“I don’t know when I’ll be back, Mum, but not too late. The bride’s six months’ pregnant, I can’t imagine it’s going to be an all-nighter.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” Elle said, in a low voice. “Call me if you feel—if you need anything.”
“I’ll be
fine,
Elle, love.” Mandana kissed her and smiled again. “Like I said, I don’t ever want you to worry about me.”
“Elle? We should go.” Tom’s voice recalled her to the present with a start, and she tore her gaze away from her mother, shivering suddenly. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like a goose just walked over your grave.”
She hadn’t heard that expression for years. “No, come on, let’s go. Bye, Mum. Hope you—have a great day.”
“Thanks, Elle,” Mandana said serenely. She picked up the
Guardian
. “I might sit in the garden for a bit.”
She followed them outside and, as they climbed into Tom’s car, waved them off. Elle watched her in the rearview mirror. She waved energetically and then they rounded the corner and she was gone.
“I must say your mum’s not how I imagined,” Tom said. “From what you’ve said. It’s weird, she’s nothing like you, is she?”
Elle turned to him. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Especially now,” Tom said. “You’re—well, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“What does
that
mean?” Elle said warily.
“God, you’re suspicious, aren’t you? Are you like this in New York? Is that why people ask me if I know Eleanor Bee, New York’s hottest editor? I only meant,” he went on, as Elle snorted, “that you seem different. In a good way. You know. All—shiny.”
“That’s the American way,” she said, in her best American
accent, hoping he wouldn’t notice how rubbish it was. “I have a blow-dry every week and there has been no hair on my legs since two-thousand-one.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tom said. “Hair on legs. I mean. That’s disgusting. Urgh. Who’d have that?”
They were bowling along a sun-dappled country lane, probably one of the ones that had seemed so dark and difficult to her last night but now, everything was different. Elle’s heart rose. “It’s bloody nice to see you,” she said. “Thanks, for asking if I’d come with you.”
“No, thank you for saying yes,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I felt bad about how things were with us when you left.”
She turned to him, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Me too. I still don’t understand it, really.”
It seemed such a long time ago, she could say it now. She wouldn’t tell him how bewildered she had been by what happened, how many times, those first few lonely months in New York, she had ached to call him, to tell him stuff. She didn’t tell him Libby had wasted no time in passing on the information that he was back with Caitlin, that they had a daughter, that they were living together. That she’d even Googled him a couple of times, to see what it brought up—a couple of
Bookseller
articles about his shop and him, but nothing else—and it made her feel even more distant, somehow. He had a new life now, a daughter, a relationship. She’d known it would happen. And she had no right to stop it, of course. Then, somehow, things changed, her life picked up, communication with Libby slowed down, and she hadn’t asked how he was, had been too proud to get in touch. But she still thought about him.
“Well, that was my fault,” Tom said. “Elle, I owe you an apology. That summer was difficult for me.” He swallowed,
and cleared his throat. “But I treated you really badly, I said some things I shouldn’t have. I want you to understand, though,” he said. “I didn’t mean them. I was angry.”
Elle hugged herself, and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. How’s your daughter? How old is she—two?”
“Yes, that’s right. Well, she’s great. Best thing that ever happened to me. So you see, that summer, when I’d just found out, I didn’t know what I know now. I took it out on you and I’m sorry—”
She didn’t want him to know how upset she’d been. It was all in the past anyway, what was the point? He had a daughter, he was with Caitlin. “How’s Caitlin?”
“We have a really good relationship,” Tom said. He swerved suddenly to avoid a lorry, thundering the other way down the road. “Sorry,” he said. “Caitlin, oh, yes. She put some great systems in place, and we’ve bought another shop, in Kensington. Might buy another one if a lease comes up in a place I’ve got my eye on. She’s done all that, she had the background, the business degree. I don’t know what I would have done without her, to be honest.” He turned to her, quickly. “Oh, and the Dora Trust just had its third awards ceremony. We’re running a program in ten inner-city girls’ schools, which I’m very proud of. When all’s said and done, things are good. You know, life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it’s going to and then you realize…”
He trailed off.
She prompted him. “You realize what?”
“I was going to say it’s for the best. Anyway.” He shook his head, his face falling into the hard mask of concentration she knew well, eyes fixed on the road. There was an uncomfortable pause. Elle changed the subject.
“Any vital publishing news I should know about, anything I’ve missed? Please tell me. You know what this wedding’s
going to be like. I have to be up to speed, otherwise I’ll be shunned, like an Amish who’s left the fold.”
Tom laughed. “Hardly. OK. Well, it’s all about Richard and Judy, these days.”
“Who?”
He stared at her. “You must have heard of Richard and Judy. The bookclub.”
“Oh—them. That. Sorry.” Elle nodded. “I have. We’ve got Oprah though, she’s much bigger.”
“Get you,” Tom said.
“What else?”
“Um—I don’t know. Have you read
The Da Vinci Code
? I actually really enjoyed it. Or the new David Sedaris, I just finished it, it was hilarious.”
Elle said, “I don’t have time to read books anymore, not for pleasure.”
“You? You used to read two books a week.”
“Well, things change. I read dreadful manuscripts and I look at book jackets instead of reading the books.” She cleared her throat. “What else?”
“Bill Lewis got made redundant, but you probably knew that.”
“Yes,” said Elle. “Not that sorry, to be honest. He was a crap boss. And he was horrible to Libby.”
Tom glanced at her. “Yeah, I heard. He’s not got another job. Last I heard his wife had chucked him out. Poor guy, though.”
“Yeah,” said Elle, thinking of Libby’s tear-stained face, of how badly he’d treated her. “Well, you plow your own furrow, and all that.”
“Wow, you’re tough,” said Tom. “I’m joking!” he said, as she swiveled round to stare at him. “Don’t worry about Libby, Elle. She’s done all right for herself, as I think we’re about to see.”
He turned off another road. Elle noticed for the first time what a calm driver he was. She’d been on road trips with Rory, sneaking out to places for the weekend, and it was always a nightmare, crumpled maps everywhere, swearing and shouting, like an Italian opera. She smiled at the thought, caught aback at a fond feeling for Rory for the first time in years.
Good,
she told herself.
It’s his wedding day. It’s right that you think well of him
.
“You’re a very comforting person to be in a car with,” she told him.
“You too,” Tom said. There was silence. “It is really great to see you, Elle,” he said after a moment. “I think you’re brave to come back. And I’m glad. I’m glad you did.”
She didn’t feel brave, she felt cold, sneery, and detached from it all and she couldn’t seem to help it. “Thank you,” she said after a pause. “That’s nice. I just hope it’s—oh, it sounds horrible, saying I hope it’s worth it, when it’s someone else’s day. So fingers crossed it doesn’t rain,” she finished, unconvincingly.
“It’ll be worth it, I promise you,” Tom said. “At the very least, it’ll be lavish, from what I hear. Rory’s such a skinflint, he’s never spent any of the Bookprint buyout money. Apparently Libby’s gone mad with it and he’s furious.” Tom pulled up in a quiet lane, and they got out. “Oh, it’s lovely,” said Elle, staring up at the church, the rolling green hills in the background, the last of the blossom on the trees. She wondered what Libby was doing, where she was.
Tom shivered. “Weddings give me the willies,” he said, as they walked up the church path. “I always think Grace Poole’s going to jump out and try and burn the place down. Makes me feel trapped.”
“What a romantic you are,” she said. “Grace Poole didn’t burn the church down. She wasn’t ever at the church, it was the brother. And name me one time that’s ever actually happened.”
“Never, probably. I just—” He shrugged. “I like the idea of being with someone forever, being married to them, but all this—I mean, they’ve probably never even been to this church, it’s all so fake.”
“Oh, come on,” said Elle. They paused outside, framed by the porch. “I’m looking on it as a nice day out, like something from a miniseries they’d show on American TV. English country wedding, big white dress, posh people, marquees, you know.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and pulled her strap over her heel again.
“Come on then,” he said. “Charles? Ready to face the enemy?”
“No
Four Weddings
quotes, please,” said Elle. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
It was about thirty seconds before it became amusing. One of the ushers—a long, curly-haired guy who knew Tom—said, with some surprise, “Hello, Scott. What the fuck are you doing here? Bride or groom?” before handing them an order of service and a leaflet.
PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU RECORD YOUR PRESCENCE AT
LIBBY AND RORY’S WEDDING!
BY VISITNG THE PHOTO BOOTH, IN THE ORANGERY AT
SANDITON HALL TO HAVE YOUR PHOTO TAKEN!
WE REALLY WANT A RECORD OF ALL OF YOU IN YOUR FINERY!
CHEERS
LIBBY AND RORY
“Bride, please,” said Elle, taking a leaflet and biting her tongue, as the usher led them to their seat. “Wow, what a lovely idea.”
Tom put his hand on Elle’s shoulder blade, gently pushing her towards the north aisle. She relaxed against him, glad she
wasn’t on her own. “Here,” he said, stepping back to allow her in, and she sat down, relieved she hadn’t seen anyone she recognized yet. The church was not big, a beautiful old Saxon building already full of people and vast floral displays, bright greenery and huge pink gerberas. Elle and Tom bent their heads, studying the order of service.
Tom said, after a while, “‘Please stand for the Wedding Wows’? Who are they? A glee club?” He turned to the front page. “Wedding Wows… Man. Look here! ‘The Marriage of Rory Sassoon and Lizzy Yates’?
Lizzy?
Did anyone proofread this?”
“Ssshh,” Elle whispered.
“Well, she’s an editor,” Tom said. “You’d think she’d have looked over it. Wow. Wedding Wows,” he said again, and Elle bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
On the bride’s side she recognized a couple of Libby’s old school friends; they stared blankly at her, and Elle realized perhaps they didn’t know her with long hair. They were all in familiar wedding costume: LK Bennett suits, Hobbs and Whistles dresses, the men in morning suits. A few other people were vaguely familiar: there was a bloke called Noel she remembered snogging one drunken evening. Libby’s birthday? Elle turned away and found herself staring directly at Rory.
He was looking around, nervously, joking with the best man, whom she didn’t recognize. It struck her as appropriate that she’d spent so long in love with him and yet had never even met his best friend. He caught her eye and smiled, baring his teeth with an expression of mock-terror. She smiled back, giving him the thumbs-up.
So strange, to be here. A guest at his wedding. This was what she’d allowed herself to dream of only oh-so-rarely, saving it up as a treat for a birthday, after a terrible day at work. She, who had never liked weddings, had allowed herself this fantasy. Her
wedding day to Rory. A pretty church in Sussex, festooned with spring flowers. Felicity, sitting in the row behind, decked out in green silk. Rows of ancient Sassoon relatives, and her, Elle, floating down the aisle in cream silk to “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba,” with eyes only for him… Rory, slightly rumpled, slightly scared, her love, her only one.
But that wasn’t how it had turned out. She knew she was OK, watching him, in fact she was happy for him, happy for Libby. But she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl she’d been, who’d loved him so much. She was still dreaming somewhere, hoping this day would come.
It occurred to her as she looked around that when she’d wanted a big white wedding this really was the one she’d dreamed about. She couldn’t help feeling slightly amused that Libby had nicked that, as well. Not just the man, but the county, the time of year, the setting… Ah, well. Elle shrugged. Time to leave the white dress behind. She breathed out slowly.
Tom said softly, “You OK?”
“Sure,” she said brightly. “Sure.”
Then Handel started playing on the tiny organ and everyone stood up to welcome the bride, and Elle turned towards the west door with a smile on her face, for her old friend, and for the old days too.