State We're In (33 page)

What was I about to say to Martin? How do I really feel about him? Seeing him standing next to Dean, I'm suddenly not certain. Martin's blond openness is in direct contrast to Dean's moody dark looks and manner. Dean is a self-confessed womaniser. He represents everything I'm trying to run away from. Cheats and commitment-phobics. Not that I have reason to believe Dean cheats on the women he dates, but I'm pretty sure he hurts them. I know that countless women who have ended up in his bed will have been distraught when he asked them to flick out the light as they left. He's just the sort of man women fall for hard and fast; he is beautiful and damaged, and by anyone's account that makes him irresistible. Martin stands in front of me – this decent, handsome, worthy man – and I know, absolutely
know
that I'm right. He is perfect marrying material. He will make a wonderful husband. He will be faithful and steadfast, which can't be underestimated and should never be undervalued.

And I know, absolutely know, he won't be my husband. He's Gloria's man.

I clear my throat. ‘So as I was saying before we were interrupted, there's something I just have to tell you …' I cast a quick glance at Dean, who looks totally panicked. He starts babbling on about getting drinks in and asking about the music at the service. If he dared, I'm pretty sure he'd actually gag me right now. I cut through him. ‘I came here to say that Gloria is right: I was a lunatic to allow you to slip through my fingers, but hey, my loss is her gain. Right?' I beam, making it clear I'm simply sprinkling the sort of appropriate compliment that a pally but balanced ex might make on a wedding day. Martin's face becomes gymnastic; it springs between bemusement and vindication. ‘I'm very sorry that I messed things up, you know, before. But I'm so glad you've found happiness now. I just wanted to be here on your big day.'

‘This time. She wanted to be here this time,' Dean can't resist adding. He's clearly cast himself as a bit of a joker. Maybe he thinks he has to be in order to fake being my date.

I lean towards Martin and pull him into a hug. It's a generous hug between friends. I don't try and inappropriately push my breasts into his chest, I don't whisper anything into his ear. I don't make it any harder than I already have. And when I let him go, I try not to think of Gloria's words. I try not to think that this is my last chance of happiness and it's slipping through my fingers.

‘S
o we're staying?' Dean asked Jo, the moment Martin had excused himself, something about having to check on the whereabouts of the ushers. She nodded mournfully. ‘Good choice. If we leave now, it's going to look weird.'

He led her to a seat in the room where the service was to take place. Some of the guests had arrived now and were quietly chatting or listening to the 1950s love ballads that played gently in the background. Dean wondered whether the dulcet honeyed tones of the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, the Platters and Dean Martin singing about love affairs taking place when the world seemed shinier and easier would help soothe Jo or inflame her further. They settled on seats, two thirds of the way back, on the groom's side. Jo immediately picked up the order of service and pretended to be interested in the details. Dean could tell she wasn't. She was deflated. Lost.

‘Thanks for coming,' she muttered, clearly embarrassed at how close she'd got to the edge, how close she'd been to jumping.

‘I didn't want to miss the drama,' Dean replied with a shrug.

‘It seems to me that you came here to ensure there wasn't any drama.'

Dean wasn't absolutely certain why he was at the wedding. He just hadn't been able to stay away. ‘You did the right thing.'

‘Then why does it hurt so much?' Jo bent forward and let her head drop into her hands; her hair fell across her face, effectively stopping Dean from reading her expression. ‘I am such a monumental screw-up. No job, no home, no future,' she moaned woefully as a thought struck her. ‘Oh God, what will I tell my parents?'

‘Your parents?' One thing Dean had never experienced was a sense of obligation to his parents. Until this moment he'd never seen an upside to their neglect, but now he accepted that, since they crawled around in a pungent dung of failure and inadequacy, at least he wasn't ever plagued by a sense that
he
could let
them
down; it would be impossible.

‘My parents are so complete. So happy and perfect. They can't understand how I've gone so badly wrong.' Dean wasn't convinced. He didn't believe that happiness and perfection existed, but if it did and they were so happy, why would they be down on their daughter? Surely they'd just feel bad for her. Jo continued, ‘I should have just married him five years ago. Why didn't I?' She looked around the room, full of the scent of lilies and the lyrics of love songs. This wedding was certainly set to be as beautiful as Gloria could have hoped and Jo could have feared. It was hard letting it all go.

Dean reached out instinctively and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear so he could see her face more clearly. She looked startled. ‘He isn't the One, Jo.'

‘You don't even believe in the One.'

He didn't, never had, but she needed cheering up. He didn't like to see her this way. He paused and then offered, ‘I'm proud of you.'

‘Of me? How can you possibly be proud of me?' Jo asked with obvious incredulity.

‘Two things. First calling off your wedding five years ago.'

‘But that was just
stupid
,' Jo wailed.

‘I think it was brave. Most people would have gone ahead, but you didn't because you believed in the One and you didn't think it was him. Whether you are prepared to admit it now or not, at the time you wanted more.'

‘But I was wrong.'

‘Not necessarily. Maybe there
is
more. Maybe you're right and I am wrong.'

Jo moved her head a fraction, trying to bring that idea into focus. She had never considered the fact that calling off her wedding was brave. She thought of it as shameful, embarrassing and stupid, and other than that fraction of time – the moment before she did actually call it off – she'd never even thought her decision was justified. It was almost impossible to do so, considering the fallout: the expense to her parents, Martin's pain and her own subsequent, endless disappointments.

But looking around now, she saw a room full of jubilant guests ready to celebrate a marriage between two people who quite possibly (oh let's face it, quite
probably
) were much better suited than she and Martin ever were. Maybe, just maybe she'd been right. She brightened a fraction and straightened her back a millimetre or two. ‘You said two things.' She fished for another affirmation.

‘You didn't screw up their wedding today. You came to your senses. Well done. You probably didn't need me here to help you do the right thing.'

‘Maybe, but I am so glad you
are
here,' replied Jo with her signature honesty that made him smile. Then she took hold of his hand, laced her fingers through his and squeezed. ‘What happened to your hand?'

‘I punched a wall.'

‘I see.' Next, she gently brought his swollen and tender hand up to her mouth and kissed it. Her lips were hot and soft. They lingered. The gesture was one of infinite gratitude, and (although Dean couldn't swear on this) maybe it was a gesture that hinted at a deeper fervour. She saw the surprise on his face. ‘I'm just staying in character,' she explained.

For the first time since they'd met, Dean was unsure whether she was telling the truth, but he didn't get the chance to probe, because her phone beeped. She looked at it and sighed.

‘That's my sister. It's the fourth time she's called today.'

‘Aren't you going to pick up?'

‘What's the point? I know what she's going to say.'

‘I take it she's against the whole hijack-the-wedding thing?'

‘Probably. I didn't actually tell her what I was doing, although I suppose Mum's filled her in by now, but no, I can't imagine her thinking this is a good idea.'

‘Well, call her. Put her out of her misery. Tell her everything is OK. She's just worried about you.'

‘I can't make a call in here.'

Dean glanced at his watch. ‘We have fifteen minutes before the wedding starts. Come on. Let's go outside. You can call from there.'

Outside the hotel there was a small gaggle of smokers, desperate for their last nicotine hit before the wedding service began. A tall, leggy blonde beamed at Dean, and threw an icy glance Jo's way. Dean smiled back, and Jo rolled her eyes as she peeled away to make her call. The blonde was cute. Clearly she hadn't so much as sniffed a carb for years; she had sharp cheekbones, and notably high tits pushing out of a slight frame, and Dean vaguely wondered whether that was a really good bra or surgery. Normally he'd be able to tell, but he didn't stare for long enough today; his eyes were trained upon Jo. She was chattering into the phone. At first her face looked relieved, almost animated as she spoke, but then she suddenly stopped talking and her jaw fell limp, hung open. Her colour drained. Dean looked to the pavement, fully expecting her vibrancy to be pooled on the floor at her feet. She'd begun to shake.

‘W
here the hell have you been, Jo? I've been trying to reach you for twenty-four hours.' Lisa's accusatory tone runs down the line and spits out on to the Chicago streets. I look up to the sky. The clouds are clearing and there's the smallest patch of blue sky appearing. I take a deep breath and flirt with the idea that maybe it's going to turn out beautiful after all, despite my sister's furious tone.

‘I'm in Chicago,' I reveal.

‘At Martin's wedding?' She's incredulous.

‘Yes.'

‘Oh God, Mum said you'd mentioned going over there, but I never thought you'd go through with it.'

‘Mum encouraged me to come here.'

‘Mum did?'

‘Yes.'

‘She probably wanted you out of the way.'

I'm unsure as to what Lisa can possibly mean. I know I'm not always considered a veritable addition to family gatherings, but I don't think my parents ever actively want me out of the way. I decide not to tackle Lisa but instead reassure her that I haven't done anything crazy. ‘Anyway, look, it's all been a bit of a storm in a teacup in the end. There's nothing to worry about.'

‘Jo, I'm calling because—'

‘Don't panic. There's no need for everyone to get worked up. I can guess exactly why you are calling, but I'm not going to try to stop the wedding.'

‘No, actually, Jo—'

‘I think I got a bit carried away. You know? Sometimes, Lisa – and please don't take this the wrong way – it's hard for me. You're so happy. Mark and Katie are so happy. Mum and Dad are celebrating yet another wedding anniversary this weekend. You guys all float around in a cloud of marital bliss and I'm left out. I haven't pulled it off.' I look up and glance around for Dean. I'm fully expecting him to be flirting with the buxom blonde who was eyeing him up as we came outside, but he's staring right at me as though I'm interesting. I smile. He smiles. For a moment I lose sight of what I'm saying to Lisa. What was it? Something about being lonely, left out. I don't feel quite so forlorn or isolated as his smile settles in my head and soul. I force myself back to the conversation with Lisa. ‘It's not about the big day like people think it is. Because I worked on a bridal magazine, OK, maybe I did get a bit obsessed. They think that's all I'm interested in, but it's not.'

‘Jo—'

‘It's more than that. I think I just panicked. I felt sad, a bit lonely.'

‘Jo—'

‘Simply put, I want what you guys have.'

‘Jo,
shut up
!
Let me get a word in. Mum's left Dad.'

‘What?' I have to have misheard. Or misunderstood.

‘Mum has left Dad.'

The world slows around me. It's as though gravity has just been switched off. I float out of myself, but not in a happy, dreamlike state; rather, I feel I've lost any sense of order or control, my stomach is churning and my head is foggy. It simply doesn't make sense. I cannot compute what she's saying. I hear the words but they don't fit together, I can't understand them. ‘That's impossible.'

‘She had an affair.'

‘What?'

‘Years ago. But the guy wrote to her from his deathbed and all hell has broken loose.'

‘She had an affair?'

‘Get past that. What I'm telling you is that the guy she had an affair with wrote to her saying that simply remembering her broke through the pain of his cancer. Apparently she had this moment of awakening where she admitted to herself that Dad's love has never been like that and that Dad's love isn't enough.'

‘Why not? What does she mean? Dad's love is just fine,' I stutter.

‘Well, apparently not. Jo, there's something else …' What more could there be? Lisa takes a deep breath; I can hear it all these miles away. My big sister is finding this difficult to articulate. She too thinks the world has tilted. ‘Dad is gay.'

C
lara returned to the hospital. It horrified her and fascinated her, in equal measures, that he still held the same dreadful power over her, but she could not keep away. This morning she had dressed in a hurry and taken a cab to the station to dash to London to be by his bedside. She was drinking him up. A thirsty woman after a drought. He was not the vital, vivacious man who had seduced her unequivocally, unreservedly, unconditionally. He had lost his looks, his health and any vague hope that they had a future together, however slight that chance might have been. They were all about pasts now, but still she could not do anything other than return to him. It used to be about her body. Back then. She used to ache for his touch; she'd felt actual pain if days went by and they could not find a way to be together. Her breasts ached, her groin ached. He'd soothe her; the relentless licking and kissing and having soothed whether it was in the back of a car, in a stranger's office or on a bed in a discreet hotel. Now it was about her soul. She needed to understand this man who had shaped her life, because she still ached. The pain was no longer in her breasts or groin. The pain he caused her was in her head and her heart.