Chapter Thirty-Five Dolly
Excerpt from podcast Rox’s Docs, interview between Dawson Roxford and the Hannahs
ROX Okay, girls, who do you think is the fakest?
HANNAH S. Bridget!
HANNAH C. OMG, Hannah, shut up.
ROX You think she and Jackson could be Wedded Bliss’s Ottie and Seb, Hannah P.?
HANNAH S. I’m Hannah S.
ROX Sorry, Hannah S.
HANNAH S. Actually… maybe I shouldn’t speak about this without a lawyer present. Hang on, let me call Priya.
I’ve been trying to work out what to do for the last twenty-four hours, and I’ve come up with nothing.
Of course, I couldn’t tell Warren what was really going on.
I palmed him off with a drunken argument between Carys and Bridget, somewhat helped by the complete breakdown Carys had – though, well, I’m not sure if it was a meltdown or not.
It seemed like one. Patrick beat me to picking her up, and I had to resist with every atom in my being. It would have made it worse.
I barely slept, my dreams always returning to Carys crumpled on the floor. And then all yesterday we were tied up doing last-minute wedding prep all the while my anxiety thrummed.
I know he knows something’s up. He’s smart; that’s why we picked each other. But if I tell him what’s going on, I’ve got to be honest with him about how stupid I’ve been throughout our entire fake relationship.
He would be in his right mind to say no at the altar.
I had hoped I’d have a good sleep before my wedding, but I slept in fits and starts.
I find myself scrolling Carys’s Instagram again when I wake. I’ve not followed her. That feels too intrusive. It’s so normal compared to my profile full of reposted content from other platforms of me cooking, outfits of the day, aspirational lifestyle content of a life I don’t even live.
And then there’s her, feeding animals. Shearing a sheep, somehow.
Talking to children about animals. This feels like the most honest version of Carys, but it’s still hidden behind a veil of not talking about her reality.
There’s nothing about meltdowns or overstimulation or anything else she experiences here.
The only giveaway is all the autistic advice accounts she follows.
I end up reading through a bunch of them, feeling the urge to learn more about how she experiences the world, even though I won’t be in her version.
After another burst of sleep, I check my phone one last time, and it’s half four. The hair and makeup team will be here in the next hour to get us ready.
‘Let’s just get up,’ Warren murmurs. He rolls over and slings an arm round my waist.
‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ I whisper.
‘Mmm.’ The sound rumbles through the mattress. ‘I’m awake too.’
‘Big day,’ I whisper.
‘Big day.’ He rolls out of bed, stretching his broad back. ‘I’m going to get us some food.’
I hear the coffee machine go in the kitchen, and I decide to have my shower, scrubbing away the stress of Bridget’s threat. I’m going to have to talk to Warren about it this morning. I’m going to have to make a decision, but who do I protect? Carys, my mum, or Warren?
If I say no, Warren and I break up. Unless we agree to stay together, but that doesn’t look so promising for brands.
If I say yes, Carys and I get outed.
I leave the shower wrapped in big fluffy white towels and a matching robe, moisturising my dry, tired skin with a hydrating mask that I hope won’t bring me out in spots.
The hair and makeup team arrive soon after that, earlier than I anticipated, and get to work.
By the end, I look like the bride I’m supposed to be.
My hair is slicked back slightly, a bit of a flick at the bottom to give the look some edge.
Red lipstick, of course, but the rest of the makeup is softer than my usual style.
I look like a bride.
The dress hangs on the back of the bedroom door, the shoes paired together underneath like a ghost’s wearing the outfit already.
We need to get a move on soon. We need to be at the Barbican this morning but via the hotel our family are in to help everyone over.
Production wanted the couples to spend the night apart in a hotel for tradition’s sake, but we convinced them to give up those rooms to our family members so they didn’t have to trek across London.
In the kitchen, Warren has set out a breakfast feast. There’s bowls of strawberries, sliced peaches, crumbles of granola. The yogurt and honey sit in their usual tubs, spoons at the side ready. From the oven, he takes out some pre-made pancakes he’s heated up.
‘I know they’re not as good as my crêpes, but hopefully they’ll suffice,’ he says, placing a couple on each plate.
‘This is wonderful,’ I say, taking a seat. ‘Thank you. Another good husband point.’
He huffs a little laugh to himself. ‘As that might be,’ he says, picking up his coffee and blowing the steam. ‘Dolly, were you ever going to tell me that you are in love with Carys?’
I choke on the strawberry I’m eating, and he has to whack me hard between my shoulders before it goes down the wrong way.
‘You good?’ He looks somewhat terrified.
‘Yeah, sorry. No eating while we talk about this,’ I say, setting down my fork. I could deny it, I could try and hide. But where has that got me? Heartbroken with my neck on Bridget’s guillotine. ‘I think I was hoping I’d get over it.’
He nods. ‘So you are in love with her?’
This is a question I hadn’t even dared to ask myself, but I know the answer immediately. ‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘Oh shitting tits, I am in love with her.’
He sucks his teeth. ‘Ouch. I’m so sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘I’ve not had to watch someone I’m in love with falling for some other guy,’ Warren points out.
‘I hoped I’d get over it,’ I say. ‘For you. For us.’
‘You could have told me,’ he says without accusation. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make the space for you to do so.’
‘Well, I came out to you in the swimming pool. I should have told you the rest.’
‘And she’s in love with you too but doesn’t know it yet?’ He neatly slices up his pancake into triangles, like little slices of cake.
‘I think she suspects, but she’s better at lying to herself than I am.’
‘That would be impressive if it wasn’t so sad.’
‘Ouch,’ I say, wounded. ‘Below the belt.’
‘I’m just trying to ask questions about my fiancée’s girlfriend. Speaking of below the belt…’
I flush with embarrassment. ‘Yes, she and I have slept together. Twice. Sorry.’
‘And that’s what the fight with Bridget’s about, huh?’
God, the relief. ‘You nailed it.’ I explain Bridget’s plan to extort us, with the threat of outing Carys.
‘And you,’ he says.
‘Yeah, but I don’t really care. I’ve been out before.
I can weather that storm,’ I say. ‘Hell, there’s probably been a few lesbians from the Liverpool–Manchester scene tweeting about what a lay I am.
I can play bisexual if I need to, I’ll lie for us.
It’ll wash off me, though if I’m honest, I think it’ll jeopardise some of our plans. ’
‘That’s not what I’m worried about,’ he says sincerely.
‘Carys has never come out. This would rob her—’ I can feel myself choking up. ‘She deserves the chance to say it herself if she ever wants to, not that she ever has to. And Bridget is trying to rip that from her.’
Warren’s eyes soften. ‘You really do love her.’
‘It’s dreadful, isn’t it?’
He takes my hand. ‘Being in love is magical. Now, what are we going to do about this?’
‘You don’t have to do anything, Warren. I just need to work out what to say to Bridget. I was worried she’d caught me helping Cobey and Lina escape.’
‘What? They escaped?’
‘Yeah, right out the bathroom window. I suspect they’re lying low right now.’
Warren chuckles to himself. ‘That dog. Good for them.’
‘I’m just glad she’s away from Zack.’
‘Wait, but why did you think Bridget was coming to you about that?’
Then my mind finally clears. ‘Lina told me to be careful with her, but didn’t tell me why.’
‘Do you think she also knew what was going on between you and Carys?’
I think back to our conversation in the warehouse, when I thought Lina was trying to hint to me that she clocked me. ‘Yeah, now you say it. But I don’t think that was just it.’
I look at my phone. ‘Is it too early to call someone?’
‘I don’t think you have to worry about being rude on your wedding day,’ Warren says.
I open Instagram and see the little green circle that tells me she’s online, and in a rush of daring, I video call Lina.
‘Hey! Hello!’
‘Sorry it’s so early,’ I say. ‘I just needed to talk to you.’
‘No, don’t worry.’ She and Cobey crowd into frame and I realise they are in an airport.
‘Where are you two off to?’ Warren says, wriggling his seat closer.
‘Home to Scotland,’ Lina says. ‘We’re going to see my mum, and go to the registry office today.’
‘Wow, congratulations, guys!’ Warren and I chorus in delight.
‘We figured the show couldn’t get too angry with us if we got legally married and offered them an exclusive on-camera interview,’ Lina explains. ‘And, well, this is the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with.’
Cobey kisses her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for the bathroom assist. What did you want to ask?’
‘Lina,’ I say. ‘You told me to beware Bridget?’
Her face pales. ‘What’s she done?’
I explain.
‘Oh, that arsehole,’ she growls. ‘I’ll kill her.’
‘So, you also knew about Carys and I?’
‘Well, I knew she was having a gay panic over you, yeah. I’m familiar with the signs. Is she alright?’
I shake my head. ‘No. I’m scared for her.’
‘Well, don’t be. It’s time to play Bridget at her own game. Look, I can text you the evidence after we get off the call, but she’s a liar too.’
‘What do you mean?’ I say, my heart leaping with hope.
‘It’s a sham! She and Jackson were together on the outside before they came here. They faked it.’
‘Holy fuck,’ I gasp.
‘Oh shit,’ echoes Warren.