He never understood the wedding-planning business. Hardly surprising, as he didn’t exactly get the whole being-married bit either. He seemed to view the fact that I earned more than most wedding planners as some sort of a lucky chance. As if a pixie just wandered past and sprinkled me with magic marital dust. The truth is that I’m booked solid, as is the rest of the agency I work for, because we always go the extra mile. Or ten if you’re listening to Sally.
A weight hits the end of the bed, and I smile as my cat Lord Humphrey pads towards me. He miaows and butts my head with his own.
“Hey, baby,” I say, rubbing his ear. “How are you?”
He settles next to me on the bed and observes me with disapproving golden eyes.
“Why are you looking like that? I had to take the call.” I sigh. “You’re worse than Lachlan. Ouch!” I say as he bites my nose. “That was uncalled for.”
He springs off the bed and marches out of the room.
“You didn’t even like him when I met him,” I shout. “So how come he’s now your favourite person? He doesn’t fill your food bowl and empty your litter tray. And make note of the fact that I never mix up the two.”
Humphrey doesn’t answer. It’s one of life’s great ironies that my disdainful cat fell in love with my husband and followed him everywhere, much to Lachlan’s puzzlement. It was cute when we were married. Now, not so much.
I consider switching off the light and trying to get more sleep but it’s half four now. There isn’t any point. I slide out of bed and wander into my flat’s tiny kitchen. It’s a good job I can’t cook, because I couldn’t toss a salad in here, let alone a pancake.
It’s a far cry from Lachlan’s palatial house in Knightsbridge, but at least this feels like home, unlike that mansion. And it had welcomed me back after our split, like a little nest where I could lick my wounds. Lachlan had told me to stay in his house, but I don’t think he meant for the rest of my life, and my pride wouldn’t allow it, so I took the flat off the market and moved back in. It had been a very depressing afternoon.
I switch on the coffee maker by instinct. Lachlan is addicted to coffee. If he could have it in a drip and walk around all day, he’d be happy. When we were together, I’d enjoyed searching out different beans and varieties and testing them out on him. He’d give his crooked smile, and his grey eyes would be full of a wry amusement that had warmed me, even though I never knew whether the humour was directed at me or him.
I sigh and switch the machine off. It seems ridiculous to be going to all this faff when it’s just me drinking it and there’s a Starbucks up the road. Instead, I grab a can of Coke out of the fridge, making a mental note to go shopping. The fridge is empty probably because, since our split, I’ve embarked on a largely liquid diet of rum, cocktails, and best of all, rum cocktails. All that’s in there is a pack of butter, some sugared almonds in their pretty pink paper, and a piece of cheesecake that I pinched from a wedding a week ago. Even Jamie Oliver would struggle to make something of that.
I wander into the lounge. It’s chilly, and I hurry to switch on the fire. The flames leap up, warming my face, and I grab a throw and wrap it around me. The wind howls outside, sending rain tapping against the glass, and I nestle deeper into the throw. A year ago, I’d have cuddled into Lachlan who never minded how cold my feet get, but now it’s just me and my blanket.
On the table is an arrangement of photos of me and Lachlan together. In my favourite one, we’re standing with our arms wrapped around each other. I’m smiling like crazy, happiness written all over my face. I pick up the frame, and Lachlan’s handsome, craggy face stares out at me. His wavy, dark hair is ruffled, and he offers his crooked smile at the camera. As I set down the frame, the firelight catches on my gaudy wedding ring, making the diamonds twinkle, and I exclaim in sudden disgust.
“Why the hell is this crap still everywhere?” I say.
Humphrey observes me unblinking from his perch on the sofa.
Seized with determination, I grab all the pictures. With their frames clacking together, I march into the kitchen and stack them on the work surface. Then I dart into the bedroom and seize all the photos in there. They go onto the pile until it’s teetering unsteadily.
By the time I’m done retrieving every photo of me and Lachlan, I’m sweating beneath my blanket. “Time to let go,” I say.
I open the small pantry door and shove them all onto the bottom shelf. I hesitate for a second, and then before I can second-guess myself, I pull off my ring. It slides easily from my finger, and my breath saws in and out of my chest. Tears fill my eyes as I stare down at the ring in my palm. For something so precious to me, it seems extraordinarily light. A few seconds pass and then I say, “Fuck it,” viciously. I set the ring on the stack of photo frames, slam the cupboard door shut, and march off for a shower.
An hour later, dressed in my grey Armani suit with a white shirt and blue tie, I walk into the kitchen. I open the pantry door and pull out the stack of photos. I wander around the flat, setting them all back in their places and then finally work the ring back onto my finger.
“And you can shut up,” I say to Humphrey who’s watching me from the kitchen windowsill. He sniffs and turns back to his early morning contemplation of the birds outside, counting up his methods of disembowelling them. No wonder he and Lachlan got on.
Past
Two Years Ago
Chapter
One
Wedding One
Joe
“I’m so sorry, Joe.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I croak. “This happens to me a lot.”
I’m crammed into a tiny bathroom cubicle, holding up one end of a massive meringue wedding dress. Lena the bridesmaid holds the other end while the bride sits on the loo.
Daisy stares at me from her porcelain perch. “This happens a lot?”
“Oh, almost every day,” I say airily. “I’d bet most gay men have never had this experience. I’ll be the envy of the gay choir.”
She snorts and Lena shifts in her cramped position in the bathroom stall. “Joe’s a wedding planner, so I’m presuming this is part of his job description, but I really do think the bridesmaid’s charter needs updating. I saw mention of hen nights, crappy dresses, and bridal blues, but absolutely zip about holding a wedding dress while the happy woman pees.”
Daisy chuckles. “This will be just like all those times I’ve held your hair back when you were drunk.”
“I’m just coming at it from the opposite end.”
They grin at each other, and I shift from foot to foot.
“It’s very warm in here,” I observe. “I hope I don’t faint, because that would make this whole thing very awkward.”
“It can get more awkward?” Lena says incredulously.
Daisy sighs. “I’m so sorry but I can’t go now.”
“Performance anxiety,” Lena says. “I do hope your bridegroom doesn’t suffer from the same thing.”
I twist to face the wall as best I can, trying to avoid leaving the skin of my nose on the door hinges. “I’ll try to give you some privacy,” I wheeze.