DAY ONE 3
Summer Taylor-Braddon : So, Ashley, Hana, and Julia have left now. It’s just me and you, Adelaide—and don’t worry, you will get the whole stage, shortly. Or the whole studio. But let me just finish this part.
So, it wasn’t Hell immediately. Of course not. Ruari and I were in love. And it felt so exciting, knowing that we were making this commitment, that we’d be life-long partners. That we’d grow old together. That I had truly found my person.
There were still so many times, back then, when I couldn’t believe it. When I just stopped and looked at Ruari—this handsome man who was perfect for me, who I was perfect for. I had found him. I mean, what are the chances?
But we had found each other, and we did everything together. He’d always been into geology and stuff and we began going to conventions on that for him. Conferences. Lectures. That sort of stuff. And for me, we’d go to book fairs. He’d sit through long talks by authors he’d never heard of, but he’d appear to be interested, and then he’d talk to me about it all on the way home, engaging in conversation—just as I did with him.
We set a date for our wedding—5th July, that same year, 2017. We had six months leading up to it, and I remember the giddy excitement of it all. Because it was exciting, planning a wedding. Looking around venues, picking out table pieces, talking color themes, and of course dress shopping.
Hana and Julia went with me to my first wedding dress appointment. I’d wanted Mum to come but she had work. She’d already booked the week off for the wedding itself but her boss was being a bit of a dick really and wouldn’t let her take any time off beforehand. “Anyway, I’ll get to one of the fitting appointments,” she told me. “Once you have your dress.”
Julia created a Pinterest board especially for wedding dresses. This was of course when she and I were still friends. The three of us started watching all sorts of bride-chooses-her-dress programs and Hana would clog up my IG inbox with reel after reel.
“You should totally get a dress that’s a bit different,” she said one day when the three of us were lounging on my bed. “You’re like, goth. Your dress should be.”
I hadn’t been ‘goth’ in years—that was like, in year 7 and 8 at school—but I guess I still had those edgy vibes. Still listened to My Chemical Romance and Avril Lavigne, still watched a lot of horror films, still was drawn to reading dark fiction. “But I want a traditional dress,” I said. “White all the way.”
Julia rolled her eyes, and sure, she did keep trying to get me to look at different styles of dresses, but I held firm. Anyway, beyond the dress being white and traditional—or maybe even somewhat traditional—I wasn’t truly sure what I wanted. If I’m being honest, I was just so overwhelmed as we looked through image after image, video after video.
“I like the skirt there,” I said.
“That’s the train.” Hana rolled her eyes. “Anyway, what kind of neckline do you like?”
I gestured at my own body and sort of traced a pattern on my T-shirt. “Like this?” I had no idea what any of these necklines were called, but Hana nodded, said I was describing a boat neck, and then started typing that into Google.
There were so many parts to dress design, that’s what I discovered. Not just neck lines, but the height of the waist, whether it clinches in around your hips or whirls out, how many layers the skirt has, the kind of materials and textures you’re going for, whether you’ve got sleeves or not, a back of a dress or not—and I was totally shocked when I realized that quite a lot of wedding dresses don’t have backs.
“But if I was wearing that and sitting on a stool and there was like a table behind me and someone was behind that table looking at me, if would look like I’ve got nothing on,” I said. “It would look like I was naked!”
Julia laughed and Hana rolled her eyes.
“No, I want a back. I mean, for the amount I’m paying for this dress—it better have a back. Otherwise it’s just an extortionate amount for what is essentially a scrap of fabric.”
I got better at looking at wedding dresses, at understanding what I liked and what I didn’t like—mermaid was the silhouette I thought most flattered me, and I wanted minimal lace, and no sleeves—so by the time we actually got around to booking dress appointments I was able to give the women there a pretty good idea of what I wanted.
It was pouring with rain, when Hana drove the three of us to Exeter. We parked outside The House That Moved, where Pirouette Bridal was based, and I remember looking up at the Tudor-style building and thinking just WOW. It was impressive, and I loved it, and I just felt that my dress was inside there.
We were ten minutes early so we decided to wait in the car for a little bit, just to see if the rain would stop, but alas it didn’t. Hana had spent twenty minutes at my house re-straightening her hair after she’d made the dash from her car to my house, and now she was fretting about it. We had no coats with us—I’m not too sure why, when it had definitely been raining in Okehampton—but we found a plastic bag in one of the seat pockets and she fashioned that over her head as a hat.
“This is beautiful,” I said as we hovered outside the door—okay, we were trying to work out how to open it. It appeared to be locked.
But then the lady inside saw us and opened the door—apparently very easily—for us. We flocked inside, and I was very aware of how we were dripping water everywhere. Thankfully there were no dresses in the immediate vicinity for us to shed our raindrops on.
“You must be Summer?” the woman asked, with a smile. “I’ll just go and get your seamstress.”
My seamstress?
I remember feeling like I was stepping into some other world. A world where I had my own seamstress.
It was all pretty cool—and I felt so magical, trying on so many beautiful gowns. The shop had a couple of floors, and there was a dressing room on each floor. I was just upstairs, on the next floor, and it was a pretty small room, but so beautifully decorated. And just walls and walls of dresses. It was a bit overwhelming really. Trying on actual wedding dresses. But it really made it sink in.
I ended up spending way more money than I thought I was going to, but I got a Maggie Sottero gown. It had a mermaid silhouette, was strapless, and had this gorgeous beading all around the bodice. The veil also had the same beading around the edge. And as I stood there, behind the little curtain, staring at myself in the mirror before revealing myself to my friends, I just had this moment of clarity—of realization. Knowing that me and Ruari were going to be together forever.
I never had any doubts about marrying him. None at all. I knew he was my soulmate. My one true love. I’d never been so certain about anything before.
And that kind of brings me onto the next thing I wanted to tell you. Well, not you specifically, Adelaide—because this could feel a bit awkward, but telling the world I guess. And that is kids. Let me just find my notes. [ Sounds of papers shuffling ] So, Ruari and I wanted kids—I mean, we’d discussed it before. We’d both said we wanted them and we’d assumed that with us being asexual that we’d adopt. But it was shortly after I’d tried on wedding dresses—and bought mine—that I was aware of a change within me. Not to say that I was becoming allosexual or anything, because I wasn’t, but I felt a different... feeling. A feeling I’d not had before.
The feeling of wanting a baby with him. We’d hug and my ovaries would ache. We’d be sitting on the sofa, watching MasterChef or The Traitors and I’d look across at him and my arms would just ache. I wanted a baby. I wanted his baby.
I imagined it all the time—it’s strange how quickly I became obsessed with it, and maybe it was all the wedding planning. Imagining our lives together. I wanted a little boy and a little girl, and I wanted them to look like us. Or rather, to look like him. Yeah, that was it. I didn’t really mind if they looked like me or not—because I’d know they were mine. I’d know.
But I also found myself wanting to be pregnant, and this was something that I never really thought I’d want. Before, when I’d see heavily pregnant women, I’d always feel a little queasy. Uncomfortable.
But now I was imagining what it would feel like. To have a baby—his baby—growing inside me.
He was surprised when I told him this—or maybe he wasn’t. I’m not sure. It was sometimes hard to read him. But we decided we’d go for IVF. This seemed like the easiest option for us. Our asexuality didn’t mean we’d get it free, not like we would if we were a lesbian couple, on the NHS, but we had savings. And we talked nonstop about our baby.
“Maybe we’ll have one within the first year of our marriage,” he said, and I agreed, and we talked about it as if it was a given.
We planned out the whole of 2018. I had a contract for more books, and so for me it would be writing and the baby. We even picked out names.
But then the bad luck started.
Ruari’s mother died very suddenly two months before the wedding. It was an overdose.
Ruari and I were in our flat. It was a cold, chilly morning, especially for May, and we were still in bed. A weekend, so we didn’t feel particularly lazy about having a lie-in—because that was one thing Ruari really hated feeling. Lazy.
The heating wasn’t yet on. We had it on this timer, but the timer was a bit faulty. It didn’t always work when it was supposed to, so the air was cold, and I think just neither of us wanted to get up. He was playing a game on his phone, wrapped up in the duvet, and I was sort of half-asleep, imagining our kids and how perfect it would be when we were married. And then the doorbell rang. We had one of those super loud bells. You know the type for the elderly, where it’s like amplified and has a speaker? Yeah, well, they’re loud, aren’t they? And so we both jumped when the bell rang because the speaker was in the landing area at the top of our stairs.
Ruari bolted out of bed. His side was by the window, so he peeked through the curtain.
“Shit,” he said. “Police.”
There were two of them. Officers in uniform. We grabbed dressing gowns to cover our pajamas—and went to let them in.
I had this weird sense of déjà vu from that dream I told you about, you know, where police are telling me something has happened to Ruari, and I remember feeling confused at first, because here they were with their somber faces, yet Ruari was fine. He was there, next to me, alive and well.
The officers sat us down. I can’t remember their names, though they introduced themselves. I can’t even remember what their words were. But Portia was dead.
There was fire in Ruari’s eyes at first, rather than shock or grief or anything else I’d expected. “She’s done this to spite us,” he said, because his mother hadn’t wanted us to get married. She didn’t really like me—but I think it was more that she’d never have liked anyone Ruari wanted to be with.
And she hadn’t liked when we’d moved in together. Mainly because it meant he wasn’t injecting as much money into her household, keeping her drug habits afloat. They’d had a lot of arguments since he’d moved out, and she’d already told us somewhat gleefully that attending our wedding would be the last thing she’d ever want to do. “Even after taking out the bins and climbing inside the wheelie one and getting chucked into the garbage and ripped to shreds.” Those were her exact words. I don’t know how I remember that, but I do.
Ruari had pretended he didn’t care. He’d told me it didn’t matter, but I’d known it had hurt him, despite what he kept insisting.
But with the police in the room, Ruari just kept shaking his head and letting out this small laugh. The officers then began speaking more to me, directing all their questions and whatever else they had to say to me, rather than him, just letting him pace the room, muttering about her.
Then they left.
“Hey,” I said to Ruari, my voice low. I took him in my arms, and as soon as I touched him, I felt the tension leave his body. It just melted away, and he sort of fell against me. There was this really long, low-pitched sound emitting from his chest, like a groan, but so much more.
He cried then, even though he was still muttering at the same time, about how she’d just had to do this. Had to try and ruin it for us.
[ She clears her throat ] He was determined that we’d still get married though. He said that we couldn’t let it stop us. I was all set to postpone it, but he, well, he insisted.
I can’t tell you just how nervous I was for our wedding ceremony. I mean, I was absolutely petrified—not that I thought Ruari would jilt me or something, just that I’d faint while we were exchanging vows. This wasn’t helped by the fact that I’d been watching a lot of those ‘wedding fails’ reels on Instagram. You know the kind, where the bride or groom faints and ‘ruins’ the wedding, causing utter commotion.
I knew I shouldn’t have been watching them, because they were just making me more anxious. But I couldn’t stop.
The morning of the wedding was actually nice weather for a change. Like, really nice. I’d been worried it would rain—that it would rain really heavily and we’d all be soaked, but at five in the morning, as me and Julia and Hana met in the dressing room at the hotel, wide-awake despite the time, we looked out the window into the early dawn and saw warmth and stillness. A slight mist hung in the Dartmoor valleys that we could see from the sash window, and it actually looked like it was going to be an amazing day.
“Good vibes,” Hana said, smiling.
Then it was a whirl of getting ready. The hairdresser and makeup artist took over the tables, my mother arrived with her nail-painting kit (we’d gone for soft pinks for me and the bridesmaids, and a soft peach for my mum), and someone soon connected their iPhone to speakers, blasting out music that I was sure was going to waken many of the guests. But of course, I was the bride, this was my wedding, and so no one said a thing.
Matilda arrived about an hour later, fresh-faced and a tad sweaty. She’d been cutting it fine with her flight getting in, but she also had some pretty expensive camera equipment with her that she’d borrowed from a mate. She was designated photographer, and it was fun, posing as we got ready, pulling silly faces, pouting into the lens.
“And let’s get one with Julia putting your shoe on,” Matilda said.
I’d just been crammed into my dress—that was what it felt like, cramming, because the corset had been laced up oh so tightly—and was currently sitting on the hairdresser’s chair while she fussed with my locks. No sooner had Matilda spoken, when Julia seemed to materialize in front of me, with my heels in her hands.
Mum and I had chosen my heels two weeks ago, when we’d gone for my final dress fitting. They were a soft satin, but provided a lot of stability, the heel being pretty chunky. Now, Julia and I posed, like I was Cinderella seeing if the glass slipper fit.
And it did.
“Pull the skirt of your dress up just a little,” Matilda advised me. “Show a little of your leg—and lift that leg up a bit too, so your muscle’s not been squashed against the chair leg. We want to see the shape.”
I felt so awkward posing for photos—but Matilda was right. The photos do make me look good. Not that I can really look at them much.
Once we were all ready, we headed off to the ceremony venue as a group. And it was just... I just remember it being so perfect. I’d never seen Ruari looking so handsome. Mum walked me down the aisle, and Ruari was just there, smiling so wide, with tears in his eyes. He was wearing this really nice dark blue suit that just brought out the color of his eyes more.
As I’ve already said, I was so nervous about the ceremony, about fainting in it or being sick, but it actually went really quickly. We said our vows, and I don’t really remember many specifics, other than how warm Ruari’s hand felt when he put the ring on my finger. The wedding ring! We were married.
We posed for more photos—like, proper ones, by a river, with Ruari’s beloved Dartmoor as a backdrop—and then we had the reception. Julia, Hana, and Mum had done all the decorating for the room, and they’d put sunflowers and daisies, my favorite flowers, everywhere. It was so artfully done, so artistic.
Everyone was there, and I’d been worried that it might draw attention to the absence of Ruari’s own mother, but he didn’t mention her at all and he never seemed sad. He was the life and soul of the party that day, and well, he did get quite drunk. But who doesn’t on their wedding day?
I don’t usually drink alcohol, but even I had quite a few. I had this warm feeling filling my body, and it was like the ambience of the party was just carrying me around. Waiters and waitresses served finger food before the wedding breakfast, which we had quite late in the day. There were speeches there too, mainly from Mum and also Ruari’s uncle. His dad was back in prison so he wasn’t there. But Ruari’s uncle—Portia’s brother—was actually pretty cool. Not what I was expecting at all. He had this huge pink mohawk, and his suit was like this shimmery peachy color. He fitted into the wedding party really well with those colours.
So, the day went well. And Ruari and I headed off on our honeymoon the next morning, thinking we had the whole of our lives ahead of us.
The horror was only just about to begin.
And now this seems to be a good place to talk with my mother, right? And, Adelaide, you’re going to like this, because I’m actually going to step out of the studio here and give you the floor. But be careful to stick to just the topics I want asked here, yeah?
On Monday, you’ll get your say.
##
A delaide James : Well, Mrs. Taylor, this feels odd, does it not?
Margaret Taylor : You’re lucky I’m a restrained woman. Because you deserve to rot for what you’ve done to my daughter.
Adelaide James : [ She laughs ] Perhaps you should be careful what you say, given this is being recorded.
Margaret Taylor : I’m not a lawyer anymore, so I can say what I want.
Adelaide James : Anyway, I’ve got Summer’s topics here. So, please, tell us about your daughter.
Margaret Taylor : She’s my youngest. She’s always been a bonnie little thing. Determined, headstrong when she wants to be, but so, so kind. My Summer, she’d never hurt a fly. She’s always only wanted what’s best for people. Always looking out for others. That’s why it’s so unfair what’s been done to her. What those reporters and tabloids have done.
Adelaide James : Some would argue that reporters are the purest. We set the record straight. But anyway, what do you want the world to know about Summer?
Margaret Taylor : I want you all to know that she is vulnerable. She may be an amazing writer and she may be famous right now, but that doesn’t mean she’s invincible, unbreakable. Because my daughter has broken before—in all of this. And I do not want to be picking up the pieces again. People seem determined to give her a trial by media, even when she’s never been legally accused of doing anything wrong. And that’s not fair. It’s things like this, things that happen to innocent people, that lead to loss. Loss of lives, and I am begging you, that if you’re one of those people who’s read the paper and sent Summer a message on social media, accusing her, threatening her, that you stop.
You stop and you think about what you’re doing.
Because if you don’t. If you continue, there will be blood on your hands.
And that is as much as I am willing to say. I am going to find my daughter now.