Shopaholic Takes Manhattan

Six

I ARRIVE AT MY PARENTS’ house at ten o’clock on Saturday, to find the street full of festivity. There are balloons tied to every tree, our drive is full of cars, and a billowing marquee is just visible from next door’s garden. I get out of my car, reach for my overnight bag, then just stand still for a few moments, staring at the Websters’ house. God, this is strange. Tom Webster getting married. I can hardly believe it. To be honest — and this may sound a bit mean — I can hardly believe that anyone would want to marry Tom Webster. He has smartened up his act recently, admittedly. He’s got a few new clothes, and a better hairstyle. But his hands are still all huge and clammy — and frankly, he’s not Brad Pitt.

Still, that’s the point of love, I think, closing my car door with a bang. You love people despite their flaws. Lucy obviously doesn’t mind that Tom’s got clammy hands — and he obviously doesn’t mind that her hair’s all flat and boring. It’s quite romantic, I suppose.

As I’m standing there, gazing at the house, a girl in jeans with a circlet of flowers in her hair appears at the Websters’ front door. She gives me an odd, almost aggressive look, then disappears inside the house again. One of Lucy’s bridesmaids, obviously. I expect she’s a bit nervous, being seen in her jeans.

Lucy’s probably in there too, it occurs to me — and instinctively I turn away. I know she’s the bride and everything, but to be honest, I’m not desperately looking forward to seeing Lucy again. I’ve only met her a couple of times and we’ve never jelled. Probably because she had the idea I was in love with Tom. Still, at least when Luke arrives I’ll finally be able to prove them all wrong.

At the thought of Luke, there’s a painful stab in my chest, and I take a deep, slow breath to calm myself. I’m determined I’m not going to put the cart before the horse this time. I’m going to keep an open mind, and see what he says today. And if he does tell me he’s moving away to New York then I’ll just… deal with it. Somehow.

Anyway. Don’t think about it now. Briskly I head for the front door and let myself in. I head for the kitchen and find my dad drinking coffee in his waistcoat, while Mum, dressed in a nylon cape with her hair in curlers, is buttering a round of sandwiches.

“I just don’t think it’s right,” she’s saying as I walk in. “It’s not right. They’re supposed to be leading our country, and look at them. They’re a mess! Dowdy jackets, dreadful ties…”

“You really think the ability to govern is affected by what you wear, do you?”

“Hi, Mum,” I say, dumping my bag on the floor. “Hi, Dad.”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” says Mum. “If they’re not prepared to make an effort with their dress, then why should they make any effort with the economy?”

“It’s hardly the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing. Becky, you think the chancellor should dress more smartly, don’t you? All this lounge suit nonsense.”

“I don’t know,” I say vaguely. “Maybe.”

“You see? Becky agrees with me. Now, let me have a look at you, darling.” She puts down her knife and surveys me properly, and I feel myself glowing a little, because I know I look good. I’m wearing a shocking pink dress and jacket, a Philip Treacy feathered hat, and the most beautiful black satin shoes, each decorated with a single gossamer butterfly. “Oh, Becky,” says Mum at last. “You look lovely. You’ll upstage the bride!” She reaches for my hat and looks at it. “This is very unusual! How much did it cost?”

“Erm… I can’t remember,” I say vaguely. “Maybe… fifty quid?”

This is not quite true. It was actually more like… Well, anyway, quite a lot. Still, it was worth it.

“So, where’s Luke?” says Mum, popping my hat back on my head. “Parking the car?”

“Yes, where’s Luke?” says my father, looking up, and gives a jocular laugh. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting this young man of yours at last.”

“Luke’s coming separately,” I say — and flinch slightly as I see their faces fall.

“Separately?” says Mum at last. “Why’s that?”

“He’s flying back from Zurich this morning,” I explain. “He had to go there for business. But he’ll be here, I promise.”

“He does know the service starts at twelve?” says Mum anxiously. “And you’ve told him where the church is?”

“Yes!” I say. “Honestly, he’ll be here.”

I’m aware that I sound slightly snappy, but I can’t help it. To be honest, I’m a bit stressed out myself about where Luke’s got to. He was supposed to be ringing me when he landed at the airport — and that was supposed to be half an hour ago. But so far I haven’t heard anything.

Still. He said he’d be here.

“Can I do anything to help?” I ask, to change the subject.

“Be a darling, and take these upstairs for me,” says Mum, cutting the sandwiches briskly into triangles. “I’ve got to pack away the patio cushions.”

“Who’s upstairs?” I say, picking up the plate.

“Maureen’s come over to blow-dry Janice’s hair,” says Mum. “They wanted to keep out of Lucy’s way. You know, while she’s getting ready.”

“Have you seen her yet?” I ask interestedly. “Has she got a nice dress?”

“I haven’t seen it,” says Mum, and lowers her voice. “But apparently it cost £3,000. And that’s not including the veil!”

“Wow,” I say, impressed. And for a second I feel ever so slightly envious. A £3,000 dress. And a party… and loads of presents… I mean, people who get married have it all.

As I go up the stairs, there’s the sound of blow-drying coming from Mum and Dad’s bedroom — and as I go in, I see Janice sitting on the dressing-room stool, wearing a dressing gown, holding a sherry glass, and dabbing at her eyes with a hanky. Maureen, who’s been doing Mum’s and Janice’s hair for years now, is brandishing a hair dryer at her, and a woman I don’t recognize with a mahogany tan, dyed blond curly hair, and a lilac silk suit is sitting on the window seat.

“Hello, Janice,” I say, going over and giving her a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, dear,” she says, and gives a sniff. “A little wobbly. You know. To think of Tom getting married!”

“I know,” I say sympathetically. “It doesn’t seem like yesterday that we were kids, riding our bikes together!”

“Have another sherry, Janice,” says Maureen comfortably, and sloshes a deep brown liquid into her glass. “It’ll help you relax.”

“Oh, Becky,” says Janice, and squeezes my hand. “This must be a hard day for you, too.”

I knew it. She does still think I fancy Tom, doesn’t she? Why do all mothers think their sons are irresistible?

“Not really!” I say, as brightly as I can. “I mean, I’m just pleased for Tom. And Lucy, of course…”

“Becky?” The woman on the window seat turns toward me, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is Becky?”

And there’s not an ounce of friendliness in her face. Oh God, don’t say she thinks I’m after Tom, too.

“Erm… yes.” I smile at her. “I’m Rebecca Bloomwood. And you must be Lucy’s mother?”

“Yes,” says the woman, still staring at me. “I’m Angela Harrison. Mother of the bride,” she adds, emphasizing “the bride” as though I don’t understand English.

“You must be very excited,” I say politely. “Your daughter getting married.”

“Yes, well, of course, Tom is devoted to Lucy,” she says aggressively. “Utterly devoted. Never looks in any other direction.” She gives me a sharp glance and I smile feebly back.

Honestly, what am I supposed to do? Throw up all over Tom or something? Tell him he’s the ugliest man I’ve ever known? They’d all still just say I was jealous. They’d say I was in denial.

“Is… Luke here, Becky?” says Janice, and gives me a hopeful smile. And suddenly — which is rather bizarre — everyone in the room is completely still, waiting for my answer.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” I say. “I think he must have been held up.”

There’s silence, and I’m aware of glances flying around the room.

“Held up,” echoes Angela, and there’s a tone to her voice that I don’t much like. “Is that right? Well, there’s a surprise.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“He’s coming back from Zurich,” I explain. “I should think the flight’s been delayed or something.” I look at Janice and, to my surprise, she flushes.

“Zurich,” she says, nodding a little too emphatically. “I see. Of course. Zurich.” And she shoots me an embarrassed, almost sympathetic look.

What’s wrong with her?

“This is Luke Brandon we’re talking about here,” says Angela, taking a puff on her cigarette. “The famous entrepreneur.”

“Well — yes,” I say, a bit surprised. I mean, I don’t know any other Lukes.

“And he’s your boyfriend.”

“Yes!”

There’s a slightly awkward silence — and even Maureen seems to be gazing at me curiously. Then, suddenly, I see a copy of this month’s Tatler lying on the floor by Janice’s chair. Oh God.

“That article in Tatler, by the way,” I say hastily, “is all wrong. He didn’t say he was single. He said no comment.”

“Article?” says Janice unconvincingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”

“I… I don’t read magazines,” says Maureen, who blushes bright red and looks away.

“We just look forward to meeting him,” says Angela, and blows out a cloud of smoke. “Don’t we, Janice?”

I stare at her in confusion — then turn to Janice, who will barely meet my eye, and Maureen, who’s pretending to root about in a beauty case.

Hang on a minute.

They surely don’t think—

“Janice,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You know Luke’s coming. He even wrote you a reply!”

“Of course he did, Becky!” says Janice, staring at the floor. “Well — as Angela says, we’re all looking forward to meeting him.”

I feel a swoosh of humiliated color fill my cheeks. What does she think? That I’ve just made up that I’m going out with Luke?

“Well, enjoy your sandwiches, won’t you?” I say, trying not to sound as flustered as I feel. “I’ll just… see if Mum needs me.”

When I find Mum, she’s on the top-floor landing, packing patio cushions into transparent plastic bags, then suctioning all the air out with the nozzle of her vacuum cleaner.

“I’ve some of these bags on order for you, by the way,” she shouts over the noise of the vacuum. “From Country Ways. Plus some turkey foil, a casserole dish, a microwave egg poacher…”

“I don’t want any turkey foil!” I yell.

“It’s not for you!” says Mum, turning off the vacuum. “They had a special offer — introduce a friend and receive a set of earthenware pots. So I nominated you as the friend. It’s a very good catalogue, actually. I’ll give it to you to have a browse.”

“Mum—”

“Lovely duvet covers. I’m sure you could do with a new—”

“Mum, listen!” I say agitatedly. “Listen. You do believe I’m going out with Luke, don’t you?”

There’s a slightly too long pause.

“Of course I do,” she says eventually.

I stare at her in horror.

“You don’t, do you? You all think I’ve just made it up!”

“No!” says Mum firmly. She puts down her hoover and looks me straight in the eye. “Becky, you’ve told us you’re going out with Luke Brandon, and as far as Dad and I are concerned, that’s enough.”

“But Janice and Martin. Do they think I’ve made it up?”

Mum gazes at me — then sighs, and reaches for another patio cushion.

“Oh, Becky. The thing is, love, you have to remember, they once believed you had a stalker. And that turned out to be… well. Not quite true. Didn’t it?”

A cold dismay creeps over me. OK, maybe I did once kind of pretend I had a stalker. Which I shouldn’t have done. But I mean, just because you invent one tiny stalker — that doesn’t make you a complete nutcase, does it?

“And the trouble is, we’ve never actually… well, seen him with you, have we, love?” Mum’s continuing, as she stuffs the cushion into its transparent bag. “Not in the flesh. And then there was that piece in the paper saying he was single…”

“He didn’t say single!” My voice is shrill with frustration. “He said no comment! Mum, have Janice and Martin told you they don’t believe me?”

“No!” Mum lifts her chin defiantly. “They wouldn’t dare say a thing like that to me.”

“But you know that’s what they’re saying behind our backs.”

We stare at each other, and suddenly I see the strain in Mum’s face, hidden behind her bright facade. She must have been so hoping we’d pull up together in Luke’s flash car, I suddenly realize. She must have been so wanting to prove Janice wrong. And instead, here I am, on my own again…

“He’ll be here,” I say, almost to reassure myself. “He’ll be here any minute.”

“Of course he will!” exclaims Mum brightly. “And as soon as he turns up — well, then everyone will have to eat their words, won’t they?”

The doorbell rings and we both stiffen, staring at each other.

“I’ll get that, shall I?” I say, trying to sound casual.

“Why don’t you?” agrees Mum, and I can see a tiny shine of hope in her eyes.

Trying not to run, I hurry down the stairs and, with a light heart, fling the front door open. And it’s… not Luke.

It’s a man laden with flowers. Baskets of flowers, a bouquet of flowers, and several flat boxes at his feet.

“Wedding flowers,” he says. “Where do you want them?”

“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “Actually, you’ve got the wrong house, I’m afraid. They need to go next door. Number 41.”

“Really?” The man frowns. “Let me just look at my list… Hold that, would you?”

He thrusts the bridal bouquet at me and starts rooting around his pocket.

“Honestly,” I say, “they need to go next door. Look, I’ll just get my—”

I turn round, holding Lucy’s bouquet with both hands, because it’s quite heavy. And to my horror, Angela Harrison is just arriving at the foot of the stairs. She stares at me, and for a moment I almost think she’s going to kill me.

“What are you doing?” she snaps. “Give me that!” She wrenches the bouquet out of my hands and brings her face so close to mine I can smell the gin on her breath. “Listen, young lady,” she hisses. “I’m not fooled by the smiles. I know what you’re up to. And you can just forget it, all right? I’m not having my daughter’s wedding wrecked by some deranged little psychopath.”

“I’m not deranged!” I exclaim furiously. “And I’m not going to wreck anything! I don’t fancy Tom! I’ve got a boyfriend!”

“Oh yes,” she says, folding her arms. “The famous boyfriend. Is he here yet?”

“No, he isn’t,” I say, and flinch at the expression on her face. “But he… he just called.”

“He just called,” echoes Angela with a little sneer. “To say he can’t make it?”

Why won’t these people believe that Luke’s coming?

“Actually… he’s half an hour away,” I hear myself saying defiantly.

“Good!” says Angela Harrison, and gives me a nasty smile. “Well — we’ll see him very soon, then, won’t we?”

Oh shit.

By twelve o’clock, Luke still hasn’t arrived, and I’m beside myself. This is a complete nightmare. Where is he? I loiter outside the church until the very last minute, desperately dialing his number, hoping against hope I’m suddenly going to see him running up the road. But the bridesmaids have arrived, and another Rolls-Royce has just pulled up, and he’s still not here. As I see the car door open and a glimpse of wedding dress, I hastily retreat into the church before anyone can think I’m waiting outside to disrupt the bridal procession.

As I creep in, trying not to disturb the organ music, Angela Harrison darts me an evil look, and there’s a rippling and whispering from Lucy’s side of the church. I sit down near the back, trying to keep composed and tranquil — but I’m well aware that all Lucy’s friends are shooting surreptitious glances at me. What the hell has she been telling everyone?

For a second I feel like getting up and walking out. I never wanted to come to this stupid wedding anyway. I only said yes because I didn’t want to offend Janice and Martin. But it’s too late, the bridal march is starting, and Lucy’s walking in. And I have to hand it to her, she’s wearing the most drop-dead gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen. I stare wistfully after it, trying not to imagine what I would look like in a dress like that.

The music stops and the vicar starts talking. I’m aware that people on Lucy’s side of the church are still darting me little looks — but I adjust my hat and lift my chin and ignore them.

“… to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” intones the vicar, “which is an honorable estate…”

The bridesmaids have got really nice shoes, I notice. I wonder where they’re from?

Shame about the dresses, though.

“… reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God…”

He pauses to look around the congregation, just as I hear a little trilling sound coming from my bag.

Shit. It’s my phone.

I pull at the zip — but it’s stuck. I don’t believe this. You buy an expensive bag, and the bloody zip sticks.

There’s another, louder trill. At the front of the church, Angela Harrison turns round in her pew and gives me the evil eye.

“Sorry,” I mouth. “I’m just trying to get it…”

As it trills for a third time, the vicar stops talking. And oh God, now Tom and Lucy are turning round, too.

“I’m sorry,” I gulp, giving another frantic tug at the zip. “I’ll just… try to…”

Face burning, I stand up, squeeze my way past the row of people, and hurry out of the church. As the door clangs shut behind me I wrench so hard at the zip that I pull the stitching undone. I scrabble inside for the phone, and jab at the green button.

“Hello?” I say breathlessly into the mouthpiece. “Luke?”

“Good morning!” says a cheery voice. “Would you be interested in adding a hundred minutes to your monthly plan?”

After carefully turning off my phone I creep back into the church, where the rest of the service goes by in a blur. When it’s all over, Lucy and Tom process out, studiously ignoring me as they do so — and everyone gathers around them in the graveyard to throw confetti and take photos. I slip away without anyone noticing, and hurry feverishly up the road to the Websters’ house. Because Luke must be there by now. He must. He must have arrived late, and decided not to come to the church, but go straight to the reception. It’s obvious, when you think about it. It’s what any sensible person would do.

I hurry through the Websters’ house, which is full of caterers and waitresses — and head straight for the marquee. There’s already a joyful smile on my face at the thought of seeing him, and telling him about that awful moment in the church, and seeing his face crease up in laughter—

But the marquee’s empty. Completely empty.

I stand there, bewildered, for a few moments — then quickly head out again and hurry toward my parents’ house. Because maybe Luke went there, instead, it suddenly occurs to me. Maybe he got the time wrong, or maybe he had to get changed into his wedding outfit. Or maybe—

But he’s not there either. Not in the kitchen, not upstairs. And when I dial his mobile number, it clicks straight onto messages.

Slowly, I walk into my bedroom and sink down onto the bed, trying not to let myself think all the bad thoughts which are creeping into my mind.

He’s coming, I tell myself again and again. He’s just… on his way.

Through the window I can see Tom and Lucy and all the guests starting to arrive in next door’s garden. There are lots of hats and morning suits, and waitresses handing round champagne. In fact, it all looks rather jolly. And I know I should be down there with them, but I just can’t face it. Not without Luke, not all on my own.

But after sitting there for a while, it occurs to me that by staying up here, I’ll just be fueling the intrigue. They’ll all think I can’t face the happy couple and that I’m off slitting my wrists somewhere. It’ll confirm all their suspicions forever. I have to go and show my face, even if just for half an hour.

I force myself to stand up, take a deep breath, and put some fresh lipstick on. Then I walk out of the house and round to the Websters’. I slip inconspicuously into the marquee through a side flap and stand watching for a moment. There are people milling about everywhere, and the hubbub is huge, and no one even notices me. Near the entrance, there’s a formal lineup with Tom and Lucy and their parents, but no way am I going near that. So instead I sidle off to an empty table and sit down, and after a bit a waitress comes and gives me a glass of champagne.

For a while I just sit there, sipping my drink and watching people and feeling myself start to relax. But then there’s a rustling sound in front of me. I look up — and my heart sinks. Lucy is standing right in front of me in her beautiful wedding dress, flanked by a large bridesmaid in a really unflattering shade of green. (Which I think says quite a lot about Lucy.)

“Hello, Rebecca,” says Lucy pleasantly — and I can just tell, she’s congratulating herself on being so polite to the loony girl who nearly wrecked her wedding.

“Hi,” I say. “Listen, I’m really sorry about the service. I honestly didn’t mean to…”

“That doesn’t matter,” says Lucy, and gives me a tight smile. “After all, Tom and I are married. That’s the main thing.” And she gives her wedding-ringed hand a satisfied glance.

“Absolutely!” I say. “Congratulations. Are you going on—”

“We were just wondering,” interrupts Lucy pleasantly. “Is Luke here yet?”

My heart sinks.

“Oh,” I say, playing for time. “Well…”

“It’s only that Mummy said you told her he was half an hour away. But no sign of him! Which seems a bit strange, don’t you think?” She raises her eyebrows innocently, and her bridesmaid gives a half-snort of laughter. I glance over Lucy’s shoulder and see Angela Harrison standing with Tom, a few yards away, watching with gimlet, triumphant eyes. God, they’re enjoying this, aren’t they?

“After all, that was, oh, a good two hours ago now,” Lucy’s saying. “At least! So if he isn’t here, it does seem a teeny bit peculiar.” She gives me a mock-concerned look. “Or maybe he’s had an accident? Maybe he’s got held up in… Zurich, was it?”

I stare at her smug, mocking face, and something violent rushes to my head.

“He’s here,” I say before I can stop myself.

There’s a stunned silence. Lucy and her bridesmaid glance at each other, while I take a deep gulp of champagne.

“He’s here?” says Lucy at last. “You mean, here at the wedding?”

“Absolutely!” I say. “He’s… he’s been here a while, actually.”

“But where? Where is he?”

“Well… he was here just a few moments ago…” I gesture to the chair next to me. “Didn’t you see him?”

“No!” says Lucy, with wide eyes. “Where is he now?” And she starts to look around the marquee.

“Just there,” I say, pointing vaguely through the crowd. “He’s wearing a morning coat…”

“And? What else?”

“And he’s… he’s holding a glass of champagne…”

Thank God all men look alike at weddings.

“Which one!” says Lucy impatiently.

“The dark one,” I say, and take another gulp of champagne. “Look, he’s waving at me.” I lift my hand and give a little wave. “Hi, Luke!”

“Where?” exclaims Lucy, peering into the crowd. “Kate, can you see him?”

“No!” says the bridesmaid hopelessly. “What does he look like?”

“He’s… actually, he’s just disappeared,” I say. “He must be getting me a drink or something.”

Lucy turns to me again.

“So — how come he wasn’t at the service?”

“He didn’t want to interrupt,” I say after a pause, and force myself to smile naturally. “Well — I won’t keep you. You must want to mingle with your guests!”

“Yes,” says Lucy after a pause. “Yes, I will.”

Giving me another suspicious look, she rustles off toward her mother, and they all start hobnobbing in a little group, shooting glances at me every so often. Then one of the bridesmaids rushes off to another group of guests, and they all start giving me glances, too. And then one runs off to another group. It’s like seeing a bushfire begin.

A few moments later, Janice comes up, all flushed and teary looking, with a flowery hat perched lopsidedly on her head.

“Becky!” she says. “Becky, we’ve just heard that Luke’s here!”

And my heart plummets. Putting down the bride from hell was one thing. But I can’t bring myself to lie to Janice. I just can’t do it. So I quickly take a gulp of champagne, and wave my glass at her in a vague manner that could mean anything.

“Oh, Becky…” Janice clasps her hands. “Becky, I feel absolutely… Have your parents met him yet? I know your mother will be over the moon!”

Oh fuck.

Suddenly I feel a bit sick. My parents. I didn’t think of that.

“Janice, I’ve just got to go and… and powder my nose,” I say, and get hastily to my feet. “See you later.”

“And Luke!” she says.

“And Luke, of course!” I say, and give a shrill little laugh.

I hurry to the portaloos without meeting anyone’s eye, lock myself in a cubicle, and sit, swigging the last warm dregs of my champagne. OK, let’s not panic about this. Let’s just… think clearly, and go over my options.

Option One: Tell everybody that Luke isn’t really here, I made a mistake.

Not unless I want to be stoned to death with champagne glasses and never show my face in Oxshott again.

Option Two: Tell Mum and Dad in private that Luke isn’t really here.

But they’ll be so disappointed. They’ll be mortified, and they won’t enjoy the day and it’ll be all my fault.

Option Three: Bluff it out — and tell Mum and Dad the truth at the end of the day.

Yes. That could work. It has to work. I can easily convince everyone Luke’s here for about an hour or so — and then I’ll say he’s got a migraine, and has gone off to lie down quietly.

Right, this is what I’m going to do. OK — let’s go.

And you know, it’s easier than I thought. Before long, everyone seems to be taking it for granted that Luke is around somewhere. Tom’s granny even tells me she’s already spotted him, and isn’t he handsome and will it be my turn next? I’ve told countless people that he was here just a minute ago, have collected two plates of food from the buffet — one for me, one for Luke (tipped one into the flower bed), and have even borrowed some stranger’s morning coat and put it on the chair next to me, as though it’s his. The great thing is, no one can prove he’s not here! There are so many people milling about, it’s impossible to keep track of who’s here and who isn’t. I should have done this ages ago.

“Group photograph in a minute,” says Lucy, bustling up to me. “We all have to line up. Where’s Luke?”

“Talking to some guy about property prices,” I reply without hesitation. “They were over by the drinks table.”

“Well, make sure you introduce me,” says Lucy. “I still haven’t met him!”

“OK!” I say, and give her a bright smile. “As soon as I track him down!” I take a swig of champagne, look up — and there’s Mum in her lime-green wedding outfit, heading toward me.

So far, I’ve managed to avoid her and Dad completely, basically by running away whenever they’ve come close. I know it’s really bad of me — but I just won’t be able to lie to Mum. Quickly I slip out of the marquee into the garden, and head for the shrubbery, dodging the photographer’s assistant, who’s rounding up all the children. I sit down behind a tree and finish my glass of champagne, staring up blankly at the blue afternoon sky.

I stay there for what seems like hours, until my legs are starting to ache and the breeze is making me shiver. Then at last, I slowly wander back, and slip inconspicuously into the tent. I won’t hang around much longer. Just long enough to have a piece of wedding cake, maybe, and some more champagne…

“There she is!” comes a voice behind me.

I freeze for an instant — then slowly turn round. To my utter horror, all the guests are standing in neat rows in the center of the marquee, while a photographer adjusts a tripod.

“Becky, where’s Luke?” says Lucy sharply. “We’re trying to get everybody in.”

Shit. Shit.

“Erm…” I swallow, trying to stay nonchalant. “Maybe he’s in the house?”

“No, he’s not,” says Kate the bridesmaid. “I’ve just been looking in there.”

“Well, he must be… in the garden, then.”

“But you were in the garden!” says Lucy, narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t you see him?”

“Erm… I’m not sure.” I look round the marquee hurriedly, wondering if I could pretend to spot him in the distance. But it’s different when there are no milling crowds. Why did they have to stop milling?

“He must be somewhere!” says a cheerful woman. “Who saw him last?”

There’s a deathly silence. Two hundred people are staring at me. I catch Mum’s anxious eye, and quickly look away again.

“Actually…” I clear my throat. “Now I remember, he was saying he had a bit of a headache! So maybe he went to—”

“Who’s seen him at all?” cuts in Lucy, ignoring me. She looks around the assembled guests. “Who here can say they’ve actually seen Luke Brandon in the flesh? Anyone?”

“I’ve seen him!” comes a wavering voice from the back. “Such a good-looking young man…”

“Apart from Tom’s gran,” says Lucy, rolling her eyes. “Anyone?”

And there’s another awful silence.

“I’ve seen his morning coat,” ventures Janice timidly. “But not his actual… body,” she whispers.

“I knew it. I knew it!” Lucy’s voice is loud and triumphant. “He never was here, was he?”

“Of course he was!” I say, trying to sound confident. “I expect he’s just in the—”

“You’re not going out with Luke Brandon at all, are you?” Her voice lashes across the marquee. “You just made the whole thing up! You’re just living in your own sad little fantasy land!”

“I’m not!” To my horror, my voice is thickening, and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. “I’m not! Luke and I are a couple!”

But as I look at all the faces gazing at me — some hostile, some astonished, some amused — I don’t even feel so sure of that anymore. I mean, if we were a couple, he’d be here, wouldn’t he? He’d be here with me.

“I’ll just…” I say in a trembling voice. “I’ll just check if he’s…”

And without looking anyone in the eye, I back out of the marquee.

“She’s a bloody fruit loop!” I hear Lucy saying. “Honestly, Tom, she could be dangerous!”

“You’re dangerous, young lady!” I hear Mum retorting, her voice shaking a little. “Janice, I don’t know how you could let your daughter-in-law be so rude! Becky’s been a good friend to you, over the years. And to you, Tom, standing there, pretending this has nothing to do with you. And this is the way you treat her. Come on, Graham. We’re going.”

And a moment later, I see Mum stalking out of the marquee, Dad in tow, her lime-green hat quivering on her head. They head toward the front drive, and I know they’re going back to our house for a nice, calming cup of tea.

But I don’t follow them. I can’t bring myself to see them — or anyone.

I walk quickly, stumbling slightly, toward the other end of the garden. Then, when I’m far enough away, I sink down onto the grass. I bury my head in my hands — and, for the first time today, feel tears oozing out of my eyes.

This should have been such a good day. It should have been such a wonderful, happy occasion. Seeing Tom get married, introducing Luke to my parents and all our friends, dancing together into the night… And instead, it’s been spoiled for everyone. Mum, Dad, Janice, Martin… I even feel sorry for Lucy and Tom. I mean, they didn’t want all this disruption at their wedding, did they?

For what seems like ages I sit without moving, staring down at the ground. From the marquee I can hear the sounds of a band starting up, and Lucy’s voice bossing somebody about. Some children are playing with a bean bag in the garden and occasionally it lands near me. But I don’t flicker. I wish I could just sit here forever, without having to see any of them ever again.

And then I hear my name, low across the grass.

At first I think Lucy’s right, and I’m hearing imaginary voices. But as I look up, my heart gives an almighty flip and I feel something hard blocking my throat. I don’t believe it.

It’s him.

It’s Luke, walking across the grass, toward me, like a dream. He’s wearing morning dress and holding two glasses of champagne, and I’ve never seen him looking more handsome.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he reaches me. “I’m beyond sorry. Four hours late is… well, it’s unforgivable.” He shakes his head.

I stare up at him dazedly. I’d almost started to believe that Lucy was right, and he only existed in my own imagination.

“Were you… held up?” I say at last.

“A guy had a heart attack. The plane was diverted…” He frowns. “But I left a message on your phone as soon as I could. Didn’t you get it?”

I grab for my phone, realizing with a sickening thud that I haven’t checked it for a good while. I’ve been too busy dealing with imaginary Luke to think about the real one. And sure enough, the little message icon is blinking merrily.

“No, I didn’t get it,” I say, staring at it blankly. “I didn’t. I thought…”

I break off and shake my head. I don’t know what I thought anymore.

“Are you all right?” says Luke, sitting down beside me and handing me a glass of champagne. He runs a finger gently down my face and I flinch.

“No,” I say, rubbing my cheek. “Since you ask, I’m not all right. You promised you’d be here. You promised, Luke.”

“I am here.”

“You know what I mean.” I hunch my arms miserably round my knees. “I wanted you to be there at the service, not arrive when it’s all nearly over. I wanted everyone to meet you, and see us together…” My voice starts to wobble. “It’s just been… awful! They all thought I was after the bridegroom—”

“The bridegroom?” says Luke incredulously. “You mean the pale-faced nonentity called Tom?”

“Yes, him.” I look up and give a reluctant half-giggle as I see Luke’s expression. “Did you meet him, then?”

“I met him just now. And his very unlovely wife. Quite a pair.” He takes a sip of champagne and leans back on his elbows. “By the way — she looked rather taken aback to meet me. Almost… gobsmacked, one might say. As did most of the guests.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Anything I should know?”

“Erm…” I clear my throat. “Erm… not really. Nothing important.”

“I thought as much,” says Luke. “So the bridesmaid who cried out, ‘Oh my God, he exists!’ when I walked in. She’s presumably…”

“Mad,” I say without moving my head.

“Right.” He nods. “Just checking.”

He reaches out for my hand, and I let him take it. For a while we sit in silence. A bird is wheeling round and round overhead, and in the distance I can hear the band playing “Lady in Red.”

“Becky, I’m sorry I was late.” His voice is suddenly grave. “There was really nothing I could do. I gave a lot of people a lot of grief, believe me.”

“I’m sure you did.” I exhale sharply. “You couldn’t help it. Just one of those things.”

For a while longer we’re both silent.

“Good champagne,” says Luke eventually, and takes a sip.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s… very nice. Nice and… dry…” I break off and rub my face, trying to hide how nervous I am.

There’s part of me that wants to sit here, making small talk for as long as we can. But another part is thinking, what’s the point in putting it off any longer? There’s only one thing I want to know. I feel a spasm of nerves in my stomach, but somehow force myself to take a deep breath and turn to him.

“So. How did your meetings in Zurich go? How’s the… the new deal coming along?”

I’m trying to stay calm and collected — but I can feel my lips starting to tremble, and my hands are twisting themselves into knots.

“Becky…” says Luke. He stares into his glass for a moment, then puts it down. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m moving to New York.”

I feel cold and heavy. So this is the end to a completely disastrous day. Luke’s leaving me. It’s the end. It’s all over.

“Right,” I manage, and give a careless shrug. “I see. Well — OK.”

There’s silence — and I force myself to look up. The love in Luke’s dark eyes hits me like a thunderbolt.

“And I’m really, really hoping…” He takes both my hands and squeezes them tight. “… that you’ll come with me.”

REGAL AIRLINES

Head Office Preston House 354 Kingsway London WC2 4TH

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood

Flat 2

4 Burney Rd.

London SW6 8FD

17 September 2000

Dear Rebecca Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of 15 September.

I am glad that you are looking forward to flying with us and have already recommended us highly to all your friends. I agree that word-of-mouth business is invaluable for a company such as ours and may well send our revenues “rocketing.”

Unfortunately this does not, as you suggest, qualify you for “a special little thank-you” regarding luggage. Regal Airlines is unable to increase your luggage allowance beyond the standard 20 kg. Any excess weight will be subject to a charge; I enclose an explanatory leaflet.

Please enjoy your flight.

Mary Stevens

Customer Care Manager

PGNI FIRST BANK VISA

7 Camel Square

Liverpool L1 5NP

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood

Flat 2

4 Burney Rd.

London SW6 8FD

19 September 2000

GOOD NEWS!

YOUR NEW CREDIT LIMIT IS £10,000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

We are delighted to announce that you have been given an increase to your credit limit. Your new credit limit of £10,000 is available for you to spend immediately and will be shown on your next statement.

You can use your new credit limit to do many things. Pay for a holiday, a car, even transfer balances from other cards!

However, we realize that some customers do not wish to take advantage of increased credit limits. If you would prefer your credit limit to remain at its original level, please call one of our Customer Satisfaction Representatives, or return the form below.

Yours sincerely,

Michael Hunt

Customer Satisfaction Manager