Found (22 page)

‘You’re back quicker than I thought you’d be,’ Piers points out. He is, of course, oblivious to the carnage and Eve’s visit. But, why would he know? He doesn’t have an unhealthy interest in the sidebar of shame like I do.

Yes, I looked when I was in my taxi and saw that there are photos up already of Etta falling out of a cab and into a Camden club, and a more heart-wrenching photo twenty minutes later.
I could have stopped this from happening
. Instead, on Piers’ laptop screen, I see he’s been browsing an estate agent’s website.

He looks at his watch. ‘I’m amazed you persuaded Etta to leave at a reasonable time.’

‘I do not want to talk about Etta Millhouse and the rest of her bloody party tonight,’ I snap.

That second story – Etta being taken away in an ambulance as Matt and Don tried to block the paparazzi – is swirling in my head. Even if I knew where to buy drugs, I would never be tempted after seeing the state of Etta tonight.

‘Here, have a drink, and forget about it. It’s all over and done with now.’ Piers picks up the wine bottle from the coffee table and pours me a glass.

‘I don’t want a drink,’ I say, refusing to take the glass from him. ‘It smells off, just like it did last night – I can smell it from here.’

Forget drugs, I’m off alcohol as well after watching Etta knock back so much champagne.

Piers take a sip from my glass and smells it. ‘It seems fine. You usually love this.’

‘It’s bloody disgusting, and not at all like it should taste,’ I insist. ‘The glass I tried last night tasted like vinegar.’

‘You must be thinking of a different wine.’

Irgh, I want to slap him. ‘It’s the wine we drink every year on our anniversary. I’m not thinking of a different wine.’

Piers puts the glass down and shoots a look at me. ‘What’s with you?’ he asks. ‘You’ve been in a mood since we got back.’

Whilst that may be true, I have no idea, and I’m not happy that Piers has pointed this out to me. So much for accepting me “for better, for worse”.

‘Should you be drinking anyway?’ I try to sidestep the conversation because I want to go to bed. ‘You had champagne at the party, now you’ve got wine.’ I nod at his glass. ‘I don’t think Doctor Teddy would be thrilled with your drinking habits.’

‘Another glass won’t kill me.’

‘No, but lying about your condition and not taking it easy will,’ I mutter snidely, thinking of Etta’s “a little coke won’t kill me” line, but also about how Piers kept his illness from me and how he over did it during the recovery process. Because of his actions we might not have made it back to London. I might not have been able to sit here and fight with my husband.

That thought makes me pause. I’m about to apologise, explain about the stress of Etta and also tell him about my weird encounter with Eve and what she asked for before she left, but he stands up. He grabs the bottle of wine and our glasses and heads into the kitchen. I hear the tap run.

He returns empty-handed. He doesn’t sit back on the sofa with me but picks up Atlas from where he’s curled up on the armchair and sits there instead. He plonks Atlas down on his knee but the cat, like me, is unimpressed.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘Of course I did,’ Piers mutters as Atlas jumps off his knee with a haughty swish of his tail and scampers off. 

Irgh, what is with us? And, even though I know this is me – that I am in an odd mood – I decide to push things a little further.

‘I have a question.’

‘Can’t wait,’ he mutters. I want to throw something at him.

‘Why did we break up?’

‘Arielle, we’re happily married–’

I snort at that, remembering his “joke” earlier on with Etta. I’m still not laughing.

‘–so why does it matter now?’

‘You never ever explained, that’s all, and I’m curious.’

‘But it doesn’t matter. Exactly like it didn’t matter when you spent the night with Noah.’

Ouch
. I
knew
he’d never really forgiven me for that.

‘Of course it matters,’ I hiss, ‘and I thought we were over that.’

As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them.
Why did I bring this up
? I should have gone straight to bed but, then again,
Piers
should have gone straight to bed. He came home because he was
exhausted
, yet here he is
drinking
and looking at a house that costs... I glance at the screen. WOW.
Seven million
. Firstly, can we really afford that and, secondly, who needs a house with seven bedrooms and four bathrooms? There’s only the two of us.

‘It–’ I begin, about to tell Piers that it doesn’t matter, that I’m sorry for fighting with him, but he starts talking before I can stop him.

‘Because that’s when I was first diagnosed, OK? I’d had a shit few months at the office and then I had that bombshell dropped on me. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I thought it was easier to push you away, and I’d chatted with...’

He stops himself, and I experience a stab of pain in my chest. This wasn’t him not thinking clearly as he put it – not if he talked it over with someone. This was him acting on a plan.

‘With who?’ I demand.

‘Look, you weren’t happy doing nothing at home all day, and look at you now. You’ve got a successful business and your name is out there. I’m so proud of you.’

I ignore this because it has also just hit me that Piers knew about his condition
for over a year and he never told me
. I assumed he found out about his pleural effusion in the past few months and didn’t tell me because I was worrying about Felicity and trying to make the business a success. Knowing a year is unforgivable.

‘Why didn’t you tell me when we got back together?’

Piers sighs and runs his hand through his hair. I’ve noticed that over the past months a few streaks of grey have started to appear. Whether that’s stress-related, or just natural ageing, he still looks ruddy handsome with it – more so, in fact. Not that I’ll tell him this because right now I am consumed with a burning rage for him. Funny, I always thought that when you married someone you were consumed with a burning
passion
for them – I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.

‘All I could think of was my dad, how ill he became, and I didn’t want to put you through that. It seemed easier to push you away.’

‘But it’s a completely different illness,’ I point out quietly.

I don’t have to say it but the undertone is there: you don’t have Alzheimer’s,
not yet
, and hopefully he never will. It hurts that he pushed me away like he did, even though it was the kick up the bum I needed. I was able to figure out who I am and what I actually want to do with my life.

‘It wasn’t that serious.’

That’s not an answer.

‘I didn’t want to put you through that pain,’ Piers finally expands after a terse silence. ‘If you’d seen how my dad was after my mum died; I never wanted you to suffer like he did.’

Piers’ mum was killed in a car accident.

‘You decided to push me away because you didn’t want to subject me to the possibility of losing you – is that what you are saying?’ I choke out.

It’s a ridiculous excuse, and his expression suggests that he knows it.

‘Let’s face it, Piers,’ I continue, ‘that’s something we
all
have to face – losing the one we love – yet I don’t see seven billion singletons inhabiting this planet, do you? Most people choose to make the most of the time they have with their loved ones, they don’t–’

‘Arielle–’

‘No, Piers,’ I interrupt back. ‘What was it really? It sounds like you didn’t want to be with me, full stop, and not that you
nobly
,’ I spit out, ‘didn’t want to subject me to your illness.’

His face looks ashen.

‘I don’t know if we should be doing this.’

I remove my engagement ring and wedding ring, but I struggle to get them off my finger. I’m possibly over-reacting, but this feels like the right thing to do even if Piers’ face suggests otherwise. He looks floored. I push away the memory of Piers proposing to me in this very room less than a year ago.

‘Arielle!’

He stands up, but I refuse to look at him as I place both my rings on the coffee table in front of me.

‘Arielle, please, what are you doing?’

He picks the rings up and tries to grab my left hand, but I snatch it out of his way. I do open my hand though and let him drop them on my palm. I clench my fingers around them, my knuckles going white with the tension.

‘You don’t know what it’s like, what it feels like,’ he pleads. ‘I saw it with Dad when he lost Mum, but also when I lost Jenna and Giles lost Elise. I never wanted you to have to go through that sort of pain. I never wanted you to have to do anything that you didn’t want to do, which is why I never pestered you to get a job. I wanted you to be happy. I
want
you to be happy. Is that so horrible?’

I don’t want to sound callous but whilst Jenna was his first-love and it was tragic that she died at such a young age, Piers and Jenna had only been going out for three months. Maybe if Jenna’s car had never crashed on that bend, maybe they’d have split up the very next day. She’d have been some girl he once dated rather than a girl who now sits on Piers’ perfect pedestal. The parallels between Jenna’s car accident and his mum’s car accident aren’t lost on me either.

If I’m to believe all that he’s said to me in the past, that I’m the love of his life, then surely Piers realises that the pain of not being with him when he’s alive and kicking is far worse than the pain of losing him after an illness or a very long and happy life together.
Is that so hard for him to understand
?

Call me selfish but I would rather have one happy day with Piers – if that’s the only day he had left to live – than spend the next forty-odd years without him so he could “spare” me the agony of losing him.

‘I don’t believe you,’ I say coldly. ‘You lied to me for over a year, kept the truth about your illness, and you pretended to be away on business whilst secretly you were having consultations and operations. What else have you been lying to me about?’ I fling at him ‘Another bloody family in another country? You’ve certainly claimed you’ve been in the US a lot this year – is that so you could spend time with them? Were you even working over there?’

I sound deranged, but still this anger keeps spilling out of me. It’s everything I’ve always been afraid to air.

‘Arielle, you’re been silly now. It wasn’t like that. This is the only thing I’ve ever kept from you.’

I stand back. ‘I need some time alone to figure this out. To figure
us
out,’ I add.

‘What about Obélix’s wedding tomorrow?’

Piers looks devastated, but I choose to focus on his lies that are swirling around my head.

‘I’d rather you didn’t come,’ I finally state, though the stab of pain in my heart makes me want to take back those words and apologise.

‘I’m your husband!’ Piers pleads. ‘You–’

He stops as I shake my head.

‘Goodbye, Piers,’ I say, and with that, even though I have nowhere to go, I grab my handbag and I leave the house.

‘How are you holding up?’ I whisper to Ob.

‘This is worse than when I lost my virginity to Kayleigh Chapman,’ he whispers back.

I’m pretty sure that he shouldn’t be thinking about that sort of thing
on his wedding day
, his wedding day to
someone else
. Someone who isn’t Kayleigh Chapman, whoever she is. I hope she’s not here today. That would be awkward if I met her. The thought of her and Ob...
Gross
. It’s bad enough when I look at Jade and am reminded that the two of them... Well, her growing baby bump is proof to what happened between those two.

‘What do you...? Actually, on second thoughts, I don’t want to know,’ I mutter.

Ob rubs his thumb over the right-hand lapel of his tailcoat, and that’s when I clock it. ‘Obélix Thomas,’ I hiss, which causes most of the congregation to look up at us. ‘Is that tomato ketchup?’

I could murder this man. Jade deserves better than to marry a man with a tomato ketchup stain on his hired wedding suit and a wonky filled-in eyebrow, even if that man
is
the father of her unborn child. Still, I’ve had two decades of this. He’s Jade’s problem now. Well, he is when she finally shows up to Tharnham Hall to marry him...
if
she shows up.

Ob mutters something under his breath, which I don’t catch, and glances nervously at his watch. Jade is now fifteen minutes late, and I’m not the only person who has realised this.

I glance around the hall and I take in the walnut panelling and intricately designed columns. Ob and Jade have opted to keep it simple, no decorations or flowers, but it’s still as beautiful as when Piers... I take a deep breath and focus on the hall. I need to forget about Piers – today is about Ob.

Several silver chandeliers filled with candles light up the space, and fifty of Ob and Jade’s nearest and dearest are waiting for this very unexpected wedding to take place. Well, it’s unexpected for me because this was supposed to be
my
wedding to Piers, yet I’m standing here with Ob. It’s bloody weird. I hope he’s not imagining
us
getting married.

After storming out of the house last night I had to slink back inside to grab my clothes for today before I took a super expensive taxi ride to Tharnham Hall. Piers and I had booked into one of the twelve bedrooms here – for last night and tonight – before we knew about Etta’s party. We, luckily, never altered our reservation.

Jade insisted on choosing my outfit as best woman – dictated to me via an email from Ob and, yes, I had to pay for it – so I’ve ended up wearing a super simple navy silk dress with matronly sleeves. The dress falls straight down to the floor; the neckline is practically level with my chin. It’s the most unflattering dress I’ve ever worn. My hair is in a messy bun with wisps falling down at the front, and I’ve kept my make-up simple. I’ve looked better.

I spent most of the morning with Ob in the Billiards Room whilst Jade was getting ready, and thankfully he believed my excuse that Piers had to stay in London to sort out the aftermath of the party but that he would be here in plenty of time for the ceremony.

A door slams shut and everyone whips around, though no one emerges. I’m pretty sure no one left through it either.

‘I told you it was haunted,’ Ob whispers gleefully.

I roll my eyes at him. Ob thinks that the ghost of Edynfed Brackenbury, the Tudor explorer who lived here, spends his afterlife swashbuckling around the place in his long johns. I pointed out that Edynfed died at sea so he’d probably be swashbuckling around the Atlantic Ocean if he was swashbuckling anywhere, but in Ob’s head Edynfed is here. If that makes his wedding more special – weirdo – I won’t be
too
bitchy about this.

‘Wait a minute, where’s Piers?’

‘He’s around,’ I lie.

‘I can’t see him, and...’ He grabs my hands, which gets him a few glares from members of Jade’s family who clearly have no idea that I am like a sister to Ob. Well, Ob is like my brother although the aftermath of his stag do revealed some truths that I could have lived without ever knowing.

‘Where are your rings? Is he coming? Was the gallery an excuse?’ he fires at me and, for a second, I see a hint of hope.

I roll my eyes trying to convey that there is nothing for Ob to hope about. Silently I tell him to forget about the absence of my rings. There was no way that I was going to encourage Ob earlier with my pathetic dilemmas. Today is all about him and his future happiness, even if it is only painfully reminding me that I’ve been married a month and have already left my husband... I think. Well, we’ve had a pretty huge argument, though this morning I’m not sure what about.

I’m angry he kept things from me, but the past is the past. Keeping future illnesses from me would be something to get angry about. Seeing that story about Etta seriously rattled me – it reminds me that she tries to hide things from her loved ones, even if that deception might eventually kill her. I’ve not heard from Matt as to whether she’s out of danger yet.

‘Concentrate on getting married,’ I tell Ob.

‘But–’

Thankfully I’m interrupted by the sound of the Bridal March. She’s here.
Thank goodness
. Or not. Obélix looks like he’s about to throw up. All thoughts about Piers are swept clean out of his head.

‘Good luck,’ I whisper as the doors are flung open and Jade’s two bridesmaids – her best friend and her cousin – start making their way down the aisle towards us. They’re dressed in matching, peach, floor-length dresses with a sweetheart neckline and a nipped corsage waist. Their hair is poker straight, and they are both wearing a crown of flowers that matches the small bouquets they are carrying. They look a million times better than I do, funnily enough.

I turn back to Ob who is doing his best goldfish impression – mouth opening and closing as he tries to compose himself at the sight of Jade now walking towards us. His eyes are shining brightly, all thoughts of my missing rings forgotten, and I can see why in this moment.

Jade’s dress is strapless, her boobs heaving up and down with each step she takes, and the bottom half of her dress skims gracefully over her bump. I’m amazed she’s showing that much already, but I’m equally amazed that she sorted out a dress so quickly.

Her make-up is fierce for a wedding day – winged eyeliner and lashes that curl out like Betty Boop’s – and her hair tumbles down her back in elegant dark-brown curls. Ob is practically drooling as he takes her hand.

I’m happy for him, of course I am, but I can’t help but think about me and Piers – about how we were going to get married here. How we’re not together right now. I only hope Jade and Ob’s marriage lasts a lot longer than ours...