Chapter 8 Amy
Four Hours Ago
‘Why am I looking at your ceiling, weirdo?’
I’ve angled my phone screen away from the carnage in my attic flat. Laura’s even frecklier face looms on the video call. ‘I’m just packing and don’t want you to freak out,’ I call.
My blush-pink chiffon bridesmaid dress is hanging on the back of the door, but everything else is scattered on the floor or duvet ready to be packed.
‘I’m almost done,’ I add, randomly dangling a pair of socks over the screen in an attempt to prove it. It doesn’t fool her.
‘Show me.’
Unlike Flynn, my eighteen-month-older sister always sees straight through my white lies. Sulkily I lower the phone and scan the room with it.
She audibly gasps, ‘God, it’s a crime scene.’
I lift the screen to my face. ‘It’s not that bad,’ I say, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening with every word.
‘It’s like a Before photo on a home improvement show.’
‘You’re exaggerating,’ I sniff.
‘I’m not – that’s what you do.’
‘I don’t exaggerate, I just add exciting detail!’ I protest.
‘Like the time you told Dad Jake Bisley had six months left to live?’
‘I really thought he was dying,’
‘He had flu, Amy. Dad sent his mum flowers!’
Laura laughs and I grin, before the pain of mentioning Dad stops my smile.
‘Anyway,’ Laura says, catching her breath. Had she felt it too? ‘I’m ringing because Mum just told me you’re freaking out about Flynn, and I don’t need more drama over the next two days …’
It’s my turn to frown. ‘I’m not freaking out, dickhead!’
‘I’m not the dickhead planning to dump my boyfriend on her sister’s wedding weekend.’
Riled, I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just shake my head. Laura and Jay’s wedding is not a one day event, more a massive scheduled extravaganza of moving parts and I’ve been making plans for weeks. Monogrammed umbrellas in case it rains, something blue, something borrowed, a playlist on my phone for the morning of the wedding – all Laura’s favourite tunes. A speech for tonight, despite the fact a speech in front of these grand guests makes my insides flip. A hundred hours practising for the flashmob.
She shifts in the strained silence. There have been more and more of these in the last five years. We were never awkward with each other before.
‘Come on then, let’s talk about Flynn,’ she relents.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, her previous comments still stinging. ‘You have stuff going on,’ I add lamely.
‘I have time. I’m hiding from Patty. She’s currently seeing someone about close-up magic—’
‘Why is s—’
Laura holds her hand up, coral pink nails immaculate. ‘Don’t ask. Apparently none of us are allowed to draw breath this weekend. And I shouldn’t complain because she’s paying for everything and Jay is so happy, you know how he can’t stay still. But enough. So … Flynn. I thought it was going well?’
I take a breath. ‘It is, it was, it’s, just, he asked to move in, Laurs. With me. Here.’
Laura exhales. ‘Ames, that’s a good thing. You told me he’s never serious. This is serious!’
‘But I’m not sure,’ I cut her off.
‘He’s nice, fun. And without him I’d have never met Jay, so I’m a fan.’
‘I know. But maybe fun is all he can be? I still feel like I hardly know what makes him tick. And moving in feels like the start of a lifetime together …’
‘Is that not what you want?’
I pick my nail, trying to put into words what I’ve been feeling in the last couple of weeks. ‘I always thought I’d marry someone more … well, more like Dad, more salt of the earth.’
‘Dad wasn’t exactly down the mines, Ames.’
‘I know – but Flynn’s rich. He went to boarding school!’
Laura rolls her eyes. ‘The same one as Jay – and I’m marrying him.’
‘Yes, but you’re …’ I trail away, feeling like this is moving on to uncertain ground. Laura’s expression clouds and I quickly get back on track. ‘But it’s not just that, Laurs. I haven’t even met his mum.’
‘Trust me,’ Laura says, a quick glance over her shoulder, ‘that can be overrated.’
‘I swear he’s embarrassed of me or something, Laurs …’
Laura’s face changes, her mouth turned down. ‘You don’t know that. You always do this, assume the worst. It’s like you think the world is an unfair place, with unhappy people so you should be too. You deserve good things, Amy.’
Her words are quiet, her expression softening. Tears prick my eyes. I really don’t, I think.
‘Maybe,’ I say, wanting to get off the phone, stop her looking at me like that. I don’t deserve it.
The secret that makes me ache, that eats me up, nudges at me. If she knew it, I know she’d hate me too.
‘Anyway,’ I smile, shaking off the conversation, ‘it’s fine. I can sort it out after this weekend. Which is all about you.’
Laura laughs, ‘It is all about me.’
Someone in the background calls her name and she glances worriedly over her shoulder. ‘Oh god, I think it’s Patty. Last time I saw her she was carrying something called a dovecote.’
‘Go,’ I smile, as wide as I can muster.
My stomach jitters for her. Laura’s not the only one who is nervous; I don’t go to places like this with dovecotes, foyers and chandeliers. It makes me feel even more removed from my sister.
Flynn set Laura up with Jay, a friend of his from school who also lived in London, just after we met, and their relationship moved quickly. Now Laura’s mother-in-law Patty is overseeing their wedding weekend like the general of a small army. It’s a whole weekend of events. A mini festival. It’s intimidating.
When we were young we always said we’d get married in Bristol registry office, the reception in the pub with karaoke like Mum and Dad did. Has that Laura disappeared for good?
‘Just get down here quickly, OK, weirdo?’ Laura says. ‘I need you!’
‘I will, dickhead,’ I reassure her, glancing at the clock and trying to disguise my surprise as I note the time. ‘Very soon.’ I swallow and put on my brightest voice, ‘It’s all going to be lush.’
Laura gives me a grateful smile and blows a kiss. We hang up shouting goodbyes.
The sun streams into the slanted attic bedroom as I scoop up the rest of the assorted items I need and tick them off my list.
The little photo clips for the tables, the lace garter I’d bought Laura as a joke, the photo I have framed of us with Dad. I freeze as I stare at the shot. It could have been any Saturday. Him grinning as he squeezed us tight into the frame, both of us dressed in too-big Bristol Rovers kit because Dad always bought them with ‘room to grow’, the bright red tops clashing with our pink cheeks, our buoyant brown curls merging together. I loved the stamp and bustle of the crowd, the hot pie in a bag at half-time, being with Dad. Laura fancied the goalkeeper Steve Phillips so spent most of the time staring at him.
Dad was a lifelong fan, season ticket holder; he’d be there in any weather, morose if they lost, chanting during the game, singing ‘We All Follow the City’ all the way home if they won. We played it at his funeral; it was the thing that finally made Mum cry. ‘Oh god!’ she exclaimed as she dabbed at her face. ‘I wish I was telling him to shut up one more time.’
Staring at the picture, I rub at a smear on the glass, only just realizing it’s my own eyes blurring. Get a grip, Amy, this is exactly what I need to rein in. This weekend is about Laura, and I need to get a handle on things, be her port in a storm: organized, dependable, calm. Not dissolving into tears, drawing eyes to me. The trouble is, since Dad I never know when the tears will come. I place the photo gently into my handbag.
Pulling on my tea dress, I secure my hair into a top knot, curls escaping. Then I look at the clock, chewing on my lip. Where is Flynn?
No doubt he’ll sweep in unflustered. Nothing seems to faze him. As if summoning him, the door to downstairs goes. He is here. A strange prickle of irritation rises up in me again. Stop it, Amy. He’s not that late. And this is not the weekend to worry about your relationship. You can tackle it after your sister gets married. Anyway, I’m not going to dump him … am I?