But as Matthew continued to say how sorry he was and how even though he loved me, he just wasn’t in love with me anymore, I went strangely numb. And because I wasn’t saying anything—on account of the bizarre, dazed state I seemed to have entered—Matthew just continued to make his case, and each reason he listed as to why he was breaking up with me was subconsciously logged away in my brain to scrutinize at a later time.
He believed he could be happier. We’d met when we were so young, we’d never had a chance to see what else was out there. What if, he kept saying. What if this wasn’t as happy as we could be? What if there was something more?
“I can’t do this, Freya. I can’t do this. It doesn’t feel right anymore. I’m so sorry.”
Finally, tired of repeating himself, Matthew moved on to logistics. He courageously stated that he would help in any way possible to make the whole process easier on me.
I stared at him, still numb. “The process?”
“Of canceling the wedding.”
Oh. Right. That process. God. I was losing Matthew, and thewedding I’d just spent eleven months planning was now off. We were going to have to let everyone know that I had been dumped in a broom cupboard, less than twenty-four hours before I was supposed to walk down the aisle.
We’d have to ring round the guest list, make sure nobody made the unnecessary journey, and tell everyone already here to head home. The marquee would have to be taken down, the catering team canceled—not to mention the florist, the band, the bar staff, the vicar, the church string quartet, the wedding-car company, the minicabs, the photo-booth guy.
“And what about the peacocks?” I whispered.
“I’m sorry?” he said, kicking the hoover to one side.
“The peacocks. They’re missing.”
“Freya, what are you—”
“The peacocks that were meant to roam around the lawns tomorrow,” I said, firmer now, irritated that he wasn’t getting it. “If the wedding is off, we have to find them so they can go home.”
Matthew stared at me like I had lost my mind. Which, I think it’s safe to say, I had.
“Peacocks? That’s what you’re worried about, the peacocks?” His jaw clenched. “I’ve just told you the wedding’s off and you’re…”
He trailed off then, before sighing and shaking his head. “Look, Freya, this is kind of what I’m talking about. We don’t… mesh well anymore. You’re so pragmatic all the time. So together. Which is great. For you. But I’m, you know—” He searched for the words. “—I’m all over the place. Temperamental. Emotional. We can’t be good for each other. We just can’t. We don’t make sense.”
He paused, biting his lip. I went ahead and stared at him some more.
“Freya, you have every reason to hate me,” he continued dismally. “I wish beyond measure I wasn’t doing this to you. I’m astupid bastard who should have said something sooner. I’m so sorry. But I also know I’m doing the right thing. I think… I think one day you may thank me.”
There was a long silence after that. He tried to wait it out, but he gave up and asked if I was okay. Then, when I still wasn’t responding, he begged me to say something, to tell him what he should do.
I asked him to leave me alone in the broom cupboard.
He was a bit confused I think, but he nodded, told me he was so sorry once more, and then opened the door.
“I’ll… I’ll go speak to your dad,” he said softly. “Get the ball rolling.”
Of canceling the wedding. He’d get the ball rolling of canceling our wedding.
I asked him to close the door. When he did, I reached up and turned off the light and then slid down to sit on the floor, next to the dustpan and brush. The mop fell forward, bouncing off the back of my head and resting on the floor. I sat there for a while, wondering if there was really a need for me to leave this cupboard ever again.
Perhaps I could stay here forever. It wasn’t so bad. Sure, it smelled kind of musty and was already inhabited by a number of spiders, but once you got over all that, it really could be considered quite a cozy and convenient living space.
After a while, the door gently opened and Dad sat down next to me. He put his arm around my shoulders. I rested my head against him and closed my eyes.
“Dad,” I whispered into the darkness, “I don’t want to see anyone.”
“I assumed as much,” he replied. “Adrian’s sorting it.”
“How did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” he said, holding me close. “I just don’t know.”
