A Wedding in the Sun

Chapter 11

Jo continued before Adrián had time to understand the heat of emotion that burned up his spine. ‘I don’t want to make it sound like he was a philanderer. It was only once – completely unpremeditated.’

‘He just accidentally fell into bed with a woman who wasn’t his wife?’

She gave him an irritated look, as though he wasn’t allowed to defend her – or stop her defending Ben.

‘You can’t simplify these things,’ she insisted. ‘He even admitted everything to me in tears. He’d been away for work. We’d been busy – you know how family life gets. He begged me to forgive him and promised he’d never do it again – and he didn’t.’

Adrián waited for the ‘but’. He’d heard Liss say that Jo had been the one to leave, but it didn’t feel anything like Mónica leaving him in exasperation, telling him their relationship wasn’t worth the effort.

‘I promised to try to move past it. In fact, if we’d just decided to pretend nothing had happened, we might still be married,’ she mused. ‘But he was too conscientious. He suggested we get counselling and it sounded like a sensible idea.’

‘It wasn’t?’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ she said flatly. ‘I mean counselling is an important action to take, but it… exposed a little more than we bargained for. We talked and talked and talked and achieved nothing except upsetting each other.’

‘You hated it?’

That got her attention. The look she gave him was wary and injured and caught him in the guts. ‘Loathed it,’ she confirmed. ‘Which was maybe what changed my thinking.’ She dropped her chin into her hand, leaning her elbow on her knee. ‘When Ben talked about what he valued in our relationship, I started to realise that I’d been playing a role all those years. Maybe it was my fault for being too scared to show him who I really was. As the mask slipped with the stresses of kids and life, I needed to drop the act, but he wanted me to keep the mask on. We did an exercise where we had to list the things we valued about each other and all of his were… wrong. He loved how much effort I put into things, how I smoothed over problems with the kids and how I could talk about politics and current affairs and how well I dealt with his mother. I’m proud of all that stuff, but it was all just work, things I did right because I had to do them right. He valued me because I made his life easier, not for… me.’

Adrián felt even more powerless than he had in hospital, letting her pull his shirt on because he couldn’t do it himself. He and Mónica had argued and distrusted and resented each other, but Ben had ripped Jo’s heart out – all the more violently because he hadn’t intended to and she hadn’t realised in time to protect herself.

‘What did you want him to value?’ he couldn’t stop himself asking. Superwoman. She’d hated that description and now he understood why. He wasn’t impressed by her because of everything she did, but because of the way she approached life. Her sense of humour. Her fierce sarcasm and fiercer protective streak.

‘I suppose I wanted him to love me because of some of the things I do wrong. I wanted him to say he loved that I’m really bad at craft and I get frustrated when I have to do something with my hands. I wanted him to like me drunk and on the nights when I couldn’t be bothered to shower.’ She laughed, but he suspected she was crying inside – not that she would show him. He knew her well enough now to know that. ‘I had an individual session with the counsellor and she encouraged me to consciously stop hiding my inadequacies, to let Ben see me and at first I really hoped I was the problem and all I had to do was be myself and let him love me.’

‘Shit,’ Adrián muttered, upset before she’d even finished talking.

‘Yeah, it didn’t work like that. He kept asking me what the matter with me was and when he brought it up in counselling he said I was manipulating his feelings on purpose. And I had to accept that I’d spent years of my life trying to please someone I wasn’t capable of pleasing. The fact that he’d slept with someone else was a hint that I hadn’t been enough for him for a while. When I stopped trying to please him, the marriage went downhill very quickly, but there was an element of relief. I have too much else to do to trick people into liking me.’

He thought back to when he’d first met Jo, the veteran vice-chair of the PTA. She’d stood up for what she believed and kept the meetings on track. He hoped she realised that her new attitude to pleasing others had been a boon for the people who knew her – who had the opportunity to truly get to know her now.

‘You don’t have to trick people into liking you,’ he insisted. I like you – a lot – even though we’ve been through enough to bring out the worst in each other.

She smiled wistfully. ‘I’m old enough to know that now – one of the best things about my forties. Not that I was ever so particular about this, but some women wax and laser and shave all the time, but…’

‘You needed Ben to love you hairy,’ he finished for her solemnly when she didn’t seem capable of it.

She blinked at him. ‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But he should have loved you hairy.’

‘For better or worse, in sickness and in hair?’ she said with a huff.

‘As long as we both shall not shave?’

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘At least you are starting to understand Mónica’s grounds for divorce,’ he joked. ‘And I’m the one who needs a shaver right now.’ He stroked the annoying bristles on his neck. He hadn’t tidied up his beard in nearly three days. But instead of smiling and sharing the joke, Jo frowned.

‘If Mónica picked Ben, she obviously doesn’t have very good taste.’

He was going to make a quip about Mónica choosing him first until the complexities of her statement caught up with him. ‘Huh,’ was all he said instead.

‘I don’t mean you. I mean leaving,’ she qualified her statement. ‘I mean if she left you then she can’t know—’ She swallowed. ‘I’m going to get in the shower,’ she said suddenly, shooting to her feet.

‘I’m sorry I made you talk about all this,’ he called after her.

She paused in the doorway of the tiny bathroom. ‘No, I think I needed to. We can’t escape the wedding much longer and my feelings are better out than in.’ Leaning against the doorframe, she turned more fully back to him. ‘I know I’m not supposed to care what other people think, but give me the damage: are you going to look with pity at this scorned wife or are you thinking of the pushy softball mum from the PTA who left her husband even though they were getting counselling?’

‘To be honest, a bit of both,’ he answered immediately, but rushed on before the fold between her eyebrows could deepen. ‘But mainly when I look at you, I think of everything we’ve done over the past few days, how much we’ve laughed despite everything.’ He paused and when he spoke again, his voice didn’t quite sound like his own. ‘Your hands holding me together when everything hurt and I was afraid, the sound of your singing voice. I hope we’re friends, Jo. I’ll be sad if we’re not.’

‘You’re a smooth talker,’ she accused quietly.

‘Maybe, but I’m telling the truth,’ he insisted.

‘Well then, you’re a smooth talker, my friend.’

His smile stretched as she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. Friends. He was glad to earn the title. He was glad she cared what he thought. He just had to convince her that his friendship was offered freely – hairy or not – but the kissing probably hadn’t helped that cause.

With Mónica and Ben waiting for them in Zaragoza, kissing definitely wasn’t a constructive activity.

‘I’m sorry, it’s not possible to return the car in Zaragoza.’

‘What do you mean, “not possible”? I’m prepared to pay the one-way fee and the fee to drive the car outside of the country. I realise it will be very expensive. I checked online and it quoted me €1,200.’

Adrián gulped and then choked on his own breath, pressing his good hand to his chest and coughing to clear it. How much? Jo sent him a distracted glance, but she was too busy dealing with the hire car company at the airport – the Tarbes Lourdes Pyrenees airport, where this cursed journey had begun three nights ago.

‘That might be the case, but I can’t offer you a car today for that journey. Our bookings won’t allow it, I’m sorry. Perhaps a larger location? I could phone Toulouse for you.’

‘Toulouse?’ Jo’s voice rose up at the end. ‘By the time we get there and collect a car, we may as well circumnavigate the entire Pyrenees!’

‘That could be another option,’ the saleswoman said kindly, not realising Jo was being sarcastic.

‘Where are all the minibus pilgrims when you need them?’ she muttered to herself. ‘We’ll try somewhere else, thank you.’

‘Do you think we could try somewhere for coffee first?’ he dared to ask after she’d taken a couple of fuming steps away from the desk and breathed out once, sharply.

‘Our kids are waiting for us and all you can think about is coffee?’

‘Not all. But I can drink it fast. And my shoulder hurts.’

‘Is the caffeine supposed to help with that or are you just using your injury as leverage?’

‘I need liquid to take my ibuprofen,’ he explained, heading for the only café in the tiny terminal and hoping he’d softened her into following him.

When they reached the drab seating area under the institutional airport lighting, she pushed him into a chair and thrust her water bottle into his hands. ‘Take your tablets. I’ll get the coffee.’

‘But this is your?—’

‘You’re worried about my germs now?’

His gaze swerved to her mouth and his memory fired rather pleasantly. ‘I’ll share germs if you will,’ he muttered.

She turned away quickly, fluffing her hair in an agitated manner. Her clothes were rumpled from wearing them for too many days and her hair unkempt from their quick departure that morning, but Adrián watched her progress towards the bar with a smile. Waking up barely able to move his arm, with a dull ache throbbing despite the dose of ibuprofen he’d taken through the night, had been much more pleasant when her concerned face had appeared above him and she’d asked if he was all right.

‘Jo!’ he called after her. ‘Milk and lots of sugar!’ She replied with a dismissive nod as though she would have guessed correctly. ‘And maybe a croissant!’

She returned with two coffees, a croissant and a pain au chocolat and two ham and cheese baguettes. Collapsing into the chair opposite him, she took a slug of her coffee.

‘I’m sorry I made us leave so early this morning. We could have taken the time to get some breakfast and you have to tell me if you need a rest.’

‘Wow, the caffeine kicked in quickly,’ he joked.

‘If you’re trying to stop me being grumpy, that is not the way to go about it,’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘Pick a pastry. I don’t care which one I have.’

‘Jo,’ he began, waiting until she glanced at him. ‘You’re allowed to be grumpy. I’m grumpy! We’re back at this stupid airport we never wanted to arrive at in the first place! I want to see my son too, but I also wanted coffee. Twenty minutes won’t hurt.’

She stared at him for a moment, holding her cup between both hands. Then she snorted a laugh. ‘You’re right. And if we turn up this grumpy, they might revoke our wedding invitations.’

‘Really?’ he asked with mock enthusiasm.

‘You definitely can’t play guitar any more, anyway.’

As if on cue, his shoulder spasmed and his chest tightened and he thought of the lost guitar – and his strapped shoulder. You can’t play guitar any more. She hadn’t meant forever, but for a second, the panic had struck him. His fingers were suddenly restless.

‘Shit, I’m sorry, Adrián,’ she muttered. ‘I know you’re upset about the guitar.’

‘It’s okay. I’ll call the airline again after breakfast. Are you sure you don’t have a pastry preference?’

‘Pick one!’

He couldn’t argue with that tone, so he dragged the pain au chocolat sheepishly in his direction. He was about to take a bite when his phone rang. Assuming it was Mónica, he tugged it out in a hurry, only to see a UK number flash up.

As he answered, Jo’s phone rang too and they shared a glance, food and coffee waiting between them. When he realised his call was from the airline, he ignored everything else, hoping for good news.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. ‘Mr Rivera, the item of luggage you registered as missing has been located, but unfortunately it didn’t make it onto your flight.’

‘That might be a blessing at this stage,’ he grumbled.

‘It’s our policy that when an item misses loading onto a flight that isn’t scheduled daily, it is sent on the next flight within courier distance. That’s what happened here, but it wasn’t recorded correctly in the system so it took me a few days to track it down.’

‘Okay. I appreciate it. But where is the item now?’

‘It’s waiting to be couriered to Zaragoza and should arrive on Monday.’

‘Monday!’ he repeated stupidly. ‘That’s too late! I’m leaving Zaragoza on Monday.’ If he ever arrived there in the first place.

‘Perhaps they could courier the item to an alternative address?’

‘An alternative address?’ he parroted again, his vision tunnelling as he pictured the valuable guitar being thrown into a courier’s van and then delivered to a clueless receptionist at the hotel at the beach town where the wedding would take place – if it even arrived safely. ‘But… where is it now?’

‘It’s at the Girona-Costa Brava airport.’