9
Ella
July 2018
T he message screen is just a long list of blue speech bubbles where Matty hasn’t responded to me once. Since I messaged Nick the other day, I’ve kept the messages down to three. One a day is enough to let him know I’m still trying and not giving up, but enough to give him space.
My heart is like a balloon that’s slowly, slowly being let out. It’s got that hole where its air can escape and kill it, but the owner of the balloon is teasing it. Slowly, slowly, that hole is being uncovered day by day, every time Matty doesn’t respond until soon enough, it’s just going to be a withered and wrinkled thing on the ground, dead.
Every time my phone vibrates, every time my door goes off, my heart springs back to that full balloon. Every time it’s no one important, or a parcel, or every time he doesn’t respond, that balloon gets let out a little more.
∞∞∞
“Are you okay, Ella?” Dean asks when I let him into the flat.
I stare at him; willing myself to just accept this. This is my fate; I need to find a silver lining in all of this.
“Yes, why?” I try to keep my voice even.
“You’ve been holed up and silent for three days since I came over the other day. Your mum asked me to come and visit, check if you’re okay,” Dean says.
I roll my eyes. “I’m going dress shopping with her tomorrow; she knows I’m fine.”
He chuckles and runs a coarse hand through his hair. He’s loosened his tie and undone the top two buttons of his white shirt. I suppose a good thing would be that he’s attractive. We’d make a great couple on the outside. If I gave in and tried , I could probably potentially tolerate kissing him. I imagine him to be a good one, anyway. He’s probably had tons of practice at both kissing and sex, so it wouldn’t be bad .
But I can’t see myself ever wanting to kiss or have sex with Dean. It’d be wrong, it would be… gross and wrong, and all kinds of disgusting.
When I think of marriage, I don’t think of how we’d look in photos, or how we’d look to others. I think of how I’d wake up every day and be happy, I think of stolen kisses in the middle of the night or having passionate sex and enjoying it.
I mean, Matty is all of those things to me, but he’s not here.
Dean and I would be just the aesthetic, but I might be able to learn to love him. Is that possible? Even if it’s not, I should probably try.
“What dress are you thinking of getting?” Dean asks.
I glance away, unsure how to even answer.
“I… I don’t know,” I whisper. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Ella,” he says.
“Would it offend you if I gave it a try ?”
“Gave what a try?” he questions. I can see the confusion running through his eyes. I don’t know why I’m even asking this. I shouldn’t want to ask this because I should be with Matt.
But if this is my future, then I should at least try to jump in with both legs, right? If I give it my all, then at least I can say I tried to be happy.
If all else fails, I can marry Dean and then slowly die like a wilting bluebell. If Matt doesn’t want me anymore – and I don’t blame him – then there’s nothing for it. If I can’t train myself to love Dean or at least find some slither of happiness, then death is a way out. I’ll have fulfilled my duty, and no one will need me anymore.
“Us. If this is going to be our future, I should try, right? Can you train yourself to love someone?”
He sighs and runs his hand over his face before looking at me. “I don’t know how to answer that because I don’t know the answer. I assume you’re thinking about whether you can train yourself to love me?”
“Ten points to Dean Atkins,” I joke, but the punchline falls flat. This is awkward as hell.
“Ella, I know you don’t love me. I don’t expect you to fall at my feet like a Disney princess. You don’t need to try and make yourself feel something you don’t. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t feel something for you, but—”
I interrupt him by putting my hand on his cheek. His smooth skin feels familiar, even if a little comforting. My perfectly manicured hands stand out against his shocked pale skin.
My eyes run over his lips, wondering if I kiss him now, would it be like true love’s kiss or something? Would something fall into place, and I’d forget all about Matty and I’d willingly marry Dean and it’d be how everyone expects?
His breath falls on my face, the thumping of my heart as the soundtrack. The thickness of a weird desire is filling the minimal space between us. I can smell his expensive lavender-scented aftershave.
He starts leaning in, but the instant he does, I feel it. The family pull, the feeling of regret because my heart is in the hands of Matt instead. It will never be Dean. I learn within this moment that there is no training the heart, you can’t dictate what it does, when it beats harder and who it beats for.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” My hand falls from his face, leaving the pure hurt shining on his face as if I’ve just smacked him.
He walks away without a word, but I can feel the disappointment flowing from him as he does.
∞∞∞
‘Ella, I’m downstairs, ready to go dress shopping! Mum.’
I quickly change the wallpaper on my phone to something generic in case Mum looks at it for whatever reason. Is this a sign? Is it meant to mean something? Am I letting him go?
I understand that Matt might need space to get his head around the wedding, but this is a bit much. I remember the field in Southampton Common, where he planted bluebells just for me. We promised we’d be together forever in any way and every way. What happened to that? I might be marrying Dean, but my heart will always be his, and he knows it.
My phone pings. My heart starts again.
That balloon gets let down all over again as it’s just Mum again. I take one last look at the last message I sent Matty, and that’s when I realise it’s over.
I sent him a jokey message of the lyrics of our song, but he’s completely ignored it. I wonder if this is really it. Has my heart been thrown away like a piece of rubbish because I haven’t fought enough?
I thought I knew him well enough to know he’d come back swinging, but it’s been too long for that.
∞∞∞
“Ella, sweetheart, you can have any wedding dress you can imagine – why on earth did you bring me here ?” Mum demands when we approach the wedding dress shop. I knew all along she was going to turn her nose up because she groaned and whined when she made the appointment. When I told her if she wanted to make me the least bit happy, this would be her compromise and she finally gave in.
I instantly wish I had invited Hannah, Lily, and Cate to this bloody thing. But not even they have a clue about this marriage; no one outside of Matt knows in my friendship circle. I decided to personally take their invites to them when it becomes relevant and explain it to them then. Which, conveniently, will be in a week, according to my mother’s damn wedding planning calendar.
“Because I want to come here,” I snap back. “If you want to, you can wait here and I will look by myself, Mother.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, darling,” she reminds me in a sweet voice that makes me want to punch her even more. I know she doesn’t feel comfortable with her only child being forced into this, so why she goes along with it, I’m not sure. Whatever this ‘deeper reason’ Dean refuses to tell me about, I assume she isn’t happy with it.
“You said you wanted this, so this is what we are doing. But I will be damned if you’re buying anything from here unless the price tag suggests it is designer!” She smiles absent-mindedly. I roll my eyes at her as she looks around the shopping centre with disdain. I wonder if the reason she goes along with this is the money.
She taps my arm, and we walk into the shop. Of course, when she made this stupid appointment, she requested that she and I be the only ones in the shop. I instantly get a shop assistant offering me a glass of champagne.
I ignore the fact my phone hasn’t vibrated yet in my pocket. Now is the time to look at wedding dresses, just like what most girls dream of.
Except most girls aren’t being forced to go down the aisle to a man they don’t love. Most girls dream of doing this with a mother who loves them, not using them as a pawn.
“Thanks!” I smile, taking the champagne without hesitation and having a gulp, glancing at the rows and rows of white and ivory dresses. I don’t even know where to start because I don’t want this, any of it, unless it’s marrying Matt.
“How about this one, darling?” Mum calls from across the shop, showing me a plain up-and-down white gown with lace around the top.
“No, Mum, that’s not me,” I admit, my eyes diverting to a sleeveless, lace fishtail trained gown that would make Princess Ariel proud.
“No, darling, that’s… trashy .”
I roll my eyes. So, this is how this is going to go.
“Well, I like it, and I’m trying it on.” I sigh. She shakes her head and puts her choice in the assistant’s hand as well as mine. The poor girl gives me a small smile of sympathy as she takes both picks to the changing room for later.
∞∞∞
I look in the mirror and instantly feel the hot, prickling hatred swarm over me like a heatwave. It’s not that I hate the dress; I love it. It’s totally me, despite what my Mum said when I showed her just now.
‘Ella, darling, you’re showing too much boob.’
If I wanted it, I would have to appeal to Dean, and I don’t fancy talking to him after earlier. The scent of his breath and the feeling of him close to my mouth is still haunting me. I know he would let me wear whatever dress made me even the slightest bit happy, but it’s not even that that forces the tears down my face, dripping onto the bodice of the dress.
Fuck, they’re going to make me pay for it now I’ve ruined it with my tears.
What’s making me hate it is that I’m standing in a stupid wedding dress that is literally perfect. It’s everything I imagined when I was growing up. It’s the dress that I can see myself walking up the aisle in. This is the one .
But I can’t wear this on September twentieth if it means I’m marrying Dean.
“Do you need help, Miss Webb?” the assistant calls from the other side of the curtain.
“In just a second,” I call back, grabbing my phone out of my handbag. I take a quick picture of the dress before I call her in to help. This is it; this is the thing that has to get Matty to respond.
“Which dress next?” she asks as I hold the dress up to conserve my modesty.
“I’m not feeling that well, so I’ll leave it for now, I’m really sorry,” I lie, and I think she can see through my words because she gives me a small smile again.
“Not a problem, shall I let your mum know?” she offers. I nod. She smiles back and leaves me to get dressed.
“Ella, what’s wrong?” Mum asks when I come out in my clothes. “The lady said you don’t feel well.”
“I just feel a migraine coming on, I need to go home,” I lie. She arches an eyebrow at me. “I assume Dad’s picking you up?”
“Yes, he is, I’ll phone him now. Take some painkillers and take it easy, love,” she says, though I know I’m lying as I walk out of the shop.
I grab my phone when I’m out of the shopping centre and take another look at the picture of me in my dream dress. I sigh and draft a message to go with it to Matt:
‘ My mum took me dress shopping today. I found the dress I want to get married in. But it feels wrong to wear it unless I’m meeting you down the aisle.’ As I hit send, I hope he understands what I’m saying between the lines. I hope this is the thing that sparks him into messaging back.
I know him like I know the back of my hand, I know him like I know the days of the week. I know this will kick that instinct in. It has to.
My phone instantly buzzes in my hand: ‘So… what do you propose we do about that?’
Everything in my body sings; comes to life like spring on my skin as I sit down on the bench, probably looking like a right twat, smiling to myself in the middle of the high street.
‘I think we need to talk.’
It takes him a few moments to respond but his name lights up my phone. ‘Meet me at yours when you’re done?’
I smile to myself; the sun begins shining in my chest, my skin prickles when I think about his tiny dimple, the way he’s taller than me but equally perfect, and the way his whole demeanour gets brighter around me. ‘On my way!’
He sends a thumbs-up emoji back to me. I think about the wedding dress, I stare at the blue promise ring on my finger and come up with an idea.
I know what I need to do.
I sprint through the shopping centre and head into the jewellery shop.
“Can I help, Miss?” the assistant asks.
“Yeah, I’m looking for an engagement ring for my boyfriend.”