Not that he could remember much about it. He dimly recalled staggering out of the Ship with her, and staggering up the hill to the campsite. It was only when he woke the next day and found her next to him that he realised what he’d done. He’d got rid of her pretty sharpish, but her scent had clung to him for hours afterwards, even though he had scrubbed and scrubbed himself in the shower. Of course, he really only had himself to blame. Jenna might have laid a trap for him, but if he’d been any sort of a man he could have side-stepped it, instead of throwing himself straight in.
It was OK, he told himself. In just over an hour’s time, he would be a married man. Jenna would know better than to remind him of what they had done. She was Kirsty’s best friend, after all.
Although what kind of best friend slept with her friend’s fiancé?
Dan thought about ordering another cognac. He pulled out his phone and looked at the time. Ten minutes to kick-off. Where the hell was Liam?
‘Just pack up your things and I’ll get you a taxi from reception.’ Liam was grabbing stuff from round the room and shoving it all back into Jenna’s open suitcase. Jenna was lying in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. ‘What the hell were you thinking of, Jenna?’
‘I love him,’ replied Jenna simply. ‘I didn’t realise till this morning, but I love him, Liam.’
Liam stopped in the middle of folding up Jenna’s bridesmaid’s dress.
‘So does Kirsty, I think you’ll find,’ he replied drily.
‘I loved him from the day I first met him. When we all came down here for the weekend - do you remember? Seven years ago.’
Liam didn’t. They’d been down here so many times, he couldn’t remember specific occasions. He and Dan were at the core of the gang, and it grew and shrank and grew again, reorganising itself into different ramifications - friends from uni, friends from work, friends from the gym, football, people they’d met on other holidays, friends of friends. He couldn’t remember how or why Jenna had been grafted on, but she’d been a stalwart. And then Dan had brought along Kirsty, who he’d met at a friend’s housewarming. She was the girl in the flat upstairs. And today, most of the people in the gang were here, arriving in the car park, dressed in the finery that was a far cry from their usual Everdene uniform of jeans and board shorts and halter-neck tops. Ready for the happy union of their founder member and his bride.
‘It’s not fair.’ Jenna didn’t think she could cry any more, but here they were - more tears, squeezing themselves out of her eyelids, which were now so puffy as to make her almost unrecognisable.
‘You know what? Life isn’t. But it doesn’t mean you can trample over people, just because things haven’t gone your way. What has Kirsty ever done to hurt you?’
‘Kirsty’s got everything.’ Jenna remained stubbornly unrepentant. ‘If she doesn’t marry Dan, they’ll be queuing round the block within nanoseconds. She’d be spoilt for choice.’
‘But Dan’s her choice.’
Jenna zipped up her case and stood up.
‘Do you think she’ll still marry him?’
Liam picked up her case. He was going to escort her out the back way, in the service lift and out by the laundry, so she wouldn’t bump into any guests.
‘I hope so,’ he answered.
Jenna’s lip trembled for a moment, but there were, at last, no more tears.
She pulled the CD out of her handbag.
‘You’ll have to sort the hut out for me. Put that on the CD player. And light the candles. And don’t forget the champagne . . .’
She gave a final little hiccup of grief. Liam relented for a moment, and wrapped his arms round her.
‘It’s OK, Jenna,’ he told her. ‘It’ll be OK.’
She gave him a weary smile.
‘Yeah. I’ll get over it. Good old Jenna. Always the bridesmaid . . .’
Kirsty was with her parents in a little private drawing room on the first floor of the hotel. She didn’t want any of the guests to see her as they arrived, so the receptionist had tucked them away in here, a room from another age, set aside for writing letters or curling up with a book. Kirsty smiled her thanks as the waiter put down a tray of coffee things on a table and looked at the two of them on the sofa opposite her, grateful for their presence, their solidity.
Thank goodness they’d got here without any mishap. Her father’s driving was increasingly perilous these days, and her mother was a dreadful map-reader. She’d thought about buying them a sat nav, but she knew it would stay in its box, something to be terrified of, not something to be embraced. They were in their early sixties - she’d been a late and only child - but they seemed so much older. Put her father next to Mick Jagger or Ronnie Wood and there would be no comparison.
Her mother pushed the plate of shortbread over to her.
‘Eat that, darling. The sugar will do you good. You need energy to get through the day. Heaven knows when you’ll get a chance to sit down again.’
Kirsty picked up the biscuit absent-mindedly. It was easier to capitulate than protest. Her mind was whirling. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t, confide in them, her dear parents who were obviously so excited about her big day. They would be horrified, and there would be no question of her overlooking Dan’s misdemeanour once the truth was out. Her father would confront him immediately, defend his daughter’s honour. Her mother would sob whilst trying to console her. They would be unconditionally supportive. They would whisk her back home, put her to bed in her old bedroom. Kirsty could imagine the endless cups of tea, the inquisitive noses of the dogs, the claustrophobia, the hopelessness.
But she had to make up her mind. Did she make the ultimate melodramatic gesture and walk out, here and now? Wasting several thousand pounds that had been invested in the wedding, not to mention the honeymoon in Bali they had booked? It would mean going right back to square one, to being single, and all the difficulties that entailed. She’d be no spring chicken this time round, and it was tough finding Mister Right out there.
On the other hand, did she just overlook Dan’s crime? There was no time to confront him now; the ceremony was due to start in less than a quarter of an hour.
‘Darling,’ her mother was saying. ‘Are you all right? You look pale.’
‘Leave her be,’ her father interjected. ‘She’s bound to be nervous.’
‘Perhaps she needs some fresh air ...’
‘I’m fine.’ Kirsty smiled brightly and put the shortbread down, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice. ‘I’m going to pop up to my room and finish getting ready. Dad, I’ll meet you back down here at ten to. Then we can go down to the ballroom. Mum - will you be OK to find yourself a seat? Liam will have saved you one . . .’
She could picture it all in her head. Dan and Liam and the ushers, directing people to their places, handing out orders of service. The ballroom, with its crystal chandelier, the gold chairs, the white scented flowers she had chosen . . . She closed her eyes to fight back tears as her mother hugged her, unfamiliar in a coral jacket and matching skirt that was a total contrast to her usual slacks and jumpers.
‘You look gorgeous, Mum,’ Kirsty told her, not sure if the lump in her throat was pride at her wonderful parents, who she knew would be there for her whatever she decided, or the emotional fallout from Jenna’s bombshell.
She fled the room. She would go up in the service lift - she didn’t want to risk meeting anyone in the main lift. In the quiet of her room, she’d be able to make up her mind what to do.
There was a stony silence as Liam rode down in the lift with Jenna, her bag at their feet. He wanted to see her into the taxi, make sure she didn’t cause any more trouble. He was already late - he should be in the ballroom right now, with Dan. Dan would be doing his nut.
Ting. The lift was stopping on the third floor. Shit, thought Liam as the door opened slowly. They didn’t have time for this.
Outside the lift was Kirsty.
The three of them stared at each other for a moment. The doors were about to shut again. Liam pressed the button to keep them open.
Kirsty stepped backwards instinctively. Then Jenna stepped forward.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Jenna!’ Liam grabbed her by the shoulder. ‘Don’t you think you’ve said enough?’
‘There’s something else—’
‘Please ...’ Kirsty put her hands up in defence. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’
She turned to go, distressed, but Jenna put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Kirsty. Listen. Everything I said . . . it was all a total lie.’
Kirsty stopped in her tracks and turned. Liam kept his finger on the button. Jenna stepped forward.
‘I . . . didn’t sleep with Dan.’ She looked defiant, but her voice was shaky, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I admit I went back with him to his tent. I would have slept with him. I can’t pretend I wouldn’t. But he passed out. He’d had so much to drink he crashed straight away. When he woke up the next morning, I let him think . . . we’d done it. He couldn’t remember a thing from about ten o’clock, so he believed me. He was totally gutted. He went outside the tent and threw up. Then he chucked me out. Told me he never wanted to talk about it again, that it hadn’t happened. He was furious, with himself and me. It made me feel really good, I can tell you. That someone could be so disgusted they’d slept with me ...’
She pressed her lips together and blinked hard.
‘I pretended to myself that we did have sex. I wanted to think just for a moment that he’d wanted me. And then I wanted to spoil it for you, because . . . he didn’t want me. He pushed me away.’
Liam and Kirsty looked at each other over Jenna’s head.
‘He loves you,’ she told Kirsty. ‘And he wouldn’t look at another woman. Yeah, he let me kiss him. Sit on his lap. But he was only humouring me. I was kissing him. He wasn’t kissing me back. He was just going along with it to be polite. He didn’t want to cause a scene in the Ship. And he only let me go back to the campsite because I didn’t have anywhere else to stay. He said I could crash in his tent.’
She wiped away the tears that were falling again.
‘Dan wasn’t guilty of anything, Kirsty. It was all me. And I’m sorry.’
There was silence. Then Kirsty gave a little smile and a nod of understanding.
‘Thank you,’ she said finally. And then she held out her arms and gave Jenna a hug. She could, after all, afford to be magnanimous. Then she let her go and turned away.
Liam took his finger off the button and let the lift doors close.
The erstwhile bridesmaid and the best man rode down to the ground floor, as the bride ran up the stairs to her bedroom to fetch her bouquet.
The Everdene Sands Hotel was welcoming its guests, wrapping them in its four walls, listening as they ooh-ed and aah-ed in delight at its perfection as they walked down the cool, white corridors to the ballroom. Here the French windows were flung open, leading out onto the verdant lawns, beyond which the sea was laid out in an expanse of silver and turquoise. Gradually, the guests began to settle. As they sat down the noise level fell but the anticipation rose. The air was sweet with the scent of white roses and sea air, and a pianist played soft, tinkly jazz.
Kirsty stood by the closed doors of the ballroom with her father, her arm hooked in his. Her heart was thumping. This was it, the moment every girl dreams of. It had come so close to not happening. For a second she wondered where Jenna was, whether she would come back yet again to spoil the fairytale, but she banished her from her mind. Jenna was history.
The wedding organiser threw open the doors with a smile. Kirsty looked through them and down the length of white carpet to the end. And there she saw her husband-to-be. And he turned, and she saw a light in his eyes that was honest and true. Her heart leapt with joy.
She began to walk.
There was a pale moon hanging in the sky, an entourage of stars clustered around it, as Dan Harper carried his bride across the damp sand. Her ringlets hung loose, her shoes had long been abandoned, and she was laughing as they arrived at the door of the beach hut.
‘I thought we were just going for a walk,’ she protested, as he struggled to put the key in the lock without putting her down.
‘Surprise,’ he told her.
The door swung open, and he carried her effortlessly over the threshold.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathed in awe, as she looked around the room. Hundreds of candles flickered. Music played softly. Champagne chilled in a bucket; there was a platter piled high with cupcakes and fruit. There was a huge pink heart painted on the wall, with an arrow through it. D at the top, K at the bottom.
Dan laid Kirsty gently on the bed. It was like falling into swansdown. She stretched her arms above her head and sighed at the perfection of it all.
‘Dan . . . this is wonderful. This is so special. It means everything to me.’
He came and lay down beside her.
‘It was Jenna’s idea,’ he told her.
Kirsty rolled onto her side and looked into her husband’s eyes. He lifted a hand and stroked her hair.
‘Liam told me everything. About what she said to you. I’m so sorry ...’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Kirsty. ‘How can she think of doing something so wonderful, like this? And then . . . try and spoil everything?’
He put a finger to her lips.
‘Shhh,’ he ordered. ‘Not tonight. Nothing is going to spoil tonight.’
He pulled her to him, and she slid her hands underneath his jacket, working it loose from his shoulders. As she began to unbutton his shirt he took her face in his hands. The two of them lay, bathed in the glow of the candles, and their lips met.
A hundred miles away, a heartbroken girl let herself into a dark, empty flat.
9
MAKING WAVES