Putting Alice Back Together (33 page)

‘You love him?’ And I waited for her to laugh, because once again I’d said the wrong thing, only it wasn’t funny.

Roz nodded.

‘Have you ever told him?’

‘Yes,’ she gasped, as if the word was choking her—the admission killing her. ‘We went out for a drink before I came away.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘That he loved me too.’

I’d seen Roz cry—it was a regular occurrence—but she really cried now, huddled in her little white hotel dressing gown, with her party clothes underneath. She was all bunched up and she cried like the plug was being pulled, sucked in air and dragged it down the gurgler, then it came back out in a shrill wail. Like a Jamaican woman keening, she wailed a lament.

‘I don’t want to go back—not that he’d ever take me back—but I do love him, and knowing that he did love me… that it wasn’t all bad…’ She crumpled. ‘The good bits were good—like when Lizzie was born, like when he used to bring me home noodles when I couldn’t manage dinner, like when we laughed and we bitched…’ I was holding her shoulders as she ranted and raved. ‘When she was a princess in the nativity play. When we got so drunk we had sex on the beach… when my mum got ill and he cuddled me…’ Roz sniffed and dribbled on my beautiful Emilia Hill fake. ‘He cuddled me every night for a week when I was sobbing, even when I woke him… He
loved me. Ninety per cent of me he knew, and he loved me—he just didn’t know the sordid, messed-up bit.’

And I wasn’t a psychologist’s bootlace, but in that second I understood.

He
had
loved me.

In that moment, in
our
moments, even if he hadn’t truly known me, still he
had
loved me.

‘It wasn’t all a sham,’ Roz implored, but she was preaching to the newly converted.

Whatever Lisa thought, I knew I had tasted—albeit briefly—real love.

And I’d lost it too.

And now it was time to face him.

Seventy-Seven

I hate weddings.

More than that, I particularly hate good weddings—watching the happy couple and knowing it isn’t me. Knowing that someone has that other half—for now at least—someone to lean on, someone there. And I’ve never had that, or I did once, but Lisa said it didn’t count, that a few weeks was too short to call it a relationship.

I beg to differ.

My eyes scanned the pews for him, as if I was turning and looking to see if Nicole had arrived, but really I was looking for him—and he wasn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t coming…

Maybe he knew I was coming and has feigned other plans.

I have never stood at a wedding happy.

I loathe being a bridesmaid—Eleanor’s wedding I don’t really remember, but Bonny’s was hell and so too was Nicole’s.

Only it wasn’t hate and jealousy that filled me
today—I was sad, a deep sadness as the organ played the background noise and the church hummed with chatter and colour and hats.

‘I hate weddings.’ Roz rolled her eyes and made me smile, made me feel less alone. ‘They always remind me of mine.’

‘They always remind me of mine too,’ I said, and, because it’s Roz, I didn’t have to elaborate. She picked up the service card.

‘Coffee-coloured,’ Roz said, and we smiled, and then, even before I glanced up, even before I heard or saw anything, I knew he was there. I knew that when I looked up I would see him. I was staring at the words of a hymn, my face was on fire and I knew that the next thing my eyes would see would be him. And I wasn’t ready—I would never, ever be ready to face him, to see him and to not have him.

The King of love my shepherd is
,

Whose goodness faileth never

I nothing lack if I am his

And he is mine for ever
.

I just kept reading this verse over and over.

‘Guess who…?’ Roz started, but I shook my head. She didn’t have to tell me, I already knew. I could hear his lovely voice saying
Excuse me
; I could smell him. Despite all the cologne, the perfume sprayed on people today, I could smell the man who’d just walked past. Only it wasn’t a smell, it’s him, the carbon dioxide he breathed out that I breathed in. And finally I stopped staring down at the hymn and looked up. He was moving
into the pew two rows ahead of us, dressed in a morning suit and looking stunning. Gemma was beside him, pale and dainty, and it killed that it wasn’t me.

He knew everyone, of course. He was in the pew, shaking a couple of hands, and then a man tapped him and Hugh turned around and shook the man’s hand, leant over and kissed the cheek of a woman, and then his eyes met mine. Just for a fraction, as he pulled his head back he gave me, I don’t know what to call it, a short grim smile is the best I can come up with. It was a brief, polite acknowledgment, and I gave a very brief one back and then he turned his back to me.

He went to sit but the bridal march had started so he stayed standing in a room that rose and Gemma rose to stand with him. We all turned around to watch Nic enter, but I didn’t turn quickly enough. I watched him lower his head as he said something to Gemma, I watched her hand slip into his, and I watched him hold it tightly, and my heart was shredded, but still beating.

And I would get through this.

This too will pass.

Hugh sings loudly.

Funny, the things you learn. Two pews in front of me and I could hear his voice, and even Roz nudged me and we shared a grin, ‘cos he really does sing loudly.

It came to the verse I love, and I love music, singing, and if I closed my eyes I could hear only Hugh—a gorgeous deep baritone voice that I hadn’t known existed.

‘Perverse and foolish oft I strayed

But yet in love he sought me

And on his shoulder gently laid

And home rejoicing brought me. ‘

And I heard his voice waver for a second and I wondered if he was thinking about me, because when I had strayed (oft) Hugh hadn’t sought me; he had left me to it.

Which was right and everything.

I just wanted his shoulder now.

But it wasn’t mine—so I let him go.

I did what Yasmin said I should do ages ago, I stood there and cut the strings and sent him off with a smile—and I made a wish too.

A sensible wish rather than an order.

That when I was ready, when the universe thought I was ready, it would send me another perfect guy.

The universe’s choice this time—I gave it full leeway—yes, even a redhead.

And then it got to the
‘In Death’s dark veil’
bit…

The bit I was dreading. And something happened—something I wasn’t expecting—and, given my history, you may put this down to a slightly manic moment, a teeny psychosis, even, but it wasn’t.

I was past all that.

I know there is a heaven, or a place like that, and that I will get to hold her again.

I found out at Nicole’s wedding.

I stood, sharing a hymnbook with Roz and hearing Hugh’s voice, and doing my absolute best to hold it together. I looked up to blow out a breath—that sort when you’re trying not to cry—and I heard the organ and the words, saw the sun on the stained-glass windows and
felt the music vibrate and rise to the heavens, and heaven sent something back to me.

And I know I will get to hold her again, because for a second, as that line was sung, I was holding Lydia.

Sounds mad, I know, but it is my second clean-and-perfect memory and, even though I love the one with Hugh, if I only get one memory to take to the nursing home with me, I want it to be that one.

When I got to hold her again.

Fuck, I hate weddings, especially good ones, with bells and the organ and Nicole. And, yes, maybe Roz was right, because Nicole
did
have a rather large bouquet covering her, er, suddenly ample figure—and I especially hate that bit when you sort of got stuck in the crowd spilling out, and I ended up, for this clashing second, walking down the aisle next to my ex, or whatever I was supposed to define him as.

And I loathe photos, especially watching Hugh, throwing his head back and laughing over something Gemma said. And it was freezing. Lovely and frosty and romantic—but freezing.

Now just the night to get through—oh, and the speeches and dinner.

Thankfully we weren’t at the same table. He was up with his mother, Aunty Cheryl and all the Watson clan, and Roz and I were stuck with friends of Paul’s who would make your eyes cross, they were so boring.

We had bonbons.

A little glass cup and saucer filled with not sugar-coated almonds but sugar-coated coffee beans.

‘Alice.’ Nicole fell on my neck later in the night and held me. ‘I love the hair.’

‘I love the cleavage.’ Nicole blushed and her mouth opened to tell me, to share, but she blew out a breath, and I know they’d probably decided not to reveal till after the wedding, but this was me.

I didn’t want it in an email.

I was happy for her, and I was sad too.

I wasn’t jealous about her baby.

I can say that is the absolute truth.

I was sad for her for different reasons, but I hoped it was wasted—that she really was as ecstatic as she said she was.

We chatted for a moment and all she gave me were details, details, details.

About how they’d wanted the Billy Joel version but it had been Barry White who had sung ‘Just the Way You Are’.

Why didn’t she listen?

Not to me, or to Billy or Barry, but to the words of the song she had chosen.

And then she got called away.

‘You’d think he’d discovered the shagging coffee bean!’ I was savage as Roz and I stepped into the cool night air. And the universe was supposed to be kind, but sometimes I wonder. I mean, I am so much nicer now, so much less bitchy and judgmental, but the one time I allow myself a brief respite, the one time I let myself shine in a rather non-glorious fashion, Roz went red in the face and I was caught in mid-bitch with the man who thought I was the world’s biggest…

‘How are you doing?’

‘Great.’ I smile, cringing, cringing inside. ‘It’s a lovely wedding.’

‘Really?’ Hugh gave me a strange look. ‘It’s fucking awful—the cake is coffee-flavoured—she’s a lawyer and they’ve themed the wedding on coffee.’

Thank you, universe!

‘I’ll go inside.’ Roz smiles, a few idle minutes of chatter later. ‘You stay and have another cigarette.’

And I was alone with him.

‘It’s good to see you,’ I said, because it was good—and bad and horrible—but mostly bloody good.

‘It’s hell seeing you.’ He stared right at me and I could see his anger and it was merited.

‘I’m sorry.’ More sorry than he could ever know, in fact. ‘I really am sorry for what I put you through, Hugh.’ There—I’d said it. ‘I’m going inside.’

‘I thought you were having another cigarette.’

‘I don’t smoke any more.’

‘But Roz said…’

‘We still nip outside.’ I gave a thin smile. ‘When it gets too much it’s a good excuse to get away…’

‘You’ve really given it up?’

‘Yep.’ I just wanted away from him, couldn’t stand to be so close and not touch him.

‘Is it too much tonight?’ Hugh asked. ‘Did you need an excuse to get out of there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because of me?’

‘Because of me,’ I said, and I’d promised I wouldn’t cry in front of him, I’d promised I wouldn’t make a fool of myself, but I’d also promised to be honest. I could feel my nose burning, feel my throat tighten as I nodded, and I didn’t boo-hoo, but a couple of tears shot out as I answered him. ‘It’s hell to see you too.’

‘I’m sorry too. I just…’ He scrunched his eyes closed. ‘I was crazy about you, Alice, but it was too hard. I shouldn’t have said all that I said. I wanted to help you, but…’

‘You get enough at work…’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe I just couldn’t stand watching you self-destruct. I should have…’

‘You couldn’t help me, Hugh. I had to do that bit myself…’

I had.

How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?

One.

But it has to want to change.

It is a stupid joke—and I hate jokes—I never get them, but this is one of the few that I understand.

It isn’t actually a joke—at least, I no longer find it that funny.

It’s true.

For a while I had wanted to lie with Dan for ever, but he had made me get up.

For ages it was better that Roz answered the phone.

Roz had let me shelter in victim mode.

Roz would have loved me if I’d stayed there for ever.

Truth be told, Roz didn’t like her baby growing up.

But she worked on herself too.

And there was Bonny and Nicole and Hugh and all things complicated, but the only person who could do the big bit was me.

The only person who could change me was me.

We walked twice around the lake, our breath white in the cold winter air, and then we sat down and I told
him—all of it. I told him about Gus and what had happened, and I spoke too about Roz, about the choices that she’d made and about her daughter and Andrew and I sort of jumbled it all out. And given his job, he was a good listener. Well, he had to be because I couldn’t stop. I told him—about my music and my hair and the money and the chaos, how Roz had helped me and how I had helped myself.

How the worst thing that could happen was that you couldn’t talk to your parents—and that Roz and Lizzie were getting there now. And that Lizzie was seventeen too and we could just hope to God that by talking, by being honest, by being able to come to Roz, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes we had.

Earlier in this conversation I had told him about Lydia, but when we stopped at a bench I told him properly.

Not all.

It wasn’t about him.

There are bits of me so private, and I don’t have to reveal all to anyone.

I told him what I chose to.

‘I miss her.’

I felt his hand on my shoulder.

‘All she could have been…’