Kate's Wedding (21 page)

‘Do you know how to cook these things?’

Ian passed her the ready-meal boxes before she had time to take off her coat.

‘Thanks.’ Kate tossed the ready meals onto the kitchen counter. They landed rather more heavily than she had intended. It sounded as though she had thrown them down aggressively.

‘What’s the matter?’ Ian asked. ‘Have I done something wrong again?’

‘Why does it always have to be about you?’ Kate asked. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m . . . I’m getting my period,’ she lied. She took the ready meals out of their cardboard sleeves. ‘Twenty minutes at gas mark six. It says on the back.’

Ian didn’t even move to put the oven on.

Kate had a profound sense of dissatisfaction in that moment. When they first started going out, she thought that Ian had appreciated the stresses of Kate’s position as a partner in a law firm. He certainly wouldn’t expect her to become a little woman, she was sure. But since she had spent that time on gardening leave, he seemed to completely defer to her in all things domestic. He had even asked her how to turn on the tumble-dryer.

‘How did you turn it on before you met me?’ she asked.

Ian definitely did not seem to have taken into account the fact that Kate was now back at work. Leaving her in the kitchen, he had disappeared to take a relaxing shower. Kate stared at the two ready meals in front of her. She could tell Ian to cook his own bloody cardboard dinner or she could turn the oven on herself. Too exhausted from her first fortnight at the new office to argue the feminist position, Kate turned the oven on. Would the next Valentine’s gift she received be an extractor-fan filter like Helen’s? Was this it for the rest of her life?

Chapter Thirty-Six

Melanie didn’t want to be going out to dinner that night. She wasn’t sure which was worse, to spend Valentine’s Day alone, or to spend it with someone she simply wasn’t that excited about. The girls at the salon seemed certain that Valentine’s Day alone was by far the worse option. They had fussed about their Valentine’s dates ever since they came back to work after Christmas. Sarah had been borderline miserable for weeks as she pondered whether or not her fledgling relationship was serious enough to guarantee her a date for the most important romantic date in the calendar. Heidi had limped on with a relationship well past its sell-by date in order to ensure that she likewise wasn’t at home alone on the fourteenth.

‘I can’t stand the thought of having to shag him any more,’ she admitted to Sarah within Melanie’s earshot, ‘but I’m going to carry on until the weekend after Valentine’s, for sure. We’ve been together for five years. He’s bound to get me a good Valentine’s Day present, isn’t he?’

Melanie could hardly believe such cynicism. And yet wasn’t she guilty of the same? She was going out with Phil that night because she didn’t want to be alone either. She already knew that Phil wasn’t going to replace Keith in her heart. She had known that from the first time they went out together. But he was a decent bloke. He had good manners. From time to time he made her laugh. And it was nice to be taken to the better restaurants around Southampton. It was just . . . she would have to tell him it was going nowhere before she found herself in the position of having to turn him down at the bedroom door. So far he hadn’t been pushy, but Melanie was sure that he hadn’t been taking her out for almost three months just because he enjoyed their conversations about travel and music.

She made the mistake of confiding in Heidi.

‘I wouldn’t worry. He might never try it on,’ said Heidi. ‘He’s what – sixty? His prostate will be shot to pieces by now.’

Melanie winced. There were moments when she thought that Heidi was too coarse for a job at Bride on Time, but she was an excellent seamstress. She was worth her weight in gold when it came to making speedy last-minute adjustments. There had been numerous occasions when Heidi had saved the day for a bride who had lost too much weight in the stress of the wedding run-up or, conversely, failed to lose enough. For that, Melanie overlooked Heidi’s cruder pronouncements. Even so, Melanie decided she would have to be more discreet in the future.

Should Melanie just have given up on love? No one would bother too much if she did, she was certain. There was something romantic about announcing ‘I’m a widow’ when people asked about her personal life. It was a reason and an explanation in itself. She didn’t let people press her for the details. All she said was she was very happy by herself. But she wasn’t. Not really. Not any more.

She’d met Phil at a meeting of local business owners. Melanie liked these meetings, usually held in a pub, where small-business owners from the local area got together to moan about rates and rents and the local council’s lack of support. She had been seeing Phil at those meetings for years. She didn’t know much about him other than that he ran a small company specialising in computer spares and repairs. Then she asked if he might have a look at Bride on Time’s IT situation. While he was installing some anti-virus software on Melanie’s own computer, they got chatting. She discovered that he was a widower. His wife had died of ovarian cancer two years before. He told Melanie that he was relieved to be able to talk about his situation with someone who understood the pain of being left behind.

Now Melanie found herself glazing over when the conversation moved on to Phil’s wife, as it inevitably did after they’d both sunk half a bottle of wine. It was so clear that he’d loved that woman completely. He said that he was ready to move on, but Melanie knew that his readiness really only equated to wanting something, anything, to fill the gaping hole in his life.

On Valentine’s Day, the conversation about Sally, as Phil’s wife was called, came earlier than usual in proceedings. Phil had chosen a lovely restaurant, full of starry-eyed young couples and a few more established pairs just going through the motions. There were candles on every table. Phil had brought Melanie a rose. One young man proposed to his girlfriend the minute the waiter had taken their order. He said that he had intended to propose after the meal but would have been too nervous to eat if he hadn’t proposed first. Melanie couldn’t help smiling as she overheard the young couple’s excited chatter about where and when they might marry. Should she slip the girl her business card?

Only Phil did not seem buoyed up by the atmosphere in the room.

‘This was one of Sally’s favourite restaurants,’ he announced, after the waiter had delivered their smoked-salmon platters.

‘Oh,’ said Melanie.

‘It was her second favourite restaurant in the world.’

‘Which was her absolute favourite?’ asked Melanie, playing the game. One of the ways in which she knew Phil wasn’t for her was how easy she found it to engage in conversation about his dead wife. She wasn’t in the least bit jealous of his enduring attachment to the dead woman’s memory.

‘La Coupole, in Paris,’ said Phil. ‘Do you know it?’

‘Actually, I went there once. Just the once, mind.’

‘We only went there once too, for our twenty-fifth anniversary, but Sally never stopped going on about it. After that, every restaurant we went to was measured against La Coupole. She loved the Frenchness of it.’

‘It is pretty French,’ Melanie agreed.

‘When did you go?’

‘Oh’ – Melanie speared some salmon – ‘it was years ago now. I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.’

For the rest of the meal they chatted amiably about the difficulties involved with the new VAT rate. It was hardly the most scintillating subject. Melanie passed up the offer of dessert. Phil, as ever, insisted that he drove her home. He stopped at the top of the driveway and turned off his engine. This was a new development: Melanie was used to Phil leaving the engine running while she let herself out of the car.

‘Let me walk you to the door,’ he said that night.

‘It’s fine,’ said Melanie. ‘I can see it from here. I won’t get lost.’

‘I’d still like to walk you there.’

‘OK,’ said Melanie. She would think of some reason not to let him in when they got there. That was her prerogative. At the door, she took out her keys and hesitated. She did not want to have to offer him coffee.

‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ she began, preparing her spiel about an early start.

‘Yes,’ said Phil, ‘it has.’

‘So . . .’

Phil took both Melanie’s hands.

‘Look, Melanie,’ he said, ‘you’ve probably been wondering where this is going. I know I have. It’s been three months and we haven’t even shared so much as a kiss.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Melanie.

‘No,’ Phil responded, ‘it’s not OK. A beautiful woman like you. You must be wondering what on earth is wrong with me.’

Melanie felt her entire body tense as he squeezed her hands more tightly.

‘You deserve to be cherished and desired. You deserve to be kissed all over and made love to day and night.’

Now Melanie felt slightly queasy.

‘But I know I’m not going to be able to do that.’

Melanie’s insides dissolved with relief.

‘I can’t do this any more,’ said Phil. ‘I can’t keep taking you out and spending half the evening talking about Sally. It isn’t fair on you. It isn’t fair on her memory either. I’m not over her, Mel. I don’t know how long it took you to feel ready again, but two years is nowhere near long enough for me. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be over her. I thought I could fill the gap, but . . .’

‘It isn’t that easy, I know. But it doesn’t matter. Really it doesn’t. We can be friends, you and I. I will always be there for you if you just need to talk.’

‘Do you mean that?’

‘I do.’

Melanie shook her hands free of Phil’s grip and gave him a hug instead.

‘It will get better, I promise.’

‘Thanks. I didn’t know how you’d take it, but I guess you know what it’s like.’

‘Oh, I’m disappointed,’ Melanie lied, ‘but I’m not surprised. You take care of yourself.’

Phil nodded his goodbye.

That was the problem with really loving someone: the feelings persisted long after the object of your affection had vanished from your life.

As she undressed for bed, Melanie found herself thinking about La Coupole. She and Keith had sat side by side on a banquette in the corner of the enormous room, which was lit so well everyone in it could have been a film star. They snuggled close, their thighs pressed together. After a couple of glasses of wine, they weren’t shy about kissing over their steak frites. That was one of the last dinners they had shared as a couple. It was certainly the last truly romantic one.

If Melanie had known on that evening how she would feel looking back on it over the years, would she have done anything differently?

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Giovanni Lucciani dresses had arrived at last. Diana immediately made an appointment to go back to the salon and try hers on. As Melanie had warned her, the dress might need some tweaking and Diana wanted to be sure that she allowed as much time as possible for any required adjustments.

Diana could not wait to get her wedding dress on again. She was almost certain that she’d made the right choice, but moving quickly would ensure that if she hadn’t, there was time to buy another one. Diana was only going to get married once. She didn’t want to look back over her wedding photos and wonder if she’d made a mistake.

‘No, this is definitely still the one,’ she said, as she admired her reflection in the mirror.

‘Good job,’ said Melanie, ‘because we can’t take it back. It’s been made especially for you, you know.’

‘Of course, but if it had been wrong, Dad would have coughed up for something different.’

‘Good job he doesn’t have to, eh?’

‘Yeah. But do you still think this is the right dress for me? I mean, do you honestly think this is the best I could look in a wedding dress? Because if you think that I might look even better in something else . . .’

Melanie shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else wear that dress quite so well.’

That was exactly what Diana needed to hear. She was still the fairest of them all.

She had Melanie take a shot of her wearing the dress on her iPhone to post on Nuptialsnet later on.

Kate got the call on the same day.

‘You need to come in as soon as you can to have another fitting,’ Heidi told her.

‘Really? It’s the right size, isn’t it?’

Heidi sighed. ‘We’ve got to make sure it fits like a glove. There are bound to be adjustments. You don’t want to be hoicking the corset up all day long, do you? What kind of bridal consultant would I be if I sent you up the aisle in a baggy corset?’

‘OK,’ said Kate, ‘I’ll have a look in my diary.’

She relished the thought of another afternoon in Heidi’s company about as much as she relished the idea of an afternoon with the dentist. As she’d left the Bride on Time salon that first afternoon, she hadn’t factored in the subsequent fittings at all. Kate looked at her diary. It was packed with meetings related to her new job. There was one day free. Well, almost free. Her new colleagues were fairly understanding when Kate explained that her mother was about to begin radiotherapy and she had wangled some compassionate leave. She could do the dress fitting then. She didn’t know which of the two appointments she dreaded more.

‘Monday,’ she said to Heidi.

Monday rolled round.

‘Hmm. You seem to have got a bit broader in the beam since you were last here. Someone couldn’t lay off the mince pies, I suppose.’ What a greeting Kate received as she arrived at Bride on Time.

She didn’t know how to respond.

‘Well, you’ve got how long?’ Heidi asked. She looked at the tag on the dress. ‘Middle of next month?’ she exclaimed. ‘We’ll have to let the bodice out. I don’t know if we’ve got time to do that.’