Share
6
Related chapters
Our Wedding Night 7
My ears twitch. Uh-oh. A “goal.” That’s one of my post-breakup alarm-bell terms. Along with “project,” “change of direction,” and “amazing new friend.”“Right,” I say cautiously. “Great! So … um … what’s your goal?”My mind is already scurrying around the possibilities. Please not another piercing. Or another crazy property purchase. I’ve talked her out of quitting her job so many times, it can’t be that again, surely?Please not move to Australia.Please not “lose a stone.” Because 1) she’s skinny already, and 2) last time she went on a diet, she made me be her “buddy” and instructed me to phone up every half hour and say, “Keep to the plan, you fat bitch,” then complained when I refused.“So, what is it?” I press her as lightly as I can, my entire body screwed up with dread.“I’m going to fly to San Francisco on the first flight I can get and surprise Richard and propose!”“What?” I nearly drop the phone. “No! Bad idea!”What’s she planning to do, burst into his office? Wait on his
Our Wedding Night 8
LOTTIEI didn’t sleep all night.People say that, and what they mean is: I woke up a few times, made a cup of tea, and went back to bed. But I really didn’t sleep all night. I counted every hour going past.By one A.M. I’d decided that Fliss is totally, utterly wrong. By one-thirty I’d found myself a flight to San Francisco. By two A.M. I’d written the perfect, loving, and passionate proposal speech, including lines by Shakespeare, Richard Curtis, and Take That. By three A.M. I’d filmed myself making it (eleven takes). By four A.M. I’d watched myself and realized the horrible truth: Fliss is right. Richard will never say yes. He’ll just get freaked out. Especially if I make that speech. By five A.M. I’d eaten all the Pralines & Cream. By six A.M. I’d eaten all the Phish Food. And now I’m slumped on a plastic chair, feeling nauseous and regretting the lot of it.A tiny part of me still wonders if by walking out on Richard I made the biggest mistake of my life. If I’d hung on, bitten my
Our Wedding Night 9
Two hours later, I’ve scanned the CVs of about thirty students. (If Deborah is their CV adviser, then Deborah should be fired. That’s all I’m saying.) I’ve done a Q and A session on pensions and tax returns and self-employment law. I’veshared all the advice I think might help these guys. And in return I’ve learned a lot about many areas I was totally ignorant of, such as: 1) How you make someone look wounded in a movie; 2) which actress currently filming in London seems really sweet but is actually a total bitch to her makeup artist; and 3) how you do a grand jeté (I failed on that one).Now I’ve opened the floor to any subject at all, and a pale girl with pink streaky hair is speaking about the cost of shellac and how difficult it is to make the margins work if you want to open your own salon. I’m listening and trying to make helpful comments, but my attention keeps being drawn to another girl, sitting in the second row. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she hasn’t said a word, but she ke
Our Wedding Night 10: Lottie
LOTTIEThe first thing to say is that I look fabulous.The second thing is, I am not going to sleep with him. No. No, sirree. No, I am not.Even though I’ve been thinking about it all day. Even though I’ve been gently fizzing just at the memory. Him. How it was. How we were. I feel surreal and a bit light-headed. I can’t believe I’m going to see him. After all this time. Ben. I mean, Ben.Hearing his voice was like some sort of time-travel trigger. At once I was sitting opposite him at that rickety little table we used to commandeer in the evening. Olive trees all around. My bare feet resting in his lap. A can of ice-cold Sprite. I’d forgotten about my Sprite addiction till that very instant.Since then, memories and images have been resurfacing all day, some vague and some fully composed. His eyes. His scent. He was always so intense. That’s what I remember most. His intensity. He made me feel as though we were starring in our own movie, as though nothing mattered except him and me a
Our Wedding Night 11
And that was it. It felt magical. He wasn’t with the blond woman after all, and after the intermission he switched seats to be next to me. We went back to the opera on our first anniversary, and I thought we’d do it every year for the rest of our lives.So much for that. So much for telling the story at the wedding reception and everybody saying, Ahh …“Oh God.” Ben is peering at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve said something. What’s wrong?”“Nothing!” I smile hastily and blink. “Just … everything. You know. Life.” “Exactly. Exactly.” He nods fervently as though I’ve solved some massiveproblem he was wrestling with. “Lotts, do you feel as fucked up by life as I do?” “Yes.” I take a deep slug of wine. “Yes, I do. Even more so.”“When I was eighteen, when we were out there, I knew what I was about.” Ben is staring moodily into space. “I had clarity. But you start out in life and somehow it all gets … corroded. Corrupted. Everything closes in on you, you know what I mean? There’s no escape. There’
Our Wedding Night 12
“Stop it.”“Will you marry me?” Now he’s speaking more loudly. A couple at the next table look over and smile.“Shh!” I say irritably. “It’s not funny.”To my utter shock, he gets out of his seat, kneels down, and clasps his hands. I can see other diners turning to watch.My heart is pounding. No way. No way.“Charlotte Graveney,” he begins, swaying slightly. “I’ve spent fifteen years chasing pale imitations of you, and now I’m back here with the original I should never have let go. My life has been darkness without you and now I want to switch on the light. Will you do me the honor of marrying me? Please?”A weird sensation is stealing over me. I feel as if I’m turning into cotton wool.He’s proposing. He’s actually proposing. For real. “You’re drunk,” I parry.“Not that drunk. Will you marry me?” he repeats.“But I don’t know you anymore!” I give a half laugh. “I don’t know what you do for a living, I don’t know where you live, I don’t know what you want in life—”“Paper supply. Sh
Our Wedding Night 13: Fliss
FLISSI hope Lottie’s OK, I really do. I’ve been away for two weeks and I haven’t heard one word from her. She hasn’t answered any of my friendly texts, and the last phone call we had was when she was planning to fly to San Francisco and surprise Richard. As Unfortunate Choices go, that one took the biscuit. Thank God I headed it off.But since then: nothing. I’ve tried leaving voicemails as well as texting, but no response. I did manage to get through to her intern, who assured me that she was coming in to work every day—so at least I know she’s alive and well. But it’s not like Lottie to be incommunicado. It troubles me. I’ll go round and see her tonight, make sure she’s OK.I pull out my phone and send her yet another text: Hi, how’s it going??? Then I put it away and survey the school playground. It’s thronging with parents, children, nannies, dogs, and toddlers on scooters. It’s the first day of term, so there are lots of tanned faces and shiny shoes and new haircuts. And that’s
Our Wedding Night 14
There’s silence at the other end. I’m breathing fast. My hands feel sweaty around the steering wheel. I’m flashing back to my date with Nathan. I thought Iwas talking about Daniel in an amusing, detached, ironic way. Nathan never said a word to indicate he wasn’t having a good time. Is that what everyone’s been doing? Humoring me?“OK,” I say at last. “Well, now I know. Thanks for the heads-up.”“Anytime.” Barnaby’s cheerful voice resounds through the car. “Before you say it, I am your friend. And I do love you lots. But this is what you need. Tough love, Fliss. I’ll talk to you soon.”He rings off, and I signal left, chewing my bottom lip and glaring darkly at the road. It’s all very well. It’s all very well.When I get to work, I can see my in-box is full, but I sit at my desk, staring blindly at my computer. Barnaby’s words have stung me more than I want to admit to myself. I’m turning into a bitter, twisted hag. I’m going to end up a gnarled old crone in a black hood who scowls a
Latest chapter
