Now Simon has opened the floodgates, it seems he can’t stop. ‘I lied to the police. I told them I didn’t know who had given it to her or who was with her. I was scared. You have to understand that, Erin. Yes, I gave it to her. But I took the same amount, and I was fine. How was I to know she’d been drinking with you before she even got to the party, or how much she’d have once we got there? It wasn’t my fault! I shouldn’t have to pay with my future because she made a mistake.’
I walk right up to Simon, wait until he looks me in the eye. ‘Yes, you’re right – there were a lot of things that you weren’t responsible for that night, but there are things you could have done …’ I have to pause for a moment to hold myself together, to prevent myself from lashing out at him physically. A ball of rage is burning inside my chest and I’m barely keeping control of it.‘You knew she’d taken it when we played King Cup! You could have stopped her having that drink. At the very least, you could have told someone. We might have been able to get her help, you know, medical help!’
Simon runs his hand through his hair, looking distraught. ‘Don’t you think I know that? But I was drunk – we all were. You too! You’ve always said you wished you’d done things differently that night. And I’ll always regret that I didn’t say I’d seen her leave the house and go in the direction of the park!’
‘You … you saw her leave, and you didn’t tell anyone?’ I scream at him.
‘See!’ He throws his hands in the air, walks away from me. ‘This is why I didn’t want to tell you any of this, because I knew you’d get upset. I knew you’d be angry with me! And you got angry that night too … the night before our wedding. You wouldn’t listen! You said you didn’t even know who I was any more, that there was no way you were marrying me the following morning, and then you ran off and I didn’t see you again until …’
I think about what he’s said. ‘Until someone else found me.’ I meet his gaze. ‘Why is that, Simon? Why did someone else … Gil … find me in the garden and not you? Did you even come and look for me?’
Guilt washes over his face and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.
‘If he hadn’t stumbled upon me, I could have died out there in that garden! So why didn’t you come after me? You know I don’t do that sort of thing for attention. You know if I run off like that, something has to be seriously wrong.’
Simon just stares at me, saying nothing.
And then the penny drops. ‘Youwantedme to be all upset.’ My brain races through a series of memories, like cards being shuffled before a game of poker. Image after image comes at me. How Simon ghosted me for weeks after I left for the Bahamas. How he’s been withdrawing a bit more from me every day since I’ve been staying at Heron’s Quay. How we were feeling disconnected before the wedding, yet I couldn’t put my finger on why …
‘You wererelieved,’ I finally say, eyes wide, and I see the confirmation in Simon’s expression. ‘You were glad I said I didn’t want to marry you. Because you wanted to call the whole thing off, but you didn’t have the guts. Telling me about Megan hadnothingto do with coming clean and everything to do with dropping a grenade in my lap and hoping I’d pull the pin for you!’
‘No, that’s not true. I really wanted to tell you about Meg.’
His blue eyes stare into mine and my gut tells me he’s being truthful, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right about the rest of it. I drop back down onto the sofa. ‘Why didn’t you want to marry me any more? What did I do?’
‘Nothing …’ Simon comes to sit at the other end of the sofa, just out of touching – or hitting – distance. Coward. ‘You’re amazing … perfect. I told myself that a thousand times over. And when we’d been together a few years, it seemed as if everyone expected it of us. It seemed thatyouexpected it.’
I shake my head. ‘Only because you led me to believe you were on the same page! Why didn’t you say anything? Even after you proposed?’ But as the words leave my mouth, I realize I already know the answer. Simon would beat Usain Bolt at the hundred metres if it meant he could avoid an ugly confrontation.
‘If it helps, I don’t think I’m ready to marry anyone. But it wasn’t until the big day was almost on top of us I knew that for sure. And if I did ever want to tie the knot, it would probably be with you … You’re the only one who’s ever come close.’
‘What? To winning such a prize as you?’ I get up and walk towards the door. I can’t stand to be in the same room as him any more. ‘And youprobablythink it’d be me? Geez, don’t do me any favours, Simon!’
He blinks, shocked. ‘It’s not like you to be sarcastic. You’re starting to sound like Gil.’
I want to open my mouth and scream, scream until there is no breath left in my lungs. ‘And I didn’t think it was like you to lie to me through thewhole five years of our relationship! And what was the deal at the hospital, anyway? The whole devoted groom-to-be, the I-can’t-bear-to-live-life-without-you act?’
‘It wasn’t an act!’ Simon says, jumping up and looking offended. ‘Just because I got a case of cold feet, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Erin.’
‘Just not enough to marry me. Or tell me the truth.’
‘I felt terrible about what happened to you that night. It was a wake-up call, I thought. My chance to be the person you deserved me to be. I really wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to go through with the wedding a second time. At least, not then …’
I hang my head wearily for a second. ‘So you were basically going through with the wedding after that point out of guilt?’
He looks away. Oh God. I’m right. He was marrying me out of pity, not because I was the love of his life.
Something snaps inside me then. ‘Well, no need to worry, Simon. That date in November that the hotel gave us? Some other couple is going to start their happy-ever-after that day. I let the deadline pass. Because, as it turns out, I’m not sure I want to marry you either.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Present Day
‘Oh my God, Erin. What’s the matter?’
I fall into Anjali’s arms almost before she finishes opening the door. I am a sobbing, blubbering mess, and she practically has to carry me down the hallway and into the living room of her shared house.
‘I … I …’ I have no idea how to start, mainly because I have no idea which man I’m crying hardest about, or whether it’s just extreme frustration that I’m crying about either of them in the first place. ‘All … m–men are … b–bastards,’ I finally manage.
