Chapter Ashleigh Brett and Remy Hughes 1995 Aged 33 #3
It was to her a frightful way to live and a salient lesson to look behind the facade, picturing her mum and dad wittering away as her mum dusted the ornaments and her dad organised the bins like it was an exact science.
She was sure he gave more thought and planning to the refuse situation in their house than entire government departments who couldn’t seem to organise the overflowing bins or solve the associated rat problem on the busy streets of the capital.
Yet her parents were happy. It was all she wanted for her and Archie, that closeness.
It wasn’t as if she could offload any chores to Remy, who was up to her neck with two kids and a job.
She’d watched her mother’s face fall, when with the best will in the world, Ruthie had suggested that to save on expenses, she was happy to make hundreds of sausage rolls for the buffet.
Ashleigh had to explain that even the word buffet would send Elaine into shock.
There would be canapés, a wedding breakfast and then cake, that was it!
Her mum had stared at her as if offended.
‘But people love my sausage rolls.’
‘I’m sure they do, Mum, but no!’
This thought about food reminded her to make a phone call.
The linen napkins that had been delivered were bright pink and not the rose pink she had ordered.
One more frustrating thing to be dealt with.
But it did need dealing with. Bright pink would throw her whole aesthetic and she couldn’t have that.
‘You all right, Brett?’ Guy called from one of the leather sofas in the library, where he sat with an open book in one hand and a tumbler of something amber in the other.
The sight of him caused a weird reaction that raised both envy and dislike.
How she would love nothing more than to sit, read, and enjoy a drink like it was any other weekend, and how irritating was it that he and everyone else, it seemed, was so relaxed while she ran around like the proverbial headless clucker!
It wasn’t fair.
‘I’m not sure.’ She walked in and closed the library door behind her. ‘There’s so much that needs doing! And explaining what needs to happen to other people only makes the chore take twice as long. It’s easier to do it myself, all if it!’ she vented. It felt good to get it off her chest.
‘You’re getting married tomorrow.’ He snickered like a schoolboy.
‘So it would seem.’ Sinking down at the other end of the sofa, she stretched out her legs until her bare feet, and recently pedicured toes, were touching his jeans. They’d been good mates for a very long time, and he had always been an anchor in the storm.
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem to be shitting glitter and rainbows, which I think is what’s expected of all brides-to-be.’
‘Hmm.’ She took a deep breath and reached for his drink, took a sip and, discovering it was whisky, handed it straight back.
She hated whisky. ‘First, let me tell you it’s all a conspiracy; the joy, the fun, the shared sweet moments, the pampering, the memory making.
All I’ve done since I agreed to this bloody wedding is chores!
Choosing things, writing lists, trying on frocks, fretting over seating plans, arguing over guest lists, making endless phone calls, organising transport, sampling food, being at the beck and call of my soon to be mother-in-law, and having to gee up Archie in all of the above just to get him to participate.
It’s been bloody hard work, and it’s not over yet!
I knew it would be like this. I told Archie I was happy being his fiancée, we work perfectly well as we are!
But apparently his parents had started to raise eyebrows about our long engagement and the fact we weren’t strictly legit.
I’m sure it’s got more to do with tax and inheritance than romance,’ she joked, because she adored Archie, and her friend knew it.
Guy threw his head back and laughed loudly. ‘That’s the spirit!’
‘Am I awful?’ she whined.
‘No, just a realist, and a perfectionist, and a control freak, but that’s why I love you.’
‘You do love me, don’t you?’ she laughed, and dug her toes into his jeans, her lovely mate.
And then Guy stopped laughing and looked straight at her, and there was a flicker, a moment when she felt the weight of the question, and after what seemed like an age he responded. His voice barely audible, his eyes wide.
‘Since the moment I met you.’
It was ghastly, unbearable, excruciating, and unexpected.
She felt the cold sweat of unease coat her skin.
Guy was her best friend. Archie’s best friend too.
She had only ever, ever seen him as a friend.
As if scolded, she folded her feet beneath her legs and smiled broadly, doing what she did best, as she changed the subject.
‘I think the Sutton property will go through this week, fingers crossed.’
She watched him double blink and take a large glug of his drink.
‘I do too, and then we can pay the rent, get the windows cleaned, put petrol in the cars, eat!’
They both laughed.
She had done it, steered them on to safe ground.
Here they rested, talking about their business.
Their hard-won, much-loved business that now paid them a paltry salary as they ploughed every penny into it, watching it grow with a reputation for excellence.
Gallow and Fitch estate agents, into which they had both invested so much time, energy, and money that to have it derailed by a single moment when one of them had sipped too much whisky and had given in to a misguided, wistful slip of the tongue .
. . well, that would be too terrible to contemplate.
And that before she considered what it might feel like to have to tell Archie, to have to confront Guy, to have to admit to herself what had just occurred.
Guy was her go-to, her buddy; the thought of upending their friendship and not having him on the end of the phone was unfathomable.
‘I’d better crack on. No rest for the wicked!’ She jumped up, relieved and ridiculously wishing she’d left the library door open, knowing it would have made their whole exchange feel less clandestine.
‘It’ll all be over in a blink, Brett. Before you know it, you’ll be heading back down the M4 with a hangover.’ He laughed and went back to his novel.
She paused, hand on the door, and turning to him, asked, ‘We’re okay, aren’t we, Gigi?’
‘Of course we are. We’ll always be okay.’
It was what she needed to hear as she closed the door and made her way up the stairs to find Remy, still undecided if she should share the awkward conversation with her sister or not.
Not, she decided, as she reached the guest room in which Remy, Midge and the kids were staying, believing the old adage, least said soonest mended.
It seemed obvious that if no one knew what had happened then she could simply make out it hadn’t.
Plus, telling Remy was as good as telling Midge, and who might he then tell?
She knocked quietly in case little Harper was napping.
The door opened, but no more than an inch, as Remy, hair wet, pressed her face to the gap.
‘What are you doing? Can I come in?’ Ashleigh pushed the door with her foot.
‘No! No, you can’t! Say what you need to say and then go away, far, far away!’
‘Why are you being so weird?’ She tried the door again; this was the last thing she needed right now, her sister playing the idiot. Remy didn’t let it budge.
‘I’m not being weird, I’m being prudent.’
‘Remy, it’s not funny! I just want to talk to you! I’ve got so much to do and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.’ Hating the emotion in her voice, she was aware of how on the edge she sounded.
‘Fine!’ her sister huffed, ‘I’ll meet you on that patio that runs along the back of the house. We can talk there, outside.’
‘The terrace?’
‘I don’t bloody know! Yes! The terrace! Whatever you want to call it. Who needs a house this big! It’s ridiculous!’
‘I know, right, Rem! All that hoovering and dusting, just more rooms to worry about.’
‘Exactly!’ Remy sighed as if, finally, someone got it. ‘I’ll see you down there in five.’
Ashleigh flinched as her sister unceremoniously closed the door.
Walking quickly past the library, she kept her eyes trained forward, not wanting to see Guy, not right now.
It was a relief to find the terrace empty as she took a seat on one of the steamer chairs positioned with a view over the lawn.
Truth was she was still a little stunned by their odd exchange.
How long had she known Guy? He had seen her in her underwear!
They had shared a bed when there was no choice!
She’d helped him court and ditch any number of great girls who had caught his eye, and she’d talked to him endlessly about how much she loved Archie! Never, ever had she thought . . .
‘What’s up, dove?’ Remy pulled the lounger next to her another few feet away and sat on the end of it.
‘What’s up with you? Your behaviour is stranger than usual! It seems to be the day for it.’
‘Nothing’s up with me! I’ve just seen Mum, Dad and Archie’s parents all standing around in the garden room. Mum was offering everyone a Mint Imperial.’
Laughter burst from her. Remy, as ever, providing just what she needed.
‘Was she really?’
‘No, but I like to think she might.’ Her sister waggled her eyebrows. ‘That little paper bag with all those fluffy mints stuck in a lump in the bottom.’
They both laughed, and it was good, and she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.
‘Rem, I’m exhausted, could quite easily sleep all weekend and forgo the whole walking up the aisle thing. I love the man, you know I do, but all this fuss!’