Wedding Night: A Novel

35

FLISS

Well, she was right about the sunsets. I’ve never seen anything as spectacular as this in my life. The sun is slowly glowing down the sky, and it’s not just sinking, it’s shooting rays of pink and orange with such dramatic force, I’m put in mind of one of Noah’s superheroes. “Sunset” sounds quite passive, quite nothing-y. This is more like sun-pow! Sun-take-that!

I look down at Noah’s face, all rosy in the light, and I think again, He’ll be OK. For the first time in ages, I don’t feel angst or stress or anger. He’ll be OK. He’ll sort himself out. I’ll sort myself out. It’s all good.

We’ve had an odd time. Kind of cathartic and uncomfortable, embarrassing and joyful, awkward and wonderful, all at the same time. Nico rustled us up a table at the beach-side restaurant, and all five of us sat around eating meze to make your taste buds sing with joy and slow-cooked lamb to make your insides whimper with ecstasy.

The food here really is good. Must make sure I big it up in my piece.

There were a lot of questions. There were a lot of stories. There was a lot of kissing.

Lottie and I are … OK. I think. There are still sore spots and rough patches between us, but there’s also been a kind of revelation. We’re on the way to a gradual understanding about who we are to each other, which maybe we’ll look at properly later. (Or not bother and just charge on with life, probably more likely.)

Lorcan was the quiet star. He steered the conversation whenever it was threatening to become awkward, and he ordered fantastic wine, and he kept a kind of humorous knee-nudging thing going on with me, which I liked. I like him. I don’t just fancy him, I like him.

As for Ben, he’s disappeared. Which is understandable. Once it became plain that he’d been publicly rejected for another man by his brand-new wife, he skedaddled. Can’t blame him. I expect he’s found solace at a bar somewhere.

Richard and Lottie have gone for a walk down the beach, and Noah is skimming stones at the water’s edge, so it’s just Lorcan and me, sitting on a low wall with our bare feet in the sand. The smell of cooking from the restaurant is mingled with the salty sea air and the faint aroma of his aftershave, which is bringing back all sorts of memories.

I don’t just like him, I fancy him. Really quite a lot.

“Oh, wait. I got you something,” he says suddenly.

“You got me something?” I stare at him.

“It’s not much. I put it aside … Hold on.” He heads toward the restaurant and I watch him, intrigued. A few moments later he comes back, holding a plant in a pot. A little olive tree in a pot, to be precise.

“For your patio,” he says, and I stare at him in disbelief.

“You bought that for me?” I’m so touched, tears spring to my eyes. I can’t remember the last time someone bought something for me.

“You need something,” he says gravely. “You need … a start.”

He couldn’t have put it better. I need a start. As I look up again, his eyes are so warm I feel something stumble inside me.

“I don’t have anything for you.”

“You already gave me something. Clarity.” He pauses. “I thought I’d give you peace.” He fingers the olive leaves. “What’s done is done.”

What’s done is done. The words resonate in my brain, round and round. And then I get to my feet. There’s something I have to do, right now. I detach my memory stick from the chain around my neck and look at it. All my pain and anger toward Daniel seems to be contained in this one tiny piece of metal. It feels toxic. It’s contaminating me. It has to go.

I head briskly to the shallows and put a hand on Noah’s shoulder. As he looks up, I smile.

“Hi, darling. I’ve got something for you to skim.” I hand him the memory stick.

“Mummy!” He looks up at me, his eyes wide with shock. “This is a computer thing!”

“I know.” I nod. “But it’s a computer thing I don’t need anymore. Just throw it in the sea, Noah. As far as you can.”

I watch as he takes aim and skims it. Three bounces and it’s gone, into the Aegean Sea. Gone, gone, gone, really gone.

I walk slowly back up the beach to Lorcan, relishing the feel of my bare feet on the sand.

“So.” He reaches out and entwines his fingers in mine.

“So.” I’m about to suggest a walk along the beach, when Ben’s voice hits the back of my head.

“Lorcan. There you are. At bloody last.”

I don’t even need to look to know that he’s drunk, and I feel a squirm of sympathy. It can’t be easy for him.

“Hi, Ben,” says Lorcan, getting to his feet. “You OK?”

“I met with Zhernakov today. On his yacht.” Ben eyes both of us expectantly, as though waiting for a reaction. “I met him on his yacht,” he repeats. “Drank some Krug, shot the breeze, you know.…”

“Great.” Lorcan nods politely. “So you’re selling after all.”

“Maybe. Yes.” Ben sounds aggressive. “Why not?”

“Shame you couldn’t have let me know that before I spent weeks on those refinancing and restructuring agreements. They’re all a bit irrelevant now, aren’t they?”

“No. I mean … yes.” Ben seems confused. “Thing is …” His swagger dips a little. “Yuri and I made an agreement. A gentleman’s agreement. But now …” He wipes his face. “He’s already sent me an email I don’t understand.…” He holds out his BlackBerry to Lorcan, who ignores it and gazes at Ben, his expression unreadable.

“You really want to sell,” he says quietly. “The company that your father built up over years and years. You’re just letting it go.”

“It’s not like that.” Ben glares at him. “Yuri says nothing will change for the company.”

“Nothing will change?” Lorcan bursts into laughter. “And you bought that?”

“He’s interested in developing new projects!” says Ben hotly. “He thinks it’s a great little company!”

“You think Yuri Zhernakov is interested in creating a new aspirational paper range for the middle-class consumer?” Lorcan shakes his head. “If you believe that you’re even more naïve than I thought. He wants the house, Ben. Nothing else. I hope you got a good price out of him.”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly … I’m not sure what we …” Ben wipes his face again, clearly beleaguered. “You need to look at it.” He holds out his BlackBerry again, but Lorcan lifts his hands.

“I don’t need to do anything at this moment,” he says calmly. “My office day is done.”

“But I don’t know what I’ve agreed to.” All hint of bravado disappears from Ben’s demeanor. “Have a look, OK, Lorcan? Sort it out.”

There’s a long silence, and just for a moment I wonder whether Lorcan is going to capitulate. But at last he shakes his head.

“Ben, I’ve sorted out enough for you.” He sounds weary and a little sad. “I have to stop.”

“What?”

“I’m resigning.”

“What?” Ben looks absolutely staggered. “But … you can’t do that!”

“Consider this my notice. I’ve been with you far too long already. Your father’s gone and … well, it’s time for me to go too.”

“But … but you can’t! You’re really into the company!” Ben’s eyes are wide with panic. “You’re into it more than me! You love it!”

“Yes. And that’s the problem.” There’s a wryness to Lorcan’s voice, and I reach out to squeeze his hand. “I’ll help you till my notice period is served out, then I’m going. And it’ll be for the best.”

“But what will I do?” Ben sounds genuinely freaked.

“You’ll take charge of the situation.” Lorcan takes a step toward him. “Ben, you’ve got a choice. You can sell the company to Yuri if you want to. Pocket the cash and have fun. But you know what else you could do? Take the reins. Take control. It’s your company. It’s your heritage. Make a go of it.”

Ben seems poleaxed.

“You can do it,” adds Lorcan. “But it’ll be a pretty big challenge. You’ll need to want to do it.”

“I made a gentleman’s agreement with Yuri.” Ben’s eyes dart wildly about. “Oh Jesus. I don’t know. What do I do?”

“Yuri Zhernakov is no gentleman,” says Lorcan sardonically. “So I think you’re safe there.” He sighs, ruffles his fingers through his hair, his face unreadable. “Look, Ben. I have the restructuring agreements in my briefcase, and I’ll take you through them tomorrow. I’ll explain what all your options are, as I see it.” He pauses. “But I’m not telling you what to do. Sell, not sell, it’s your choice. Yours.”

Ben’s eyes are fixed on Lorcan. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, apparently unable to speak. Then at last he turns on his heel and walks away, pocketing his BlackBerry as he goes.

“Well done.” I squeeze Lorcan’s hand again as we sit back down on the wall. “That was courageous.” Lorcan says nothing, just tilts his head.

“Will he make a go of it?” I ask tentatively.

“He might.” Lorcan exhales. “But if he doesn’t do it now, it’s never.”

“And what will you do when you leave?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll take up that job offer I had in London.”

“London?” I say, brightening in spite of myself.

“Or Paris,” he says teasingly. “I’m fluent in French.”

“Paris is crap,” I say. “Everyone knows that.”

“Quebec, then.”

“Funny.” I hit him.

“I’m a lawyer.” Lorcan’s teasing tone disappears; he looks thoughtful. “That was my training. That was my career. And maybe I was knocked off course for a while. Maybe I did make the wrong choice.” His eyes flicker toward mine, and I nod in acknowledgment. “But now it’s time to get back on course.”

“Rev up the engine.”

“Full steam ahead,” he counters.

“You see life as a boat trip?” I say, in mock incredulity. “It’s a road trip. Everyone knows that.”

“It’s a boat trip.”

“It’s so a road trip.”

We sit there for a while, watching as the sunset turns from orange and pink to mauve and indigo and streaks of vivid crimson. It really is a corker.

Presently, Lottie and Richard come sauntering along the beach, and they perch on the wall beside us. They look good together, I can’t help thinking yet again. They just fit.

“So, I’m out of a job,” says Lorcan conversationally to Lottie, “and it’s all your sister’s fault.”

“It’s not my fault!” I exclaim at once. “How is it my fault?”

“If you hadn’t made me look at my life with a fresh pair of eyes, I never would have resigned.” His mouth twitches. “You have a lot to answer for.”

“I did you a favor,” I retort.

“Still your fault.” His eyes twinkle.

“Well …” I cast around. “No. I dispute that. It’s actually Lottie’s fault. If she hadn’t run off and got married, I would never have met you and we never would have discussed the matter.”

“Ah.” Lorcan nods. “Good point. I blame you.” He swivels to Lottie.

“It’s not my fault!” she retorts. “It’s Ben’s fault! That stupid marriage was all his idea. If he hadn’t proposed, I would never have come out here, and you would never have met Fliss.”

“So Ben’s the villain of the piece?” Lorcan raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes,” Lottie and I say in unison.

“Yes,” agrees Richard firmly.

The sky is a deep purple by now, mottled with midnight blue. The sun is a sliver of orange brightness at the horizon. I imagine it sliding down to another bit of the world, another bit of the sky, shining on other sets of Lotties and Flisses, with all their troubles and joys.

“Wait,” I say, and sit bolt upright at the realization. “The villain of the piece isn’t Ben, it’s Richard. If he’d proposed to Lottie in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

“Oh,” says Richard, and rubs his nose. “Ah.”

There’s a weird, silent little beat, in which I wonder wildly whether Richard will hurl himself onto one knee on the sand and do the business, but it passes, and no one says anything. Yet there’s a strangeness in the air now; this is pretty awkward; I should never have mentioned it.…

“Well, I can do something about that.” Lottie has a strange fire in her eyes. “Wait there. I need my bag.”

We all watch in puzzlement as she hurries back to the restaurant, heads straight to our table, and starts scrabbling in her handbag. What on earth is she up to?

And then suddenly I gasp. Oh God. I know. I want to hug myself with glee, with nerves, with anticipation. This could be amazing, this could be brilliant.…

Do not fuck it up, Richard.

And now she’s coming back toward us and her chin is up but trembling, and I can see exactly what she’s going to do, and I am so, so, so glad I am here to see this.

I can’t breathe. Lottie is walking slowly and deliberately up to Richard. She kneels down in front of him and holds out a ring.

It’s quite a nice ring, I see, to my relief. Quite manly.

“Richard,” she says, and blows out sharply, as though with nerves. “Richard …”