Authors: Madeleine Wickham
`This is where the food will be,' she called excitedly. Ànd that's where the swans will be.'
`The swans?' said Isobel, turning round.
`We're going to have swans made out of ice,' said Olivia. Ànd each one will be filled with oysters.'
`No!' Isobel's laugh pealed around the marquee. `Whose idea was that?'
`Harry's,' said Olivia defensively. `What's wrong with it?'
`Nothing. It's just the tackiest thing I've ever heard of.'
`That's what I said,' said Olivia eagerly. `But Harry said he thought weddings were such tacky affairs anyway, there was no point trying to be tasteful. So we decided to go for broke!'
`He will be broke,' said Isobel, `by the time he's finished feeding all his guests oysters.'
`No he won't!' snapped Olivia. `Stop saying things like that, Isobel.'
Àll right,' said Isobel in mollifying tones. `Truthfully, I think it's going to be a lovely wedding.' She looked around the vast tent and, for the hundredth time that day, wondered how Milly was getting on.
`Milly will have the time of her life.'
`She doesn't deserve the time of her life,' said Olivia crossly. `Rushing off to London like this. There are only two days to go, you know! Two days!'
Ì know,' said Isobel. She bit her lip. Ì know. And believe me, so does Milly.'
By the time Milly reached the Strand, a winter sun had begun to shine and she could feel an optimistic excitement rising through her. Within minutes she would know, one way or the other. And suddenly she felt sure she knew which way the answer would be. The burden which had been pressing down on her for the last ten years would be lifted. At last she would be free.
She sauntered along, feeling her hair lifted slightly by the breeze, enjoying the sun on her face.
Èxcuse me,' said a girl suddenly, tapping her shoulder. Milly looked round. `We're looking for hair models. I work for a salon in Covent Garden.' She smiled at Milly. `Would you be interested?'
A sparkle of delight ran through Milly.
Ì'm sorry,' she said regretfully, `but I'm a bit busy.' She paused, and a faint smile came to her lips. Ì'm getting married on Saturday.'
Àre you?' exclaimed the girl. Àre you really? Congratulations! You'll make a lovely bride.'
`Thanks,' said Milly, blushing. `Sorry I can't stop. But I've just got some things to tidy up.'
`No, no,' said the girl, rolling her eyes sympathetically. Ì know what it's like! All those tiny things that you always leave till last!'
Èxactly,' said Milly, walking away. `Just a few last-minute details.'
As she entered Somerset House and found the department she needed, her spirits were lifted further.
The man in charge of divorce decrees was round and cheerful, with twinkling eyes and a quick computer.
`You're in luck,' he said, as he tapped in her details. Àll records since 1981 are on computer file.
Before that, and we have to search by hand.' He winked at her. `But you would have been just a baby then! Now, just bear with me, my dear ...'
Milly beamed back at him. Already she was planning what she would do when she'd received confirmation of her divorce. She would take a taxi to Harvey Nichols and go straight up to the fifth floor, and buy herself a buck's fizz. And then she would call Isobel. And then she would Her thoughts were interrupted as the computer pinged. The man peered at the screen, then looked up.
`No,' he said in surprise. `Not found.'
A stone dropped through Milly's stomach.
`What?' she said. Her lips felt suddenly dry. `What do you mean?'
`There's no decree absolute listed,' said the man, tapping again. The computer pinged again and he frowned. `Not in that period, for those names.'
`But there has to be,' said Milly. `There has to be.'
Ì've tried twice,' said the man. He looked up. Àre you sure the spellings are correct?'
Milly swallowed.
`Quite sure.'
Ànd you're sure the petitioner applied for a decree absolute?' Milly looked at him numbly. She didn't know what he was talking about.
`No,' she said. Ì'm not sure.' The man nodded back at her, cheerful as a puppet.
`Six weeks after the decree nisi is issued, the petitioner has to apply for a decree absolute.'
`Yes,' said Milly, Ì see.'
`You were issued with a decree nisi, weren't you, dear?'
Milly looked up blankly and met the man's eyes, regarding her with a sudden curiosity. A quick stab of fear hit her in the chest.
`Yes,' she said quickly, before he could ask anything else. Òf course I was. It was all in order. I'll . . .
I'll go back and check up on what happened.'
Ìf you require any legal advice '
`No thank you,' said Milly, backing away. `You've been very kind. Thank you so much.'
As she turned to grasp the door handle, a voice hit the back of her head.
`Mrs Kepinski?'
She wheeled round with a white face.
Òr is it Ms Havill now?' said the man, smiling. He came round the counter. `Here's a leaflet explaining the whole procedure.'
`Thank you,' said Milly desperately. `That's lovely.'
She shot him an over-bright smile as she pocketed the leaflet and walked out of the room, feeling sick and panicky. She'd been right all along. Allan was a selfish, unscrupulous bastard. And he'd left her well and truly in the lurch.
She reached the street and began to walk blindly, aware of nothing but the seeds of panic already sprouting rapaciously inside her mind. She was only back where she'd been before but somehow her position now seemed infinitely worse; infinitely more precarious. An image came to her of Alexander's malicious, gleaming smile, like the grin of a vulture. And Simon, waiting unsuspectingly in Bath. The very thought of the two of them in the same city made her feel sick. What was she to do? What could she do?
A pub sign caught her eye and without considering further, she slipped inside. She headed straight for the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. When that was gone, she ordered another, and then another.
Gradually, as the alcohol dulled her nerves, the adrenalin pounding round her body began to slow, and her legs stopped shaking. Standing in this warm, beery atmosphere, downing gin, she was anonymous; the real world was far away. She could put everything from her mind except the sharp taste of the gin and the feeling of the alcohol as it hit her stomach, and the saltiness of the nuts which were provided on the bar in little metal bowls.
For half an hour she stood mindlessly, allowing the crush of people to ebb and flow around her. Girls gave her curious looks; men tried to catch her eye: she ignored them all. Then after a while, as she began to feel both hungry and slightly sick, she found herself putting down her glass, picking up her bag and walking out of the pub, onto the street. She stood, swaying slightly, and wondered where to go next. It was lunchtime, and the pavement was crammed with people hurrying briskly along, hailing taxis, crowding into shops and pubs and sandwich bars. Church bells began to peal in the distance, and as she heard the sound, she felt tears starting to her eyes. What was she going to do? She could barely bring herself to think about it.
She gazed at the blurry crowds of people, wishing with all her heart to be one of them, and not herself.
She would have liked to be that cheerful-looking girl eating a croissant, or that calm-looking lady getting onto a bus, or . . .
Suddenly Milly froze. She blinked a few times, wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked again. But the face she'd glimpsed was already gone, swallowed up by the surging crowds. Filled with panic, she hurried forward, peering all around her. For a few moments she could see nothing but strangers: girls in brightly coloured coats, men in dark suits, lawyers still in their courtroom wigs. They thronged past her, and she thrust her way impatiently through them, telling herself feverishly she must have been mistaken; she must have seen someone else. But then her heart stopped. There he was again, walking along the other side of the street, talking to another man. He looked older than she remembered, and fatter. But it was definitely him. It was Rupert.
A surge of white-hot hatred rose through Milly as she stared at him. How dared he saunter along the streets of London, so happy and at ease with himself? How dared he be so oblivious of all that she was going through? Her life was in disarray because of him. Because of him and Allan. And he wasn't even aware of it.
With a pounding heart, she began to run towards him, ignoring the beeps of angry taxis as she crossed the road; ignoring the curious looks of passers-by. Within a couple of minutes she'd caught up with the two men. She strode along behind him, gazed for a moment of loathing at Rupert's golden head, then poked his back hard.
`Rupert,' she said. `Rupert!' He turned round and looked at her with friendly eyes devoid of recognition.
Ì'm sorry,' he said. `Do I ...'
Ìt's me,' said Milly, summoning up the coldest, bitterest voice she possessed. Ìt's Milly. From Oxford.'
`What?' Rupert's face drained of colour. He took a step back.
`Yes, that's right,' said Milly. Ìt's me. I don't suppose you thought you'd ever see me again, did you, Rupert? You thought I'd vanished out of your life for good.'
`Don't be silly!' said Rupert in jocular tones. He glanced uneasily at his friend. `How are things going, anyway?'
`Things,' said Milly, `could not be going more badly, thanks for asking. Oh, and thanks for calling back last night. I really appreciated it.'
Ì didn't have time,' said Rupert. His blue eyes flashed a quick look of hatred at her and Milly glared back. Ànd now, I'm afraid I'm a bit busy.' He looked at his friend. `Shall we go, Tom?'
`Don't you dare!' exclaimed Milly furiously. `You're not going anywhere! You're going to listen to me!'
Ì haven't got time '
`Well then, make time!' shouted Milly. `My life is in ruins, and it's all your fault. You and bloody Allan Kepinski. Jesus! Do you realize what the pair of you did to me? Do you realize the trouble I'm in, because of you?'
`Rupert,' said Tom. `Maybe you and Milly should have a little talk?'
Ì don't know what she's going on about,' said Rupert angrily. `She's mad.'
Èven more reason,' said Tom quietly to Rupert. `Here is a truly distressed soul. And perhaps you can help.' He smiled at Milly. Àre you an old friend of Rupert's?'
`Yes,' said Milly curtly. `We knew each other at Oxford. Didn't we, Rupert?'
`Well, look,' said Tom. `Why don't I do your reading, Rupert? And you can catch up with Milly.' He smiled at her. `Maybe next time, you could come along, too.'
`Yes,' said Milly, not having a clue what he was talking about. `Why not.'
`Good to meet you, Milly,' said Tom, grasping Milly's hand. `Perhaps we'll see you at St Catherine's.'
`Yes,' said Milly, Ì expect so.'
Èxcellent! I'll give you a call, Rupert,' said Tom, and he was off, across the road.
Milly and Rupert looked at each other.
`You bitch,' hissed Rupert. Àre you trying to ruin my life?'
`Ruin your life?' exclaimed Milly in disbelief. `Ruin your life? Do you realize what you did to me? You used me!'
Ìt was your choice,' said Rupert brusquely, starting to walk away. Ìf you didn't want to do it, you should have said no.'
Ì was eighteen years old!' shrieked Milly. Ì didn't know anything about anything! I didn't know that one day I'd want to marry someone else, someone I really loved ...'
`So what?' said Rupert tersely, turning back. `You got a divorce, didn't you?'
`No!' sobbed Milly, Ì didn't! And I don't know where Allan is! And my wedding's on Saturday!'
`Well, what am I supposed to do about it?'
Ì need to find Allan! Where is he?'
Ì don't know,' said Rupert, beginning to walk off again. Ì can't help you. Now, leave me alone.' Milly gazed at him, anger rising through her like hot lava.
`You can't just walk away!' she shrieked. `You've got to help me!' She began to run after him; he quickened his pace. `You've got to help me, Rupert!' With a huge effort, she grabbed his jacket and managed to force him to a standstill.
`Get off me!' hissed Rupert.
`Listen,' said Milly fiercely, gazing up into his blue eyes. Ì did you and Allan a favour. I did you a huge, huge, enormous favour. And now it's time for you to do me a tiny little one. You owe it to me.
She stared hard at him, watching as thoughts ran through his head; watching as his expression gradually changed. Eventually he sighed, and rubbed his forehead.
'OK,' he said. `Come with me. We'd better talk.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY WENT TO an old pub on Fleet Street, full of winding stairs and dark wood and little, hidden nooks. Rupert bought a bottle of wine and two plates of bread and cheese and set them down on a tiny table in an alcove. He sat down heavily, took a deep slug of wine and leaned back. Milly looked at him. Her anger had subsided a little; she was able to study him calmly. And something, she thought, was wrong. He was still handsome, still striking but his face was pinker and more fleshy than it had been at Oxford, and his hand shook when he put down his glass. Ten years ago, she thought, he had been a golden, glowing youth. Now he looked like a middle-aged man. And when his eyes met hers they held a residual, permanent unhappiness.
Ì can't be long,' he said. Ì'm very busy. So-what exactly do you want me to do?'
`You look terrible, Rupert,' said Milly frankly. Àre you happy?'
Ì'm very happy. Thank you.' He took another deep slug of wine, practically draining the glass, and Milly raised her eyebrows.
Àre you sure?'
`Milly, we're here to talk about you,' said Rupert impatiently. `Not me. What precisely is your problem?'
Milly looked at him for a silent moment, then sat back.
`My problem,' she said lightly, as though carefully considering the matter. `What's my problem? My problem is that on Saturday I'm getting married to a man I love very much. My mother has organized the hugest wedding in the world. It's going to be beautiful and romantic and perfect in every single detail.' She looked up with bright eyes like daggers. Òh, except one. I'm still married to your friend Allan Kepinski.'