Authors: Madeleine Wickham
Òh, for God's sake,' said Isobel.
`You want an explanation?' said Olivia in a trembling voice.
`Mummy, don't bother. just--'
`You want an explanation?' Olivia took a deep breath. `Well, where shall I start? Shall I start with my daughter's wedding? The wedding that was supposed to be taking place tomorrow?'
Òh, a family wedding!' said the woman, disconcerted. `Well that's different.'
Òr shall I start with her first wedding, ten years ago?' said Olivia, ignoring the woman. `The wedding we didn't even know about?' Her voice began to rise dangerously. Òr shall I start with the fact we're having to call the whole thing off, and that our entire family and all our friends are mocking us behind our backs?'
`Really, I didn't ' began the woman.
`But come in anyway!' cried Olivia, pulling the door open wide. `We'll find you a room! Somewhere among all the wedding presents we're going to have to send back, and the wedding cake we're going to have to eat, and the clothes that will never be worn, and that beautiful wedding dress ...'
`Come on, Rosemary,' said the man awkwardly, tugging his wife's sleeve. `Very sorry to have disturbed you,' he said to Isobel. Ì always said we should have gone to Cheltenham.'
As the pair backed away, Isobel looked at Olivia. She was still gripping the door, her face streaked with tears.
Ì really think you should have a break, Mummy,' she said. `Keep the phone off the hook. Watch the telly. Or go to bed for a bit.'
Ì can't,' said Olivia. `We need to keep telephoning.'
`Rubbish,' said Isobel. Èveryone I've spoken to has already heard. Gossip travels fast, you know.
We've called the most important people. All the others will keep.'
`Well,' said Olivia after a pause. Ì do feel a little bit weary. Maybe I'll lie down for a bit.' She closed the front door and looked at Isobel. Àre you going to have a rest, too?'
`No,' said Isobel. She reached for her coat. Ì'm going to go out. I'm going to go and see Milly.'
`That's a good idea,' said Olivia slowly. `She'll be pleased to see you.' She paused. `Be sure ...'
`Yes?'
`Be sure to give her my love,' said Olivia. She looked down. `That's all. Give her my love.'
Esme's drawing room was warm and tranquil; a haven of quiet civilization. As Isobel sat down on a pale, elegant sofa she looked about her pleasurably, admiring the collection of silver boxes heaped casually on a side table; the applewood dish filled with smooth grey pebbles.
`So,' said Milly, sitting down opposite her. Ìs Mummy still furious?'
`Not really,' said Isobel, screwing up her face. `She's weird.'
`That probably means she's furious.'
`She isn't, honestly. She said to give you her love.'
`Really?' said Milly. She curled her feet underneath her and sipped at her coffee. Her hair was tied up in a dishevelled pony-tail and, under her jeans, she was wearing a pair of ancient ski socks.
`Here you are,' said Esme, handing a mug of coffee to Isobel. `But I'm afraid I'll have to steal Milly in a little while. We're going out to lunch.'
`Good idea,' said Isobel. `Where are you going?'
À little place I know,' said Esme, smiling at them both. Àbout ten minutes, Milly?'
`Fine,' said Milly. They both waited for Esme to close the door.
`So,' said Isobel, when she'd gone. `How are you really?'
Ì don't know,' said Milly slowly. `Sometimes I feel fine and sometimes I just want to burst into tears.'
She took a shuddery breath. Ì keep thinking, what would I have been doing now .. . and what would I have been doing now?' She closed her eyes. Ì don't know how I'm going to get through tomorrow.'
`Get drunk.'
Ì'm doing that tonight.' A flicker of a smile passed over Milly's face. `Care to join me?'
`Maybe,' said Isobel. She sipped at her coffee. Ànd Simon hasn't been in touch?'
`No.' Milly's face closed up.
Ìs it really all over between you two?'
`Yes.'
Ì can't believe it.' Isobel shook her head. `Just because ...'
`Because I deceived him about one thing,' said Milly in sharp, sarcastic tones. `So obviously I'm a pathological liar. Obviously, no one can trust anything I say ever again.'
`Bastard. You're better off without him.'
Ì know.' Milly looked up and gave the tight smile of someone battling with pain. Ìt's for the best, really.' Isobel looked at her and suddenly felt like crying.
Òh Milly,' she said. Ìt's such a shame.'
Ìt doesn't matter,' said Milly lightly. `Come on. It's not as if I was pregnant. Now, that really would be a disaster.' She took a sip of coffee and gave Isobel a half-grin.
Isobel met her eyes and gave an unwilling smile. For a while there was silence.
`Do you know what you're going to do?' said Milly at last.
`No.'
`What about the father?'
`He doesn't want a baby. He's made that very plain.'
`Couldn't you persuade him?'
`No. And I don't want to! I don't want to push someone into fatherhood. What chance would our relationship have then?'
`Maybe the baby would bring you together.'
`Babies aren't glue,' said Isobel. She pushed her hands through her hair. Ìf I had the baby, I would be on my own.'
Ì would help you!' said Milly. Ànd so would Mummy.'
Ì know.' Isobel's shoulders twitched in a shrug. Milly stared at her.
Ìsobel, you wouldn't really get rid of it.'
Ì don't know!' Isobel's voice rose in distress. Ì'm only thirty, Milly! I could meet some fantastic guy tomorrow. I could be swept off my feet. But if I've already got a kid ...'
Ìt wouldn't make any difference,' said Milly stoutly.
Ìt would! And you know, having a baby is no picnic. I've seen friends do it. They turn into zombies.
And they're not even doing it on their own.'
`Well, I don't know,' said Milly, after a pause. Ìt's your decision.'
Ì know it is,' said Isobel. `That's exactly the problem.'
The door opened and they looked up. Esme smiled at them from under a huge fur hat.
`Ready to go, Milly? Isobel, sweetheart, do you want to come too?'
`No thanks,' said Isobel, getting up. Ì'd better get back home.'
She watched as Milly got into Esme's red Daimler and suddenly wished that her own godmother might suddenly appear and whisk her away, too. But Mavis Hindhead was a colourless woman living in the north of Scotland who had not acknowledged Isobel's existence since the eve of her confirmation, when she'd sent her a knobbly, ill-fitting jersey and a spidery, handwritten card of which Isobel had never managed to make sense. Not many godmothers, thought Isobel, were like Esme Ormerod.
When they'd roared off round the corner she began to walk away from Esme's house, telling herself to go straight home. But she couldn't quite face returning to the claustrophobic, sad atmosphere of the kitchen; couldn't face sitting down and making yet more awkward phone calls to curious strangers.
Now that she was out in the fresh air, she wanted to stay out and stretch her legs and enjoy the sensation of not having a telephone clamped to her ear.
She began to walk briskly back towards town, feeling a mild sense of irresponsibility, as though she were bunking off school. At first she strode without considering where she was heading, merely enjoying the feel of her legs stretching out with every stride, the lightness of her arms swinging at her sides. Then, as a sudden thought struck her, she paused and, propelled by a curiosity she recognized as ghoulish, she turned off the main road, towards St Edward's Church.
As she stepped into the porch, she almost expected to hear bridal music playing on the organ. The church was filled with flowers; the pews were empty and waiting; the altar was shining brightly.
Slowly she walked up the aisle, imagining the church filled with happy, expectant faces; imagining what it would have been like, parading behind Milly in a bridesmaid's dress, watching as her sister made the ancient vows that everyone knew and loved.
As she reached the front she stopped, and noticed a pile of white, redundant orders of service stacked at the end of a pew. With a stab of sadness, she reached for one-then, as she saw the two names printed on the cover, blinked in surprise. Eleanor and Giles. Printed in nasty, loopy silver lettering. Who the hell were Eleanor and Giles? How had they muscled in on the act?
`Bloody parasites!' she said aloud.
Ì beg your pardon?' A man's voice came from behind her, and she whipped round. Walking up the aisle towards her was a young man in a cassock.
`Do you work here?' said Isobel.
`Yes,' said the young man.
`Well, hello,' said Isobel. Ì'm Milly Havill's sister.'
Àh yes,' said the priest embarrassedly. `What a shame. We were all very sorry to hear about that.'
`Were you?' said Isobel. `So what happened? Did you think you might as well put Milly's expensive flowers to good use?'
`What do you mean?' Isobel gestured to the orders of service.
`Who's this bloody Eleanor and Giles? How come they've been given Milly's wedding day?'
`They haven't,' said the curate nervously. `They're getting married in the afternoon. They booked it a year ago.'
Òh,' said Isobel. She looked at the order of service, then put it down again. `Well, all right then. I hope they have a happy day.'
Ì'm really very sorry,' said the curate awkwardly. `Maybe your sister will be able to get married at some time in the future. When she's straightened everything out.'
Ìt would be nice,' said Isobel. `But I doubt it.' She glanced once more round the church, then turned on her heel to leave.
Àctually, I was about to lock up,' said the curate, hurrying after her. Ìt's a precaution we often take when there are flower arrangements in the church. You'd be surprised what people steal these days.'
Ì'm sure,' said Isobel. She stopped by a pillar, plucked a single white lily from a twining arrangement, and breathed in the sweet aroma. Ìt really would have been a beautiful wedding,' she said sadly. Ànd now it's all destroyed. You people don't know what you've done.' The young curate bridled slightly.
Às I understand it,' he began, `this was a case of attempted bigamy.'
`Yes,' said Isobel. `But no one would have known. If your Canon Lytton had just turned a blind eye, and hadn't said anything '
`The couple would have known!' said the curate. `God would have known!'
`Yes, well,' said Isobel tersely. `Maybe God wouldn't have minded.'
She strode out of the church with her head down, and walked straight into someone.
`Sorry,' she said, looked up, then stiffened. Harry Pinnacle was standing in front of her, wearing a navy blue cashmere overcoat and a bright red scarf.
`Hello, Isobel,' he said. He glanced over her shoulder at the curate, who had followed her out. `Terrible business, all this.'
`Yes,' said Isobel. `Terrible.'
Ì'm on my way to meet your father for lunch.'
`Yes,' said Isobel. `He mentioned it.'
There was a clanking sound as the curate pulled the church door closed; suddenly they were alone.
`Well, I must be off,' muttered Isobel. `Nice to see you.'
`Wait a minute,' said Harry.
Ì'm in a bit of a hurry,' said Isobel, and she began to walk away.
Ì don't care.' Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her round to face him. Ìsobel, why have you been ignoring all my messages?'
`Leave me alone,' said Isobel, twisting her head away.
Ìsobel! I want to talk to you!'
Ì can't,' said Isobel, her face closing up. `Harry, I just . . . can't.'
There was a long silence. Then Harry dropped her arm.
`Fine,' he said. Ìf that's what you want.'
`Whatever,' said Isobel in a dead voice. And without meeting his gaze, she thrust her hands in her pockets and strode off down the street.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HARRY WAS SITTING by the bar, beer in hand, when James arrived at the Pear and Goose. It was a small pub in the centre of Bath, packed with cheerful, anonymous tourists.
`Good to see you, James,' he said, standing up to shake hands. `Let me get you one of these.'
`Thanks,' said James. They both watched silently as the barman filled a pint glass with beer, and it occurred to James that this was the first time the two of them had ever met alone.
`Cheers,' said Harry, raising his glass.
`Cheers.'
`Let's sit down,' said Harry, gesturing to a table in the corner. Ìt's more private over there.'
`Yes,' said James. He cleared his throat. Ì imagine you want to talk about the practicalities of the wedding.'
`Why?' said Harry, looking surprised. Ìs there a problem? I thought my people were sorting it all out with Olivia.'
Ì meant the financial aspect,' said James stiffly. `Milly's little revelation has cost you a small fortune.'
Harry waved a hand.
`That's not important.'
Ìt is important,' said James. Ì'm afraid it's not within my means to pay you back fully. But if we can come to some arrangement '
`James,' interrupted Harry. Ì didn't ask you here so we could talk about money. I just thought you might like a drink. OK?'
Òh,' said James, taken aback. `Yes. Of course.'
`So let's sit down and have a fucking drink.'
They sat down at the corner table. Harry opened a packet of crisps and offered it to James.
`How is Milly?' he said. Ìs she OK?'
Ì'm not sure, to be honest,' said James. `She's with her godmother. How's Simon?'
`Stupid kid,' said Harry, crunching on crisps. Ì told him he was a spoilt brat this morning.'
Òh,' said James, unsure what to say.
`The first sign of trouble, he runs away. The first hitch, he gives up. No wonder his business failed.'
Àren't you being a little harsh?' protested James. `He's had a huge shock. We all have. It's hard enough for us to deal with, so what Simon must be feeling . . .' He shook his head.
`So you really had no idea she was married,' said Harry.
`None whatsoever.'
`She lied to you all.'
Èvery single one of us,' said James soberly. He looked up, to see Harry half grinning. `What? You think it's funny?'