. My family holidays (I was an only child), included her. School included her. Weekends included her. We spent so much time together; we were barely apart. But even though I was young and had lost my first girlfriend, there was never any question of Holly being girlfriend number two. I liked her as a friend, I liked her company. As we grew up, she became so important to me I wasn’t willing to jeopardise her friendship by becoming romantically involved. So we didn’t. We grew up, to be best friends.

Not that Holly was completely unattractive. At twelve, her eyes were too big for her face, she looked a bit like an alien. Her knees, sticking out of her white school socks were knobbly, her teeth, encased in a brace, were crooked. But still she was pretty, and I was no film star.

Then she certainly blossomed. She grew to about five foot six, she was slim, her teeth straightened, her face filled out and her dark hair was long and glossy. I did, at certain times in our life, think about her in ‘that’ way, but I suppressed my feelings. I was a man though, and I wouldn’t have been normal if it had never crossed my mind.