If I Were You

Chapter 22 Amy

This can’t be happening. It’s not real. And yet I’m standing, drenched, in a muddy, narrow lane in Devon, watching my boyfriend fiddle with my bra. He’s complaining that it’s uncomfortable and, even in the midst of this hell, I want to say ‘welcome to my world’ like it’s news to me.

I’m too preoccupied to do anything other than spiral. I don’t want to keep driving to this wedding weekend; I want to drive to the nearest hospital, to force the doctors to investigate what has happened. But I can see my phone flashing and jumping with messages from Laura; I think of the months of planning, her nerves and her escalating worries, and feel myself split in two. My body aches when I think of letting her down. And if Flynn listens to me, and he’s promised he will, maybe we can pull this off and get through it without anyone suspecting anything.

Flynn might be right that getting there will give us time and space to work out what exactly is going on, and how it can be fixed. Sometimes his endless optimism and refusal to dwell on anything negative grates, but in this moment I am clinging to it. Maybe a miracle will happen?

Watching Flynn, as me, move around to the driver’s door and get in pulls me back to the present.

‘What are you doing?’

Flynn turns, ‘I’m driving. You don’t have a licence.’

‘Flynn, you can’t drive my car: you can’t drive.’

‘I can drive,’ he says sniffily, flicking his long brown hair, ‘I just haven’t been formally given my licence yet.’

I’m too overwhelmed to fight it, watching him settle in the driving seat, dress rucked up his thighs. A humming in my ears when it all gets too much. After he stalls for the third time, though, I’m brought back to earth. ‘Flynn stop, STOP!’

We lurch forward as he brakes.

‘Out!’ I say and my new deep voice makes me sound way more imposing than usual.

He drops his head, escaped tendrils falling around his shoulders. ‘I think there’s something wrong with your clutch.’

‘Yes, you,’ I say, unclipping my seatbelt. For a second, I glance down and spot the photo of me, Laura and Dad. It makes me catch my breath.

I drive us the rest of the way in silence, large brown signs indicating where we need to go, the mile-long drive a canopy of lush greens, rolling fields sloping away in both directions, the bruised sky highlighting the enormous creamy white main building as we approach.

I can’t help swallowing as our car sweeps around the driveway, spitting up pebbles, an enormous stone fountain spouting jets theatrically into the air. The place is absolutely extraordinary. Wide stone steps lead up to a grand gilt doorway, soaring pillars and floor-to-ceiling glass windows either side. Huge stone pots crammed with exotic plants in a riot of complementary colours are dotted along a terrace that wraps itself around the building. The website was grand, but nothing could really have prepared me for this place. My insides knot, imposter syndrome settling in.

Flynn hasn’t noticed I’ve fallen silent, and I want to keep driving around this fountain and back down the driveway, back to my flat with the slanted eaves and the ordinary sized rooms and the normalcy of it all. I’m terrified for Laura – is my sister really getting married here?

As I look up, I notice a group standing outside the main entrance. My words trail away as I notice one figure has broken away from the others. Her arms are wrapped around her body, her head dipped into her chest as her curly brown hair, quite a few shades lighter than my own, blows wildly round her. My sister is one inch taller than me at five foot three, with narrower hips and the most toned arms you’ll ever come across. She had no need for the wedding diet she had muttered about starting, burning a million calories a day in her high-powered job running the PR for a corporate finance company.

Right now she doesn’t look high-powered and capable: Laura looks lost, a tiny figure in front of this preposterously big building, and my chest tightens as I think of all the conversations we’ve had over the last few months. As she hugs herself for comfort, I know I have to support her. I can’t turn back now. Whatever has happened is bewildering, but for now I know I need to help make Laura feel less alone.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, a new confidence in my voice.

Flynn is also staring up at the building. Beneath the running make-up I must tidy up before he steps outside, he is ashen. ‘Flynn?’

I follow his gaze to the small crowd of people – my future brother-in-law Jay stands in the centre of them, shaven head thrown back laughing.

‘Flynn?’ I frown.

He turns to me slowly, as if dragged back from another place.

‘Alright?’

Has he had second thoughts that we can do this? Are we mad for trying to be normal when everything is so topsy-turvy?

He shakes his head, plastering a smile onto his face and making me think perhaps I imagined his worried look. Flynn doesn’t worry like I do; nothing seems to make him stressed. I remind myself this is crazy for him too and I should cut him some slack.

‘Really?’ I ask, reaching across to gently touch his hand.

‘Great,’ he says, quickly clapping my hands together.

I bite my lip, can’t help noticing his eyes travel back to the same spot.

A couple look down at our car, and he flinches in his seat as they peer in our direction.

I frown, a prickle of unease creeping up my spine as the woman meets my eye and gives me the strangest look. Or rather gives Flynn the strangest look.

‘Let’s go,’ he squeaks from next door to me.