“This again?” Rory stamped his feet on the ground, to keep warm. “Look, Elle—we made our decisions for commercial reasons. I’m not giving Sam a job. She’s a marketing assistant, they’re ten a penny. You, however—” He put his hand under her chin. “You’re unique. And I wish you’d understand that. This isn’t a charity I’m running. It’s a business.” She stood still, not blinking, and just looked into his green eyes. He stepped forward. “Christ, Elle, this is a hard time for me too, you know—I’ve got Celine on the phone fifteen times a day, I’ve got Mum crying to every dinosaur agent in town and spreading rumors about me behind my back. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Can’t you just, please, cut me some slack?”
She put her hands on his chest, not caring if anyone saw. She could feel the warmth of him under his coat. “But Rory, that’s the trouble—I agree. I don’t think you know what the fuck you’re doing either.” She swallowed, and stared at him.
Say it,
the voice in her head was shouting.
Say it
.
Don’t,
another voice said.
Don’t say it, Elle, you’ll regret it forever.
“Aaaah…” Elle said, knowing she was going to speak, that she couldn’t stop herself, and she didn’t know where it was coming from, and part of her desperately wanted her to stay silent. “Oh, God. Listen, Rory. I think it’s over.”
“What?” he said sharply.
Elle inhaled deeply, the icy air stinging her lungs. “I don’t know you, that’s the trouble.” She shivered. “I thought I did.”
“You do,” he said, staring at her in disbelief. “I know all this is a shock but I couldn’t tell you, it wouldn’t have been fair to you. But it’s all over—”
“God, Rory, I’m not doing this because you didn’t tell me. I’m doing this because—because…” Elle trailed off.
He saw an opening, and he said, quickly, “Try me.” His voice was hoarse. “Elle, come on, don’t do this. I’d do anything for you, darling, you know I would.”
Suddenly, she knew what to do. It was so clear.
“Kiss me here, now, in the square,” she said. “Just kiss me, like you did last week, like you do when no one can see.”
He hesitated. She carried on, looking into his eyes. “Then call Celine. Tell her we’re in love. Go into the pub with me, buy them all a drink and hold my hand, kiss me again. Now’s as good a time as any, Rory, they hate you anyway. I’m the one they’ll hate now, even more. They’ll say it’s not fair, that I shouldn’t have kept my job, that I’m a conniving bitch.” Her face was inches away from his, and she said, urgently, “I’ve got more to lose, but I won’t care, if you’ll do that for me, because I’ll know.”
She clung on to the front of his coat, staring at his lopsided, cheery mouth.
“Just kiss me,” she said again, her voice catching.
He straightened himself and stood back a little from her.
“Wow,” he said. “You’re so different, these days.”
“What?”
“The girl you used to be, the one I first met with long legs and long hair, so shy and awkward you wouldn’t say boo to a goose. You’ve changed. Grown up. Sometimes I look at you and I don’t think I know you anymore.”
“But I haven’t been that girl for a long time.” She stood firm, biting her lip. “I asked you a question, Rory. Yes, or no?”
He hesitated. “It’s not as simple as that.”
“It is,” said Elle, feeling her heart physically ache. “It has to be. If you won’t come with me to the pub, I have to go now, otherwise I’ll change my mind, and that would be stupid. Very, very stupid.” She covered her face with her hands, breathing deeply. “As stupid as I’ve been these past few years… Oh, God, no.”
It was so strange, to be saying these words yourself, not reading them in a book, or watching them on a screen. This was how it felt to have your heart slowly pulled out. To be ripping it out yourself, after years of secret dreams and plans.
You stupid, stupid girl,
she told herself.
You should never have hoped so much for it. Don’t you know it always ends up kicking you in the teeth? Don’t hope. Give it up.
Rory caught her hands in his. “Elle, you don’t mean it. We’ll give it the New Year. Start again—we’ll be at a whole new company, think about how to do it then, it’s a fresh start!” He leaned forward; she was still standing close enough for him to kiss her cheek, her neck, to clutch her shoulders and kiss her. “My baby girl,” he said softly. “Don’t do this, darling. You need me, I need you… come on.”
It was the “come on” that did it: as if she were a disobedient horse, or a puppy he was trying to train. “I’m not your baby girl, Rory,” Elle said. “I’m a grown-up, and it’s not good enough,” and she walked away, her heel crunching slightly on the frosting, glittering pavement beneath.
“I’ll change your mind. I will,” Rory called out, in the
empty square. His voice sliced through the icy air. “Take your time, Elle. I’m nothing without you.”
She nearly stopped. Wouldn’t it be easy, wouldn’t it be lovely, to run back towards him, just once more? To grasp his warm hand in the freezing cold? To know they were together again, them against the world?
But why was it against the world? Why did it have to be so hard? And why didn’t she trust him?
Elle carried on walking.
“You’re nothing without me, either, you know that, Elby,” he called. “You know it.” She was astonished he was being so loud, but perhaps he had a point to prove. She’d forgotten how he hated to lose.
Just then the Bluebird front door opened, and Felicity came down the steps. She was in bright red, and she had three or four books under her arm. Next to her stood Elspeth, sobbing, clutching the painting of Maurice Sassoon that had hung in Felicity’s office.
And someone must have told the others, because a knot of people streamed out of the pub, and stood on the corner watching her. Floyd stepped forward. “Come for a drink with us, Felicity,” he called. She gave a small smile.
“My dear boy, I only drink spirits, and triples at that. I only dropped by to collect a few things. Another time.” She took his hand. “Thank you for everything.”
She held out her hand and immediately a cab appeared. Elspeth placed the painting carefully inside, and then embraced Felicity. Felicity had her hand on the door of the cab. Posy gave her a big hug, and said something to Felicity, then pointed across the square. Felicity turned, as did Elle, and saw what was by now most of the company on the pavement, gathered outside the George MacRae.
Felicity looked over at them, her eyes huge, mascara on her
cheeks, and raised her hand to them. Elle stared at her, seeing for the first time the woman she was beneath her own trappings, the big hair, the loud colors, the queenly gait. Her eyes were swollen, her rosy lips pursed tightly together and her face flushed, and for an instant she looked young, vulnerable, entirely human. The cab engine made a juddering, impatient noise. People were waving, nodding.
“Bye,” Elle said softly, standing behind them all. “Thank you.” Felicity looked up one last time, and then climbed slowly into the cab. Elspeth shut the door and it drove off. Elle turned round, to see if Rory had been watching. But he was walking towards Gower Street, head down. The others were turning back towards the pub. Posy hugged Elspeth. “Come for a drink, old girl,” she said.
Elle found herself backing away, her eyes blinded with sharp tears. “Coming to the pub, Elle?” someone, she didn’t know who, said.
“No, thanks,” she said. “No—it’s OK.” She clutched her stomach, trying not to sob out loud. The pub door opened, the sound of electronic “Jingle Bells” floating out onto the square. The others went back inside, talking, patting backs, hugging each other. Rory turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.
It was quiet again. Elle looked around her, but everyone had vanished.
Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman—almost a bride, was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were desolate.
Charlotte Brontë,
Jane Eyre
“
YOU CAN GET
down now,” said the lady with the half-moon spectacles, her mouth full of pins. “It’s almost perfect.”
“Thank you, Margaret.” Melissa stepped off the pedestal, turning her head over her shoulder and admiring her reflection in one of the long mirrors. Elle sat on the cream suede banquette, watching her.
“Mm?” said Melissa invitingly, though Elle hadn’t said anything.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” said Elle obediently. “Absolutely gorgeous. You’ll look stunning.”
“You think?” Melissa said uncertainly. “You don’t think it’s too out there?”
“If it’s good enough for Posh,” said Elle.
“Who?” Melissa said sharply.
“Posh Spice. I mean, that style—that’s what she had. If it’s good enough for her—” Elle was out of her depth.
“Oh.” Melissa turned away as Margaret reappeared.
“When’s the wedding, remind me?” Margaret flipped open a notebook.
“Oh, sure, you must have so many to remember! It’s Saturday September 29th,” Melissa said, smiling, though Elle knew that tone well by now.
You should have that date tattooed backwards on your forehead, Margaret,
is really what she was saying.
“OK. So we’ll see you back here for one more fitting. You’ll lose more weight before the day. They all do.” Margaret licked her pencil, much to Elle’s delight, and scribbled.
“
I
won’t,” said Melissa decisively. “I’m at my wedding weight already.”
“Trust me,” said Margaret. “All brides—”
“I’m not all brides.” Melissa put her hand gently on the pad. “I won’t. This is how I want it. This is how I’ll stay.” She grinned reflexively, as if a robot voice in her invisible earpiece was saying, SHOW HUMANITY BY SMILING. The white teeth and the big diamond ring glinted together. “I’ll see you in August then, Margaret. Thank you.”
“I assess the global risk of African nations totaling seven billion dollars every year,” said Melissa, as they were walking down Marylebone High Street five minutes later. “I think I know what my weight will be come September. These people.”
Elle said nothing, just smiled. The sky was layered in thick gray-white cover. It was humid, the air thick with heat and fumes. She swallowed. She was dying for a drink, though it was only just gone twelve. “Where to now?” she said. “What’s next?”
Melissa nodded. “I want to check on shoes in Selfridges. Not for me, for you guys. They said they’d have more Carvela stock in today, and I have to see if they have those sandals in Francie’s size. She has such vast feet, like a boy’s, you’d never know we were sisters.” She pushed her sunglasses over her eyes and sighed. “There’s so many things to think about. It’s crazy.”
“But it’s going to be great, right!” Elle said, trying to sound cheery. “We should have a chat about the hen weekend too. Dad’s paying for my flight, did I tell you? I can’t wait, I’ve never been to New York, I’m so excited!”
Melissa was one of those brides who could only see everything leading up to her wedding through the prism of her own viewpoint. The thought that going to New York might be exciting to Elle was of no interest to her. She nodded quickly and
said, “Yeah, that’s great. Wow, I’m so annoyed Darcy’s making us do it in July because of the kids. Between you and me.” She shrugged. “I’m such a bitch.”
“No, you’re not!” Elle said automatically, though slightly hysterically. Melissa turned to look at her in the street. She ran her tongue over her lips, and paused, as if she were about to say something.
“Thanks, Elle,” she said eventually. “I know this is work for you and you don’t know me and it must seem like I’m totally obsessive. It’s just I’ve known how I wanted my wedding to be all my life. And we can’t have it in the States, and that’s
so
fine, but if it can’t be perfect in other ways I don’t want to do it at all. And maybe…” She paused and looked around her. They were standing outside a tapas place just off St. Christopher’s Place. “Hey, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Why don’t we stop here and have some lunch. I’m hungry.”
She plonked herself down at a table outside and dropped her bags on the ground, fanning herself. Elle sat down next to her. She felt there was something Melissa wasn’t telling her.
“Is everything OK?” she asked.
“Sure!” Melissa said. She nodded vigorously, as if she were confirming this with herself. “Sure. Enough about me, anyway. Hey, I want to hear about you. How is your new job? You must be so relieved you kept your position. They must think you’re amazing!” She smiled, and Elle smiled back. She knew Melissa was trying to be nice.
“Oh, yeah. It’s OK,” said Elle. She pushed her napkin and cutlery away.
“Only OK?” Melissa folded her napkin neatly onto her lap.
“It’s a bit hard,” Elle said. “I miss the old company. It was—lovely. It feels like a long time ago. A layer that’s just gone.”