Chapter Ashleigh Brett and Remy Hughes 1995 Aged 33 #2
He laughed then. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ His double blink told her that he too had a story. And she knew right there and then that it was a story she wanted to hear.
‘Muuum!’ Sophie called now from the bedroom. With her hands full, Remy watched through the open bathroom door as Midge ran into the room, grabbed the decoupaged waste paper bin from the floor and held it under Sophie’s mouth as she too was very sick.
Shit . . . Her worst fears were realised: this was no Jammy Dodger-fuelled incident.
‘What are we going to do?’ Midge read her mind.
‘Tie the sheets together, escape out the window and do a runner?’
‘We can’t run away from your sister’s wedding.’ He sighed.
‘No, but we can’t let our kids give every guest a sickness bug either.
Ashleigh would never forgive me.’ Her sister was, to put it mildly, a little strung-out over the whole affair, and Remy knew that a nasty bout of vomiting into the canapés or over the train of her Amanda Wakeley frock was not going to make matters any easier.
‘I’m more afraid of Elaine,’ her husband confessed.
‘Oh God, me too!’ She pulled a face.
‘I feel a bit better.’ Sophie wiped her mouth and sipped her water. Remy carried Harper to the bed, while Midge disposed of the bin’s contents down the loo.
‘That’s good, darling.’ This was a relief.
‘Can I still be bridesmaid?’ Sophie asked, her voice a little weak.
‘Erm’ – she shared a brief, knowing look with her husband – ‘not sure, little dove. I mean you can’t if you are going to throw up as you walk down the aisle or if there’s a risk you might give it to someone else.’
‘But I really want to wear my dress!’ Sophie beat her fists on the duvet. ‘The material! It’s so beautiful!’
‘I know, my love.’ Remy understood. It was indeed a beautiful, beautiful dress of the palest pink, with acres of tulle under the skirt, a simple fitted silk bodice and sweet matching ballet shoes to grace her tootsies. ‘I know.’
Having cleaned the tub, Remy decided to take advantage of the gloriously opulent bathroom and ran herself a deep bath.
It was all very different to their flat-fronted 1970s rented bungalow, which had the advantage of being cheap and near the garage and repair shop that Midge was trying to get off the ground.
She lay back in the water and let the fatigue of the day leach from her muscles.
Midge knocked on the door.
She replied with an elaborate knock on the side of the bath and watched as her husband crept in.
‘What was that?’ He looked at her quizzically.
‘It was a code knock, me saying, yes, it’s only me! Come in!’
‘It’s only a code knock if you’ve already established the code with the person who might be receiving it, otherwise it’s just a series of random bangs.’
‘You spoil all my fun. How’re the kids doing?’ She leaned up and peered into the bedroom through the door he held wide, staring at Sophie and Harper, both sound asleep in the middle of the vast four-poster bed. ‘Bless them.’
‘Yes. Neither has been sick again, and I figure just let them sleep.’
‘Definitely. Did you see the huge marquee in the field? All decked with festoon lighting. It’s going to look spectacular tomorrow. I really hope the girls are okay. I want them to experience it all!’
‘This is all taking me back, making me think about our wedding.’ Midge sank down on to the floor and ran his hand over her face, letting the tip of his finger trace her scars, as he often did.
‘My beautiful girl.’ She pulled him to her and let him hold her tightly in his arms. His shirt, once again, now soggy.
‘Really? What part of this is similar?’ She laughed.
‘There was only you and me there, your mates as witnesses, and the vicar bloke.’ It had been perfect, and simple, just the two of them exchanging vows inside St. George’s, the garrison church at Bulford.
Her second wedding, sure, but different in every way; she was in it for the long haul, they both were, no doubts.
Her parents had been mildly and briefly offended not to be invited, Ashleigh had only sounded relieved that she wasn’t required to venture outside of the M25, and with minimal fuss and no distractions, Remy had spoken her vows with a clarity and hope that had been sadly missing when she had wed Jamie.
‘I guess, I just remember what I felt like the night before.’
‘How did you feel, Midge?’ She leaned up and kissed the side of his neck.
‘Lucky, so lucky that you were going to be mine. I couldn’t believe it, still can’t sometimes.’ It was his turn to kiss her. ‘I’d been thinking about you since that night we met.’
‘Yeah, thinking about me so much it took you years to drop by!’ She sank back in the water, and he leaned against the tub.
‘I’ve told you, I was unstable, posted all over the place, didn’t know if I was coming or going, and I wanted to wait until I could look you in the eye and say, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.’
‘I’m very glad you did.’ She closed her eyes. Moments like this, without the TV on, a kid needing something or a chore to do, were rare.
‘I was scared too, scared you might not turn up! Scared I might not be able to make you happy.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ She touched his dark hair where it lay on his collar. ‘I turned up early! Keen as mustard, and for the record you do, you make me very happy. You gave me back my confidence, my faith in humanity, you’re everything. Our little family.’
‘I remember when we got home after the service and we picked Sophie up from school and we said, we have some news and it felt like a big deal.’ She laughed quietly at the memory, knowing what he was going to say, one of their favourite stories, she was always happy to hear it.
‘And you said, “Guess what, Soph? We got married today,” and she said, “What’s for tea?”’
‘What’s for tea?’ they chorused.
It had been lovely, seamless, the way little Sophie had just accepted this man into her life, calling him Dad, calling Jamie Daddy, and without seeming to apply the complexity to it that Remy had been fearful of navigating.
It was both a blessing and a curse that Jamie wasn’t ever present.
Truth was, she preferred the lack of contact, but worried that he wasn’t a constant in Sophie’s life.
He had, since she was a toddler, popped up on the odd occasion to take her out for a burger and to spoil her with a gift.
Sophie, in fairness, didn’t seem to expect or hanker after anything more. And Midge certainly provided constancy.
‘I didn’t need a big wedding. I wanted a marriage, I love you, Midge Hughes.’
‘And I you.’ He reached for her hand and knitted it inside his.
‘We are lucky, aren’t we?’ She smiled, feeling a little smug and hoping that Ashleigh would enjoy her day tomorrow. Hoping too that it would be everything her mum and dad hoped for. Her sister had, after all, kept them all waiting for a long, long time.
‘We really are, Ren. And I know things have been tight for the last couple of years, but the garage is picking up and I’m getting more regular customers, and so if you want to go to college, I know you used to want to study, or if you want to go and see To—’
‘I don’t want to do either of those things,’ she interrupted. ‘Midge.’ She drew breath, hadn’t planned on this being the moment, but it felt right.
‘What?’
‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’ Her mouth felt a little dry with nerves.
‘You’re running away with one of Archie Huffington Smythe’s chinless school mates?’
‘No!’ She sat up in the water to face him, knowing this was important.
‘Oh God, that’s your serious face. Just say it.’
And so she did, she took a beat, and just said it!
‘I’m pregnant.’
She stared at his face, waiting for the tell, the little clue that would let her know how he felt without him saying a word.
‘Wow!’
‘Yes, wow.’
‘How pregnant?’ He leaned over the bath and put his face into the water, kissing the flat of her stomach before surfacing with a wet face and hair.
‘Just a little bit,’ she whispered, knowing she wouldn’t forget that this was when she told him, this day, in this room. With water dripping from his nose and chin, he looked her in the eye, and smiled, as if to say, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
‘My clever girl.’ His eyes misted with tears. ‘My clever, clever girl!’
Ashleigh
Ashleigh was doing her best to keep calm. But if one more person asked her one more stupid question she thought she might scream!
Do you know where one might find some florist twine?
Do you know where Archie is?
Wine waiters to pour or leave opened bottles on the table tomorrow?
What time exactly are you planning on cutting the cake?
Do you know where Archie is?
Does the DJ know the gate code for the rear paddock?
It was exhausting.
And no, she did not know where Archie was.
In fact, she hadn’t known where Archie was pretty much since they’d arrived at Mulverton last Tuesday, when he was either playing golf, in the pub, out with the dogs or catching up with old friends, while she ran around at the beck and call of every idiot with a question!
She’d spent an inordinate amount of time with Elaine, which was never easy, feeling very much like her fiancé had abandoned her.
Having seen Dickie and Elaine Fitch up close over the years, she had watched the gilt she had mentally coated them with fall away, noticing small things at first that didn’t sit well with her.
The way they slipped into French or Italian to exclude anyone who hadn’t stuck with languages post school or hadn’t picked up the lingo while summering in Europe.
But nothing irked her as much as the fact that she now knew what his parents felt for each other bordered on detestation.
Their jovial veneer fractured every time they drank gin, which happened most days at around 5 p.m.