The Nearly-Weds (36 page)

‘This wedding is supposed to be low-key,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t want the whole of Merseyside reading about it in the paper.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she scolds, clearly convinced that this is the chance of a lifetime. ‘They thought it would make a lovely article, a young woman left at the altar finally getting her man.’

My heart sinks.

‘I can see the headline now,’ Mum continues gleefully,

“‘
SECOND TIME LUCKY AS BRIDE ZOE BOUNCES BACK
”. Oh – that’s quite good! I should do this for a living!’

‘So it
was
you who invited them.’

‘Er, now, let me introduce you to Michelle,’ says Mum, ignoring me. ‘She’s a journalist.’

‘Um, hi. I’m Mandy.’ The reporter offers me her hand. ‘I’m, um, not quite a journalist yet. I’m on work experience. But your mum’s right. The newsdesk are really keen on your story.’

‘Look, I— Sorry, but I don’t want to do this,’ I tell her apologetically. ‘I wanted to keep things low-key. No one knows about this wedding yet. I really am sorry.’

‘Oh,’ she says dejectedly. ‘Well, never mind. It’s your day. I do understand.’

‘Thanks—’

‘It’s just . . . I was hoping this would be my big break. They were planning to use the story on page three. I was going to use the cutting to get into journalism college.’

I sigh.

‘Don’t worry.’ She sniffs. ‘Working in Netto isn’t that bad.’

I groan. ‘Oh, God, all right. Be quick about it, though.’

After a two-minute interview and three hastily composed photographs – all of which Mum managed somehow to pop up in – I usher her inside, blow my nose again, and attempt to pull myself together.

‘Make sure you turn your phone off,’ Dad tells me.

‘Oh, yeah. Of course,’ I say, feeling queasier than ever.

I’m about to take my phone out of my little satin bag when I feel an overwhelming urge to ask Trudie something. ‘Trudie,’ I whisper, ‘I don’t suppose . . . I mean . . .’

‘What?’ she asks.

‘Did you tell Ryan you were coming over for my wedding?’

Trudie hesitates for a second. Then she nods. ‘Yeah, hon. I did. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No,’ I assure her, feeling my spirits lift momentarily. ‘I just . . . So he knows I’m getting married? He knows I’m getting married
today? Now? Here?
’

She nods again.

‘Okay. I just wondered, that’s all.’ I bite my lip as I look at my phone. There are no missed calls.

We enter the main entrance hall and are greeted by a fluffy-haired woman who, despite the tight-fitting navy skirt suit, still reminds me of Mrs Beeton.

‘Zoe?’

I nod.

‘I’m one of the assistants. You’re in there.’ She indicates a room to her right. ‘Jason’s waiting for you. He’s very excited.’

So, this time he turned up.

I know I should feel elated, but I don’t. I just feel weird. Tense. Those bloody sinus tablets have a hell of a lot to answer for.

‘You ready, love?’ asks Dad.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

The huge doors open simultaneously.

Jason turns and beams.

His parents exchange a contented glance.

And Mum dabs her eyes with a tissue, like she does at the end of
The Sound of Music.

I glide to the front of the room, feeling as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. When I reach Jason, Trudie and my dad fall back. Then the registrar begins talking. He talks and talks. But I can’t take in what he says because I’ve got champagne and medicine swirling round my system and all I can hear are four little words:
Ryan, where are you?

I turn and glare at the door, repeating the words slowly and silently as tears prick the backs of my eyes.

Ryan. Where are you?

Then, as if I’m waking from a dream, I hear the registrar saying my name, imploring me to respond. But before I get the chance, another thought charges into my head, like a white knight who isn’t in the mood to be argued with. It’s something I’ve known all along, deep down.

I want Ryan.

I need Ryan.

Christ almighty, I’m in love with Ryan!

‘Zoe?’ Jason grips my arm. ‘What’s going on?’

I turn to the door again, willing it to burst open.

But it doesn’t. And I have to come to terms with a truth so unbelievably disappointing that it shocks me to the core: Ryan isn’t going to rescue me.

‘Shit,’ I hear myself saying. ‘Shit, shit, and double shit.’

‘Zoe, you’re scaring me,’ says Jason. ‘Is everything all right?’

I realize – just as I feel the urge to blow my nose again – that I’ve got to tell him what has only just become clear to me.

‘Doh, Jason,’ I say. My nose got the better of me.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I repeat. ‘Everything’s not all right.’

His eyes widen and there’s a collective gasp.

I turn back to the door, still hoping. It remains resolutely shut.

If no one is going to rescue me – if
Ryan
isn’t going to rescue me – I’ll just have to rescue myself.

‘Trudie, can I have another tissue?’ I ask, holding out my hand. There’s a sigh of relief as she hands me one.

‘God,’ mutters Jason, ‘I thought for a second you were about to say you weren’t going through with it, not that you just needed to blow your nose.’

Everyone collapses into giggles. The registrar, Trudie, my mum, Jason’s parents . . .

‘Jason,’ I say, ‘that
is
what I meant. I don’t want to go through with it. I’m sorry, but I really don’t.’

Chapter 88

Mum is banging on the door of the register-office lavatory so hard I’m convinced her fist is about to burst through it. ‘Zoe!’ she howls. ‘Zoe! Come out here
this instant!
This is your mother talking and – and you’re to do as you’re told!’

I unravel another piece of loo roll and blow my nose. It’s cheap, crinkly paper, so far from my Super Duper Ultra Soothing Balm tissues that when I wipe my nose it feels as if it’s laced with fibreglass.

‘Zoe!’
cries Mum, her voice rising to the pitch of a battling alley cat. ‘This is
ridiculous
, young lady. We know you’re in there.’

Next I hear Trudie’s voice.

‘Listen, Mrs Moore,’ she says softly, ‘why don’t you have a cup of tea and let me have a go?’

‘With respect, Trudie,’ says Mum, sighing, ‘Zoe is
my
daughter. What she needs at this moment is her mother. So, if you’ll please—’

‘Just give us a minute, will you, Mum?’ I interrupt, through the door.

‘Zoe!’
she squawks. ‘Never mind
give you a minute!
Get out here this instant and get down that aisle. We’ve only booked a twenty-five-minute slot, which means you’ve got precisely two and a half minutes to get your act together. The next wedding’s waiting outside. Now, get your skates on, girlie!’

I take a deep breath, then stand up and open the door.

‘Mum—’

She grabs my arm and attempts to pull me towards the exit, but I clutch the loo door like a stroppy toddler who won’t go to bed.

‘What are you
doing?
’ she shrieks, dropping my arm, but not the subject. ‘Come
on!
You’ve got to be quick!’

I stand my ground. ‘Please let me say something, Mum.’

‘But—’

‘Ssh!’ I hold my finger authoritatively to my lips. ‘Ssh. Don’t say a word until I’ve finished.’

‘Zoe, I—’

‘Ssh!’ I repeat, my finger to my lips again.

I don’t think I’ve ever told my mum to ssh! before. Despite the circumstances, a tiny, wicked part of me enjoys it.

Mum purses her lips. Then, reluctantly, she nods.

‘The first thing I want to say to you, Mum, is that I’m very sorry for what you’ve been through. No mother of the bride should have to go through two weddings without her daughter ending up married at either of them.’

‘Well, you can easily change that—’

‘Mum!’ I hold up my finger again. Her mouth closes – but with so much effort it’s like watching someone trying to shut the boot of an overpacked Mini.

‘But I’ve got to do what I think is right,’ I continue. ‘And the fact is that – that Jason isn’t the man for me.’

‘Is this your idea of getting revenge on him?’ she asks sternly. ‘For standing you up the first time?’

‘No, Mum. It’s not. I was angry about what Jason did. In fact, I was devastated. But I
forgave
him – I forgave him to the extent that I was willing to try again. At least, I thought I was.’

‘So why the big turnaround?’ She’s exasperated.

I sigh. ‘Jason’s . . . lovely. In fact, I’m sure he’ll make someone a great husband. But, Mum, it’s this simple. I don’t love him any more.’

‘But you
do,
’ she pleads. ‘Zoe, you’ve loved him for seven years!’

‘That’s just it, Mum. I don’t. Not any more. I thought for such a long time we’d be together for ever. But sometimes it doesn’t work out like that. I loved him once, but I’ve changed. Perhaps we’ve both changed. And while I love you dearly, Mum, on this occasion you’re going to have to let me do what I think is right. And trust me.’

Mum’s lip wobbles and she pulls out her tissue. ‘I do trust you,’ she mutters, blowing her nose.

‘Yes, but you sometimes treat me as if I’m still a little girl, Mum.’ I put my arm round her. ‘And I’m not. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m a grown-up.’

‘It’s only because I love you.’ She sniffs.

‘I know, Mum,’ I say, squeezing her.

Mum nods with such conviction that her hairpiece threatens to fall off. ‘You’re right, Zoe. Of course you’re right. And I’ve got to admit . . . your dad’s been right all along.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘I suppose he’s always known you could stand on your own two feet. I felt like strangling him when he said he thought going to America would be good for you. I couldn’t understand it. I accused him of not caring about you as much as I do. But I know, really, it’s not that. And it probably has been good for you.’ She sighs.

‘Oh, Mum.’ I hug her again.

She squeezes me, then pulls back. ‘I’m so proud of you, Zoe,’ she continues. ‘I probably don’t tell you as often as I should, but I really am. When I had you at sixteen, so many people looked down their noses at us. They said me and your dad would never last – and that you’d turn out like some hooligan or something because you’d come about as a result of a teenage pregnancy. But you’re clever, you’re beautiful, you’re everything I ever wanted in a daughter. I’m so lucky to have you.’

I’m choked. I’ve always known how much my mum loves me, yet I’ve never heard her say anything like this before. I smile, just as she glimpses herself in the mirror and gasps. ‘This bloody hairpiece,’ she huffs, tearing it off and throwing it into the bin.

Then she turns back to me. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and tell everyone you won’t change your mind.’

She walks to the door, and is about to open it when she hesitates. ‘Just one other thing, Zoe.’

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘Is someone else involved? Is that the reason you did this?’

I glance at Trudie. But I don’t know why she’d know the answer.

Is someone else involved? Let’s see . . .

Am I in love with someone else?

Yes.

But is he in love with me?

I picture myself standing at the front of the register office, turning expectantly to look at the door. Which had stayed shut.

‘No, Mum,’ I admit, my throat tightening. ‘There isn’t anyone else involved.’

As Mum heads back through the doors, Trudie grabs my hand. ‘Come on, you and I need to get out of here,’ she says.

I take a deep breath. ‘Bloody right.’

Trudie goes first, and we make our way towards the exit. We’re about three feet from it when I see Jason. He looks furious.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my heart pounding. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’

‘I suppose you think I deserve this, do you?’ he asks, fists clenched.

‘No,’ I tell him truthfully. ‘I don’t think that. Neither of us deserved it.’

He snorts.

‘I don’t know what to tell you, Jason, except I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just like I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. So I’m sorry,’ I repeat. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

It’s all I can think of to say. But it’s clearly not what Jason wants to hear. I turn away, desperately sad, and go to the door.

‘Zoe,’ he shouts.

I spin round and meet Jason’s eyes.

He takes a deep breath and frowns. ‘Good luck,’ he says.

Chapter 89

Trudie and I stumble down Old Hall Street, both shivering but not feeling the cold. We spot a taxi and she waves her arms as if she’s trying to flag down a jumbo jet.

As we clamber into the back, she says, ‘So, hon, where do you want to go?’

‘Haven’t a bloody clue.’

‘Take us to a pub,’ she instructs the driver. It’s an executive decision.

‘There are about nine hundred in this city, love.’ He grins. ‘You might want to narrow it down.’

‘Anywhere you like. Somewhere nice. You choose.’

Five minutes later, we arrive at the Baltic Fleet, a proper, cosy pub with cask ales and roaring fires that practically singe your eyebrows. When we walk in I claim a spot in the corner while Trudie heads for the bar.

I gaze into the flames until she returns with two enormous whiskies. ‘Get that down you,’ she says to me.

Whisky isn’t something I’ve ever particularly drunk. As I take a sip I can’t help thinking it tastes like a glass of windscreen de-icer. But its warmth spreads through me and I can’t deny it helps.

‘Well, what a day you’ve had,’ she says.

‘All my own doing.’

‘I get the feeling you were a bit railroaded into this wedding. Am I right?’

‘Maybe,’ I concede. ‘But do you know the most pathetic thing about it?’

‘What’s that?’

‘I think I’m in love with Ryan. No, scrap that. I know I am.’

‘You don’t say,’ she replies ironically. ‘But why’s that pathetic? He might love you too.’

‘I don’t think so.’

She frowns. ‘Well, for Christ’s sake, if this experience has taught you anything it must be to follow your gut feelings and not keep quiet.’