Chapter 4
4
The hotel door closes and I wake with a start, reaching over for James, but the bed is cool and on his pillow is a note.
Gone for a run.
Back in an hour.
I love you.
x
We never leave each other without letting the other know where we’re going. It wasn’t something that we discussed, but we both recognised the need for clarity, for an expected return. I groan. How can he have gone for a run already? I reach for my phone: 7.13. Tuesday 4th April. Our wedding day. I know Tuesday might sound like a strange day for a wedding, but not when you’re a teacher, it’s the end-of-term break and the majority of my guests are off work. Plus, it was half the price. Bonus.
I stretch and smile, my finger running along the swell of my bottom lip, still slightly tender from last night.
4th April .
How will we start this day next year, and the years after that? I close my eyes and imagine them, time skipping forwards: breakfast in bed, themed gifts – paper, cotton, and whatever the third wedding anniversary theme is. I imagine children bounding into the room, holding hand-made cards. I picture James getting older, greying at the temples… our future anniversaries that will bring back memories of this day, the day I’m about to live.
We’d better make it count.
I get up, pull on his green sweatshirt, burying my nose into the shoulder. I’d love to be able to describe his smell, talk about sandalwood or mint or rosemary, but then I’d be describing the smell of his aftershave, the hint of his deodorant. This smell is all him and smells like home, not our place, a two-bedroomed semi in need of some repair, but of just… him.
I turn the kettle on, a teabag already waiting in the cup. I smile. It’s in these little details, isn’t it? These details that let us know we’re loved. It’s not red roses and surprise tickets, jewellery in blue boxes or poetry; it’s in the simple things that show me I’m on his mind. I make the tea, warming my hands on the white mug, and pull back the curtain.
The manor house looks out over fields, a patchwork of countryside. The watery sun is beating back the mist while the haze lingers like the smell of an old lover. I half imagine Mr Darcy emerging through the haze, white shirt open and wearing a sultry expression. I try to scan for signs of James, of his grey hoody, head down, dark hair falling into his eyes, ear pods in, sweat forming around the rim of his neck, along his spine, his steady determined run, but the mist is obscuring the ribbon of road, the morning exhaling its last breath like a final drag on the first cigarette of the day.
I drink my tea, scroll through my phone, until I start pacing. He’s been gone for over an hour. I try his number, but it just rings out. I send him a message:
Hey, getting a bit worried. You OK?
I bite my nails, looking back across the landscape. There is a man in the distance crossing the road. I feel that familiar jolt of recognition; that falling into the past feeling that I had so many times in the aftermath of Kit’s death: a similar gait, the set of shoulders. Kit. I blink. The man has gone. The mist is just starting to lift but there is no sign of James.
I feel the familiar panic starting to rise. I lie down on the bed, close my eyes, forcing my breathing to settle, to feel present, to feel in control.
My phone buzzes and I scramble up the bed, swiping the screen.
Sorry. Got lost. Back soon. X
I let out a long plume of air, lie back and clutch my phone to my chest. See? Nothing to worry about, I try to tell myself, but that’s the thing with anxiety. No matter how much you tell it there is nothing to worry about, it doesn’t stop the symptoms; it doesn’t automatically relax your stomach muscles; it doesn’t stop your heart from racing around your body.
There’s a knock on the door and I hurry to open it, expecting James, but Ava is standing there, hair in rollers, a matriarchal expression on her face.
‘What are you doing?’ She looks me up and down, a hand on her hip. ‘Have you even had a shower?’
‘Not yet. James is on his way back after his run and then we’re going to get breakfast. ’
‘What?’ she asks, her eyes widening. ‘You’ve stayed in the same room?’
‘Well yes, what did you think was going to happen?’
‘I thought that he was going to sleep in Himad’s room?’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because it’s in the timetable!’
‘What timetable?’
‘The one I sent to you both weeks ago?’
She gives an anxious glance towards the stairs as though a James-shaped bomb is about to go off. ‘Never mind.’ She pinches the bridge of her nose. ‘It’s a good job I’m here. Please tell me you haven’t seen him yet?’ She peers over my shoulder as if to check he’s not hiding behind me.
‘Well, no, I was asleep before he left for his run.’
She scratches a piece of scalp between her rollers. ‘Good. I’m maid of honour and as such it is my duty to make sure that you do not see the groom before you get married.’
‘I don’t remember agreeing to that. I don’t believe in bad?—’
‘Shhhhhuuush!’ Ava screeches. ‘Have you not heard of jinxing things? Jesus, you’re practically inviting Murphy and his law into the hotel.’
I raise my eyebrows at her and shake my head. I’m about to refuse, but she is pleading with me – could it be that she actually believes that it will be bad luck? That if we split up, she will somehow be responsible? I think about Ava, and her horoscope reading, her crystals and tarot cards. It’s not such a broad stretch to think that she really does think it’ll be the kiss of death to our relationship if we spend the morning together.
‘Fine,’ I say resolved. ‘Can I at least grab my things?’
‘No, you may not.’ She takes my hand and pulls me over the threshold. ‘Here’s the key. I’ll grab your things and you are to go straight to my room, no detouring, do not pass go, do not collect ￡200.’
‘I need to leave him a message. He’ll wonder where I am.’
‘You can text him! Now please will you go?’ There are tears in her eyes, actual tears, and I feel my chest swell with love for my friend and her misplaced faith in the powers that be.
‘OK, OK… I’m going.’ Ava practically sags with relief as I step into the corridor and she hurries into my room.
‘Keep still!’ Ava says through a mouthful of hair grips.
‘I am keeping still!’ I reply, scratching the back of my ear. Around her room is the contents of a beauty salon. My wedding dress – still pristine from yesterday – is hanging on the back of the wardrobe. ‘Do you think I’ve got too much hair to keep up all day?’ I ask her reflection in the mirror. Her own hair still bulging with Velcro rollers.
‘Not once I’ve worked my magic.’
My fringe has been swept to the side, the remainder of my dark heavy hair brushed into a victory roll spotted with ivory-coloured lace flowers.
There’s another knock on the door, and Libby and Paige chatter their way into the room. Both in claret-red shoulderless silk dresses, their backs exposed in a waterfall drop.
‘I’m almost finished.’ Ava adds a final slide into my hair and stands back to admire her handiwork. ‘You’ll do,’ she says with a grin.
Libby’s voice from last night keeps nipping at the edges of my thoughts: Would she be marrying him if Kit hadn’t disappeared? He always picked up the pieces ; always wanted what Kit had; duty.
A pop of champagne makes me jump. Libby pours it into flutes while Paige runs her hands along the fabric of my dress. I shake the words away. It doesn’t matter what might have been; all that matters is now. This is my life. Kit’s gone. I love James. He loves me. I saw the look in his eyes last night as he said the words. There was no double meaning, no hesitation when he said it. It was pure, unadulterated. True.
‘This is gorgeous,’ Paige says over her shoulder.
I grin, pushing back the chair. I join Paige, accepting a glass from Libby on the way. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ I say, my voice wistful.
‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ Ava sweeps across the room and pulls open a drawer. ‘Something blue!’ She catapults a blue garter across the room. I laugh and pick it up.
‘Thank you.’ I prop my leg onto the bed and roll it up my thigh. ‘What do you think?’
‘Sexy as hell,’ Libby says downing her glass.
‘Go easy, eh?’ Ava frowns. ‘We don’t want you falling down before the reception.’
‘Hair of the dog,’ Libby says with a wink. ‘I’ll just have two glasses and I’ll be as right as rain. So have you got something old?’
I drop my leg from the bed. ‘Yep.’ I twist the diamond studs in my ears. Ava’s eyes widen briefly but she quickly rearranges her expression. I know she recognises them; she was there when Kit gave them to me. They were a birthday gift. It feels right to be wearing them, to have part of him here.
James and I know where our love for each other came from. There is no point trying to hide the past, to be ashamed of it. I like to think that if he were here, he would approve of me marrying James; that he would be wishing us luck, that he would forgive me, forgive him. Kit was never one to hold grudges. He lived too much in the now; he never regretted a thing .
I have a flash of memory – actually it’s more of a memory of a dream, an image. I used to have them often. It’s been a long time since I’ve tortured myself with the way Kit may have died, but for a fleeting moment, I see him again, still in the same clothes as the day he left, falling, falling, falling… high dark rocks around him, thoughts running through his mind: I shouldn’t have left; I should have stayed at home; I don’t want to die like this. Did he even have time to regret leaving me that day?
‘Right then.’ Ava’s voice brings me back. She lifts the dress from the wardrobe and passes it to me. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?’
There is much oohing and aahing as I come out of the bathroom. Fingers on the dress, straightening the short veil clipped to the back of my head. I stand in front of the mirror. There is something dreamlike when you see yourself in your wedding dress, like you’re seeing a different version of yourself, a paradoxical image, in the present but somehow in the future as well; a future version of the woman you were when you got up that morning, a future woman who will stare at you for the rest of your life through the picture frame on your wall, from a side table at your mother’s house, encapsulated in an album, brought out on special occasions.
How will I feel about this woman, in this dress: thirty-two years old, young, her whole life with her husband ahead of her. Will I be jealous of her, as time etches its way across my features, as it erodes the images, the smells, the people around me? That’s how I used to feel when I would look at photos of me and Kit. I would sometimes hate her, the woman in the photo who had her arms around him, I would hate the smug look on her face as she kissed him while taking a selfie on the French Alps, skis held aloft. I would want to scratch out her eyes, that stupid girl who didn’t know how lucky she was in that moment to have him next to her, to be able to wake up with him beside her, not wake with the vomiting reality that plunged into her chest every morning for a year after he disappeared.
I can’t look back on photos of this woman and have any doubts that she was making the right decision; I can’t look back on photos of her and hate her, the woman facing me in the mirror. The version of the person I am today needs to know how lucky she is. She needs to not take one moment of this day for granted.
‘You OK?’ Paige puts a hand on my arm.
‘Shit,’ I say, trying to catch the tears that have formed. Ava is there with a cotton wool pad beneath my eyes as I laugh. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. I’ll touch it up in a minute. It’s an emotional day; a few tears are to be expected.’ She blots beneath my eyes and rubs my arms.
‘You look beautiful, Liv, really something.’ She smiles at me and turns me back to face the mirror, Libby and Paige to one side, Ava beside me. Ava’s phone buzzes. ‘They’re all downstairs. Right then, are you ready?’
I nod, smiling, getting up and smoothing my hands along the fabric of my dress, adjusting the veil as they all flutter and buzz around me. For the first time in a long time I feel an unfamiliar pang for Mum. To have her here with me. It used to come with the sting of resentment, of disappointment when she couldn’t be there at my graduation, when she couldn’t come to see my first flat with Kit. But today, I just feel sadness – she would have loved this, the excitement, the drama.
‘I’ll see you down there, OK?’ I say to Ava. ‘I want to call Mum, just so she can see me before I say I do.’ Ava hesitates then nods, safe in the knowledge that James will be downstairs where she can keep an eye on him.
‘But be quick! ’
‘I will, promise.’ I air-kiss her on the cheek, and then there is quiet. I swipe the screen on my phone. James’s last message, a quick reply back:
K. See you soon x.
Shit. My phone is almost out of charge. I grab the key to my room and hurry along the corridor.
I step into our room, the bed still unmade, his suit cover hanging empty. I smile, then rush over to my bag to search for my charger but it’s not there.
I pace around the room, lifting the duvet cover, opening and closing drawers. I stand with my hand on my hip, glancing at the clock. I’ve got ten minutes before I walk down the aisle. I chew my bottom lip, lifting my clothes from last night. I pick up James’s hoody from the back of the chair, still damp from his run.
A blue velvet rectangular box falls to the floor with a soft thud.
I stare at it.
I should put it back.
I know I should.
But I don’t.
I step back and sit on the bed, my thumbs prising open the box, my breath sucked into my chest, my hands beginning to shake.
In my hand is a necklace just like the one I wanted years ago. It’s a heart-shaped locket, silver, pearl insets at small intervals along the chain. It was in a small antique shop in Devon. We’d been on the beach all day, Kit teaching me to surf. My shoulder had been aching, my nose red with the bite of sunburn when Kit and I had wandered into the shop, salt in our hair, a cold can of Coke in my hand. It was out of our price range, but I’d tried it on anyway, his fingers against my neck as he closed the clasp. He’d met my eyes in the reflection in the mottled mirror on top of a French writing bureau. ‘One day, I’ll be able to buy you things like this. Promise,’ he said, resting his chin on my shoulder. I’d leant my head against his as we stared into the mirror.
And he did. He bought me the necklace for my birthday. He had it the day he went missing. Said he was going to get it engraved. I’d pictured that necklace lying on the seabed, sinking into the silt, like a relic from the Titanic .
How can James have it?
I turn it over; it’s engraved:
Just jump, K xxx
My hand covers my mouth.
The two words we would say to each other whenever we were getting cold feet before a jump, before a dinner with his parents, before my job interview. Just jump.
OK, Liv, think this through. Kit could have given it to James to keep before he left that morning.
I place the necklace around my neck. It feels exactly the same – the same weight, the smooth back resting at my clavicle. I reach for the box, a black card falling out from inside. I turn it over. It’s the receipt and warranty. And it is dated a week ago.
This can’t be real.
My fingers hold the locket, my nail snagging on the clasp. I click the locket open, a small note fluttering to the floor.
I bend down, my dress whispering, my heart thudding as I unfold the paper. Kit’s handwriting, the same slant to the right. The paper is white, fresh, the ink clear and defined.
I’m sorry, Liv. I had no choice. K xx x
I jerk my head towards the window, to the image of the man I saw this morning. The same build, the same stride.
Kit’s alive?
He can’t be. I re-read the receipt. The engraving was definitely from a week ago.
The thought is like melted plastic. Everything that was fixed has lost its form, lost its shape, the colours fading.
If Kit is alive, does James know ? It’s in his pocket.
I hurry across the room, my hand yanking open the door, my feet stepping over the threshold.
But I don’t step into the corridor of the hotel.
Instead, I find myself somewhere else entirely.