Before She Was Mine (23 page)

The other side of the station was dotted with commuters: a man and his guide dog, a woman and two fighting kids, a Goth girl, a backpacker, a couple snogging.
You wouldn’t judge me,
would you?
I asked them silently. I was never going to speak again; I’d go home and superglue my lips together.
I just want to get away from this extended bloody family. You’re
more trouble than you’re worth. As if I needed any more drama in my life! I wish I’d never contacted you, never got involved with any of it. We were OK, me and Liv. That social worker
was right, it was too much to take on so young. I should have left well alone. Why should I be held to account? Who are you to judge me?

Rapid footsteps coming up the bridge, Michael’s face appearing over the top step. ‘Freya! Wait. Don’t go like this.’

I turned away from him.

‘Please, Frey, wait. Mel’s not herself. What she’s been through, the slightest comment cuts her to the bone.’

‘And that’s my fault?’

‘No, of course it isn’t.’

‘See, this is why I kept away. I’m no good with these situations where you can’t do anything practical to make it better. I haven’t the skill to deal with them. I only
make them worse.’

Four hundred metres away the front face of an engine rounded the bend. The people on the platform below began to shuffle and pick up their bags. Michael grasped my upper arm to stop me walking
away.

‘That’s not true. Look, just come and have a coffee, straighten things out. I can’t bear for us to part this way.’

‘You need to get back to Melody,’ I snapped. ‘I suppose you’ll go round telling everyone now the stupid thing Freya said.’

‘Why would I? Why would you think that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the murderous look you gave me before she ran off in tears. Look, I’m sorry, all right? Obviously it was the most idiotic thing anyone’s ever
said in the history of the world, and I wish I could cut my own tongue off. But I can’t, so I’ll stay out of your way instead. Less painful for everyone.’

‘No, Frey.’

‘Yes. Now excuse me, I have a train to catch. I promised my
mother
I’d be back by five.’ I wrenched myself free and set off towards the far stairs.

‘Please!’

The syllable came out like a yelp. I hesitated. Michael was not one to lose control, especially in a public place.

‘
What?
’

‘You know, I said something to Kim once.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘After she miscarried. I was trying to cheer her up.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve never admitted this to anyone. I told her that at least if there was no baby on the way, we’d be able to afford to go on a decent holiday. I wasn’t thinking. I
genuinely thought it would make her feel better.’

He stood there in the middle of the bridge, his eyes screwed against the sunlight. For the first time I could see grey flecks in the hair at his temples.

‘Was she upset?’ I asked, like a fool.

‘She went for me with a barbecue fork. Yes, she was upset. I do understand, Freya. In these kind of situations you want to help and you can’t find the right words, so you end up
saying the wrong ones.’

‘Melody doesn’t understand.’

‘She will. She’s out of her mind right now. But she will.’

‘She hates me.’

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘Can I go now?’

He hung his head. I took two paces, then ran for the train.

The weather broke as the train passed through Wrenbury. Suddenly we were driving into lashing rain, the windows assaulted by solid sheets of running water so that you could no
longer see out. The countryside was a green blur and the carriage a gloomy, rattling box beneath the angry sky. Just my luck if we were hit by lightning, or derailed by a burst canal. Some of the
other passengers looked agitated, but right then I didn’t care whether I lived or died. My brain was in overdrive.

In the past I’d had this vague idea of family as a sort of web with me in the centre, surrounded, supported. Now I understood it was nothing so passive. Being part of a family was more
like one of those platform video games Nicky and I used to play, a rolling program of dodging, leaping, reaching, reacting, climbing, shooting and point-scoring.

You can’t understand unless it’s happened to you
, Melody had said, and she was right. When I thought of the baby I felt upset and freaked, but I didn’t get that
overwhelming sense of loss she obviously did. Those memories of hospital I wanted to block out, not dwell on them; couldn’t understand why she insisted on reliving the experience over and
over. Perhaps there was something wrong with me. Was a late miscarriage as bad as nearly losing your mother? That was all I had room for, grief- and fear-wise. Not my fault. Yes, my fault. What had
I said? The words went round once more, meaning less and less.

I gave up brooding and rang Liv because I needed to hear a friendly voice. Instead I got Geraint.

‘Your mate’s here,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘Nicola.’ He sounded as if further speech would choke him.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I’ll be home in twenty minutes.’

The train pulled up at our tiny unmanned station and I stepped out into a monsoon haze. I nipped through the gate, scooted down the side of the car park, crossed the road and made my way along
the top edge of the council estate to the public footpath that leads through fields to the end of our street.

Melody always laughs at my summer gear, but there are occasions when the kind of clothes I wear really come into their own. The swampy grass and puddles I was forced to splash through now were
no match for my Doc Martens; my sweat-top hood was pulled up round my face, and my camouflage jacket zipped to the neck. I might have been a touch warm, but I was dry.

I walked fast, with my hands in my pockets and my head down, forging into the wall of rain. I was going at such a pace, in fact, that I almost ran into the thin little figure coming in the
opposite direction. Just in time I skidded to a halt and lifted my hood, to see Nicky, coatless, doing a good impression of a drowned rat.

‘What the hell are you doing out here?’ I shouted.

She put her hand to her face and tried to wipe some of the water away, a pointless action. Her hair was plastered to her head, her T-shirt clung rudely to her boobs, and her pale capri pants
were splashed to the knee with mud. Her canvas shoes looked to be disintegrating.

‘I couldn’t wait,’ she gasped.

‘What’s the matter? Oh, fuck, is something wrong with Liv?’

‘No,’ she said, and the word was like a gulping sob. ‘It’s Christian.’

More tragedy: he’d been run over by a lorry; he’d revealed a terminal illness; he’d finally flipped and committed matricide.

‘Dear God, what? Is he hurt?’

‘No, but I wish he was!’

She stood there in the pouring rain, her face furious and excited.

‘Tell me, Nicky.’

‘The wedding’s off. Off, just like that. Mum’s in a complete state, doesn’t know whether to phone all her friends or draw the curtains and go into purdah. Doesn’t
know whether to blame me or him or Corinne or herself. Dad’s threatening all sorts. It’s hell. I had to come to yours or I’d have thrown something through a window. Myself,
possibly. Meanwhile we don’t know for certain who needs phoning, because Corinne’s got all the paperwork and Mum daren’t call her. Even the spare room’s full of wedding
regalia. It’s wherever I look, Frey, I can’t escape.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Me neither. Oh, God.’ Her teeth had begun to chatter, though I don’t think it was with cold. I wondered whether she might be in shock.

‘Let’s get you inside, at least,’ I said, taking her hand.

Together we half ran up the slope that formed the edge of the field, and then down the other side onto the cycle path and the street below. Water was coursing down the gutters; our feet
squelched as they slapped the pavement. At last I was hauling her up the drive and fumbling for my front-door key.

We practically fell into the hall, shaking ourselves like dogs. Liv appeared, wearing the kaftan she uses as a dressing gown. ‘I’ve put towels on the stairs ready for you. You know,
I told her not to go, but she wouldn’t wait.’

‘Come upstairs,’ I said, tugging Nicky’s sleeve.

‘Do you want me to pop your clothes over the radiator?’ asked Liv.

‘’S no bother, I can do them. Come on, Nicks.’

We thumped up to my room, shutting the door noisily behind us. While she towelled herself down I hunted out spare socks and leggings for us both. It felt as though we’d gone back in time,
somehow, and were teenagers once more. God knows we’d sat in here often enough over the years, discussing break-ups and boyfriends, and every one deadly serious. There was her crush on Lucas
Moffat which burned right through the autumn term, only to end with him kissing Imogen Styles at the school Christmas disco. There was Davy Morgan who she knew she needed to finish with because of
his insane clinginess, but didn’t dare in case he did himself a mischief and named her in his farewell note. There was Rhod Williams who seemed at first to be a completely brilliant, level
kind of guy, but who turned out to be seeing a thirty-two-year-old divorcee behind Nicky’s back. She’d spilt it all out to me, against a soundtrack of Oasis or the Sneaker Pimps or
Mansun or Garbage or Space. Always the end of the world, except it wasn’t. Me and Oggy, me and Denny, me and Oggy, angst to infinity. Don’t you wish sometimes you could go back and give
yourself a bloody good shake?

‘How did it happen, Nicky?’

‘I don’t know. That’s the stupid part.’ She finished folding her wet clothes, placed them on the end of the bed next to her. ‘One minute we were discussing table
plans, well, arguing, because Corinne wanted about ninety per cent of the high table reserved for her family and I said that wasn’t fair – and the next Chris was going, “What are
we doing?” So I said – you know, not really thinking – “Perhaps we shouldn’t be getting married right now,” and he said, “No, I don’t think we
should.” And he walked out. I thought he’d come back inside after he’d had some fresh air, it was so bloody hot, only when I looked out of the front-room window, his car had gone.
That’s when I knew it was serious.’

‘Fuck. And he hasn’t been in touch since?’

‘He sent me a text saying we should meet up next week to “sort things out”. I don’t know what he means by that.’

‘Can’t you go down and tackle him?’

‘He’s filming in Dumfries till Tuesday.’ Her face was still shiny and damp. I could tell she didn’t know whether to risk being hopeful or not.

‘So he said you shouldn’t be getting married “right now”. That’s only postponing it, yeah?’

‘Do you think? God, Freya, my head’s all over the shop. And my mum’s gone absolutely mental. She came in with a cup of tea for us and when he wasn’t there it was,
“Why didn’t he come and say goodbye?” and then, “Is everything all right?” and then “You said
what
?” And then it was like someone had died. Weeping
and wailing, phoning my dad to tell him to leave work early. That’s why I had to come here. I must have looked a fright because Geraint offered me brandy.’

‘I’d have kept it quiet if I were you.’

‘You think I don’t know that? But Mum’s – urrgghh. She winkles it out of you. I’ve never been able to keep any secrets from her. She just keeps on and on till she
wears you down. I mean, would Liv ever have read your diary?’

‘Even if I had one, she’d never have found it under all the junk,’ I said. This was true. When I was a kid, the upstairs of our house in particular used to be filthy. Every
window sill was a graveyard for bluebottles and micro moths; the cobwebs that hung from the light fittings were fat and furred as wool. But then cleaning was so dull in comparison with setting up a
bat detector or installing a pond cam. ‘ To be fair, though, I could have left a diary wide open on the table and Liv wouldn’t have read it. She’s pretty good in that
respect.’

Nicky gazed round the room distractedly. ‘I still can’t believe it’s happened. No wedding. Gone, wiped out, like that.’

‘How do you feel?’

She got up and went over to the window, staring out at the wall of ivy. ‘Right now, numb. Nothing. They say when you’ve been in a terrible accident there’s no pain. Like, your
leg could be hanging off and you’re fine about it. It’s hours later that reality kicks in. By midnight I’ll probably be a howling heap alongside my mother.’ Her head tipped
forward so her brow was resting against the glass. ‘Oh God, God, what have I done? What’s even the etiquette here? How
do
you dismantle a wedding? Although I wouldn’t be
surprised if my mother’s got a book on how to do it properly. You know, she will never
ever
forgive me for this.’

‘Well, she needs to get a grip,’ I said. ‘No one’s died. You’ve changed a date on the calendar, that’s all. Send out cards saying the date’s been
altered, details to follow, no explanation. Stick the dress and all your other bits and pieces in a plastic wrapper and put them in the loft.’

‘The reception, the hotel?’

‘Get Lady Corinne to sort that one out. It’s her deposit she’s chasing.’

Nicky raised her head and let out a little moan. ‘The florist. Oh, the vicar. The photographer. The travel agent! Do you think we’re still having a honeymoon? Or is that off as
well?’

‘Listen,’ I said soothingly. ‘Don’t all couples have a big row during the run-up to the wedding? It’s one of those ancient traditions: something old, something new,
huge great row over a piddling little detail. Give Christian some space to cool off and then you’ll be back on track, you’ll see. You have to make it up with him, if only to wipe the
smug smile off Corinne’s face.’

‘God, yes, the woman’s probably popping the champagne as we speak.’ She came back and sat on the bed next to me. ‘Holding a celebratory dance in the village hall. Dishing
out free cider to the serfs.’

‘You really don’t like her, do you?’

‘It’s not so much her, Frey, that’s the thing. It’s that Christian sides with her constantly. He
will
not stand up for himself. He says he doesn’t want to
ruffle anyone’s feathers, but he doesn’t mind ruffling mine. She’s a “dear”, apparently, when you get to know her. “Just a little bit set in her thinking.”
He can’t see the way she manipulates him. “Funny old bird”, he calls her, as if she was some lovable eccentric instead of a scheming witch. She doesn’t think I’m good
enough, that’s basically the problem. Although what woman would be, I’ve no idea. And I’m thinking,
do
I actually want a marriage battling against that? Is that why I
snapped at him? Was it my real feelings coming out?’