White Wedding (29 page)

‘And?’ No. Stuart didn’t get it. Luke despaired but answered patiently.

‘Money is security to Max, Stuart. Money means she’ll never be turfed out of her home again. It’s her safety blanket. The more she earns, the more she can store and keep the
wolves at bay, should they ever come calling again.’

‘She doesn’t store it, though,’ said Stuart with a sarcastic laugh. ‘She buys bloody his and hers cars and TAG Heuer watches.’

Luke stopped himself just in time from saying that what Max blew on extravagances was after her ‘safe money’ was taken care of. He was no master of psychology but he knew how Max
ticked and he couldn’t believe Stuart didn’t. He also suspected that Max spoiled everyone because deep down she wanted someone to do the same to her, whisk her out for dinner, bring her
flowers and chocolates. However much they cost. She would think more of a hand-picked bunch of bluebells than an expensive bouquet arranged to be sent by someone’s PA. But he had preached
enough to Stuart today and he let further comment die in his throat. He turned his attention back to the suit, nodding his approval at their reflections.

‘We’re looking good, mate,’ he said. ‘I think we should go with these ones.’

‘Okay, if we must,’ Stuart grumped. ‘Oh bloody hell, I know what I’ve forgotten to bring.’ He clicked his fingers in frustration. ‘I was going to show you
something. Jenny gave me a photo of all us lot doing that nativity for the old people’s home when we were in Miss Shaw’s class, do you remember it?’

‘Jesus Christ, you’re going back a bit.’

‘Only twenty-five years. You’ve got the big beard covering your face and Jen was a donkey.’

Jen
.
Jen
.
Jen
. Luke picked up how Stuart’s mood had instantly lifted now they were speaking about Jenny Thompson. He didn’t draw attention to it, though; instead
he lifted the swatch of pink material that Max had given Stuart to match their ties to. Apparently her ‘posy’ was going to be in that colour.

‘Funny,’ said Stuart, ‘but I don’t think I ever really noticed Jenny that much at school. She was one of the background girls. Did you pay any attention to
her?’

‘Not really,’ said Luke. ‘Like every other lad I had eyes only for Julie Armstrong.’ There were always some girls who stood out from the rest: Julie Armstrong with her
early developed figure and long golden hair and big blue eyes. Then later, when he and Stuart had gone on to sixth-form college and encountered other girls, it had been the dark-red-haired,
Bambi-eyed, curvy, scarlet-lipped Max McBride who was one of the top head-turners.

Stuart tried on a bowler hat, for a laugh.

‘Max has been on the phone to America for most of the morning. Apparently B.J. Brothers Industries wants to deal with her. Heard of them?’ he said.

Luke raised his eyebrows. ‘Hasn’t everyone?’

Obviously not, from the blank look Stuart was giving him.

‘They are
big
. Very big,’ Luke clarified. ‘That’s brilliant news.’

Stuart shrugged. ‘Is it?’

‘Well, yeah,’ said Luke. ‘Course it is. You must be so proud of her for brokering a deal with them.’

‘I sometimes think Max should have gone out with you instead of me,’ sighed Stuart, ripping off the hat and resisting the urge to frisbee it Oddjob-style at a mannequin to see if he
could cut its head off.

‘What, because we both get off on closing a deal?’ laughed Luke, making light of the fact that he didn’t like this turn in the conversation.

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. And you like the same stuff,’ said Stuart thoughtfully. ‘Dressing up in pratty posh clothes for a start.’ He unbuttoned the top
button on the shirt and gave his neck a well-needed scratch. Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t nipped her bum and blamed you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ laughed Luke. ‘And, trust me, I’ve got more in common with Alan Sugar than I have with any woman I’ve ever been out with. Although that
doesn’t mean that I want him to turn up on my doorstep with flowers.’

‘I wonder what happened to all the others in our class,’ mused Stuart with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Ever heard the saying that, statistically, in a group of friends
it’s likely that one will become a millionaire and one a murderer?’

‘I can’t imagine anyone out of our class being a murderer,’ said Luke.

‘Well, would you ever have thought that Julie would turn out to be a darling of the Social Services? Who’s to say that little mousy Timmy Foster wasn’t the worm that turned and
slit someone’s throat? Are we really sure of anyone or anything in this world?’ Stuart shook his head. He suddenly felt really low. He couldn’t remember the last time in recent
years when he could truly say that he had grinned and giggled like he had at school. ‘I’ll scan Jen’s picture and send it to you. We all looked so happy in it.’

Jen again
.

‘Remember that you’re talking about the days before life and all its complications hit us: mortgages, sex, jobs. We had more to smile about than we even realized,’ said Luke.
Then he dropped a big pebble in the water of their conversation and hoped Stuart felt its reverberations and took the hint. ‘You see it all the time in the news these days, unhappy people
hooking up with old schoolfriends and first loves on Facebook and hoping to climb back into the past again. Putting on rose-coloured specs can cause a lot of damage. We aren’t those carefree
kids any more and we never will be again.’

Stuart opened his mouth to blurt out to Luke that he was right, that his head was like a washing machine and he didn’t know where he was, because he was trying on suits for a wedding to
one woman and yet his head was full of another. He wanted to say to Luke, ‘Help me,’ but he shut his mouth before the first word came out. Luke would have just said that all the inner
turmoil was down to infamous ‘pre-wedding nerves’. It could only be a natural inner rebellion against the stigma of commitment and it would pass. He was infatuated with Jenny Thompson,
it wasn’t love – how could it be after such a short time? Love was what he felt for Max, the woman he had been with since they were sixteen, and it was Max he was marrying and would be
happy with. He knew that, he did. Boy, Jenny Thompson really had stuck a big stick in his world and swirled up all the stinking mud from the bottom.

Stuart decided that he was going to make a booking at Curry Corner when he got home and take Max out for a late supper. They would toast his birthday again and her success in opening
negotiations with the American B.J. Brothers and talk about their perfect little wedding and plans for the future. He had to pull himself back on track and forget all about Jenny Thompson. Luke was
right; she was a small part of his past, not a big part of his future.

As they set off for Curry Corner, things were going well between Stuart and Max.

‘No interruptions – leave your phone at home for once,’ ordered Stuart at the door.

‘Okay,’ said Max, nipping back inside the house before they locked up and got into the newly arrived taxi.

They shared an Indian platter for starters, and Stuart made her laugh talking about the wedding suits and how Luke was like a mother hen, telling him to stand properly in front of the mirror.
They giggled together and drank wine and Stuart felt himself relaxing about his forthcoming marriage. He was in such a good mood – plus a little bit pissed – that he even relented to
Max’s craftily timed request that they invite a few of their extended family to fill up the church. Just a few from each side, she promised. Honest.

He went to the loo after the waiter had collected the plates for the main course and happened to look back over his shoulder at Max. It was to see that she had whipped her phone out of her bag
and was checking it. She hadn’t left it at home as he had asked, after all. Not even on his birthday could she prioritize his feelings above hers. His anxieties had once again settled on his
shoulders by the time he returned to the table.

When Bel pulled up outside La Hacienda on Wednesday evening, Richard was waiting outside in the rain holding an enormous bunch of red roses in one hand and a golfing umbrella
above his head in the other.

‘Hi,’ he said almost shyly when she emerged from the car. He kissed her awkwardly on the cheek and handed over the flowers.

‘They’re twee,’ he said, ‘but at least I know what red roses mean. I didn’t want to be giving out any unintended messages by buying different flowers.’

‘What, like pink roses mean “I hate you, you bitch”?’ said Bel with a small smile.

‘I hope they don’t. I’ve just had some pink ones delivered to my mother.’

Bel bit her lip. If pink roses really did mean that, she would have had some sent every week to Madeleine Bishop, the miserable old witch. She couldn’t wait for the first family meal with
the Bishops senior after all this. She envisaged Madeleine hunched over her cauldron brewing up something poisonous to serve to her wild, gobby daughter-in-law.

Bel put the flowers in her car and turned back to find Richard holding out his arm for her to take. Blimey. That was a first, but very welcome nevertheless.

‘Quite a while since we’ve been here,’ he said, pushing open the door to
their
restaurant. In here Richard had proposed. An ancient violinist had appeared at their table
and started grinning intensely at her with a selection of yellow and brown teeth as he drew the bow over his instrument. Bel had felt a bit of a prat, really, being the subject of such attention.
She was just about to make an excuse to go to the loo when Richard dropped to his knee in front of her and held out a box with the name Tiffany on the lid. The rock within was a very impressive
solitaire diamond.

Bel gulped at the strength of the memory and felt quite teary. She hoped she’d have more backbone than this for the rest of the night. The last thing she wanted to do was become a
blubbering mess and forgive Richard everything in a mist of sentiment.

Richard had booked
their
table – a private corner niche. The waiter handed them menus and then lit the bright red candle that sat in the middle of the table. The light danced in
Richard’s very lovely blue eyes as he stared at Bel.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said. ‘It’s just wonderful to see you again.’

Bel cleared her throat nervously and forced herself to concentrate on the menu. She wasn’t even hungry. Or was she? She should be because she hadn’t eaten all day. That was the
trouble at the moment; she didn’t know what she felt about anything. She might be back at work and in total control of her job, but she wasn’t in a competent driving seat where her own
emotions were concerned.

‘How’s life at the old chocolate firm?’ asked Richard, after they had given the waitress their order.

‘Busy,’ Bel answered. ‘But I like it that way. How’s life in high finance?’

‘Still boring as fuck,’ replied Richard. ‘But I’m in line for the CEO job. Naughty Francis will shortly be out on his flabby arse. He’s been cooking the
books.’

‘That’s brilliant news. For you,’ said Bel, aware that she was talking to Richard politely, as if he were one of her new business contacts that she hadn’t quite sussed
out yet.

Her velouté soup arrived as Richard was talking about the company Bentley he would soon have the pleasure of being chauffeured around in. Bel looked down into the bowl and suddenly
thought of a tin opener and had to suppress the smile. Funny, but this soup with all its fresh roasted ingredients and seasonings and its vastly inflated price and ‘velouté’
status didn’t taste half as good as the mug of Heinz tomato with the cheese toastie dipped into it that she’d shared with Dan Regent in Emily. She wondered how far he’d got with
his bride-slaughtering story. And if he and Cathy had had passionate make-up sex yet.

‘What do you think, Bel?’

Bel snapped up her head. She realized she had slid into a simpler world devoid of samphire and beluga caviar and hadn’t a clue what Richard had been talking about.

‘I think it’s great,’ bluffed Bel, pulling herself fully back into the here and now.

‘I thought you might,’ winked Richard. ‘The back seat of a Bentley is very spacious.’

Oh, thought Bel with a weary huff. Was he hinting that they christen the back of the Bentley when he got it? She thought of the coq au vin at her reception – and the text from Shaden that
inspired that choice of dish. She remembered that Richard had told Shaden that the blow-job she had given him in the back of Trevor’s work van had been the best one he had ever experienced in
his life.

Now come on
, said a warning voice in her head.
He can’t turn the clock back. He’s here to move forward and not rake up old ground and you shouldn’t be doing that
either. You can’t build bridges carrying all that dynamite, can you, Belinda Candy . . . Bishop?

She was married to this very handsome man who was buying her dinner; she had taken holy vows in church to seal their union.

Richard’s spoon clattered down into his bowl.

‘Bel, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making smutty innuendo. The thing is, I don’t know how to behave.’ His hands went up to his rakishly cut short dark hair and Bel saw
that he was wearing his gold wedding band. ‘I’m lost.’

Bel felt her heart ripple inside her. Richard looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. She breathed in deeply to brave the question. ‘Is there any more I should know? Are there
any more secrets, Richard?’

‘Bel, if you read all the emails and the texts, you know everything.’ He bowed his head and shook it shamefully.

‘So this is definitely ground zero?’

‘Ground zero, I swear.’

Bel believed him. They had a base now to work on, to build on. There were no more earthquakes lurking around to shake their foundations.

‘I’m sure we’ll muddle through,’ she said. ‘Somehow. If we take things really slowly.’

‘I hope so,’ he replied. ‘I never thought we’d get this far, if I’m honest – talking again.’

‘Well, we might not have if we weren’t married,’ said Bel. ‘But we are.’

‘Yes, we are, Mrs Bishop,’ said Richard, and he reached for her hand across the table.