Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (31 page)

‘Oh, I don’t know. I thought you were getting married in St Andrew
’s,’ she replies, the plastic smile disappearing from her face.

‘We don’t normally dress brides abroad.’

The door is flung open and a flurry of cold air stings my legs.

‘Fuck, it’s freezing out there,’ declares Cas who wafts in swathed in a huge scarf so that I can barely see his face.

‘What the hell has New Zealand got to do with anything?’ snaps Georgie.

‘New Zealand? Who the fuck is going to New Zealand?’ asks Cas, drapin
g his scarf around Rita’s neck. ‘A coffee would be ace darling,’ he adds, giving her a squeeze.

He sneezes dramatically and then fumbles in his shoulder bag.

‘Is that new?’ Georgie points to the leather bag.

He shrugs.

‘This old thing? I’ve had it for days.’

‘Is it real leather? Best not let Charlie see it or he’ll have your guts for garters,’ laughs Georgie, running her hands over it.

Cas laughs.

‘I think you may be mistaking me for someone who gives a shit.’

He twirls and accepts the coffee Rita hands him.

‘I hope it’s
Camp
coffee
darling.’

‘It’s hot actually,’ says Rita.

‘Yes, thank you darling.’

‘In New Zealand I mean. At Christmas,’ says Rita, ‘it’s hot in December. I remember seeing it on a holiday programme.’

That’s not right then is it? It should snow at Christmas or at least be cold enough to freeze your bollocks off. Christmas Day huddled around a log fire, a mince pie in one hand and a glass of mulled wine in the other, with the smell of roasted turkey pervading the house is heaven on earth isn’t it? It really isn’t heaven on earth having Christmas dinner on the patio is it? Besides, the After Eights would melt, and we really can’t have that can we?

‘Well that’s abfab to know darling if any of us were going to New Zealand at Christmas but we’re not are we?’ Cas loo
ks to Georgie for confirmation.

Georgie in turn looks to me.

‘You’re going to the Maldives for your honeymoon. Charlie has booked it. You can’t change your mind now.’

Cas squeezes my hand.

‘You’re not changing your mind are you darling?’

There is a silence as all eyes are turned on me. Rita’s wide and Georgie’s questioning. Cas squeezes my hand a little tighter.

‘It’s okay if you have you know,’ he whispers.

‘Of course not, I was simply curious.’

Georgie fans my highlighted hair around my shoulders and surveys me again.

‘Yep
, it has to be peaches and cream.’

‘God you’re making me hungry with all this talk of fruit and cream. Shall I pop and get us some doughnuts darlings?’ asks Cas, ‘or are we onto the cake tasting next?’

It’s been six weeks since I returned from Cornwall. Charlie has become the most thoughtful and attentive boyfriend that a woman could wish for. He leaves little presents for me and even writes love notes which he leaves in the bathroom by my toothbrush. Last Friday he took me to the ballet even though he hates it. He secretly booked the honeymoon in
the Maldives and went down on one knee and proposed again. The wedding is booked for two days before Christmas. I do love Charlie. He really is trying so hard to make me happy and I am dead grateful.

‘A
winter wonderland wedding to my very own princess,’ he had said, slipping my engagement ring back onto my finger.

Why oh why do
things not feel quite right?

My stomach rumbles.

‘Doughnuts sound great,’ I say.

‘It’s all the excitement and stress. They say getting married is one of the most stressful things you can do,’ says Rita knowingly.

‘They say that about divorce too,’ adds Cas.

‘I’m not even married yet,’ I say but everyone ignores me.

‘And moving home,’ chips in Georgie.

‘Starting a new job is also on the list,’ chimes Rita.

‘Or not being able to find one,’ I add.

‘And considering you’re doing it for the second time,’ chips in Cas.

‘That’s not strictly true is it?’ says Georgie, ‘Considering the first time never actually happened so in theory this isn’t the second time …’

My sharp look cuts her off.

‘But she has moved house and changed jobs and almost married. Frankly I’m surprised she isn’t in a loony bin,’ contributes Cas, draping his arm around my shoulders.

‘I think it is all going to be fabulous. Don’t you agree?’ asks Rita.

‘Yes,’ I respond warmly allowing Georgie to drape me in a cream shawl while Rita sticks a small posy in my hand.

It will soon be Christmas and on the twenty-third I will be Mrs Alice Marrow. The wife of Charles Marrow, exceptionally well-paid advertising executive and chairperson of the
Freedom for Farm Animals Association
and vegetarian extraordinaire. But sometimes, just sometimes I so fancy fish and chips.

‘It’s going to be lovely Alice,’ Georgie sighs.

For a split second I think she is talking about fish and chips. Yes, she is right it is going to be lovely. At that moment my Blackberry bleeps and I look down to see it is a message from Charlie.

Thinking of you and can’t wait to see you later. Hope everything is going well with the dress fitting.

I look at my engagement ring and again tell myself what a lucky woman I am. I only wish I believed myself.

Two glasses of wine and a quarter of a meat-feast pizza, and she is sitting on the beach watching the ebb and flow of the sea and listening to the calming sounds of the waves while adding more salt to the sea with her flowing tears. Why does he say things are difficult? It was all supposed to be temporary. Her mouth feels dry and her glass is empty. She looks back to the rowdy crowd and considers joining the barbeque, but knows she will just be the party pooper. A sultry figure approaches and she feels a fluttering in her stomach. It had been a mistake and she really must make that abundantly clear to Jason. It cannot, no it will not, happen again. How stupid to have drunk so much. He walks into the sea waving to her as he does so. She thinks he looks like James Bond. He is incredibly fit and beautifully tanned. He has given her more attention in the past month than any man has ever given her. More tears come unbidden, and she wipes at her face angrily. She shouldn’t have phoned while tipsy. She knew they would argue. It felt like everything else mattered except her. How can he not want to be here, where the weather is fantastic, the people are great and more importantly, where she is?

‘The water’s fabulous. Come on,’ Jason shouts before diving into the
sea.

She leans back lazily and picks up the wine bottle. One more glass won’t matter. She really should eat something though. She steals another glance at the smoky barbeque and feels tempted. Then again, she’ll have to be chatty, and she really doesn’t feel in the mood for that. Hesitating, with the bottle in her hand she looks at Jason swimming masterfully towards her. If she makes another mistake it will be over. But she didn’t make the first mistake, did she? A woman gets lonely. They had discussed their future, it had been what they both wanted and she had been as giving as any woman could be. He shouldn’t have left her here for so long. Damn
him for letting her down like this. Lifting the glass to her lips, she whispers,
Here’s to us, what’s left of us that is
. By the time Jason reaches her she is crying tears of anger.

‘He’s not coming is he?’ he says, dripping in front of her.

She shakes her head dumbly.

‘Not this week.’

‘Need a hug?’ he asks the desire evident in his eyes.

What she knew should have been a shaking of her head turns into a teary nod and the next thing she is in his arms and she knows it will happen again and somehow feels entitled.

‘Come on Luce, let’s take a bottle back to the hotel,’ Jason whispers.

She has nothing left to resist him.

‘Oh wow, you came. Groovy,’ gushes Myrna on seeing me.

She’s wearing a dress that Helen
a Bonham Carter would be ashamed to wear. It’s black velvet with a huge bow at the waist, and on her feet are tartan boot slippers. She seriously looks like she is about to take the lead part in the Christmas panto. She’s wearing more Kohl than Cleopatra and jingles as the beads in her hair clash together every time she moves her head.

‘Philly,’ she screeches, ‘Alice is here.’

Charlie grins like a Cheshire cat. Talking of cats, the house is full of them, and if you can’t see them you can certainly smell them even over the sandalwood incense sticks.

‘I couldn’t stop her,’ he laughs, catching me as I go flying over muddy boots that are blocking the hallway.

Not strictly true. In fact, a complete falsehood but I can’t say that can I? The real truth is that I couldn’t possibly let Charlie come for a celebratory dinner with his best friends without me could I? I had tried to talk him out of it. Even bribed him with sex, which is really below the belt I know, but trust me you don’t want to have dinner with Myrna and Phil. We squeeze past the sixties sideboard which is cluttered with Greenpeace posters and leaflets.

‘Charlie said you wouldn’t be able to make it because of a dress fitting,’ says Phil as he gives me a welcome hug. His beard scratches my cheek and I try not to pull away. My eyes widen at the sight of him. What is he wearing? He looks like the Maharishi Yogi.

‘I’ve been meditating,’ he says in way of explanation.

‘I managed to change things aroun
d,’ I say and blush bright red.

I was never very good at lying.
Myrna stares at me with her dewy eyes and over-glossed lips.

‘You must be so excited,’ she says in a trembling voice, her glossed lips quivering.

‘I’m so happy for you guys. Oh Lordy, I’m welling up again,’ she tearfully takes the tissue that Phil has at the ready.

I try not to sigh too loudly.

‘Let’s not stand in the hallway, come through, come through,’ bellows Phil as though we are at the end of their drive rather than standing right next to him.

I pass the assortment of china animals that sit on the hall table, step over two cats and enter the lounge.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ bellows Phil as he points to their flea-infested couch.

‘Drinky poos?’ asks Myrna, fluffing around an antiquated drinks cabinet.

A double whisky I think.

‘We’ll both have red wine if you’ve got it,’ says Charlie.

I give him a sidelong glance. Since when did I stop answering for myself? I watch as one of the cats tugs at the hem of Myrna’s dress while another jumps up onto the cabinet sending a bottle of brandy flying.

‘We’ve got some special organic wine in the fridge haven’t we Philly?’

In the fridge? Oh good God Philly, please say you haven’t. The last time I had their special organic wine I was on the loo all night.

‘I believe we have,’ he replies proudly. ‘Do you want wine too Myrnie?’

I carefully remove the cake I had made from a carrier bag.

‘I made a carrot cake for you,’ I say with a shrug.

She stops in the doorway and puts a hand to her heart. She gives me that dewy-eyed look again and I am reminded of Molly, and I really don’t want to be reminded of Molly because that just reminds me of Edward and I go stupidly dewy too.

‘Oh Ali,’ she says, her eyes filling up, ‘you made it for us? You actually made a cake for us? I don’t know what to say.’

No, I made it for the cats. Who does she think I made it for?

‘Philly, did you hear that?’

‘I did.’

I hope
he isn’t going to well up too but I needn’t have worried for he says,

‘It hasn’t got animal products in it has it?’

That’s gratitude for you.

‘God no,’ replies Charlie.

God yes. I completely forgot.

‘Well, I,’ I stammer.

The room goes uncomfortably silent with all eyes on me.

‘I
… I made it especially,’ I finish. At least that way I don’t admit to using a little butter in the icing do I? Myrna sighs and Phil squeezes me round the waist.

‘She is going to make a wonderful wife, Charlie.’

I try not to squeal as his hand glides upwards and strokes the bottom of my breast. Oh my. Myrna hops from one foot to the other excitedly and I fake a yawn, stretching delicately out of Phil’s embrace.

‘Can I use your loo?’ I ask, rushing there before she has time to
say yes.

I cannot believe that just a matter of days after being back with Charlie I have cystitis. I sit on the loo studying Myrna’s natural birth control chart until I feel dizzy.