‘He’s a fink!’
‘What, Erin? Are you seriously telling me he doesn’t razz your berries?’
I almost spit my tea out when she says that, and then we both get a fit of the giggles, drawing some curious looks from surrounding tables.
This is why I can never be mad at Anjali for too long. She’s just so much darn fun.
When we calm down again, I let out a long sigh. It’s not that I can’t seesomeof what my maid of honour is saying about Gil, but it’s not the entire picture. I know things about him she doesn’t. Things that would make even Anjali ‘I love ’em when they treat me mean’ Perrine run the other way. But I can’t tell her that. All I can do is gently steer her in another direction and hope she takes the bait.
‘Listen … Gil never seems to have long-term relationships and he’s never in one place for long, and ever since you broke up with Vincenzo, you’ve been saying you want someone who’ll stick around. Someone who’ll adore you and be in your corner, no matter what.’ I look her in the eyes, so she knows I’m saying this straight from my heart. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt again.’
Anjali’s smile is sappy. ‘I know you don’t … Besides, I was only yanking your chain to help you forget how late I am. Go on, then … Tell me about this Lars.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Present Day
I’m trying to thread a stud earring into my ear as I walk through the doors of the Royal Marina Hotel’s function room. Where is the stupid hole? I can’t seem to find it. I’ve mentally labelled this our ‘wedding eve’ gathering. Almost thirty family members and close friends have travelled some distance for the wedding and are staying at the hotel, so we thought we’d host an informal get-together this evening, a chance to catch up before the whirlwind of the big day.
The plan was to arrive early to check everything had been set up to my satisfaction, and to have a few minutes of peace and calm before the rest of the guests arrived. But then the local hairdresser I’d booked to do my hair tomorrow called, crying apologetically because one of her kids needed to have an emergency appendectomy and so she’s going to be at Torbay hospital until early next week. I had enough to do today as it was, and it took every spare second to find someone who can do bridal hair at short notice. I just hope she got what I meant about not going too mad with the curling iron. I don’t know why, but ringlets make me look as if I’m about five years old,instead of the almost thirty-something sophisticated woman I’m desperately aspiring to be.
As a result, instead of arriving at the gathering looking elegant and unflustered, I only had fifteen minutes to throw my dress on and do my face. My armpits feel like furnaces and, without checking in the mirror, I can tell my face is flushed and blotchy.
‘Here’s the blushing bride!’
I glance over to see Simon’s Uncle Terry raising a pint glass to me as he props up the bar.
Yup. Flushed and blotchy.
I smile brightly back, still stabbing relentlessly at my earlobe. Finally, the post slides through, and I click the butterfly on the back. It’s supposed to be a low-key gathering, but given the rowdy shouts from a group of men in one corner and screeching and giggling from a gaggle of women in another, it seems as if some of the crowd are already in party mode.
My mother strides up to me, with my stepdad in tow. They’ve only been together a few years, but it’s nice to see her happy. Settled. He joined the board of trustees of a charity she founded for parents who had lost children because of sudden infant death syndrome. They bonded over their shared experience of losing a baby, but more than that, I think he’s good for her.
‘Erin!’ Mum opens her arms and I walk into one of her all-encompassing hugs. I used to live for these hugs when I was a child; when Mum came back from wherever she’d been campaigning, pouring her heart into helping other people, and suddenly all that passion and focus was trained on me, it felt like being bathed in sunshine. But they hadn’t happened nearly often enough.
She holds my shoulders and straightens her arms so she can look at me. ‘How are you doing?’
I give a little shrug and say what I’m supposed to. ‘I’m happy.’ But then I throw a bit of honesty into the mix. ‘And maybe a little exhausted and overwhelmed. It’s a lot to—’
‘I know, baby,’ she says, releasing me. ‘We’re all feeling it.’ She glances up at her lanky husband. ‘Aren’t we, Emir?’
He looks down at her with his soulful brown eyes and nods.
I frown. I don’t see how she can feel overwhelmed at planning a wedding when she hasn’t really been that involved. Next week sees the launch of the charity’s latest big awareness campaign, and so she couldn’t even come down a day early to help.
I greet Emir, kissing him on the cheek. ‘It’s hard when we all know someone is missing from the room, someone who should be here but isn’t,’ he says.
Oh. That’s what they’re talking about.
They think I’m sad about Alex. My younger brother. And I am, I suppose, when I have more than half a second to stop running around like a headless chicken. I was only two when he died, so I don’t remember him. But I do have an image I’ve built of him that sometimes fills that shadowy space – a brother who has my fair hair and brown eyes, who’s a little bit taller and a little bit skinnier, who has my father’s nose while I sport my mother’s.
‘Now, where’s that gorgeous man of yours?’ she asks, scanning the room.
I give her another shrug, a little embarrassed I can’t answer. I expected to find Simon showering in the suite when I burst in, late myself, but the place was empty, so I hurried downstairs, thinking he might have got here before me, but ran into Mum and Emir before I could check. ‘I’ll see if I can find him.’
I do a sweep of the function room, and the spacious terraceoutside, dotted with tables and patio heaters, but there’s no sign of him.
He’s been out on his brother’s boat all day with a group of his friends. They’d planned to head out of the Dart estuary to Start Point and back, a manly hurrah to celebrate their friend’s last day of so-called freedom. Simon already had his stag do, of course, but Gil lives abroad now and hadn’t been able to return to the UK for that, so Simon’s other friends had thought it a great excuse to have a do-over. Of sorts. I just hope too much booze hasn’t been involved. If I learned anything from my time on yachts, it’s that alcohol and large bodies of water aren’t the best of companions.
