The Bridesmaid Pact (15 page)

Beth

I was in a cold and impersonal hospital bed. The walls were dark and I was surrounded by shadowy figures. I knew I was about to do a very wicked thing and my heart was beating wildly. I felt sick and dizzy. Should I tell them to stop? Or should I face the music and go ahead with it?

The doctor came towards me, holding a ghastly-looking instrument which looked as if it had come out of a nineteenth-century torture chamber. Oh my god. Was that what he was going to use on me?

I screamed out loud, and then the doctor took his mask off and it wasn’t a he, it was a she. My mother stood before me saying, ‘You’ll be punished for this, don’t you worry.’

I sat bolt upright in bed, sweating profusely in the sticky June night, my heart hammering, and my breath coming in short sharp bursts. I knew it was a god-awful dream, the real thing hadn’t been anything like that. The doctors and nurses involved had been nothing but kind, but I had always felt a nagging doubt of worry that somehow I would be punished for what I’d done. And now I felt like I was.

We didn’t appear to be able to have children, and I couldn’t
help feeling it was all my fault. I wished I could get over it. What’s done is done. But the sound of Mum’s voice rang in my ears as if she were actually in the room with me. And as for Matt…I sighed, and rolled over looking at him sleeping. He’d been far more upset about the failure of the IVF than I thought he would be. I wished I could talk through all my worries about getting pregnant properly, but that was impossible. He’d told me early on in our marriage how strongly he felt about having children, and not willing to lose the only man who’d ever cared for me, I had kept silent about my past. And now it was too late.

Matt stirred and woke up.

‘Hallo beautiful,’ he said, his unfailing way of greeting me in the morning. ‘Can’t sleep?’

‘No,’ I said, blinking back tears, which Matt misinterpreted.

‘It’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘We’ll get our baby. We just need to be patient.’

I snuggled up into the warmth of his arms, wishing he was right with all my heart. But what if he wasn’t? What would we do then?

‘Fancy a girlie night on Friday?’ Dorrie rang me at work. ‘Sarah needs cheering up, and so do you.’

‘I don’t know…’ I felt incredibly guilty about the way I’d spoken to Sarah the last time she’d rung me. I’d been so embarrassed about it I had barely spoken to Sarah at all during Dorrie’s disastrous games evening. I couldn’t help myself. I was so jealous of the ease with which she’d had children. And even now, when it was clear from her dramatic outburst that her marriage was in big trouble, I couldn’t help envying her her boys. Even if she lost Steve, she’d still have them.

Despite having my second IVF booked, I was beginning to fear it might never happen for me. And I didn’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t have children. My visions of the future had always contained the husband, the country cottage, the happy, smiley children. I was frightened that without that dream coming true, Matt might not want to stay with me. And I’d be left with nothing.

But Dorrie being Dorrie, had managed to persuade me that a girlie night with Sarah was just the thing I needed, and Matt was encouraging too, telling me it would be good for me to go out with my friends.

Which is how I found myself on Friday evening knocking on Sarah’s door with Dorrie.

‘We come bearing gifts,’ said Dorrie, producing chocolates, a bottle of wine and a DVD of the
First Wives Club
.

Sarah smiled wanly as she greeted us. She looked pale, and had bags under her eyes.

‘How are you doing?’ Doris hugged her and I followed suit.

‘I’ve had better weeks,’ said Sarah. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you though, and I am still really sorry for ruining your evening.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Dorrie laughed it off. ‘Darren said he hadn’t had so much fun in years. Mind you, he did fumigate the place afterwards in case the wine Steve wiped off himself was full of germs.’

‘He didn’t—’ Sarah looked horror struck.

‘No, of course he didn’t.’ Dorrie fell about laughing. ‘I know Darren’s obsessive, but he’s not
that
bad.’

Sarah gave us a weak grin and we followed her into the lounge.

‘So, what are you going to do?’ I said.

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Sarah. ‘Steve’s barely been home all week. It’s weird, Joe often helps out with the kids in the week; I’ve just realized we probably see more of him than we do of Steve. I’m not sure if he’s got wind of what’s going on, but he’s always popping in. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’

‘You sure picked the wrong brother!’ said Dorrie mischievously. ‘You know, you could always do something about that.’

‘I think that might feel a bit like incest,’ said Sarah. ‘Besides I’ve sworn off men for the time being.’

We sat and chatted for several hours, dissecting Sarah’s marriage, finding suitable punishments for Steve, trying to work out what Sarah should do next. Though Dorrie had bought wine, none of us drank very much. I was still trying to be sensible, and our next IVF was planned for the third week in June. I didn’t want anything to go wrong this time.

‘You’re not trying again are you?’ I asked Dorrie. She didn’t seem to be drinking very much either.

‘Me, no chance,’ said Dorrie, although she looked a bit shifty when she said this, so I wondered perhaps if she was hiding something. ‘I’m aiming to be slim for my wedding you know.’ Then she put her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah, I didn’t mean to mention the “W” word tonight.’

‘No worries,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s not like anyone died. Just because I’m getting divorced, doesn’t mean you can’t talk about your wedding. You know how pleased I am for you.’

‘You know that’s a dangerous thing to say,’ said Dorrie. ‘You have been warned that there may be no other topic of conversation for the rest of this evening.’

‘So how much have you got left to do?’ I said.

‘Loads,’ said Dorrie. ‘I keep having arguments with the hotel about exactly what I want. They don’t seem keen for me to have a Disney-style castle in the hotel foyer for some reason.’

‘Can’t think why not,’ said Sarah with a grin.

‘I’ve sorted the flowers out now though, and we’ve finally agreed to get married at St Philomena’s. Father Miserecordie is going to marry us. I had a job persuading Darren, he wasn’t at all keen on a church wedding. We’ve still not ordered our rings yet, and we’re undecided about the honeymoon. But the thing that’s bothering me most is every time I look at my wedding dress, I wish I did have bridesmaids after all.’

‘But I thought you didn’t want any?’ said Sarah.

‘I didn’t say I didn’t want bridesmaids,’ said Dorrie. ‘I do. But I want all three of you – One four all and all four one, remember? – and that’s never going to happen, is it?’

Dorrie looked so sad when she said this, my heart went out to her. The Bridesmaid Pact had been her idea, and one by one we’d let her down.

‘Never say never,’ said Sarah unexpectedly. ‘I am still cross with Caz. I can’t believe she could flirt with Steve like that, and I’m quite hurt she hasn’t rung me since it happened. But if it means so much to you, I’ll put my feelings aside. It’s only one day.’

‘To be fair to her,’ I said, ‘she didn’t seem like she was enjoying Steve’s attentions all that much.’

‘Well, maybe I could give her a second chance,’ said Sarah grudgingly.

‘Would you? Would you really?’ said Dorrie. ‘It would mean the world to me. Especially now.’

She looked wistful and rather sad when she said this.

‘What do you mean, especially now?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Dorrie. ‘Nothing. I’m feeling a bit melancholy is all.’

It didn’t seem like nothing. Something was clearly troubling her. But she clearly wasn’t prepared to tell.

‘Well, just for you,’ said Sarah, ‘I might be prepared to share bridesmaiding duties with Caz. But only if you promise not to dress me like a meringue.’

‘You know I can’t promise
that
,’ said Doris, smiling. ‘Thanks guys, it means a lot to me.’

‘Then consider it settled,’ said Sarah. ‘If Caz is up for it, so am I.’

A few weeks later I was back in hospital with Matt. It didn’t really matter how kind or nice people were, the room felt cold and unwelcoming. It made me feel gloomy. I was trying to fight it, but I couldn’t help feeling we were doomed for failure. It hadn’t worked last time, why should it work now? I tried to banish such negative thoughts from my head. I knew Dorrie would tell me to think good karma otherwise I’d screw it up, but I couldn’t help feeling I’d screwed it up anyway.

‘It’ll be fine.’ Matt squeezed my hand. ‘Remember, lots of people don’t succeed first time, they told us that before.’

‘I know,’ I said, trying to give a wan smile, ‘but what if it fails again?’

Matt squeezed my hand. ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?’ he said. ‘Let’s be positive. And maybe Foetus will want to hang around this time.’

The procedure was the same as before: uncomfortable, humiliating, a little bit terrifying. Last time I’d left on a high, so sure that I would be pregnant. But this time I was
racked with doubt. I lay on the bed, my heart pounding, feeling faintly sick. We couldn’t afford to go through this again, either financially, or, I suspected, emotionally. Yet the lack of a baby was causing me a pain so intense that I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to survive without it.

So this time I wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Although he wouldn’t come right out and say so, Matt was still sure that my going to the funeral had caused the IVF to fail. I couldn’t tell whether it had been a factor or not, but just in case, I’d taken two weeks off work, and was going to lie around and do absolutely nothing. I had to give Foetus every bit of help I could. And maybe this time our dream would finally come true.

Caz

‘Caroline.’ Auntie Nora stood at Mum’s front door, stiff and awkward.

‘Auntie Nora,’ I said. I felt equally uncomfortable. It was several weeks since I’d walked out on her, and I’d rather have carried on clearing Mum’s stuff out without her being there, but there was so much to do. Besides, Auntie Nora was the executor to Mum’s will and there was still paperwork to sort out. Unfortunately we both needed to be there.

‘Well, let’s get on with it then,’ I said. We went into the lounge where the boxes I’d taken from the loft still remained from the last time I’d been there. I’d taken the letters away with me, but left everything else. I sat down and started sorting through things. It was a welcome distraction to be honest. I had spent the last few weeks mulling over the fact that Mum had lied to me my whole life. And churned up in my misery was the memory of that strange night with Charlie. Nothing had happened, but I now felt odd around him. He was my mate, the person I always turned to when I was in trouble. I hadn’t thought about him
that
way in years. And yet, spending such a close and tender night with him, even though nothing had happened, had reawakened
feelings I’d forgotten I had. Bloody hell. I couldn’t be falling for him. I
shouldn’t
be falling for him. Much as I might want him to, Charlie didn’t belong to me.

And seeing Steve again had reawakened all those guilty feelings and knowledge of how destructive I could be. I hadn’t intended to flirt with him, but unconsciously I’d fallen into my old patterns of behaviour, it was so instinctive to me to seek out male approval. Then I’d seen Sarah’s stricken face and kicked myself. Just when we’d got back on an even keel it looked like I’d blown it again. I couldn’t do to Charlie and Nadia what I’d done to Sarah and Steve. Even though I had never really liked Nadia, I respected Charlie too much to cause him any grief.

So after giving it a lot of thought, I’d organized my time so I could take some more time off work, ostensibly to sort out Mum’s things, and ensured that for my next few jobs, I’d be working with photographers other than Charlie.

‘Sure and your mam was always such a hoarder,’ Auntie Nora cut into my thoughts. It was the first time she’d really spoken since she’d arrived. She had a dreamy smile on her face as she said, ‘She kept everything under her bed when we were children: her diaries, her old dolls – everything. It used to drive our mam mad. She always got a hiding for it.’

‘Did she? I never knew.’ My memories of Nana Riley were hazy, but she’d always seemed a benign presence. As I talked to Auntie Nora, I realized there was a lot I didn’t know about Mum’s early life. She rarely talked about either Ireland or her parents. But from the hints Auntie Nora had dropped, it seemed they hadn’t had the happiest of families. Nana Riley didn’t sound like much of a role model. It was no wonder Mum made such a hash of it with me. I picked up
an old photo album. The spine was cracking and the pictures looked faded and grey. Some were pictures of Mum and her siblings in Ireland – little waifs in hand-me-down clothing – a fair few of me as a gurgling smiling baby, and then one of Mum with a man I didn’t recognize. She looked so happy – pretty, light. A version of Mum I’d never known.

‘Who’s that?’ I said, passing the photo to Auntie Nora.

‘You really don’t know?’ she said. ‘That’s your da. He was a handsome fella. I was that jealous of your mam at first.’

‘Oh,’ I said. I’d never seen a picture of Dad before. Mum had no record of him in the house to my knowledge, and any enquiry about him had been met with a smart, ‘You don’t want to talk about him, he’s bad news that one.’

But I did. I did want to know about him. Despite what I’d said at the funeral. I’d always made out I didn’t care about my dad, afraid of being rejected again. But deep down I’d always been curious. Who was he? Where was he? And why had he and Mum gone from being so happy to him leaving us – leaving me?

‘What was he like?’ I said.

‘Charming, handsome,’ said Auntie Nora, ‘but no staying power. Couldn’t stick around after your mam had you. It was all too much for him. So he upped sticks and left her literally holding the baby. She never recovered.’

‘Is that why she never let me see his letters?’ I asked.

Auntie Nora sniffed, ‘Well he didn’t want you both, so what was he doing sending you cards?’

I could think of plenty of reasons. He’d left Mum. That meant leaving me, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to.

‘Do you know where he is now?’ I said.

‘What do you want to know that for?’ said Auntie Nora.

‘Because I want to find him,’ I said. ‘I’ve lost my mum, but there’s still time to meet my dad. If he still wants to be found.’

‘So your dad’s been writing to you all this time?’ Dorrie said. I hadn’t got round to telling any of the girls about my discovery. I was at a loose end after we’d finished sorting through the photos, and was feeling restless like I needed to talk to someone. Dorrie’s house was nearest, it only took me five minutes to get there. Being Dorrie, she’d immediately dropped everything and dragged me into the kitchen to have a cup of tea, though I could see that the dining room table was set up like a military operation with lists and brochures, all things wedding related.

‘My whole life, she kept it from me. Can you believe that? How can anyone be so wicked?’ I said.

‘People do all sorts of things when they’re hurt and angry,’ said Dorrie. ‘I guess we never know what goes on in someone else’s head.’

‘Do you know what the worst is?’ I said. ‘I can never ask her now. I can’t even get cross with her. I’ve got all this rage and nowhere for it to go.’

Dorrie leant across and squeezed my hand. ‘I wish I could do something,’ she said.

‘You already have,’ I said. ‘By being here. I’m sorry I’ve been so crap over the years.’

‘Oh don’t go all martyred on me,’ said Dorrie briskly. ‘It really doesn’t become you. Now let’s have another cup of tea, and then I’ll co-opt you into ticking off acceptances with me.’

She got up to put the kettle on, and suddenly she was on the floor.

‘Dorrie, are you OK?’ I leapt up to help her. She was shaking and a large bruise was forming on her leg, while her nose was spouting blood.

‘God, I hate the sight of blood, especially my own,’ Doris joked. I got her to put her head back and made her hold her nose while I fetched a tissue.

Eventually we stemmed the flow and I sat her down while I made the tea.

‘You’re obviously doing too much,’ I said. ‘Did you get up too quickly? It was like you fainted or something. You must take it easy.’

Suddenly I was aware of Dorrie sobbing. Dorrie
never
cries. She’s always the one to pull things together.

‘Doris, whatever’s the matter?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Just wedding stress. I just want it all to go well, and for you to be my bridesmaids, and for Mum to be happy.’

‘So you still want us as bridesmaids then?’ I said.

‘The others said they’d do it,’ said Dorrie. ‘I was just waiting for you.’

‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘And Dorrie, I’m so sorry. We all do this to you. We burden you with our stuff and never think about your problems.’

‘Problems? I don’t do problems,’ said Dorrie. She wiped her tears away, gave me a typically Dorrie grin and said, ‘Come on, I need some help with my seating plan.’

I followed her into the dining room, but couldn’t help thinking that there was something she wasn’t telling me.

When I got back home I decided it was time I had a proper look at all the cards Dad had sent me. There were dozens of them. He’d remembered every birthday and Christmas.
Every one. All the cards were the same.
To my beautiful princess. Always thinking of you. Love, Dad.

The letters were varied. Some were short, telling me what he’d got up to – going home to Ireland, or getting a new job. Some were longer, detailing travelling he’d done and promising to take me to places if he ever got a chance.

There was a gap of a few years when he didn’t appear to have sent any, but they resumed again around the time I was thirteen. He’d dropped the princess bit by then.

My darling Caroline
, he wrote,

I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me for such a long time. I’ve been moving around and only just found out your mother’s been sending my letters back. I suppose that’s her right, but I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you. I’d never do that.

But this is just to let you know I have some exciting news. I’ve got married again and my new wife, Lindy, is having a baby. I hope that we can all meet up really soon.

With much love, your Dad xxx

That was it. There were no more. A scrap of paper fluttered down. Another letter from Dad to Mum this time
. I think you’re being unreasonable. I only want to see Caroline. Please don’t send my letters back. I shall keep writing them
. But there were no more. The last address I had for him was over twenty years old. How on earth was I going to track him down?