The Nearly-Weds (30 page)

‘I don’t care what Amber says,’ I say, ‘there’s
definitely
chemistry between them.’

‘You’re not looking hard enough,’ Trudie points out. ‘I don’t think she’s trying to deny it any more.’

Puzzled, I look again – and realize exactly what Trudie’s talking about: they’re holding hands.

‘They’re not!’ I exclaim. ‘They didn’t! They couldn’t! They’re an item?’

Trudie sniggers. ‘Amber apparently decided – despite the non-alignment of their moons – that their stars were on the same trajectory so that made it okay. Or summat like that.’

I’m shaking my head when I feel someone jab my shoulder sharply.

‘I haven’t seen Ryan this whole party,’ Felicity declares, looking as happy as someone who’s just had their wheels clamped. ‘Can you tell me where he is, please?’

‘Er, I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘I last saw him getting some more beers from the garage but . . . Is there anything I can help you with, Felicity?’

‘I doubt it,’ she snaps, and turns on her heel.

‘Have I done something to offend her?’ I ask, bewildered.

‘No idea, love.’ Trudie shrugs. ‘She’s not said anything to me. I was with her one afternoon last week so I’m sure she would have mentioned it if there was something wrong. Oh, speaking of which, I meant to tell you . . .’

‘What?’

‘I’m really sorry, but I let slip about you and Ryan.’

‘Oh, Trudie,’ I groan. ‘What if she tells Tallulah and
she
tells Ruby and Samuel? We didn’t want them to know. I mean, it’s only a fling.’

‘I know, I know,’ Trudie insists. ‘But she’ll definitely keep it quiet. Honestly, I made her swear on her Laura Ashley shoe collection she wouldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Sorry, love.’

I’m annoyed with Trudie. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be
too
annoyed – she’s one of those people I find it impossible to be cross with.

However, I do want to satisfy myself that Felicity will keep her mouth shut. I follow in the direction she went, through the throngs of people in the hall and down the corridor to the kitchen. I spot her from behind, her hand on her hip and one arm leaning on the door frame.

‘So, how do you like my outfit?’ she’s saying to someone, before I have a chance to approach her. ‘Appropriate, don’t you think?’

‘How’s that?’

I recognize the voice from the kitchen immediately. It’s Ryan’s.

I find myself shuffling backwards behind the pillar in the hallway so that I can hear what they’re saying without being seen. It’s the sort of thing people do in Agatha Christie films – and I almost kick myself for not dressing up as someone from
Death on the Nile.

‘You mean you can’t tell?’ Felicity laughs. ‘Oh, darling Ryan, my darling, darling Ryan. You Americans really should read more. I’m Juliet, of course. As in
Romeo and Juliet.
As in the pet name you gave me.’

My blood runs cold. Juliet. Never mind Juliet as in
Romeo and Juliet.
How about Juliet as in Ryan’s letter-writer? It can’t be true. Surely to God Felicity isn’t behind those?

‘My recollection,’ replies Ryan sternly, ‘is that
you
gave yourself that nickname. I told you I’d read more Steinbeck than Shakespeare.’

Felicity throws up her hands in despair. ‘You’re such a spoilsport. Well, I don’t care what you say, you’re still my Romeo. There’s no wriggling out of it. But, then, that’s not all you are, is it?’

‘Felicity,’ Ryan snaps, with a sharpness that could have sliced a lemon, ‘I don’t have time for this. I have guests to attend to.’

‘You’re a liar as well,’ she states.

‘That’s enough. I’m not having this conversation.’

‘Charming, I must say.’ She tuts. ‘And to think you didn’t even invite me to the party. After all we’ve been through.’

‘You’re right,’ he replies. ‘I didn’t invite you. So how come you’re here?’

‘I was invited by your new girlfriend.’

Ryan doesn’t say anything.

‘Does poor little Zoe know what a liar you are yet?’

Ryan still doesn’t speak.

‘No,’ she responds for him. ‘I bet she doesn’t. I bet she’s caught up in the whirlwind romance you caught me up in too, isn’t she? So, when are you going to throw her away like yesterday’s trash? Because that’s what happens to all of the women in your life, isn’t it, Ryan? You hook them in with the I’ve-got-such-an-injured-soul-because-of-my-poor-dead-wife routine. Then you seduce them. Then you get bored with them. Then you dump them. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘Well, maybe, Felicity. Maybe you’ve managed to analyse my personality. Maybe you know me better than anyone else after only two fucks and—’

‘Three!’ she squeals.

‘Whatever. The point I’m making is, you
don’t
know me. You don’t know what’s going on in my life. And I don’t want you to, either.’

Then his voice softens. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m genuinely sorry. Because I didn’t mean to. Really I didn’t.’

‘Well that’s hardly any conso—’

‘But, as I’ve told you before, it wasn’t anything more than . . . Look, Felicity.’ He sighs. ‘It’s over. And I’d just like to get on with my life without any more of those letters. Please.’

He sounds genuinely regretful, as if he’s reaching out to her to see reason and hopes, perhaps naïvely, that there can be some sort of resolution to this. But if Felicity was a cartoon character I suspect steam would be coming out of her ears.

‘Can I point something out to you?’ she snaps. ‘About Zoe and about me?’

‘If you must,’ he says wearily.

‘I attended the Institut Villa Pierrefeu finishing-school. I speak four languages. I have prospective employers fighting over me.
And
I am a perfect size four.
She
, on the other hand, is a comprehensive-school flunkey who – when she’s not dressing as a seven-foot yellow canary – is dressing from Dorothy Perkins!’

‘Dorothy Perkins?’ Ryan repeats, mystified.

Felicity nods, as if she’s just revealed something tantamount to my having contracted a deadly contagious disease.

I’m waiting for Ryan to jump to my defence. To say he doesn’t give a toss that I dressed as Big Bird – in fact, he thought it was the best costume since someone won an Oscar for
Moulin Rouge.
To say that he thinks Chanel is overrated and, actually, he’d choose a woman who dressed at Dorothy Perkins any day of the week.

To say something – anything – that tells Felicity once and for all what he really feels about me. I’m waiting with such bated breath my lungs feel like they’re about to implode.

‘Whatever,’ he replies.

‘Whatever?’ repeats Felicity. For the first time in this conversation, I feel almost as exasperated as she clearly does.

‘Felicity, you’ve nothing to be jealous of when it comes to Zoe,’ he continues.

‘I never said I was jealou—’

‘It’s just a fling,’ he interrupts. ‘Nothing more than a fling.’

Chapter 73

I creep backwards and lose myself in the packed hallway until I stumble across Trudie. She’s with Ruby, Samuel, Eamonn and Andrew and they’re singing such a tuneless version of ‘Silent Night’ that I’m amazed everyone’s eardrums remain intact.

‘You okay to watch Ruby and Samuel for a bit longer?’ I ask, surprised to hear my voice wobbling. ‘I need to go for a walk.’

‘Course.’ She nods. ‘Something up?’

‘Oh, nothing. I’m feeling a bit light-headed after my fall. A bit of fresh air might do me good.’

I make my way through the house, feeling claustrophobic and numb. I’m suffocated by the colour and noise of the party – glasses clinking, children laughing, music pounding.

I feel a flicker of relief when I spot the conservatory door, which opens on to the garden, and I head towards it single-mindedly.

‘Hey, Zoe,’ I hear someone say. I feel a hand tighten on my elbow and turn hazily. It’s Amber.

‘You’ve heard about Paul and me, then?’ she whispers, with a beaming smile.

‘Oh, er, yes,’ I reply vaguely. ‘I – I’m really happy for you, Amber. I thought you’d make a good couple.’

‘We do, don’t we?’ she says dreamily. ‘You were absolutely right. I mean, cosmically speaking, we’re not a perfect match but . . . well, he’s lovely. And I suppose that’s all that matters.’

I try to smile and feel guilty that it proves so difficult. I’m happy for Amber, really I am, but her budding relationship is the last thing on my mind. ‘When did you get together?’ I manage. It’s the only question I can think of.

‘We’ve been going out for a couple of weeks now. I bumped into him while I was shopping and we went for a coffee. He’s one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met,’ she continues. ‘He’s . . .
deep
in a way I’ve never encountered before.’

‘Deep,’ I repeat.

‘Mmm.’ She nods. ‘Deep
and
nice. It’s a wonderful combination. So, what about you, Zoe?’ she asks. ‘Hasn’t there been anybody over here who’s taken your fancy? I’m sure you haven’t been short of admirers.’

I glance up and see Ryan entering the room as he uncorks a bottle of wine. He catches my eye and smiles. Suddenly I feel dizzy. ‘Uh, sorry, Amber, I need to step outside for a minute,’ I tell her.

‘Are you okay? You’re a bit pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ I mutter. ‘Honestly. Thanks for asking.’

As I step outside, I breathe deeply and the cold air fills my lungs. I head towards the bottom of the garden where no one can see me, Ryan’s words echoing in my head.

I know I’ve said it myself time and time again, but hearing
him
say it had stung so badly.

It’s only a fling . . . nothing more than a fling.

I fight back tears and gaze up into the dense, cloudy sky. Why am I so bothered about it? Isn’t it exactly how
I
’d seen our relationship? Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me and spin round, hoping and dreading in equal measure that it might be Ryan.

But it isn’t. It’s Felicity.

‘I saw you creeping off, you know.’

Her staccato voice grates on me.

‘Right,’ I reply coldly. In the light of what I overheard her saying, this isn’t much of a comeback. But I’m afraid that if I try to say anything else I’ll cry.

‘You heard what I said, didn’t you?’ she asks.

I nod.

‘I’m sorry, Zoe,’ she offers, lowering her head.

‘Are you?’ I ask, hoping I sound at least a
bit
formidable now. Not like someone who’d lose at conkers with a five-year-old.

‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘I am. But let me explain something to you. What Ryan did to me was so
awful
, he’s turned me into a – a
monster.
I’m convinced of it. And I’m not a monster, Zoe, really I’m not. You know that, don’t you?’

‘What about all those weird letters?’ I say, exasperated. ‘Forgive me for saying this, Felicity, but that isn’t my definition of well-balanced behaviour.’

She bursts into tears. I don’t just mean a little sniffle, either. I mean spontaneous, uncontrollable, struggling-for-breath crying. It’s one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen. I hadn’t thought Felicity was built with tear ducts until now.

‘I – I know,’ she manages, between sobs. ‘You’re – you’re absolutely r-right. B-believe me, if you’d told me a year ago that I’d be sending letters to my unrequited love I wouldn’t have believed you. It’s not very . . . dignified, is it?’

‘No, Felicity.’ I sigh. ‘It’s not.’

‘I loved him, Zoe. I really, really loved him. I don’t know if you can understand that. Have you ever loved someone who didn’t return it? Have you, Zoe?’

Have I ever loved someone who didn’t return it?
Oh, God, if only she knew. Despite an acute sense of irony, I feel compelled to put my arm round her. As I reach over to her and pull her towards me, I’m shocked by how fragile she feels. Her shoulder is so bony I’m surprised an anatomy student hasn’t mistaken her for a study aid.

‘Let me tell you something about unrequited love, Zoe,’ she says. ‘It hurts like mad.’

I close my eyes. ‘I probably understand more than you think,’ I mutter.

Felicity has acted like a fool, but I understand the torture she’s been through. I understand what it’s like to be consumed by desire for someone you were once so close to – but you know will never be yours again.

‘Do you, Zoe?’ She sniffs. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Can I tell you something?’ she continues, with reddened eyes.

‘Of course.’

‘And, believe me,’ she says, ‘I say this with no hidden agenda now. I’m saying this as your friend.’

I nod reluctantly.

‘All those things I said to Ryan back there – I said them because I was angry and hurt.’

‘I know.’

‘A lot of it was nonsense – the things I said about you were awful.’

‘Look, don’t worry about it,’ I say dismissively. ‘It’s water under the bridge.’

‘But,’
she interrupts, ‘there was one part of it I meant. One part of it, Zoe, is absolutely true.’

I pull back and study her face. She’s completely sincere. There’s no doubt about that.

‘Ryan is using you, Zoe. That’s what he does. I don’t think he can help it. When I was with him, I followed a long line of women he’d been out with after Amy’s death. Women he used then threw away without a second thought. The fact is, he’s not in love with you or me or anyone. Unfortunately I think he’s still in love with his wife. ’

‘You’ve got Ryan and me wrong, Felicity,’ I tell her finally. ‘Ryan and I . . . it’s just a—’

‘A fling?’

I don’t answer.

‘That’s exactly what I thought when he and I were together, Zoe. But isn’t he getting under your skin? Aren’t you starting to miss him when he’s not there? To enjoy the feel of his arms round you a little too much?’

‘I – I don’t know.’

‘The point I’m making, Zoe – as your friend and nothing else – is that if you don’t get out
now
you’ll end up as hurt and as damaged by it as I am.’

Chapter 74

I head back into the house to look for the children, so disoriented by everything I’ve heard in the past hour that I feel as if I’ve stepped off a merry-go-round.