‘But …’ Simon says, sighing, ‘Erin was working on boats more than half the year … well, those of you who know me know I’m a bit of an out of sight, out of mind kinda guy, and I’ve never been good at texts and messages and keeping in touch. I’m still rubbish at it!’
And he is. Was. Apart from that first winter I was away from him, he’s never really been one for lengthy text discussions. But maybe he didn’t need to. Once things get more serious, you’re not wondering what the other person’s feeling all the time, are you? There are things understood that don’t always need to be said.
‘But Gil was good at that stuff … He’s always been better at words and technology than me. But give me a rugby ball, and I’m your man!’
There’s a raucous cheer from a far corner of the room. Simon’s rugby buddies.
‘I suppose, if you were being uncharitable, you could say that Gil swooped in and stole her away from me …’
I look up to find Simon looking straight at me, his gaze intense. Is he going to say something? Is he going to repeat what he said in the cloakroom? He can’t. He won’t, will he …? I hold my breath.
‘But the truth is, it was all my fault. I let her slip away. Didn’t realize what I had until it was too late.’
The atmosphere of awkwardness in the room dissipates, but it does nothing to stop the clenching of my stomach. I stare back at Simon. I don’t shake my head, but the warning is there in my eyes and I know he sees it.
He opens his mouth and closes it again. Then he turns a floodlight-strength smile on his audience. ‘Which I suppose makes me the best best friend ever!’
There’s a ripple of relieved laughter.
‘Gil’s going to owe me. Big. For a very long time.’ He grins at his best friend. Gil gives a tight smile back. He’s looking less tense, but I wouldn’t call his body language relaxed. Even though I’ve secretly been fantasizing about getting one over on him for years, I realize I don’t want it to happen this way. There’s no sense of justice, or of victory, just a deep swirling in my gut making me very uneasy.
Simon catches my eye again, and I know he isn’t finished. I close my eyes and look away. I should never have followed him when he left the top table earlier. What have I done?
‘But the best man – sorry! – therightman got the girl, as they say.’ My stomach rolls as Simon lifts his glass and proposes a toast. ‘To the happy couple. May every day of your marriage going forward be filled with as much love, honesty and fidelity as today.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Present Day
In the moonlit shadows cast by three towering beeches, a discreet distance from the main marquee, is a row of portable toilets. I’m hiding in the one on the far end. Doing my best to ignore the smell, I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. I can’t even sit down, because there’s no lid and I risk staining my bum blue with the toilet cleaner. (More proof I didn’t organize this part of the wedding – I’d have insisted on the Portakabin type.) I know someone’s going to come looking for me eventually, but I just need a few moments to myself. The last few hours have been a nightmare. Literally.
There’s a loud knocking at the door. My startle reflex is so strong that I almost topple into the toilet bowl of blue goo. ‘Erin? Are you in there?’
I swear softly under my breath. It’s Gil. I’ve been avoiding him most of the evening under the pretence that we have to socialize with our guests – and I made sure I had long conversations with as many as I could pin down. I had to. Cutting the cake with Gil, doing a first dance with Gil, my face pressed into the clean cotton of his shirt, was all too weird.
‘Erin?’ His tone is softer now. He sounds worried.
I clear my throat. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you okay?’ He tries the door handle, but I make sure the lock is firmly engaged. ‘I’m fine.’ My voice comes out hoarse. Not very convincing.
‘Good …’ That one word sounds wary, hesitant. I don’t think he believes me. But then he’d be right not to, wouldn’t he?
‘It’s just that it’s almost eleven. We’re supposed to be leaving soon … and we’ve still got the bouquet toss to do.’
Ugh. The last thing I want to do is come out of my rather stinky sanctuary and lob my wedding bouquet across the marquee at a group of women. I don’t like the tradition anyway. Mostly because it’s a horrible waste of gorgeous flowers.
‘Can we skip that bit?’ I ask. ‘The bouquet toss, not the leaving bit?’ I’d do just about anything to get out of Whitehaven at the moment – something I never expected to feel or think.
‘I thought you were going to do it because Anjali had said how much she’d like to catch the bouquet once, but this is your wedding day. And if there’s one day in your life where you don’t have to put other people first, to let them guilt you into doing things for them, this should be it.’
I frown. I do that, don’t I?
Gil tries the handle again. ‘So, are you coming out?’
I look at the lock. My fingers stretch towards it, but then curl into a fist. ‘In a minute. I’ve got, you know …stuff… to do.’ Which is a lie. For some reason, I don’t want to see Gil’s face right now. I don’t want to be alone with him in a darkened garden once again, even though I know there won’t be any shouting this time.
‘Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.’
