A flash of white to my right signalled that Caroline and my father were walking past, but I didn’t look at them. All my attention was on James. Tenderness had suffused his features, softening his expression. At that moment I wished him happiness. I hoped that Caroline reserved her hatred for me alone. I could live with that as long as it meant that she wasn’t a bitch to James, that he never lost the beautiful smile on his face and—
Hold on a fucking minute! Where was the good will towards the pregnant druggie? Nobody was lining up to wish me a happy future. The bride and groom would have their idyllic lives while mine would be anything but, especially if Caroline had her way. She hated me too much to miss a chance to make me suffer.
Her words had kept me up most of the night.
I did it because it felt good.
The phrase whirled around my mind as I watched her reach the altar. She looked golden and ethereal in her flapper dress. Radiant, just like a bride should be, holding her bouquet of blood-red roses with her sheer veil floating behind her. My father was beaming as widely as Caroline, full of pride and dignity as he joined my mother in the front pew.
I looked at the bridesmaids. Caroline hadn’t even had the decency to clothe them in taffeta puffs or satin shockers. They looked like graceful swans, slender and elegant in flowing white. I wrinkled my nose. With the exception of Caroline’s bouquet, everything was white-on-white today. She said she wanted her wedding to be classy, but why did she think that draining everything of colour would do the magic trick?
The only contrast was James’s black wedding suit. He stood next to his trembling bride, tall and proud as they faced Father Martin. Black and white, when my feelings were anything but. Envy towards Caroline warred with fear for my future. Tomorrow I would have to face my father and deal with his wrath. Once he got into his stride I would croak like a toad and then he would find out that Alex was already married and on honeymoon in Florida.
Father Martin was my last hope. Humble and repentant, I would appeal to him for help, suitably concealed by my mother’s coat. He would take pity on me and advise leniency, and everything would be okay. The mass droned on until Father Martin begged someone to dish up the dirt on Caroline so he could go home and screw his gardener.
Oh crap, I’d been daydreaming that bit.
I also daydreamed about an outraged Caroline decking James like Duck Face had Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral, but there were no interruptions to keep the sickeningly sweet couple from being married.
James and Caroline were pronounced husband and wife and everybody applauded. I kept my eyes on the stained glass windows, filling my vision with yellow, red and blue. Martyred saints in the throes of their suffering. I told myself that my strange sorrow was relief, that now that James was married my annoying fixation with him would end.
Ciao bambino and thanks for the amore galore.
James bent down to kiss Caroline and I shifted my gaze to the altar: crown of thorns, torn flesh and oozing blood. The walls were no better, depicting the Stations of the Cross. Everywhere I looked there was pain and suffering.
The room lurched, or maybe it was me. I escaped outside, taking in huge gulps of air. Soon enough, everybody had joined me, and James and Caroline were being photographed and congratulated. I lurked in the background.
Two university friends of James’s gave me a ride to the reception, and the stories they told of his rakish, bad boy days at Cambridge made me laugh. Would Caroline staunch his mischievous streak, they wondered? Hell, she probably had already, judging by how uptight and formal he was.
Except when he’s inside you, my mind whispered.
When we arrived at the Grand Excelsior Hotel we were ushered through the lobby and into the back gardens. It was so hot I wanted to strip my coat off and to hell with the consequences, but my sense of self-preservation prevailed. It wouldn’t do for my parents to spot me in the slut dress no matter the weather. We were sweltering in temperatures that were more Sahara than Sussex and I felt like the Wicked Witch of the West, melting under her coat into a puddle of goo.#p#分页标题#e#
Searching for a secluded, shady spot, I scanned the lawns. James and Caroline were hand in hand in my peripheral vision, sipping champagne and chatting with their guests. I steered clear. A few minutes later I felt a tingle on my neck and glanced back. James was watching me. Caroline said something and he bent his head to her flushed face.
Deep waters, I reminded myself.
The narrow dirt pathway at the edge of the lawns led to a tall hedge maze designed around a shady birch tree. A sad little cherub fountain, cracked and half-covered with moss, stood crumbling in front of the tree. It was the perfect secluded retreat. I unbuttoned my coat and flapped the sides to cool my skin. Why the hell hadn’t I worn the dick deflator? I didn’t feel defiant or sexy anymore, just ridiculous.