Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 39
The music stops and the vicar starts talking. I’m aware that people on Lucy’s side of the church are still darting me little looks — but I adjust my hat and lift my chin and ignore them.
“… to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” intones the vicar, “which is an honorable estate…”
The bridesmaids have got really nice shoes, I notice. I wonder where they’re from?
Shame about the dresses, though.
“… reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God…”
He pauses to look around the congregation, just as I hear a little trilling sound coming from my bag.
Shit. It’s my phone.
I pull at the zip — but it’s stuck. I don’t believe this. You buy an expensive bag, and the bloody zip sticks.
There’s another, louder trill. At the front of the church, Angela Harrison turns round in her pew and gives me the evil eye.
“Sorry,” I mouth. “I’m just trying to get it…”
As it trills for a third time, the vicar stops talking. And oh God, now Tom and Lucy are turning round, too.
“I’m sorry,” I gulp, giving another frantic tug at the zip. “I’ll just… try to…”
Face burning, I stand up, squeeze my way past the row of people, and hurry out of the church. As the door clangs shut behind me I wrench so hard at the zip that I pull the stitching undone. I scrabble inside for the phone, and jab at the green button.
“Hello?” I say breathlessly into the mouthpiece. “Luke?”
“Good morning!” says a cheery voice. “Would you be interested in adding a hundred minutes to your monthly plan?”
After carefully turning off my phone I creep back into the church, where the rest of the service goes by in a blur. When it’s all over, Lucy and Tom process out, studiously ignoring me as they do so — and everyone gathers around them in the graveyard to throw confetti and take photos. I slip away without anyone noticing, and hurry feverishly up the road to the Websters’ house. Because Luke must be there by now. He must. He must have arrived late, and decided not to come to the church, but go straight to the reception. It’s obvious, when you think about it. It’s what any sensible person would do.
I hurry through the Websters’ house, which is full of caterers and waitresses — and head straight for the marquee. There’s already a joyful smile on my face at the thought of seeing him, and telling him about that awful moment in the church, and seeing his face crease up in laughter—
But the marquee’s empty. Completely empty.
I stand there, bewildered, for a few moments — then quickly head out again and hurry toward my parents’ house. Because maybe Luke went there, instead, it suddenly occurs to me. Maybe he got the time wrong, or maybe he had to get changed into his wedding outfit. Or maybe—
But he’s not there either. Not in the kitchen, not upstairs. And when I dial his mobile number, it clicks straight onto messages.
Slowly, I walk into my bedroom and sink down onto the bed, trying not to let myself think all the bad thoughts which are creeping into my mind.
He’s coming, I tell myself again and again. He’s just… on his way.
Through the window I can see Tom and Lucy and all the guests starting to arrive in next door’s garden. There are lots of hats and morning suits, and waitresses handing round champagne. In fact, it all looks rather jolly. And I know I should be down there with them, but I just can’t face it. Not without Luke, not all on my own.
But after sitting there for a while, it occurs to me that by staying up here, I’ll just be fueling the intrigue. They’ll all think I can’t face the happy couple and that I’m off slitting my wrists somewhere. It’ll confirm all their suspicions forever. I have to go and show my face, even if just for half an hour.
I force myself to stand up, take a deep breath, and put some fresh lipstick on. Then I walk out of the house and round to the Websters’. I slip inconspicuously into the marquee through a side flap and stand watching for a moment. There are people milling about everywhere, and the hubbub is huge, and no one even notices me. Near the entrance, there’s a formal lineup with Tom and Lucy and their parents, but no way am I going near that. So instead I sidle off to an empty table and sit down, and after a bit a waitress comes and gives me a glass of champagne.
For a while I just sit there, sipping my drink and watching people and feeling myself start to relax. But then there’s a rustling sound in front of me. I look up — and my heart sinks. Lucy is standing right in front of me in her beautiful wedding dress, flanked by a large bridesmaid in a really unflattering shade of green. (Which I think says quite a lot about Lucy.)
“… to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” intones the vicar, “which is an honorable estate…”
The bridesmaids have got really nice shoes, I notice. I wonder where they’re from?
Shame about the dresses, though.
“… reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God…”
He pauses to look around the congregation, just as I hear a little trilling sound coming from my bag.
Shit. It’s my phone.
I pull at the zip — but it’s stuck. I don’t believe this. You buy an expensive bag, and the bloody zip sticks.
There’s another, louder trill. At the front of the church, Angela Harrison turns round in her pew and gives me the evil eye.
“Sorry,” I mouth. “I’m just trying to get it…”
As it trills for a third time, the vicar stops talking. And oh God, now Tom and Lucy are turning round, too.
“I’m sorry,” I gulp, giving another frantic tug at the zip. “I’ll just… try to…”
Face burning, I stand up, squeeze my way past the row of people, and hurry out of the church. As the door clangs shut behind me I wrench so hard at the zip that I pull the stitching undone. I scrabble inside for the phone, and jab at the green button.
“Hello?” I say breathlessly into the mouthpiece. “Luke?”
“Good morning!” says a cheery voice. “Would you be interested in adding a hundred minutes to your monthly plan?”
After carefully turning off my phone I creep back into the church, where the rest of the service goes by in a blur. When it’s all over, Lucy and Tom process out, studiously ignoring me as they do so — and everyone gathers around them in the graveyard to throw confetti and take photos. I slip away without anyone noticing, and hurry feverishly up the road to the Websters’ house. Because Luke must be there by now. He must. He must have arrived late, and decided not to come to the church, but go straight to the reception. It’s obvious, when you think about it. It’s what any sensible person would do.
I hurry through the Websters’ house, which is full of caterers and waitresses — and head straight for the marquee. There’s already a joyful smile on my face at the thought of seeing him, and telling him about that awful moment in the church, and seeing his face crease up in laughter—
But the marquee’s empty. Completely empty.
I stand there, bewildered, for a few moments — then quickly head out again and hurry toward my parents’ house. Because maybe Luke went there, instead, it suddenly occurs to me. Maybe he got the time wrong, or maybe he had to get changed into his wedding outfit. Or maybe—
But he’s not there either. Not in the kitchen, not upstairs. And when I dial his mobile number, it clicks straight onto messages.
Slowly, I walk into my bedroom and sink down onto the bed, trying not to let myself think all the bad thoughts which are creeping into my mind.
He’s coming, I tell myself again and again. He’s just… on his way.
Through the window I can see Tom and Lucy and all the guests starting to arrive in next door’s garden. There are lots of hats and morning suits, and waitresses handing round champagne. In fact, it all looks rather jolly. And I know I should be down there with them, but I just can’t face it. Not without Luke, not all on my own.
But after sitting there for a while, it occurs to me that by staying up here, I’ll just be fueling the intrigue. They’ll all think I can’t face the happy couple and that I’m off slitting my wrists somewhere. It’ll confirm all their suspicions forever. I have to go and show my face, even if just for half an hour.
I force myself to stand up, take a deep breath, and put some fresh lipstick on. Then I walk out of the house and round to the Websters’. I slip inconspicuously into the marquee through a side flap and stand watching for a moment. There are people milling about everywhere, and the hubbub is huge, and no one even notices me. Near the entrance, there’s a formal lineup with Tom and Lucy and their parents, but no way am I going near that. So instead I sidle off to an empty table and sit down, and after a bit a waitress comes and gives me a glass of champagne.
For a while I just sit there, sipping my drink and watching people and feeling myself start to relax. But then there’s a rustling sound in front of me. I look up — and my heart sinks. Lucy is standing right in front of me in her beautiful wedding dress, flanked by a large bridesmaid in a really unflattering shade of green. (Which I think says quite a lot about Lucy.)
