Chapter Five
My flat feels stifling, I need some cool air.
Unfolding myself, I get up, refill my glass and step out onto the rooftop.
I breathe in slowly. After Logan left me I threw myself into trying to resurrect my own neglected career.
I’d been fully focused on his career for too long.
I started my company, By Grace Algar, and began designing full-time.
I’d spent many a lonely night deliberating a business name for my brand on Word docs.
They all felt fake, generic, flowery, corny and cliché.
I was none of those things and neither were my gowns.
They were totally unique to the bride – an expression and extension of their personality.
They wore the dress, the dress did not wear them.
And that was why I liked the name so much.
I poured every moment and penny into my new business, working every waking hour.
But despite my talent, clients were slow to come to me.
I couldn’t afford to rent a premises, so fittings have to take place in my less than salubrious flat with no access to parking above a very noisy games arcade, where groups of hooded youths stand outside smoking weed and mumbling.
Customers have to climb up a rickety staircase.
It’s not ideal and business is slow and getting slower.
And I get it. It’s not exactly what most brides picture.
I can’t even afford a stand at the Bridal Exhibition shows or ads in glossy magazines so I’m relying on word of mouth.
My phone rings on the table and I plod back in. I glance down at the caller ID. It’s Mia. I answer.
‘Hey!’ The noise in the background of clattering glasses and the heavy beat of R&B sounds out. I plug one finger in my free ear, repeat. ‘Hey?’
‘Oh! Hey! Fancy a bop? I’m in town. The opening of a new cocktail bar on Dawson Street! DJ’s deadly!’ Mia screeches down the line.
‘No chance. Thanks but I’m exhausted.’ I welcome the cool of the lino beneath my bare feet, the tarmac on the rooftop was still so warm.
The sounds of ice being shaken in a cocktail shaker. ‘Come on! Free bar!’ The muffled laughter of the joyful crowd.
‘The bra’s off,’ I shout.
‘Oh, well, if the bra’s off that’s that. Ain’t no coming back from that . . . but are you okay?’
I know she’s worried about the party and Logan’s attendance.
‘I’m grand . . . oh, actually while I have you, I’ve just been thinking maybe I should bring a date, just so it’s less awkward .
. .’ If Mia knew I wanted Logan back she’d have me committed because she’d watched after Portofino as I’d cried through the embarrassment and ate through the heartache.
But deep down I never really believed we were over forever.
Not even after what he did. The chemistry I had with Logan was something I just couldn’t switch off.
I had invested so much in our relationship.
He had given me the confidence I’d always lacked.
I just truly believed that if he could nail the acting career he so badly wanted, he’d be back to say sorry and to save our relationship.
So while I waited for his key to turn in the door of our flat and that confrontation to be resolved, I worked as hard as I could.
The noise of the bar rises, like rolling thunder and booming lightning. ‘Brilliant idea! Who?’ she shouts louder.
‘No idea that’s why I’m asking you . . . thought you might help me? Just a friendly guy? One of your work associates, maybe? Or some drop-dead gorgeous underwear model with sharp features?’ I say twirling the wine glass in my hand.
Chaos in the background now as the pop of bottle caps erupts.
‘Sure. You know I just spoke to this woman who was telling me about her business . . . maybe you can . . . actually I have an idea . . . leave it with me, it’s very loud in here.
Oh, by the way, the cute press photographer guy, Marek, the one with the multiple piercings I was telling you about, has asked if he can get me a cocktail. ’ It’s like she needs my approval.
‘So what are you on the phone to me for? Go get a spicy margarita, Senorita!’ I shout back.
‘You don’t have to talk to Logan at the party, you know that? No one will blame you if you just blank him. It’s a very large basement. You can fully avoid him.’ Her concern lingers.
I take a sip, the sharpness of the grape serenading my tongue. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Now go, have fun!’ I end the call but the reality that I’m going to see Logan soon overcomes me and I feel uncertainty as I clutch my phone too tightly. The torturous wait is almost over.
With a shaking hand I set the empty glass down. Butterflies bash around my belly. What is Logan thinking right now? How is he feeling about seeing me again? Has he been thinking about this moment all this time just like I have? Does he still even think about me at all or am I totally delusional?
‘You’re freaking out, spiralling thoughts!
’ I give out to myself. ‘Stop it.’ Even my knees feel wobbly as I fix Belinda’s chapel train.
It’s draped on my old mannequin, pooling onto the floor.
The tulle, dotted with specks of silver, glitters brightly.
My hands continue to shake. I’ve conducted myself with dignity.
I’m proud of that part. I didn’t jump on the next flight out of Portofino and chase him across the skies to New York, begging him to come back.
I stood firm. If you love somebody set them free, that had been Mia’s advice as I’d sobbed on her shoulder on the plane home from Italy.
So I did. I let him go do his thing. Patiently waiting for him to come crawling back.
He hadn’t, yet . . . but I haven’t given up hope.
It’s not like we hadn’t been happy – we had.
He had just become more and more consumed with his career and I was terrified I’d lose him to some brilliantly beautiful, sickeningly toned actress so I kept pushing him into marriage.
It’s not like he had ever lied to me, I always knew becoming a successful actor was the most important thing to him.
I just never factored in how much an effect it would all have on me and my life.