The Story of Us (50 page)

‘Matt and Cathy said they might be a little late,' Sarah quickly supplied and Dave, who really was in tune with his future wife, immediately forestalled any awkward moment by embarking on a long and improbable story about his recent experience with a parking attendant.

We were all still laughing when I noticed a few diners at other tables glancing up in appreciation towards the entrance to the restaurant. Without looking up, I knew they had arrived. Individually they had both always had the ability to turn heads, I knew that only too well from my own time spent by Matt's side. Together they were phenomenal. Magazine-photo perfect. Movie-star beautiful. The combination was almost breathtaking and as they made their way towards us I noted that they both looked, if anything, even more stunning than they had five years earlier. I'd never felt so plain in my entire life. And empty. Because I knew that in another life, with another turn of the dice, there would have been someone sitting at this table to reassure me that was simply not so.

Cathy had dressed to stun, that much was obvious. The figure-hugging black halter-neck dress did exactly what it was supposed to do; the neckline and thigh-high split simultaneously allowing tantalising glimpses of both cleavage and long tanned legs. Her hair was blonder than I remembered and fluffed to perfection about her face. But it was Matt who drew my eye; who had always drawn my eye, I admitted honestly. Like Phil, he too looked taller and broader than my remembered image. His dark suit and crisp white shirt looked expensive, and from their immaculate fit I guessed they hadn't been bought off the peg. His face was leaner, more chiselled than it had been, although his eyes, as they met mine and smiled in greeting, were still the same. I tried to smile convincingly back, thinking suddenly that this was just like earlier today when I had stood before my old house; that strange feeling that here was something that was mine, but yet clearly wasn't mine all in the same moment.

There was the usual round of greetings and I was glad of the flurry of hugs, handshakes and hellos, for it meant that by the time Matt leant down to kiss me lightly on the cheek, I had pretty much suppressed my purely hormonal reaction at seeing him again. Cathy too leant over to kiss me hello, and I saw something unreadable flicker behind her eyes as she took in my scarred face. Not that the scar itself should be a shock to any one of them. They had all visited me in hospital many times in the immediate aftermath of the accident. Until I had driven them all away, that was.

The evening was a success and a failure both at the same time. On the surface we all appeared to be playing our roles just fine. There was the happy couple-to-be, surrounded by their old friends, gathered together from far and wide to wish them well. But it felt like we were all second-rate actors in a rather unoriginal play. We all said the right things, raised our glasses for toasts at the appropriate moments, but somehow the effort of
not
saying something about the last time we had all sat together around a dining table together was so immense that it suffocated any real pleasure out of the evening. I wondered how it felt to Kate and Dave and if they were aware of that too.

I had assumed, wrongly, that most of the old group had still met up during their university breaks, so it was surprising to learn that although they had seen each other in ones and twos, not once had there been an event where everyone had been together in one place. I hadn't known that the loss of Jimmy and my own disappearance had so effectively caused the glue between us to dissolve.

At least there were no awkward gaps in the conversation to contend with. There was enough ground to cover in bringing everyone up to date with their lives that silence wasn't the problem. We learnt that Matt had been working in his family's business since finishing uni and Cathy was something in PR – she did explain it, but to be honest I wasn't listening properly. I was far more fascinated with her body language than the words she was actually saying. From the moment she had sat down at the table, her every action seemed to screech out her possession of Matt. She was all but entwined around him as we waited to be served. In fact, given that most of her limbs seemed to be twisted in some way around his, I couldn't help wondering if she'd have an arm free to eat at all. And the weird thing was, I knew this show of display was all for me. But why? It had been years since Matt and I had broken up. Broken
apart
, in fact, would be a better way to describe it. And after several excruciatingly painful and abortive attempts, he had finally stopped trying get in touch in the hope that I was going to change my mind. I'd made it perfectly clear that I didn't want him in my life. And it was as true today as it had been back then, so what was with Cathy's astonishing behaviour?

As our last course was cleared discreetly away, the wine waiter appeared at my elbow to refill my glass. I quickly covered its surface with my hand.

‘No, no more for me, thank you.'

‘You're not driving, are you?' queried Trevor, who clearly had no intention of abstaining from any proffered alcoholic beverage.

‘No, I came by taxi,' I replied. I'd been wondering when someone was going to notice that I'd had no more than a couple of sips of wine all night. ‘I just think I'm going to need a clear head to cope with Sarah tomorrow. If not, she'll drive me totally crazy.'

Sarah pretended to look offended and everyone laughed. They all seemed to accept the lie. In truth, I was worried to drink any alcohol at all after the amount of painkillers I'd taken that day. And then, as if by thinking of it I'd woken a sleeping dragon, my headache flared up again in a sudden blazing torch of agony. I got to my feet, hoping nobody had noticed that I'd needed to rest my hands on the table to steady myself.

‘If you'll excuse me a moment,' I said to no one in particular, and using every effort in my power I walked, in what I hoped was a straight line, towards the Ladies.

Once safely in the rather opulent cloakroom, I let out a long shaky sigh of relief and lowered myself gently onto a small velvet-covered bench. The pain was still searingly strong behind my eyes; so intense that my vision was begin to blur at the edges. It had only been this severe and intense a couple of times before, and I'd had much more warning on those occasions. Never before had the pain just erupted as it had done just now. I didn't doubt for a minute that the tension I'd been under all day had probably not helped the situation.

My fingers felt oddly shaky as I reached into my handbag for my pills. I almost cried in frustration as the childproof cap nearly defeated me, cracking my fingernail in my haste to prise open the container. Two pills again, once more without water. I closed my eyes against the brightly lit room and waited until I felt a little more in control.

I knew now that the time for putting off those hospital tests was long past. This wasn't just going to go away by itself. However frightening the results might be, something was seriously wrong and not knowing exactly what it was wasn't going to make it any better. There was, I supposed, some sort of black irony in realising I was still suffering from the effects of my injuries during the one and only time I'd returned to the place where I had sustained them.

Just let me get through this wedding weekend, I promised myself, and I'll make the appointment first thing on Monday.

By now I realised I had probably exceeded the amount of time I could reasonably be in the Ladies without having Sarah come looking for me. I didn't want her to think the reason I'd been missing so long had anything to do with tonight's territorial display put on by Cathy. And I
certainly
didn't want her to come in and figure out the real reason was because I was suddenly terrified there was something seriously wrong with me.

I got to my feet and was pleased to find that I didn't feel nearly as shaky as I had before and my vision was no longer blurred. I rinsed my hands under cool water and then carefully saturated and squeezed out one of the small folded flannel towels from the basket beside the basins and pressed the wadded cloth against my forehead. I was on the point of leaving to return to the others when the door of the cloakroom swung open and Cathy walked in.

‘Everything OK?' she asked, and though she'd used the right words the tone was all wrong. Or perhaps it was just that her eyes held zero interest in my response. When had Cathy become so hard? Sure, there had always been an abrasive side to her, but we'd still been friends. What had I done to her to warrant this attitude? If anything, she should be grateful. It was clear she had always been interested in Matt; so I'd have thought she'd have been pleased that I'd voluntarily taken myself out of the picture on that score. And besides, that was all years ago. Teenage stuff. Surely we were beyond all that now?

‘I'm fine. Just a little tired, it's been a hectic week at work,' I fabricated.

‘Sorry, what did you say you do again?' Nice to know she'd been paying attention when I'd been talking about it earlier.

‘I'm a secretary.'

‘Oh, yes. Never did get to go into journalism then? That
was
what you were going to do, wasn't it?'

Bitch. How could she be so thoughtless? Surely she knew only too well why and how my plans for that particular life had been cut short and how I'd never been able to go to university as had been intended.

‘No.' I hoped my voice sounded less venomous in reality than it did in my head. ‘Obviously everything changed after…'

She nodded, and may have looked just the smallest bit shamefaced for the clumsy way she had forced the topic in a difficult direction. But just when I thought she might be showing just a modicum of compassion, that was completely obliterated when she made a great show of brushing back her blond mane of hair from her perfectly immaculate face and leaning closer to the mirror as though scrutinising for imperfections. There were none, I could have told her that. Whatever she saw, be it her own perfect reflection or my own scar-damaged one, the malice seemed to instantly dissipate. Clearly deciding that there was no competition to be feared here, she turned and gave me an artless smile.

‘I hope you won't take offence, Rachel, but have you ever thought of seeing someone to see if something could be done about your face? You used to be such a pretty girl.'

Her use of the past tense was certainly not lost on me. For a wicked moment I considered playing dumb and innocently asking: ‘My face? Why? Is there something wrong with it?' But I didn't. And anyway, as much as I was unhappy with the way I looked, I had no intention of visiting any plastic surgeon she was about to recommend to me. And I'd be crazy if I expected the shallow and unthinking person Cathy seemed to have become to understand that the problem wasn't that nothing
could
be done, but more that I didn't feel I
deserved
to have things improved. Certainly my father and Sarah, who had both raised this topic years before (with a great deal more tact and diplomacy) had been unable to comprehend what they saw as my martyred logic.

Fortunately the door of the cloakroom swung open at that moment to herald Sarah's arrival. There was an urgency about her entrance that was almost comical. She swept the pair of us with a knowing look and I knew she had instantly assessed what had been going on. I recognised a look on her face from many an altercation in our past, and shook my head almost imperceptibly. Reluctantly the fire in her gaze was doused. I realised then she had almost been looking forward to saying something to Cathy that definitely should remain unsaid.

‘Have we moved my party in here then, girls?' she breezed, joining us at the mirror and linking her arm through mine, a move that even the densest person could not fail to realise was a display of solidarity. Cathy was insensitive, but not entirely dense.

‘No, no. Rachel and I were just catching up. Let's go.' But then Cathy, being Cathy, couldn't resist one last poisoned dart. ‘I'm sure Matt will be worrying about what's happened to me.'

If he
was
worried, he hid it well.

However, as I settled back into my seat, I picked up on the threads of the one conversation that I had been dreading would be instigated all night. I felt my heart plummet in my chest like a wrecking ball.

Phil was clearly in the middle of saying something to Dave about Jimmy.

‘… such a tragic and stupid waste… such a great bloke…'

Dave murmured a non-committal response, and I guessed that Sarah had already pre-warned him to try to divert the conversation from this topic if it surfaced.

‘Nothing was ever the same after that night… not for any of us.'

The silence around the table that followed this remark was its own acknowledgement. I felt rather than saw almost every eye turn to me. I guess they were right in thinking that I had been affected the most, for the scars on my face were nothing compared to the ones that scored me deep inside.

‘Come on now, let's not do this tonight,' implored Sarah.

‘No, of course,' agreed Phil, and even though I'd kept my eyes averted to the tablecloth, I knew meaningful glances were being directed my way. It was all getting a little too intense and I was overcome by a sudden irresistible desire for the safe anonymity of my hotel bedroom.

‘I hate to break up the party,' I began, and heard a small chorus of guilty noes from around the table, ‘and it's not just because of… Jimmy.' My voice hesitated before being able to form his name. ‘But I really do have a pretty bad headache, so if you don't mind, I think I'll call it night for now.'

Sarah immediately began to protest, but then the intuition our close friendship provided made her completely back down.

‘Sure, sweetie. It's been a busy day for everyone.'

When I realised that she intended to wind the whole evening up, I felt instantly ashamed.

‘No, Sarah. You all stay. You haven't even had coffee yet. I'll just grab a cab. Please don't break up the party because of me.
Please
.' I got to my feet. Sarah still looked as though she was wavering, but then Dave interceded.