Always and Only You

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Present Day

Anjali looks at me and then at Simon and then back at me again and her expression of surprise hardens into a frown. I lunge forward, reaching for her, but she backs away shaking her head, and then runs off out of the cloakroom. I shoot a look at Simon, whose mouth is a grim, straight line and take off after her. Simon tries to pull me back, but I’m too fast for him. I slide out of his grip before his fingers close around my lower arm. ‘I’ll be back in two secs,’ I say as I go through the flap to the main tent. ‘I promise.’

I catch up with Anjali as she’s about to head outside into the walled garden. She doesn’t even wait for me to say anything, but turns to face me as soon as I get near. ‘What was that all about?’

‘All what?’

She folds her arms. Anjali might be ditzy, but she’s very good at reading a vibe, and clearly she picked up something going on between me and Simon that’s caused her antenna to twitch. ‘It looked very much as if you and Simon were about to kiss when I walked in.’

‘I … It wasn’t … It’s not like that!’ Technically, yes, our lips met, just for a split second, but I was trying to avoid it. ‘There’s nothing between Simon and me,’ I mumble, looking away. And I’m telling the truth. There isn’t. Not in this upside-down version of my life.

‘He’s your ex, Erin. And it’s your wedding day.’

The look she gives me threatens to strip the flesh from my bones.

‘I thought I knew you …’ she says, shaking her head, and then she exits the marquee and strides off into the dusk.

I have no idea what to say, so I let her go. I haven’t done anything wrong, but nobody here would ever understand. I head back into the cloakroom, where Simon is waiting for me.

‘We can’t be seen together,’ I tell him. ‘Just … just let me get through today and we’ll talk … We’ll sort this all out.’

‘Get through today? What do you mean?’

‘I mean, we should keep our heads down and I’ll call you tomorrow.’ And, hopefully, tomorrow won’t exist, because I’ll have woken up, awkward double groom situation completely averted.

Simon’s expression becomes thunderous. ‘You don’t mean … Erin! You can’t leave the reception and have a wedding night with him. Not now we know this whole day was a huge mistake!’

‘It’s not the right moment for us,’ I plead feebly. ‘Another time, another place … that’s our moment.’ I look him deep in the eyes, because this is the truth, even though he doesn’t know it. ‘Trust me?’

Simon’s jaw is tense, but he nods. ‘Okay, I trust you.’ He glances at the cloakroom door. ‘You go first. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.’

I almost slide round the thick white flap of marquee fabric, not wanting to reveal anyone else is inside, and when I turn around I get the shock of my life: Gil is standing there.

‘Dessert has been served. We’re waiting to do the speeches.’

This is definitely starting to feel like a dream now. All this running around, this repetitive feeling of trying to accomplish something and being interrupted or thwarted at every turn …

I twist my head to look at the cloakroom, praying that Simon does nothing impulsive, like leaping from inside to claim me, and I place my hand in my groom’s and I let him lead me back to the top table.

I sit down and see over a hundred smiling faces staring happily and expectantly at me, waiting for me to be the perfect bride I always knew I’d be. Instead of smiling back, I slide down a little in my seat.

One thing I’d been looking forward to on my wedding day was being the centre of attention, even though I’m not usually a ‘look at me’ type of person, but on your wedding day, you’re allowed, aren’t you? However, I’m now quietly wishing I was invisible as my father clears his throat and stands up to speak.

Dad teaches engineering at Aberystwyth University and his genuine passion, nay obsession , is Formula One. Just don’t let him corner you at a party when he’s a few beers in and let him talk to you about Grand Prix stats. You’ll be stuck there all night. So I ready myself for the barrage of Formula One jokes and references, about how my groom and I have stayed the course and the chequered flag is waving today as we cross the finish line (I heard him practising that one last night when he thought nobody could hear him), but he turns to me and looks down at me with such warmth, such love, that I’m close to being a blubbering wreck within seconds.

‘Erin,’ he says. ‘I’m so proud of you today. You look beautiful, absolutely perfect, but more than that, I’m filled with pride at the amazing woman you’ve become …’

That’s it. I lose all composure and sob into my dinner napkin as he carries on talking. I hope to God I’m wearing waterproof mascara. Dad isn’t usually like this, you see. He talks about facts and figures, empirical data, not emotions. He’s never been one for the warm and fuzzy stuff, even though I know it’s there, deep down. He just doesn’t have the language for it. Part of the reason Mum left him, I think. And he’s never been much of one for gushing praise, either. Or crushing criticism, it has to be said, for which I’ve always been grateful. And, logically, I know he loves me and that he’s proud of me; I just never expected to hear him say it out loud.

I hardly hear the end of his speech, or the beginning of Gil’s, because I’m too busy trying to hold myself together, but the need to put on a good show, to not be an absolute mess in front of all my family and friends, overtakes me and I suck back my tears. When Gil mentions my name, my head jerks up.

‘I know Erin doesn’t need anyone to take care of her,’ he tells the gathered crowd. ‘In fact, I’d like to see anyone try …’

This garners him a laugh and I look around, wondering if I’m this transparent to everyone I know. I don’t like that idea at all.

‘But I love her because of this, not in spite of it,’ he continues. ‘I love her drive, her independence, her intelligence …’ It’s okay while he’s talking to me in the third person, but then he turns and looks me in the eye. ‘Erin …’

I swallow. My chest feels suddenly tight.

A murmur travels around the room. ‘How sweet’ I hear from one direction, and ‘That’s adorable’ from another. I want to look away, but I know it will be the wrong thing to do. I know I will just draw more attention to myself and that’s the last thing I want.

‘Erin, I promise I will always be there for you. I will always have your back. And I know that you’re accomplished and successful and probably the most together person in this room … Well, marquee …’

I blink back the moisture that’s gathered in my eyes. If only he knew.

‘But I will love you for the rest of our lives, not because of all the amazing things you do, but for all the amazing things you are.’

I see the truth of it in his eyes and it breaks me. I drop my face into my hands and heave in a jagged breath, struggling to keep the tears from flowing once more. This is the best speech ever, I think, as he continues to wind the rest of the room around his little finger. Simon’s better be this fricking good, otherwise I’ll …

Simon.

The best man.

The man who almost kissed me in the cloakroom.

As Gil proposes a toast to me and everyone lifts their glasses in my direction, I smile back weakly. I am certainly not the paragon of virtue and womanhood Gil is toasting. I want to slide under the table and crawl away.

And then, of course, it just gets worse, because it’s Simon’s turn. I hadn’t even noticed him return to the top table, probably because I’ve been staring at the tablecloth more often than not since I’ve been back in my seat.

The first minute or two of Simon’s speech sweeps over me. It’s the usual – embarrassing stories and jokes told at the groom’s expense. I hear him talking, but I’m not paying any attention to the words. Or at least not until I hear him say my name.

‘Of course, everyone knows that Erin and I were an item before she and Gil got together,’ Simon says. I see some glazed smiles, a few frowns among the guests, because this is the sort of detail you’d usually gloss over on someone’s wedding day, isn’t it? ‘But what you may not know is that we both saw her that first night we met and I could tell from the way Gil was doing his “death laser” stare thing he was interested. So just for a laugh, I swooped in and started talking to her first. You should have seen his face!’ Simon guffaws.

Gil’s expression is probably the same one he wore that night, jaw tense, lips tight – much more like the Gil I know rather than the one I’ve seen today who looks deeply into my eyes and tells me he’ll love me forever.

More eyebrows in the audience pinch together. There’s a ripple of awkward, too-high laughter, but Simon doesn’t seem to notice that the gathered crowd isn’t finding this as funny as he is.

‘I was just going to string him along for a bit, then hand her over …’

My spine becomes even more rigid. As if I was something to be passed around with no say in the matter! But I can’t be cross with Simon, can I? This is my subconscious speaking. Is this really how I view myself, even after all the hard work I’ve put in to get past my shyness, my insecurities? That’s kind of depressing.

‘But then I got talking to her and I realized what a great girl she is, and I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it. I mean, I know we’re both good-looking fellas, but he’s got that dark and mysterious brooding thing going on that girls love. Look at him! He’s doing it right now!’

And doing it he is. I’ve never seen Gil look at Simon this way before; it’s usually me he reserves the death stare for. But now I start to wonder why. What did I do to deserve it? Certainly nothing like this.

‘But …’ Simon says, sighing, ‘Erin was working on boats more than half the year … well, those of you who know me know I’m a bit of an out of sight, out of mind kinda guy, and I’ve never been good at texts and messages and keeping in touch. I’m still rubbish at it!’

And he is. Was. Apart from that first winter I was away from him, he’s never really been one for lengthy text discussions. But maybe he didn’t need to. Once things get more serious, you’re not wondering what the other person’s feeling all the time, are you? There are things understood that don’t always need to be said.

‘But Gil was good at that stuff … He’s always been better at words and technology than me. But give me a rugby ball, and I’m your man!’

There’s a raucous cheer from a far corner of the room. Simon’s rugby buddies.

‘I suppose, if you were being uncharitable, you could say that Gil swooped in and stole her away from me …’

I look up to find Simon looking straight at me, his gaze intense. Is he going to say something? Is he going to repeat what he said in the cloakroom? He can’t. He won’t, will he …? I hold my breath.

‘But the truth is, it was all my fault. I let her slip away. Didn’t realize what I had until it was too late.’

The atmosphere of awkwardness in the room dissipates, but it does nothing to stop the clenching of my stomach. I stare back at Simon. I don’t shake my head, but the warning is there in my eyes and I know he sees it.

He opens his mouth and closes it again. Then he turns a floodlight-strength smile on his audience. ‘Which I suppose makes me the best best friend ever!’

There’s a ripple of relieved laughter.

‘Gil’s going to owe me. Big. For a very long time.’ He grins at his best friend. Gil gives a tight smile back. He’s looking less tense, but I wouldn’t call his body language relaxed. Even though I’ve secretly been fantasizing about getting one over on him for years, I realize I don’t want it to happen this way. There’s no sense of justice, or of victory, just a deep swirling in my gut making me very uneasy.

Simon catches my eye again, and I know he isn’t finished. I close my eyes and look away. I should never have followed him when he left the top table earlier. What have I done?

‘But the best man – sorry! – the right man got the girl, as they say.’ My stomach rolls as Simon lifts his glass and proposes a toast. ‘To the happy couple. May every day of your marriage going forward be filled with as much love, honesty and fidelity as today.’