White Wedding (9 page)

‘How long are they home for?’

‘Two days,’ said Richard. ‘Then they’re flying back again until September.’

Just enough time to witness their son make the biggest mistake of his life, thought Bel wryly.

‘What are they giving you for a wedding present?’ asked Martin, reaching over for his fourth bread roll.

‘They’ve given us a cheque,’ replied Richard.

‘Don’t you think it was rather off to ask for no presents and just cheques,’ said Vanoushka, glad that she’d been given the opportunity to voice her opinion on that.
She’d been intending to give them a rose bowl, which she’d had in a cupboard for years, until the invitation addendum came out a couple of months ago and with it the gentle guide on
present-buying.

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ said Faye, bouncing in with a firm defence. ‘Who wants duplicate presents? This way Bel and Richard can buy what they need.’

‘There is such a thing as a wedding list,’ said Martin, in support of his wife.

‘Actually, I thought a cheque would be easier for everyone,’ said Bel, as the waiter removed her starter plate. She was as calm as a cucumber on the surface, but underneath she was a
boiling torrent. Vanoushka was probably kicking up because she had some old vase stored away that she wanted to palm off on to a ‘not real relative’. Still, she needn’t worry
about her wedding present, Bel nearly said to her. Her money was quite safe.

‘You’re quiet, Shaden,’ called Bel. ‘Everything all right with you?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ nodded Shaden. She looked anything but fine. She looked as stiff as a board and as if she wanted to be anywhere in the world but here.

‘Dress hanging up and ready?’ asked Bel.

‘Of course it is, yes.’

‘Lovely shade of tomato,’ said Vanoushka. ‘It’ll look beautiful against Shaden’s hair.’ She leaned over and stroked her darling daughter’s head.

‘It’s not tomato, it’s strawberry,’ stated Shaden. ‘The shade is strawberry.’

‘Who’s doing your hair and make-up?’ asked Faye. ‘I wish you’d let me book Anita for—’

‘Don’t worry, Faye, it’s all under control,’ said Bel.

‘I’ll come to your apartment as soon as my stylist has been,’ said Shaden, tossing her long golden hair over her shoulder.

‘The Rolls will be taking you at one forty-five,’ said Bel. ‘Make sure you’re early so we can have a glass of champagne before.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ said Faye. ‘Are you sure you don’t need any help getting ready? That dress has a lot of buttons.’

‘I won’t . . .’ Oops, nearly. ‘I . . . er . . . will be fine. I’m perfectly capable of putting on a wedding dress.’

‘You’re a very controlling person, aren’t you?’ said Vanoushka, dressing her annoyance with a laugh that was both tinkly and as hard as crystal.

‘Vanoushka, Belinda is not controlling, she just knows what she wants,’ said Faye in a firm voice, much to Bel’s annoyance. She didn’t need her dad’s former
secretary fighting her corner. She was quite able to do it for herself. More than able.

‘No, Vanoushka is right, Faye,’ said Bel, trying not to say it through gritted teeth. ‘In the plans for my wedding, I’ve been psychotically controlling. I’ll be
honest; I wanted a day like you’ve never seen before. And, when I need to be focused, I work best alone.’

Bel turned her full gaze on Shaden. ‘Are you bringing a plus one with you? You haven’t said. I never hear about your conquests these days.’

‘I’m happily single at the moment.’

‘Richard’s brother is free,’ Bel winked at Shaden.

Shaden rolled her eyes but said nothing. Liam was the slimiest little toad in the world; they were both agreed on that. A smaller stouter version of Monty Bishop. Bel suddenly found herself
wanting to giggle.

‘So where are you both going to live?’ asked Vanoushka, as soup was served and a waiter handed her a bread basket. She waved it away impatiently, as if she expected him to know that
carbs were fat from the devil’s arse.

‘Well, the plan is that I move in full-time with Richard for now,’ Bel answered. She and her fiancé had more or less lived together anyway until a couple of months ago, when
she decided to move back into her apartment, saying she wanted their cohabiting after the wedding to feel fresh.

‘All packed for the honeymoon, then?’ said Martin, dribbly butter shiny on his chin. He addressed Richard, who seemed not to hear, so Bel answered for him.

‘Suitcases packed and ready, don’t you worry,’ said Bel. ‘I can’t wait to get away from it all.’

She almost said ‘you all’ then. With the exception of one person at the table.

There followed a period of silence until they’d finished the soup. Then Martin let loose a huge burp and Vanoushka nudged him hard with her bony elbow, wearing a look of abject disgust on
her face. Bel rather thought that if Vanoushka had money of her own she would have left him. He’d settled happily into fat and too much of the good life, which gave him many episodes of gout.
She had a sudden horrible picture of Martin above her, grinding into her, his stomach hanging down, his chin wobbling.

‘Lovely starters,’ agreed Trevor.

Vanoushka dabbed delicately at her mouth but didn’t comment.

‘Can’t wait for the lobster, though,’ said Martin, rubbing his hands together.

‘Well, tuck in, Martin, because there will be plenty.’

Bel looked sideways at her dad. He was such a diamond, always saw the best in people, was generous-spirited and calm-tempered. She wished she could have been as gentle. She must have got her
feistiness from her mother’s side. As well as her mother’s black hair and mint-green eyes, which were again prickling painfully with tears.

Shaden remained very quiet at the end of the table throughout the meal, as if she were undertaking a great chore by being there. She didn’t eat much either. She was terrified of ingesting
a potato or anything with starch in it, in case it upset her Atkins-friendly eating regime, so the peanut-butter cheesecake – Bel’s favourite – was a definite no-no.

The Bosomworth-Prouds left soon after coffee, hurried along by Shaden, who was driving. This was much to Martin’s annoyance as he had set his mind on making a hole in Trevor’s supply
of brandy. As Faye and Trevor waved them off, Richard grabbed Bel and pulled her into the snooker room.

‘Sleep with me tonight,’ he said, leaning over and nibbling her neck. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist that. But she did and pulled away from his hold.

‘Nope. This is about as near to a virgin bride as I can possibly get. In forty-eight hours, it will be our wedding night with fireworks, lover boy.’

‘You’re so mean,’ said Richard, tweaking her nose. Such an intimate, loving gesture. Bel found herself wilting inside, as if the snap had gone out of her spine.

‘Go and get your coat and leave me. The sooner you do that, the sooner I can start the countdown to seeing you again,’ she said, rallying herself, straightening her back, galvanizing
her resolve.

‘If I must,’ he replied with a resigned sigh.

‘Do you think Shaden has a bloke?’ tested Bel. ‘She used to tell me about everyone she had her eye on.’

‘I’m not interested in anyone else’s business,’ said Richard, moving in again, hoping to change her mind. ‘Bel, I’m so hard. You can’t send me home like
this.’

‘Coat. Go. Now,’ ordered Bel.

Richard raised his palms to her in a gesture of surrender.

‘Okay, but you’d better promise me that Saturday is going to be dynamite.’

‘I can do that with all my heart,’ said Bel, her cat-green eyes glittering.

‘Hello, what are you doing here?’ said Bel, opening the door to Violet.

‘It’s the night before your wedding and you aren’t spending it alone,’ insisted Violet, pushing Bel out of the way and striding into the flat holding a bottle of chilled
sparkling Pinot Grigio.

‘Are you by yourself?’ said Bel, half expecting Max to trot in behind her.

‘I am,’ said Violet. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Oh okay,’ said Bel. ‘I’ll get a couple of glasses, shall I?’

She returned seconds later just as Violet was pushing the cork out of the bottle.

‘So, what do you want to talk to me about?’ asked Bel.

‘You tell me,’ said Violet, plonking herself down on Bel’s big red-leather sofa.

‘What do you mean?’ said Bel.

‘Well, this is the night before your wedding and you’re sitting in alone watching
EastEnders
.’

Bel shrugged. ‘I want a calm and peaceful night, that’s all.’
Before the storm
.

‘Really?’ Violet raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Look, Bel, tell me to go away and bugger off—’

‘Violet, go away and bugger off.’

‘I’m being serious, Bel,’ Violet’s soft voice was cranked up to its full firmness. ‘As I was saying, tell me to go away and bugger off, but I can’t help
thinking that something isn’t right with you.’

Bel tried not to react. ‘In what way?’

‘Because, when we met, you were as giddy as a kipper about your wedding. Then you . . . you changed. It was like . . . like you suddenly went flat. As if something had switched off inside
you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Bel, taking a sip of fizz.

‘Well, whatever, call it intuition. I just had to call in and see if you were okay. I was worried. I’m glad I got it all wrong, then.’

Bel laughed but, as usual when she laughed these days, she felt the ache of sadness behind the sound.

‘Violet, you are very sweet,’ she said, ‘but trust me, I’m on top of my game. I’m perfectly fine.’

‘I wanted to double-check. I know you said you were tired out from all the wedding arrangements, but I felt there was something else bothering you.’

Bel pulled out all the stops to hold her composure.

‘When you get to know me better, Violet, you’ll realize that I’m not very good at talking things over with people. When I feel any pressure I disappear into myself. I always
have. Maybe I’m secretly a man. Just because I’m not having a typical mad last night of freedom, please don’t worry.’

A typical mad last night of freedom
. Violet hadn’t even thought about what she’d be doing on the night before her own wedding. Glyn wouldn’t be having a stag night, that
was for sure. He didn’t have any friends. Anyway, there was time to think about that later; for now there was Bel to consider.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me for coming round,’ said Violet. ‘I feel a bit daft now.’ She noticed that Bel had had her nails French manicured for the wedding, and her
eyebrows shaped and waxed. That gave her some comfort.

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ replied Bel, swallowing down the tears that
must not
seep out and weaken her.

‘So you really do want to be by yourself tonight, then?’ Violet asked.

No, I want you to stay with me while I get totally hammered and dance on tables
.

‘Yes, Violet, that’s exactly what I want. I’m tired.’

Violet drained her glass and stood up. ‘Well, I’ll be off, then.’ She stood and gave Bel a big squashy hug.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one in white,’ Bel smiled, while thinking,
Is there anyone I haven’t lied to recently?
She let her weary head fall on
Violet’s shoulder and breathed in her friend’s lovely flowery perfume. It would have been so easy to stay there and let her tears fall. Bel had to call on all her reserves of strength
to step away from her friend.

As Bel waved her off she wished that Violet would come down with a slight mystery illness overnight that would prevent her from attending the wedding tomorrow. Bel didn’t want her there.
She opened her mouth to call out to Violet as she reached her car door, then slammed it shut again. It was all too late. Damage was inevitable and would have to be borne. She could only go forwards
now; there was no way back.

As Violet drove off, though, she still couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread. And noticing that she had three missed calls from Glyn on her phone didn’t exactly
lift her mood either.

When Bel pulled back her curtains the next morning, the sky was as blue as could be, without a single cloud blighting it. The sun was round and yellow and full of warm promise;
perfect white-wedding weather. How ironic was that, thought Bel.

Shaden still hadn’t arrived by 1.20 p.m., which was no surprise to Bel. She would have put a substantial bet on her cousin not wanting to share celebratory champagne with her. Her taxi
eventually arrived ten minutes later, just as Bel was polishing off a single neat brandy – a Dutch-courage lunch
.

Bel had slept surprisingly well considering this was her big day. She hadn’t even dreamed anything during the night, which was odd as her head hadn’t stopped whirring like a nuclear
concrete mixer for weeks. When Shaden’s taxi arrived she took a deep breath. She heard the snap of a clapperboard in her head announcing another scene to be acted.

‘Sorry I’m late, Belinda. Francine couldn’t get my eyes right so I made her start again.’

Unlike herself, Shaden was freshly spray-tanned and coiffured. Red –
strawberry –
flowers were expertly woven into her golden ringlets of hair. Shaden’s eyes pulled into
focus on her whey-faced cousin and her obviously home-done hair and make-up, and wrinkled her bumpy nose.

‘Where’s your stylist?’

Annnd action
.

‘Oh I thought I’d do it myself,’ said Bel. ‘I always hate how they make me up.’

Shaden’s eyes swept over her gown next.

‘That isn’t your mother’s dress.’

‘I ripped it. I had to go out and buy another off the peg.’

‘You’re not serious. It’s a bit plain.’ Shaden looked as if she had just walked into a joke.

‘I know. But it fits. It’ll do.’

Shaden shook her head in disbelief. ‘How come you’re so bloody calm about such a disaster?’

‘Calm?’ said Bel smoothly. ‘What else can I be? It’s only a dress, anyway. I’ll get the other one mended. Maybe I’ll wear it to renew my vows one day, if I
feel that Richard is slipping off the straight and narrow and needs a gentle reminder that he has promises to stick to.’