If I Were You

Chapter 25 Flynn

The island looks pretty, and Amy looks incongruous walking around it in my golfing attire. She also keeps making comments about the ‘vintage’ wedding theme, the gold candlesticks on the tables, the parchment place settings, the lace place mats to a bemused Laura.

‘The distressed wooden chairs really make it,’ she gushes, a hand reaching for one. Laura turns and gives me a lopsided ‘what about this guy, eh?’ smile and I just panic and add, ‘They don’t look upset,’ and then laugh.

Laura frowns and I snap my mouth closed, reaching for my second bellini in as many minutes. I’m not sure what’s in one and they’re not serving beer.

Amy isn’t sitting with me and I watch, terrified, as I see who is sat opposite her at her table. Could this weekend get any more screwed up?

The first course moves by in a haze, Geoffrey trying to ask me about the Bristol housing market as the island gradually blurs at the edges. I drink and brood about the weekend I had wanted. I think of the ring secreted in my bag. I think of the woman sat opposite Amy: Tanya is here. Tanya is here with Eddie. With Eddie. He would have known. My knuckles whiten as I clutch my glass.

‘Would now be a good time to buy, then? Or will interest rates fall, do you think?’

Geoffrey is still talking houses.

‘Yes … do …’

‘Buy?’

‘Why not!’

Geoffrey nods earnestly.

Suddenly Laura is nudging me and I realize with a cold shock that it’s time for me to make ‘my’ speech. As I go to stand, the world tilts. How many drinks have I had? It didn’t seem a lot, but then I think of my new petite frame and feel a dread that maybe I have miscalculated.

Clutching the table with two hands, the coral nail varnish blurring, I stare round at the small crowd, their faces glowing in the evening light. Even I can see the setting is perfect and for a few sentences I think I’m doing well.

‘Isn’t this setting perfect,’ I say, remembering to turn to Laura and smile.

Her own is frozen in place and this makes me more nervous, and I search once more for Amy’s face. I get the familiar jolt when I see my own pale face staring back at me, my dark brown hair sticking up. I really should have shaved before we left, and my golf gear makes it look like she’s the only guest who has decided to come in fancy dress.

Licking my lips, I try to remember what she had urgently whispered to me when we got off the boat. I’d told her I had a great memory. I do have a great memory, but everything feels sluggish and hazy.

‘Patty,’ I practically shout. ‘None of this could have been possible without Patty.’

Patty swivels, her steel-grey bob stiff in the breeze, and accepts a handful of claps. ‘She has master-minded so many of the details this weekend and … and …’ Past conversations with Amy suddenly spring into my head, none of them particularly flattering. Patty phoning after midnight to discuss the colour palette, Patty insisting on hymns in the non-religious service, Patty sending passive-aggressive emails about the appropriate and proper way to manage a wedding. ‘She is … she has … flamingos … so much … you see …’ I trail away.

My head starts spinning, mouth dry. Looking around, I can see a lot of mouths gaping, while others wait expectantly. Trish starts nodding encouragement at me, making a ‘go on’ motion with her hands.

‘And I need to also thank Trish, well,’ I correct, ‘that’s how you all know her but to me she’s just Mum, plain Mum. Mummy, the Muminator,’ suddenly doing a strange Terminator expression, ‘so,’ I clear my throat, reaching for a glass of water and finding it empty. ‘To you I say, you’re great. Really cool. So … thanks … thanks for being a good mum. And …’

Oh, I know this is important, but somehow everything I say sounds like I’m taking the mickey. Should I mention Amy’s father? This thought feels too big for me in this moment. And last time Amy mentioned her dad it had ended up in a row. She had pushed me for more about my own father, beyond the fishing trips and the sporting anecdotes.

‘I also want to raise a glass to absent friends,’ I say quietly. ‘I know Robert will be looking down and seeing his two beautiful daughters on this special occasion. I know he’ll be thinking how fantastic they both look. Amy,’ I say, realizing my mistake as I do so, ‘Amy, he’d say. Amy, I love you.’

I pause, my thoughts confused, wondering why Laura has shifted slightly in her chair away from me.

‘Right. Well. Thank you,’ I say, and down my drink, a distinctly uneasy feeling washing over me I sit down to a rather muted set of clapping.

‘You just managed to make it a million times worse, Flynn.’ Amy throws up her hands behind a tree trunk out of sight of most of the party.

‘I’m shorry, I panic-hic-ed.’ I cover my mouth with a hand, the coral nails blurring in front of me. My stomach churns. I feel a terrible pang as I see my stubbled face fill with unfamiliar unshed tears.

‘You managed to make the speech all about me and not Laura. She’ll think I’ve stolen the focus. Again.’

‘I’m really shorry,’ I say, hearing the words on a delay and trying to blink away my drunkenness. I want to lie down now. I used to tease Amy for being a lightweight, but this doesn’t feel at all funny. I think I was this drunk once when I was about fourteen and had no clue how much alcohol made me feel out of control. I feel sheepish as I stumble to the boat, leaning heavily on Amy, ashamed I’d been rude to her in the past about this and finding it peculiar that she is the one having to shepherd me.

She half props me, half drags me there, the silver pumps even more slippery. Why don’t women’s shoes have sturdier soles?

‘It came out wrong,’ I mumble. ‘Also I think I told Geoffrey to buy a house.’

‘What?’

‘I was being you.’

‘God, we need to get back,’ she hisses and steps inside an idling boat. ‘We have to swap back.’ She turns to offer a hand. I’m not used to her helping me and I ignore it and step into the boat, which rocks. Huffing, she sits down and, in slow motion, that movement is enough to throw my balance off more.

Slowly I tip backwards, watching the horrified faces of the guests as my arms windmill helplessly. Feeling the shock of the icy water as I land with a splash. Reeds cling to every part of me as I emerge pedalling furiously to get out of the lake. Something slimy brushes against my bare leg, dress floating up to the surface.

‘EEL!’ I scream. ‘EEL!’

I realize, for the millionth time, that we should never have come.