Let's Call The Whole Thing Off

That morning I’d woken up feeling so happy and excited and nervous, knowing I was a step closer to my big day. There was still so much to do: dresses to collect, the florist to contact, hair and make-up appointments to confirm, legs to wax, last-minute honeymoon shopping for bikini no. 4 just to be on the safe side and dozens of other calls to make, but now all I had running through my head was Sophie’s plaintive it’s not fair.

What wasn’t fair?

A sense of doom lodged in my heart and I had a feeling it had no intention of moving out anytime soon. I took another glug of water, a steadying breath and taking the stairs two at a time raced back up to the bedroom.

Grabbing the diary, my eyes devoured the words on the first page that fell open.

Friday 16 February

What an amazing day! We went to the park and walked round the lake holding hands like a proper couple and it all felt so normal and lovely. And we didn’t talk about the ‘situation’ because he told me not to and I knew it would only end in a row and I didn’t want that to happen, not today. I just wanted it to be special. And it was! We came back and fell into bed and stayed there for the rest of the afternoon. God, he makes me laugh that man! It just feels so right when we’re together, as though we were made for one another. And the sex is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I can never imagine tiring of his firm, hard body and those sweet, insistent kisses of his make my toes curl in delight. He’s always so hungry for me and it just makes me feel so wonderful and beautiful. Like a goddess! Aargh, he takes me to heights I didn’t think possible.

Oh, well, that made perfect sense. Relief seeped out through my shoulders. A man! It would have to be a man. A sex god to boot. Typical! My fingers fast forwarded a couple of pages.

Monday 19 February

The bastard! I can’t believe it! He called round today and told me it was over. WTF! After last week as well, when I thought we’d reached a new understanding and intimacy. We can’t carry on because it isn’t fair on me (!) and as much as he adores me there isn’t anything else he has to offer. Funny how he’s suddenly developed a conscience. Gave me a load of crap about how it was only ever meant to be a bit of fun and falling in love wasn’t part of the plan. But it’s a bit too late for that now! I love him more than any man I’ve ever loved and I know he loves me too. I told him I was prepared to wait, but he said ‘No’, he couldn’t do it any more. And then he told me straight – he was never going to leave her and I’ve got to get used to the idea – we have no future together. My heart is breaking. Not sure how I’ll ever get over this.

Oh God, poor Sophie. A broken heart explained everything. The loss of weight, all that mooning around, her lack of interest in anything bridal. No wonder she was dreading the wedding. Clearly she’d got herself involved with some toerag, a married toerag at that, and he was giving her the run-around. And all this time she’s been keeping this huge secret to herself so as not to burden me in the run-up to my special day. That was just like Sophie, thinking of others first. What a sweetheart! Probably all the talk of marriage and lifelong commitment had brought home to her just what she was missing out on.

Of course it seemed unfair. I had my Happy Ever After to look forward to, but what did Sophie have? A bit of afternoon delight when it suited her fancy man. And however good he was in the sack, it couldn’t be worth all the sneaking around, the lies and the hurt. She probably felt miserable that she couldn’t bring him along to the wedding. That she couldn’t show off her new man to all her friends, but no doubt he went running back to wifey at the weekends. And now, despite all his promises, he’d dumped her for good. But for goodness’ sake, what was she doing with a married man in the first place? Wasn’t that regulation No. 1 of the girls’ club – no married men?

Had I really been so preoccupied with the wedding that Sophie had felt unable to confide in me? I stretched out my arms behind me, my hands resting on my best friend’s bed as I looked for answers in the Artex ceiling.

I cursed inwardly. If only I’d picked up on the signs earlier and had the chance to sit down with Sophie and counsel her on the futility of dating a married guy then I might just have been able to make her see sense and all this heartbreak could have been avoided. Okay, I’d been manic busy these last few months, but never too busy to listen to Sophie’s problems. We’d always been there for each other and now I felt absolutely dreadful! Like the worst friend in the world. In all my bubbling excitement for the big day I’d completely neglected my friend’s needs.

I would have to talk to Sophie, coax it out of her, hold her hand while she told me all the gory details about this man and their torrid love affair. And then, being the good friend I’d failed to be lately, I’d make it up to her by seeing her through these next few weeks (barring the honeymoon, of course, although I would make an effort to counsel her by text). Yes, I’d help her get the no-good scumbag out of her system once and for all.

The diary felt heavy in my hands. I really ought to get on and make some of those phone calls, but now I knew about Sophie’s troubles I had a moral responsibility to make sure she was okay. She’d sounded completely and utterly distraught in that last entry and unrequited love can do funny things to you, can tip you over the edge. I didn’t want Sophie to do anything stupid.

I just needed to check. Make sure she was absolutely okay.

Tuesday 12 March

Mmmm, mmm. Only twenty minutes today, but when they are the most exciting moments of my week, what does it matter!? No, scrub that, the most exciting moments of the last month, the last year, my entire lifetime! My insides are still zinging with excitement and my legs, oh God, I’m not sure they can even function any more. They’re all wobbly, a bit like my heart. Xx

Oh good grief, Sophie! What’s happened? One minute it’s off, the next it’s on. What on earth are you doing? Why, why, why? You’re such a glutton for punishment. (What exactly is the guy doing to you to turn your legs to jelly?)

Hurriedly, I ran my fingers back through the pages.

Friday 9March

I knew it! He turned up on the doorstep looking dreadful, really awful, standing there with dark rings around his eyes and I just couldn’t turn him away. All my anger and disappointment disappeared at the sight of him and all I felt was complete relief that he was back again. I’m sure my heart literally swooned. We fell into each other’s arms and oh, he made soft, sweet love to me and it was as if we’d never been apart. I’m not sure what it means for us, what we’ll do, but none of that matters now. All that matters is that he’s back.

Why did you have to fall for it, Sophie? I punched my clenched fist down on the bed in frustration. He turns up on the doorstep with puppy-dog eyes and in an instant you’re eating out of his hand again! This wasn’t the Sophie I knew; the independent, vivacious, self-assured woman who wouldn’t take crap from any man. What was she doing putting her life on hold for the sake of a two-timing rat? It was obviously why Sophie hadn’t been able to confide in me. She probably felt ashamed that she’d got herself in so deep and knew that I’d give it to her straight, tell her she was acting like a complete and utter fool and the sooner she got the creep out of her life the better.

Thursday 15 March

He bought me a present! A solid silver trinket box in the shape of a butterfly. He knows how much I love butterflies. It’s so beautiful and I’ve put it on my bedside cabinet where I can see it. I’ve doused it with his aftershave as well just to have his delicious scent around me. Every time I look at it I’m reminded of him, although that’s not difficult because I think about him every single moment of the day. I just can’t get him out of my head and all I’m doing is counting down the minutes until I can get to see him again, although Lord knows when that will be now!!! Oh God, I don’t know how I’ll get through these next few weeks. He said he’s got to lie low, he’s got too much on and it’s far too risky for us to meet, but when it’s all over then we can pick up where we left off, that’s if I want to. If I want to!? NO!! I don’t want to. Doesn’t he get it? I don’t want to be someone he picks up and drops off just when he wants to. But what can I do? The alternative is far too horrible to even contemplate. Those weeks without him were the worst time of my life. I can’t live like this and yet I can’t live without him. I love him too much. I want this whole horrible situation to end. I don’t know why he can’t just come to his senses and call the whole thing off…

It was like picking up the final piece of the jigsaw but still being unable to fit it into the picture. I leant over and picked up the butterfly box, my fingers tracing over the intricate design. I pulled off the lid and raised the trinket to my nose, that familiar scent sending a stabbing pain to my chest, my stomach into free fall and bile rising at the back of my throat. My breath came in heavy, laboured motions. For a moment, I thought I might actually forget how to breathe. That I might stop doing that whole breathing thing, there on the bed.

He can’t really love her. Not if he can’t give me up. I just don’t understand it. It won’t last, I know it won’t. But he insists on going through with it. My only hope now is that she gets run over by a bus or that she has a sudden blow to the head and decides that she wants to join a nunnery. Or maybe she’s struck by Cupid and meets her soul mate who’ll whisk her off into the sunset. Sigh. To be honest, the nunnery is looking like my best option. Whichever. I’ll be waiting for him at the other side. However long it takes.

Furiously I hurled the silver box across the room, the lid parting company with the base and ricocheting off the wall, before spinning onto the carpet. I took a deep breath and returned the diary to its spot on the cabinet, before standing up, my legs wobbly like Sophie’s had been, but for entirely different reasons. My breathing laboured, I leant down and picked up the silver box, reuniting it with its lid, the familiar scent making me retch. I replaced it very carefully next to the diary.

Chapter Two (#uf2c26a5c-f92b-533e-8008-62d7821e52be)

Somehow, despite my wobbly legs, I made it downstairs, ignoring the palpitations in my chest and the ringing in my ears until I realised that what I thought were brain cells playing Space Invaders in my head was actually a phone. Somewhere. Outside of my head, demanding attention.

I snatched up the handset, only registering at the last moment that I wasn’t sure if my mouth still worked. What if it was Sophie or, worse still, Ed? What words were there?

‘Hello?’

‘Oh hi, Anna, it’s Louise Bailey here.’ The woman chirruped, actually chirruped, like an annoying little bird.

‘Sorry?’

‘Louise Bailey from St Michael’s Manor. How are you?’ What did she have to sound so goddam happy about? Chirrup, chirrup, chirrup. ‘Not long to go now. You must be so excited?’

‘What? Oh yes.’ The slow realisation of who this annoying woman was spread through my veins as my mouth operated on auto-pilot.

‘I just wanted to confirm the final numbers for Saturday. I think we’d pencilled in three hundred.’

Oh shit. Oh bum. Oh bust.

I scrabbled for the ‘folder’, flipped open the cover and looked at the papers clipped to the front. A lifetime’s work. Well, not really, but at that moment it seemed that way. Eighteen months’ work, at the very least. The list of names ran over three pages, some had ticks against them, others had been scratched out and at the top I’d circled the magic number in red.

‘Two hundred and eighty-two,’ I said more to myself than to the tweetering bird on the other end of the phone.

‘Two … hundred … and … eighty … two,’ repeated Birdie, as though she was announcing the winner of the Golden Globe. ‘That’s fabulous. Well, just to reassure you that everything is in hand at this end. We are very much looking forward to welcoming you and Ed to the Manor this weekend and making sure your special day is as wonderful and memorable as it can possibly be. Now, if there’s anything else you need, any worries you might have, then just feel free to ask. We are here to help.’

‘Help?’

‘Yes. If there’s anything, absolutely anything, then you only need ask.’

I thought about it. She was so frigging organised and efficient. She probably had a section in her wedding bible for ‘dealing with cheating intendeds’. A master plan for such eventualities, but I had a feeling I was way beyond anyone’s help now.

‘The doorbell,’ I heard myself say.

‘Sorry?’

‘The doorbell. It’s ringing. I need to go.’

‘Oh right, yes, of course,’ Birdie said, losing some of her tweet. ‘I’ll let you go. And we’ll look forward to seeing you at the weekend.’

I put down the phone with a sigh, deciding to ignore the doorbell, but not knowing what, if anything, I could do beyond that. My whole body had gone into an elaborate non-functioning state. I should have been crying or screaming or throwing even more things across the room, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to do any of those things. Instead, I keeled over on to the sofa, arms wide, sacrificing myself to the wedding God.

Only half an hour ago, my life had been perfect. My future mapped out like a Cath Kidston photo collage, full of impossibly cheerful moments in a perpetually sunny, floral vista. And now – well, it wasn’t.