The Debt & the Doormat(85)

‘You OK, Pops?’ Lilly asks giving me a glass of wine.

‘Yeah, just a bit emotional, you know,’ I say wiping away a tear.

I really am going to miss everyone here. Not Victor or the actual job part; but definitely the people. Even though I’ve made up with Lilly I wonder if I’ll see her as much. It's going to be hard with us both at different jobs.

‘I’m so sorry Lilly. I really am.’

‘Pops, let’s not talk about it again, OK? Anyway, I haven’t told you my great news.’

‘What?’

‘Me and Cheryl are going into business together,’ she smiles.

‘What? And you think that's a good idea? You’ve called her a twat in the past.’

‘Pops, it's all decided. We’re doing a freelance PA service.’

‘Oh my God, that's great. I’ve got a job working for some director guy.’

‘Really? Who?’

‘Um....Michael Schorky?’

‘Shut your fucking mouth! That's fucking amazing!’

‘You know him too? God, I’m the only one in the dark.’

‘Come on, let’s get shit faced,’ she grins.

This is why she’ll always be in my life.

‘I can't get too bad. I’ve got the wedding tomorrow.’





Chapter 32




‘How do I look?’ Abbey says to her friend who I think is called Tracey.

It's hard to keep up to be honest. It was mayhem when I arrived here this morning. The whole suite was filled with relatives, photographers, make-up artists, hair dressers. I briefly got introduced to them all but I’m still struggling to remember anyone’s names.

‘Fine. Does my dress look OK?’ she asks back, fiddling with her hair.

‘Forget about you – how do I look?’ Mum says, pushing them both out of the way of the mirror and examining her cream and brown dress and enormous hat.

That's exactly what she needs – the poor cow looks like she’s going to vomit from nerves.

I walk closer to her and place my hand on her shoulder.

‘You look gorgeous Abbey. Really stunning,’ I say adjusting her veil and trying not to stare at her giant pale breasts threatening to escape from her corset. ‘And just remember – at least she didn’t wear white.’

‘Thanks Pops,’ she says, laughing and taking a deep breath. ‘Your hands are really cold. Quick – help me.’ She grabs both my hands and puts them up to her forehead. ‘I’m boiling.’

And she’s not lying. Her forehead is heating up.

‘I’m just so frigging nervous and with the rain and everything! I mean, what if it's a sign?’

‘I’ve actually heard that rain on your wedding day is good luck,’ I say, smiling convincingly.

‘I’m just so nervous! What if I trip?’ she says, her forehead creasing under my hand.

‘Then you trip. Who cares? The main thing is that you and Henry love each other – this really is just a day – the main thing is that you’re going to be together for the rest of your life.’

‘You’re right.’ She starts to relax her shoulders.

‘Can someone help me with my dress?’ Abbey’s Mum says, wandering round in a fluster.

‘I’ll try.’ I try the side zip, but there’s no way the zips going to go up. The dress is miles too small.

‘Sorry, but I can't seem to do it.’

‘Why not? It goes up – I know it does! I’ve worn this dress before!’ She’s getting more flustered by the minute.

‘Let me try,’ Abbey says, also seeming to struggle with the zip.

‘Oh my God! There’s a fly in here!’ I hear my Mum shout from the bathroom. ‘Quickly! Someone kill it!’

‘I’ve got my own problems!’ Abbey’s Mum shouts back. ‘This bloody dress!’

In a second she whips the dress up over her head and continues to struggle with the zip in her underwear.

‘The fly! It's back! Quickly!’ I can hear my Mum calling again.

Everyone tries to ignore her, concentrating on their own problems.

‘I can't hear anyone coming!’ she screams.

I’m going to have to deal with this. She’s my mental mother.

‘Mum,’ I say, walking into the bathroom. ‘Stop being a drama queen. Abbey’s worried enough.’

‘Get the fly swatter! Aaah!’ She runs around the bathroom at a fly which I really can't see.

‘I can't see any fly,’ I say looking round the entire bathroom.

Tracey joins me in the bathroom.

‘Everything OK?’ she asks, looking at Mum as if she’s a huge liability.

‘No! There’s a fly in here. He’s hiding! I won't be able to rest until I know he’s dead.’ She seems genuinely terrified.

‘Come out fly,’ Tracey sings ‘let’s call him Harry. Come out Harry,’ she giggles, clearly half cut from the champagne being passed round.

‘That's not helping,’ Mum says disapprovingly.

‘Well, I’m sure he’s gone,’ I say, all too aware of the time.

‘No! He’s like a little clever person – he’s waiting!’

‘It's just a fucking fly!’ I scream while Tracey backs out of the room.

‘Don't use that language Poppy! And he was like a little spy.’

‘A fly that's a spy?’ I ask, weary. It's going to be a long day.

‘Yes! It was like he had a little camera attached to him! Plus he’s hidden so well,’ she says, eyeing every corner of the room.

‘Mum, how much have you had to drink?’

* * *





Before we know it we’re all at the back of the church. Mum’s stopped thinking a fly is out to get her and Abbey’s mum is safely in her dress, even if it is threatening to pop at any moment.

The sound of the organ blasts through our ear drums and we follow her down the aisle, the entire packed church staring at us. I walk as slowly as possible in my dress the colour of poo, trying to ignore the attention and instead focus on the beautiful details. Candles fill the church, emitting a tender romantic light which reflects of the garlands of roses which scent the church. It's beautiful.

I find myself tearing up when the priest talks about the bond of love. They seem to gaze so lovingly into each other’s eyes, as if they were the only two people in the world. It's actually made me see my brother in a better light. I know we’ve never gotten on, but when I see him through Abbey’s eyes I see a genuine adoring man. I wonder if I’ll ever be that happy.

Is it me or is the priest ogling her breasts?

‘I breast you in the name of the father, son and the holy spirit.’

Breast you? Oh my God. Abbey goes bright red and Henry looks like he might punch the priest in the face.

‘Bless you! Sorry – bless you,’ he corrects himself.

Awkward giggles fill the church. Why can't we just have one family occasion without it ending in shambles?

* * *





I’m smiling for photos at the back of the church when I see her. Annabel. What the hell is going on with those two? Are they back together? You wouldn’t know from how normally they’re behaving. A hand on my waist pulls me out of my daydream.

‘Hey sexy,’ Stuart says into my ear. ‘You look gorgeous.’

I flinch away from him, his hot breath repulsing me.

‘Thanks,’ I say trying to ignore him and gaze in the other direction.

‘So, are you ready for our date?’ He takes my hand.

‘It's not a date,’ I say throwing his hand away. ‘Like I said on the phone – this is just for my family. There’s no possibility of us getting back together.’

‘OK sweet, whatever you say,’ he says, arrogantly guiding me towards his car.

We drive in silence and I’m glad for the quiet. All morning I’ve had to deal with the constant chatter coming from Mum, Abbey, her Mum, her sister, her friends. I think about how close I was to marrying Stuart before he left. How I’d thought he was going to propose when he said he wanted to talk and instead broke my heart. Would I be happy with him now if he had proposed and we’d instead got married?

When I look at him now we just seem like totally different people and it shocks me to think I ever thought we were compatible. And then I think of Ryan. My feelings for him are so overwhelmingly strong, they make any previous feelings seem ridiculously inadequate.

Once we’re inside the reception I grab two glasses of champagne of one of the many waiters milling around and down one immediately.

‘Thanks,’ Stuart says, going to take the other glass from me.

‘Sorry – did you think this was for you?’ I laugh cruelly, before starting to drink the other one.

‘Oh, maybe you should slow down a bit, hey?’ he says, looking anxious.

‘I don't think so,’ I snort. ‘If I have to play happy couple I’m going to have to get very, very drunk.’

‘Poppy!’ I hear Aunt Margaret call.

I swivel round and smile at her as she skips over, already looking half cut.

‘Hi Aunt Margaret,’ I say politely while swigging heavily on the champagne. I can already feel the calming effect of the alcohol.

‘Poppy darling! How are you? Oh, Stuart! How are you Stuart?’ she asks, hugging him tightly.

‘I’m fine thanks Aunt Mags,’ he smiles.

Aunt Mags. Who does he think he is? He only met her a few times when we were going out.