And that is when I run.
Chapter Thirty-NineDolly
Well. I wasn’t expecting to be the second interruption of the day, but this does make things marginally less awkward.
‘So, you two—’ Patrick stutters, still mentally catching up as Carys runaway-brides out the door.
‘I’ll explain later,’ I tell him, conscious of the cameras that are on us. If we speak it out loud, I’m taking that coming out moment from Carys. I don’t even know if she wants it, because she’s run off.
‘Excuse me,’ I say to Patrick and Peony, and I take off running too.
When Warren suggested I wear this dress, I thought it was a cute idea because I hadn’t anticipatedquiteso much athletic activity.
I spy Warren walking up the gravel to the front doors, having managed to park the car. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks. I point in Carys’s general direction, where she is fleeing across the stately home gardens. ‘Oh shit.’
‘Peony’s here too,’ I yell back as I struggle to turn a corner, taking it much too wide. I can’t stop running or I’m going to fall right over. ‘Fuck. The cameras, Warren.’
‘I’ll hold them off!’ Warren hollers, and I hear doors slam, followed by a lot of angry muffled sounds.
‘Fuuuuuuck,’ I shout as I keep running.
Carys has slowed down somewhat, and I see her take off her nice white shoes (while still running, somehow?) and throw them angrily at the ground. A few ducks fly from the pond in fright. I slip out of mine, because I am absolutely going to break my neck if I run on grass in these slingbacks.
I manage to find a rhythm that allows me to run in this dress, not dissimilar from a maimed horse’s gallop.
‘Carys, please stop running, for God’s sake!’ I yell after the runaway meringue of a girl I’ve come to profess my undying love to.
‘No!’ she yells back.
‘Okay, but I’m not going to stop running after you,’ I tell her, biting out each word.
I start to gain on her, but it’s so much effort to take a single gallop that I’m going to exhaust myself quickly.
‘Oh fuck this.’ I ball up the dress in my hands and find the seam along the left leg. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell the dress as I tear open the seam, making a slit that runs all the way up to mid-thigh. If it wasn’t ragged as hell, it would look quite good.
It means I can now sprint at full pelt like we’re on aTraitorsmission to steal keys and betray people or whatever the fuck they do on that show Mum thinks I should have gone on.
I’ve never been a runner, but there’s something about the adrenaline of this moment that turns me into what feels like a sprinter who’s broken a ton of world records, though I know I’m probably slowly jogging after her. I really hope the cameras aren’t seeing this, for the sake of my own dignity.
‘Carys,’ I plead, but she keeps going. I’m not even sure she knows why she’s running at this point.
We’re going uphill. She heads straight towards some big marble columny building thing that overlooks the lake. I have no idea what you’d even call it. I don’t have oxygen left for thinking.
I am relieved when she stops just inside it, grabbing hold of one of the pillars as she catches her breath.
‘Please,’ I gasp as I manage to catch up with her. ‘Don’t. Move.’
She pants hard, clutching at her side. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She bends in half, like a Barbie someone is trying to make sit down. ‘I have a stitch.’
I can’t tell if this is supposed to be a complaint or an accusation, but I just try to breathe deeply like YouTube exercise instructors say to do when you feel like you’re going to die.
‘What… what are you doing here?’ she pants out. ‘Why is Warren here? Didn’t you get married?’
I hold up one finger to try to get her to stop asking me more questions. ‘I came to stop you marrying Patrick. Warren drove.’ I take another deep breath. ‘And no, he noticed I had a bad case of the—’
I stop myself. I can’t make a joke right now.
Carys looks at me like I’m an utterly mad person and honestly, I might look pretty batshit in my bare feet and torn-up dress and wild hair.
