The Nothing Girl (11 page)

We sat. I was isolated by the empty space on one side of me and Aunt Julia on the other. Francesca was opposite, very pointedly not eating anything. She turned an angry shoulder on Daniel and ignored everyone.

Kevin hadn’t got used to unlimited food yet and ate everything in his path.

Mrs Crisp surveyed the table with a professional eye, drank her own champagne, and started on Kevin’s.

Tanya ventured one or two remarks but no one responded so she gave it up.

We ate in silence. There were no toasts. There were no speeches. There was no cake. There was no groom. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Finally, Francesca spoke. ‘Wasn’t it funny when the registrar mistook me for the bride?’

Aunt Julia’s hand twitched. I suspect she was fighting an urge to slap her.

‘I cannot see how she could make such a mistake,’ said Tanya, calmly. ‘You are far too old to be the bride.’

Even Francesca was floored by such breathtaking rudeness. She gaped for a moment and then got to her feet, slightly less gracefully than usual.

‘Yes,’ said Daniel, hurling himself into another breach. ‘I think it’s about time we made a move. Jenny, congratulations again and thank you for a lovely lunch.’

The bottom was falling out of my world, but I dragged up good manners and pride. Fortunately, no one ever expected much from me, so I simply said, ‘Thank you,’ and shook hands. They left, still not looking at each other.

Aunt Julia collected her bag. ‘Yes, we must go before it gets dark, Richard.’

It was half past four in the afternoon.

I got a brief hug from her and a slightly longer one from Uncle Richard. ‘Remember what I said,’ he whispered. ‘Just one telephone call.’

A troubled-looking Mrs Crisp took Kevin away. I smiled politely and said, ‘Thank you,’ to everyone as they left, concealing, I hoped, how desperately I wanted to be alone.

Finally, just Tanya remained. I looked at her. She sighed heavily and fished around under the table for her shoes. Andrew reappeared at last. She stood up, her eyebrows raised in silent query.

Andrew looked very tired and very fed-up. He said, ‘Jenny, I’m sorry. He’s gone. Just to walk it off, I think. He’ll be back soon.’

Oh, my God. He was late for his own wedding, drunk at the ceremony, didn’t actually attend the reception, and then walked out. I stood in rigid humiliation.

‘Jenny,’ he said uncertainly, but I just wanted to be on my own.

I made a huge effort, dragging the words from the pit of my stomach. ‘Andrew, I’m … sorry you were … stuck with this. … Tanya … thank you for your … support … today. I think I’ll … go to my room.’

They nodded slightly, torn between relief and embarrassment.

I left the room and silently made my way to the stairs. If the hotel staff were surprised I was making my way to the honeymoon suite alone, they were too polite to say anything.

I wearily climbed the stairs, an unusually quiet Thomas beside me. Maybe Russell had already gone to the room.

No, it was empty. My case stood at the bottom of the bed. I sat heavily and closed my eyes.

Thomas said uncertainly, ‘
Jenny, it was just a little Dutch courage and he overdid it. He’ll be walking it off somewhere, you’ll see.
’

‘No. Today was the day he realised he’d lost her for ever. Even if he ever persuades her not to marry Daniel, he’s no longer free himself. I think now he’s no longer available, she’s realised what she’s lost as well. It’s just an awful mess and today I’ve done the most stupid thing in the world. I thought I could have a normal life just like other people. What was I thinking?’

Thomas made no answer, but my question was rhetorical anyway. I took refuge in practicality. I unpacked what I needed, undressed, and packed up my lovely dress that no one had noticed. If this was the happiest day of my life then I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of it.

I had a long, hot bath. I was in there for nearly an hour, but still no sign of Russell. My husband. I wondered if it was worth getting used to those words.

‘
Come on,
’ said Thomas. ‘
Let’s have some tea and watch
Doctor Who
. You’ll like that.
’

For him, I made an effort. I didn’t fancy tea, but they had hot chocolate, so I made myself a drink and curled up on the bed. Thomas stood comfortingly close and we watched
Doctor Who
.

Afterwards, I switched off the TV, found my book, and climbed into bed. Thomas looked out of the window, occasionally describing what was going on outside. We’d turned the lights down low, the room was peaceful and warm, and slowly, I began to feel a little better. Married or not, I was still in bed before 9.30 in the evening. The more things change …

I made another hot chocolate and settled back on my pillows, immersed in my book. A scrabbling at the door made me jump. The card lock clicked and Russell Checkland walked in.

My heart sank. He hadn’t gone to walk it off at all. He’d gone to top-up.

He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me with no trace of friendliness. ‘What? In bed already? You’re keen, aren’t you?’

He’d promised. He’d said – what had he said? I couldn’t remember the exact words. Had I misunderstood? Or had he changed his mind?

Thomas shifted his weight, just very slightly, and the threat was implicit. I wasn’t alone.

I remained perfectly still, looking at him over the rim of my cup, book open on my knees. Don’t move. Don’t say anything. What would he do next?

‘
Good,
’ said Thomas. ‘
Very sensible. I think we both need to stay calm. Failing that, hit him with the bedside lamp.
’

The moment seemed endless. Neither of us moved. Finally, he gave a short laugh and disappeared into the bathroom. I put down my cup with a trembling hand.

‘
It’s OK,
’ said Thomas. ‘
If it’s any reassurance, after what he’s drunk today, I don’t think he could even raise a smile, let alone anything else.
’

Indeed, there did seem to be a lot of banging and crashing in the bathroom. I heard the shower go on. There was a thud and a cry.

‘
Whoops,
’ said Thomas, unsympathetically.

‘Yes,’ I said, picking up my book.

‘
He might have knocked himself out.
’

‘I’ll finish this chapter and if there’s still no sound then I’ll go and look.’

He was back long before the end of the chapter, wearing T-shirt and shorts, which was a bit of a relief.

‘
Our virtue is safe,
’ said Thomas. ‘
He’s looking for spare blankets and pillows.
’

So he was, unsteadily building himself a nest on the sofa. He fell heavily and pulled a blanket over himself. Within seconds, he was snoring.

It was the first time I hadn’t slept alone. I mean, the first time I’d slept with someone else in the same room.

‘
What about me?
’

‘Well, you don’t snore like bathwater going down the plughole.’

We listened some more.

‘It’s very – loud.’

‘
He certainly sleeps with enthusiasm.
’

I lay awake for most of the night, thinking. Stubborn pride came to my aid. I wasn’t giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing me run back to Aunt Julia. If I gave up now, I would never, ever again have another opportunity to make a life for myself. I could see myself, dwindling down the years, becoming ‘Mad old Jenny Dove in the attic’. I shivered. I was twenty-eight. I could reasonably expect to live for about another fifty years. Fifty years of nothing.

No, I had taken a small step towards independence. Tomorrow I would take another. And another the next day. I would get there. With or without Russell Checkland, I would do this.

I must have drifted off at some point because I woke at around seven thirty the next morning. For a panic-stricken moment, I wondered where I was and then jumped a mile as someone snorted, grunted, and turned over.

I sat up quickly and looked across the room. Russell Checkland – my husband – lay sprawled on his back, arms out-flung. He’d stopped snoring, thank God, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight. His mouth was slightly open and his hair, always unruly, lay in all directions. His pallor accentuated the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked sad and vulnerable. I hardened my heart.

The bathroom was full of his clothes. I kicked them aside. Not attempting to be quiet, I showered, cleaned my teeth, dressed, and brushed my hair. Returning to the bedroom, he hadn’t moved at all. I wondered whether I should wake him.

‘
What for? He won’t thank you. I think it’s kinder to let him sleep. Should we roll him on his side in case he chokes on his own vomit?
’

‘He’s not vomiting.’

‘
He might.
’

‘I’m sure he’s done this before. He can probably roll himself over without even waking up. He’ll be fine.’

I packed up my few things, again not attempting to keep the noise down, but there was no reaction. Maybe he really was unconscious. I went into the bathroom and filled a glass of water and left it and a strip of paracetamol where he could see them, snapped my case shut, picked up my coat, and headed to the door without a backwards glance.

Down in reception, I said carefully, ‘Is it … possible to extend the … booking for another twenty-four hours?’

‘One moment please, madam. Yes, that won’t be a problem.’

‘Thank you.’ There was no way he was going to make checkout at 11.00 a.m. And I was sticking him with the bill. ‘Can I have a … taxi please?’

I climbed into the taxi and the driver said, ‘Where to, love?’

Where to indeed? My old home or my new home?

‘
Well?
’ said Thomas.

Was there every any doubt? I gave the Frogmorton address.

I remembered to direct him around the back because for all I knew the front door still didn’t open. Kevin appeared as I was paying him off.

‘Can I take your case – Mrs Checkland?’

Yes, it sounded strange to me too, but that’s who I was. Mrs Russell Checkland.

‘Thank you, Kevin.’

We went into the kitchen. Mrs Crisp bustled forward.

‘Welcome, Mrs Checkland. Welcome to your new home.’ She looked over my shoulder for the young master.

She spoke with such kindness that I felt sudden tears prick my eyes. She must have seen my embarrassment because she said, ‘I expect you’d like to spend the morning getting settled. Let me take you up.’

So we all trailed towards the stairs. The living room was full of boxes.

‘Your books, I think,’ she said, following my gaze. ‘I didn’t like to unpack them. Your clothes and personal effects are all in your room.’

The room was exactly as I remembered it. ‘I’ve put some curtains up,’ she said, ‘and found some pretty bedding, but I expect you’ll be replacing everything, sooner or later.’

Was there a bit of an off-note there?

She signed to Kevin to put my case on the bed. I thanked him. It wasn’t heavy. I could have managed. They left.

I walked to the window and looked out over the wet jungle that was Russell Checkland’s garden. I stood for a long time before Thomas wandered over.

‘
Aren’t you going to unpack?
’

I sighed. ‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘
What’s the matter?
’

‘It – just doesn’t feel like home.’

‘
No, it’s better, don’t you think?
’

‘I don’t know.’ I walked away and sat on the bed.

‘
Jenny,
’ his voice was stern. ‘
I have not helped you through the emotional maelstrom of the last month to have you sit alone and friendless in yet another bedroom. Get changed, we’re going for a walk.
’

‘It’s raining.’

‘
No, it’s not. Now put on something that won’t mind getting muddy and off we go.
’

So we did.

Mrs Crisp asked if we were going up on to the moors. I said tersely that I didn’t know. She looked embarrassed.

‘We always ask, Mrs Checkland. The weather up there is very changeable, especially at this time of year. If you don’t come back then we know where to look.’

‘Oh. Sorry. Yes I am, but not very far. I’ll … stick to the path.’

She nodded and we set off.

We walked up the lane past the Braithwaites’ place. He was just emerging from the barn and waved. I waved back, slightly cheered by this small sign of friendliness.

As always, the air up here was crisp and clear. I felt it blow away more than my bad mood. The ground was wet underfoot, but the sun was struggling to come out. Perhaps it was an omen.

We walked for about an hour. Thomas was very quiet and I was lost in my own thoughts.

‘
What are you worrying about? Whether he will be at Frogmorton when we get back, or whether he won’t?
’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, honestly.

‘
Try not to worry too much. It’s been a pretty rough forty-eight hours. A good night’s sleep and some time to reflect and maybe things will get back on track.
’

Are you talking about him or me?’

‘
Actually, I’m not sure.
’

He wasn’t there when we got back. Mrs Crisp, looking even more worried than ever, asked me if he would be back for dinner. I said, truthfully, that I didn’t know.

I sat in my room and wondered if I should telephone Andrew, but decided against it. If he was there then they would have called.

‘Maybe he’s finally run off with Francesca,’ I said.

‘
Will you get over this obsession with Francesca? The chances are that he’s woken up, felt like death, and gone back to sleep again. If he has left the hotel, he’s probably taken himself off somewhere quiet where he can calm down and start feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself.
’

I nodded. He was probably right.

‘
Now, start unpacking and putting down roots.
’

So I did. Mrs Crisp brought me some tea. I unpacked and hung my clothes, sliding my wedding dress carefully to one side of the wardrobe. I laid my bits and pieces on the dressing table and my toiletries in the bathroom. Thomas was right. He usually was, although there was no need to tell him that. I did feel better. Tomorrow, I would unpack my books and laptop.