Chapter 23
MEGAN
‘Everything is so trendy north of the river,’ Lucia says, clearly uncomfortable on the stool she’s perching on. ‘Who are they catering for here, meerkats? Why don’t the bars here have normal seats for human people who like to sit back in their chairs?’
‘I think some bars in south London are also guilty of that to be fair,’ Dominic points out, amused at Lucia’s disapproving facial expressions.
‘God, have you seen that girl all over Freddie?’ Carey says in a low voice, nodding her head towards the bar. ‘I hope he’s not taken in by that.’
I swivel to follow her eyeline over my shoulder and see Freddie chatting to a pretty red-head who looks about a decade younger than all of us.
‘Jealous?’ Lucia challenges, smirking at Carey, who recoils.
‘Please!’ she says, insulted. ‘Why would I be jealous?’
‘Of someone else flirting with Freddie? No reason,’ Lucia says innocently, sharing a look with me.
I grin into my drink. Carey notices our exchange and bristles.
‘I’m going to get another round since Freddie has obviously got distracted. Anyone want to help me?’ Carey proposes, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
Dominic gallantly raises his hand. ‘I’ll rise to the challenge. Same again everyone?’
We nod and as he gets up, he kisses me on the head before leaving the table with Carey while Lucia rolls her eyes at her friend, giggling.
‘You think her and Freddie will ever happen?’ I ask, stirring the end of my drink with my straw. ‘It’s been a while since they slept together, right?’
Lucia snorts, leaning her elbows on the table. ‘They haven’t slept together since . . . wait, let me think. Over a year ago, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it was Robin’s birthday night out.’
‘That was it. A big night. Anyway, she continues to claim that it was a big drunken mistake, but, I don’t know—’ she sighs, giving a shrug ‘—she’s shown no interest in dating anyone recently.’
‘You think she’s holding out hope?’
‘Maybe. Who knows? Either way, it’s fun to tease her about it,’ Lucia says with a mischievous smile that makes me laugh.
One of Dominic’s oldest friends from university, Lucia, was guarded and quiet when I was first introduced to the circle and I was intimidated by her, but on our third meeting she’d decided I’d passed whatever test she’d set and became warm and friendly, throwing her arms around me, a gesture that caused Dominic to raise his eyebrows at me in a wow-she-likes-you way.
He’d warned me she was a tough nut to crack.
I’m glad I’ve got in there with her though because as I’ve got to know them all, I’ve realised she is the only one of Dominic’s close circle I’d be happy to hang out with even if he wasn’t there.
The others include Lucia’s old roommate and best friend Carey and then the lads, and when I say that, I mean that’s how they refer to themselves: ‘The Lads’.
Carey and I have never clicked. She seems perfectly nice but disinterested.
I can never tell if her smile is real or fake, and I hate how when she speaks, she addresses all the boys and never looks me in the eye.
You’re not one of us is the vibe she gives me.
I’m not one of the OGs. I can’t share in the Durham University good-time memories or laugh along with the in-jokes.
Rather than bring me in, she keeps me out.
I’ve stopped trying to be friends with her and instead have got closer to Lucia, which no doubt pisses Carey off even more.
I’ve invited both of them on my hen do, to which she’s said yes.
I’m interested to see what my friends think of her that day and whether she’ll be one of those people who will shower me with attention and make me feel wonderful, plastering photographs of us all over her Instagram with a caption like ‘Celebrating a very special hen!’ before she goes back to making me feel insignificant when I’m no longer the mandatory centre of attention.
I’m genuinely intrigued as to how it will play out.
We’ve come to this ‘trendy’ north London bar for fellow Durham-alum Dossy’s leaving drinks – Dossy is not his actual name, don’t ask me how he got it, I think he’s actually called George – because him and Tilly, his wife, are moving out to Surrey.
She’s not drinking tonight and is saying it’s because she has a big work presentation on Monday, but I heard her retching in the toilet earlier, so I think it’s safe to say we’ll be getting some exciting news from them soon.
There are a lot of people here I don’t know – Dossy and Tilly’s school, work, uni friends, I guess – so I’m sticking with Lucia, Dominic and Carey for the evening.
‘How’s wedding planning going? All under control?’ Lucia asks.
‘I think so. A lot of the big stuff is sorted, I need to get onto all the little details.’
‘I bet you’re the kind of bride with a spreadsheet.’
‘Most brides and grooms have a spreadsheet. There’s so much to organise.’
‘Yeah, but I bet yours is super detailed,’ Lucia says affectionately.
I relent, nodding. ‘It is fairly organised.’
‘I’ve said to Carey it’s going to be the perfect wedding,’ she says, straightening her back and lifting her chin as I shake my head modestly.
‘No, it will be. Knowing you as we do, everything will have been thought out, everything will be in excellent taste, nothing will be left to chance. The venue sleek and chic but with traditional touches, the flowers stunning but not too much, the food and wine the best of the best, and the bride’s dress extraordinary. ’
I burst out laughing. ‘Jesus, Lucia, no pressure!’
‘It’s just who you are, Megan. Dominic is a lucky man, I bet he hasn’t lifted a finger.’ She gives me a look. ‘Has he done anything?’
I consider her question. ‘He helped me choose the chairs.’
‘You had options for the chairs?’ she asks in disbelief.
‘They had to suit the vibe of the room.’
‘You see? Nothing not thought of. You’ll have back-ups and back-ups so no matter what goes wrong, nothing will go wrong.’ She grins at me. ‘I can’t wait. And you should know that Marisa is organising one hell of a hen do.’
‘That I believe.’
‘She’s a wonder woman, juggling all that.’
‘Yeah.’ I finish off the last of my drink.
‘It’s very exciting.’ She hesitates, asking gently. ‘And how’s your dad doing?’
‘He’s okay, thanks,’ I say as convincingly as possible. ‘He’s doing good.’
She smiles politely and the conversation, as it always does, falters there. Her phone vibrates on the table and she looks relieved to check who it is, while I glance over my shoulder to see how Dominic is getting on at the bar.
It is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.
I see him standing next to Carey, side by side.
Her back is to me and she is smiling up at him.
He is smiling down at her. I watch as their little fingers entwine for just a split second.
But a purposeful one. And that feeling I’ve been fighting for a while now swirls inside me: unease.
Distrust. Agonising despair. A gut feeling that’s been scrambling for my attention since I noticed a couple of months ago that he was growing distant with me.
He’s working a lot more, going out a lot more.
When I’ve tried to talk about the wedding, he’s been reluctant to give opinions, almost dismissive.
He doesn’t message when he goes out. He never leaves his phone unattended with me in the room. Something is different about him.
I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m making it up in my head.
As their little fingers link and then drop, their eyes locked and shining, the two of them sharing a moment – secretive, exciting, wicked – I turn away, my face flushing, my heart sinking, wondering how we go from here. I will need him to confirm it.
But I know.
I’m too numb to do anything at first. They bring back the drinks and chat as normal, while I nod along, but internally disappearing into what this means.
The heartbreaking consequences. Losing everything we’ve built together.
All that time and energy we put into this relationship, our home, our future plans.
God, what a waste. What a fucking waste.
I can’t bear the idea of him touching me, but losing him is worse.
When Carey launches into an anecdote, I can’t look at her or listen to her voice anymore.
I stand up so suddenly, I almost knock over the drinks on the table. Carey stops talking abruptly.
‘Dominic, we have to go,’ I say, grabbing my bag.
‘What? Megan, we—’
But I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence, I turn and walk out of the bar, getting out my phone and ordering an Uber. Dominic follows me out, bewildered.
‘Megan, we can’t leave like this! What’s going on? What’s happened?’
I spin round to face him. ‘Don’t lie to me, okay, Dominic? Please don’t lie.’
He looks stunned, amused even. ‘Okaaay?’
‘You and Carey. How long has it been going on?’ I ask bluntly.
His half-smile vanishes. His eyes tell me everything. They’re panicked. Not confused at such an outrageous accusation. Panicked. He opens his mouth to say something.
‘Don’t. Lie.’ I remind him in a low, clipped voice. ‘It will only be worse for you. I know, Dominic. Please don’t humiliate me any further by pretending.’
He closes his mouth. He swallows. His eyes drop to the floor.
I tell him to get in the Uber if he doesn’t want to make a scene in front of all his friends.
He tries to take my hand in the backseat but I pull it away.
When we get home, he tells me some of the truth, I find out most of it later.
He feels embarrassed, ashamed, angry at himself. He’s so sorry. He’s so, so sorry.
That night, in the haze of pain and betrayal, a bizarrely cold and detached part of my brain considers that it makes sense for him and Carey to be together.
Dominic is handsome, successful and charming.
Carey is also successful, charming and beautiful with her glossy blonde hair, fresh skin and smattering of freckles, and she has a designer-boho sense of style that screams she comes from that posh, old-money, aristocratic kind of wealth that Dominic acts like he came from, too.
The two of them make sense. I don’t make sense in this equation.
Comically, I also think, Now no one will see those centrepieces, and feel irrationally upset about that, as well as all my other beautiful, wasted wedding plans.
I don’t tell many people the real reason why the engagement is over. Dominic is pathetically grateful for that, telling me that him and Carey were a big mistake, and he appreciates me being so classy about the delicate situation.
I don’t tell him that I’m not trying to be classy or win his gratitude, I’m trying to protect myself from everyone knowing exactly what I feared all along: that I was never good enough for Dominic.
That I tried and failed. That I wasn’t smart or funny or beautiful or successful enough to keep someone like him interested and happy.
That, like in every other aspect of my life, no matter how hard I worked or how well I carried myself, I couldn’t fake it. I was, ultimately, not enough.
***
Two weeks before my father dies, I’m scrolling through Instagram when I see Carey has uploaded a photo. It’s a picture of her kissing Dominic’s cheek while he takes a selfie and the caption reads: ‘Blissful weekend in the Cotswolds with this one.’
Putting my phone down after staring at the picture for a good long while, I realise I only ever come away from Instagram feeling like I’ll never compare. I cannot delete the agonising despair Dominic is putting me through, but I can delete all my social media.
It helps.
***
Mum doesn’t let go of my hand. I don’t even notice until I finish telling my sad, sorry tale and I realise that my hand is still clamped in hers.
I don’t pull it away, though. Her grasp is unexpectedly warm and comforting and essential.
She says things I’ve heard before, mostly from Marisa and Dad, but they make me cry because it’s my mum saying it.
I nod and we hug and then Laurence says he’s sorry for interrupting but would we like to look at the view because it really is spectacular and this balloon ride is very expensive and so far all we’ve seen is the four walls of the basket which we could have done on the ground.
He’s right. And Mum was right, too. All this storytelling from both of us has been welcome and distracting.
Letting go of me, Mum gets to her feet, picks up the box of ashes and holds out her other hand for me to take again. I swallow nervously.
‘Do . . . do you think I can do it?’ I squeak.
She inhales deeply through her nose, looks out at the view, smiles and then turns to look down at me again. ‘Your dad thought you could.’
I shakily reach out to take her hand and she pulls me to my feet, putting her arm around my waist to hold me up should I go to collapse again.
‘Look across, not down,’ she advises.
I do as she says. It’s the most beautiful, peaceful, breathtaking view I’ve ever seen. Mountains, lakes, lined green vineyards, yellow sandy beaches, sparkling blue ocean that goes on forever. It stuns us into silence for a few moments.
‘It fills you with wonder, doesn’t it,’ Mum says eventually. ‘That we are part of something so vast and beautiful, a world that seems so precious from up here.’
I frown. ‘I told you not to say anything profound.’
She chuckles and holds me that little bit tighter.