The Bridesmaid Pact (18 page)

Caz

My phone rang while I was in the middle of making up a notoriously fussy soap star. She had just signed a major deal with the BBC and appeared to be starring in every show in the autumn schedule. My job was to make her up for her publicity shots. So far she’d arrived late, bitched about the clothes we’d chosen for her, moaned that Charlie (with whom she’d flirted outrageously last time I’d worked with her) wasn’t there, and despite apparently having asked for my services, grumbled at my every suggestion.

She had dry skin so I was using a cream foundation. I had to work quickly so it didn’t dry too soon, and suggested a powder to stop her skin looking too shiny, but she wasn’t having any of it.

‘Old ladies wear powder,’ she growled.

‘But your skin will look greasy in the photos,’ I said, which she completely ignored.

She also overruled me on colour – I’d gone for something light and discreet, but she preferred a colour which I knew would look orange in the shots. When she saw the first takes, she hit the roof and accused me of, as she put it, ‘tangoing’ her.

So I had to start again from scratch; the morning’s schedule was shot, and the photographer sat around kicking his heels. If Charlie had been there we’d have joked about it, but Gavin, his replacement, was a taciturn sort of chap and nearly bit my head off when I tried to make light of the situation. It had not been a good morning.

I ignored my phone and carried on touching up her lips. But whoever was on the other end was very persistent.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, putting down my lip liner. ‘Would you mind if I answered this?’

Throwing a great sigh, the actress said, ‘If you must. Anything to stop the sound of the
Dr Who
theme tune.’

Charlie, knowing my penchant for SF, had programmed the tune onto my phone the last time we’d been out together, when he ended up back at mine. I hadn’t been able to turn it off since. Belatedly, I remembered that despite wild Internet rumours about the actress having a major part in the new series of
Dr Who
, she’d been passed over. Oops.

I picked up the phone. Sarah. What did she want? We’d agreed to put our differences aside because of Dorrie’s condition, but I wasn’t really sure that she’d stopped blaming me for the way Steve had behaved at Dorrie’s dinner party. Maybe she thought I still fancied him. Admittedly, I had had a frisson at the thought of seeing him again, but it was quickly followed up not only by the realization Steve had put on weight and had a bald spot, but that he was a total and utter git. I was so cross with myself for even letting myself think for a minute about him in that way, when I was tentatively trying to reassert my relationship with Sarah. I felt terrible – but I wasn’t sure that Sarah actually believed that.

‘Hi Sarah,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I’m at work. I can’t talk for long.’

‘It’s just I keep thinking about Dorrie and ways we can help her. She’s got such a lot on her plate at the moment, and I was wondering if we could take on more of the wedding stuff for her. Now we’re all going to be her bridesmaids.’

‘Great idea,’ I said. ‘When and where?’

‘Beth’s, tomorrow evening,’ said Sarah.

‘See you there,’ I said, snapping my phone shut.

‘When you’ve finished making your social arrangements, I’ve got a shoot to finish,’ snapped the actress.

Making soothing noises, I went back to touching up her eyes. The taciturn photographer was looking grumpier than ever. I sighed. I wished Charlie were here.

‘Sarah not here yet?’ I said when Beth answered the door.

‘Not yet,’ Beth said. ‘Sorry to drag you out here again, but I’m still taking it easy.’

‘So when will you know?’ I asked.

‘Actually, I took a test yesterday,’ said Beth, shyly. ‘And it was positive.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ I said, then looked at Beth, who seemed rather down. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Well it is…’ said Beth, ‘it’s just after last time, I’m not counting my chickens till they tell me for certain.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘I’ve got a blood test next week at the hospital, and a scan three weeks after that,’ said Beth. ‘And in the meantime I’m meant to be resting. I’m really glad you could come. I’m going demented with boredom. I thought the two-week wait was bad enough last time. This time it went on forever.’

Guiltily I thought about Beth coming to Mum’s funeral.
I really hoped that hadn’t contributed to her not getting pregnant last time.

‘Maybe you’re through the worst,’ I said.

‘I hope so,’ said Beth, ‘but I don’t want to take any chances.’

‘Well you go back to the sofa, and I’ll make the tea,’ I said. Typical of Sarah to organize us all and then be late. When we were growing up she was always the one to boss us about, but often ruined it by not being where she said she’d be at the right time.

‘Thanks for the tea,’ said Beth, when I came back. ‘Sorry I’m being such a lame duck, it’s just so scary, not knowing if this pregnancy will last.’

I squeezed her hand. ‘It will be OK,’ I said awkwardly. The world I inhabited didn’t include any of this kind of stuff. Most of the girls I worked with were younger than me, or single, like me. And while my clients were occasionally pregnant, they always seemed to manage those off the shelf, designer, trouble-free pregnancies, gave birth ridiculously easily and were back at work in two months looking impossibly trim.

‘You just have to be positive.’ Sarah breezed in, dealing with the situation in a much better way than I could have done. Or so I thought. ‘Worrying about it won’t help.’

‘Well that’s easy for you to say,’ Beth snapped. ‘You never had any of this trouble.’

‘But I did have to stay in hospital for a few weeks before Will was born with high blood pressure, worrying that I was suffering from pre-eclampsia. Not the same I know, but I do understand the worry.’

‘You’re right,’ said Beth. ‘It’s not the same. At least you could
get
pregnant. You have no idea what it’s like.’

Woah. Where had that come from? I’d always assumed
I was the one to cause trouble within the Fab Four. It was quite refreshing in a way to discover Beth and Sarah also had their tensions. I wondered if Beth was jealous of Sarah’s children. She’d made no secret before her marriage of wanting children, and five years on, none had appeared, while Sarah seemed to get pregnant at the drop of a hat. It must have been rather galling for Beth.

‘Enough,’ I said. ‘Beth, Sarah’s only trying to help. Come on, we’re here to talk about ways to help Dorrie.’

‘Sorry,’ said Beth grudgingly. ‘It’s just so stressful, this whole baby thing.’

‘I know,’ said Sarah. ‘I didn’t meant to be insensitive.’

‘So how do you think we can help?’ I said.

‘Well I know that Dorrie is getting wound up about the venue,’ said Sarah. ‘She wants to theme the room like a scene from
Cinderella
and they’ve been a bit arsy about it. No one’s returning her calls at the moment. I thought we could offer to deal with it for her.’

‘It must be awful having to do it on her own,’ said Beth. ‘I know I was really stressy with Mum when I was getting married, but at least she was interested.’

I thought about my ill-fated wedding day. My mum hadn’t even known I’d been married, and probably wouldn’t have cared. I couldn’t imagine Dorrie’s lively, bouncy mother not being intimately involved in every aspect of her big day.

‘Is Dorrie’s mum really not bothered?’ I said. ‘I just don’t get it. It seems so unlike her.’

‘From what Dorrie says, she’s withdrawn completely since Dorrie’s dad died,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s really sad, but I gather it was pretty hideous towards the end and Dorrie’s mum just hasn’t got over it.’

‘And now Dorrie’s ill too,’ said Beth. ‘It doesn’t seem fair.’

It wasn’t fair. Lovely, gorgeous, funny Dorrie having to go through so much pain, maybe even ending up in a wheelchair, being fed through a tube. It was too hideous to contemplate.

‘It isn’t,’ said Sarah. ‘But at least we can all try and be there for her.’

‘And at least we’re fulfilling the Bridesmaid Pact at last,’ said Beth.

‘All four one and one four all,’ I said.

Sarah gave me a brief flicker of a smile. Maybe once she’d got over losing Steve she could accept me back. At least one thing was starting to go right in my life. Even if I was going to have to dress up as a Disney princess.

Cormack Riley. Who’d have thought there were so many of them? I sat on the Internet trawling through all the C Rileys in the phonebook. I’d started in the Manchester area, which was the last address I had for him, but the sheer number of C Rileys in the book was filling me with despair. Even if I had the courage to ring one of them up, how could I possibly know which was the right one? And what was I going to say if I did find him? ‘Hi, I’m your long-lost daughter – remember me?’ Maybe he’d given up on me by now. Maybe he thought that because I hadn’t contacted him as an adult, it meant I didn’t care. He couldn’t possibly know that I’d been brought up to believe my dad would reject me. It hadn’t meant that I hadn’t bothered; I just couldn’t risk the hurt. Besides, another thought occurred to me, I didn’t even know if he lived there any more. He could be dead for all I knew.

All my life Mum had prevented me from finding Dad.
A familiar surge of anger swept over me. But this time it was touched with a tinge of sadness. Mum must have been so very bitter. Right to the end.

This was getting me nowhere. I wondered if my errant father was Internet savvy enough to be on Facebook, but a quick search revealed so many Cormack Rileys, I didn’t know where to start. In the end I decided to bite the bullet and see if Auntie Nora knew anything.

‘And why are you suddenly so interested in meeting your da, now?’ said Auntie Nora. ‘You’ve never wanted to know before.’

I sensed she was stalling. Hadn’t it occurred to her the letters and cards were a sure-fire way of whetting my appetite for information about my long-lost father?

‘That’s because I didn’t know he wanted to keep in touch with me before,’ I said. ‘Mum should have told me. It wasn’t fair that she didn’t. And now she’s gone I need to find him. Please, Auntie Nora. If you know anything, tell me.’

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone, before Auntie Nora said, ‘Well, your mam said he’d stopped writing, so I assumed he’d lost interest. So I let sleeping dogs lie. I thought you were both better off without him.’

‘It wasn’t your call to make,’ I said bitterly. ‘I’ve spent my whole life thinking my dad didn’t care about me. And now it turns out he did, and I’ve lost all those years.’

There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

‘I had no idea you felt like that,’ said Auntie Nora.

‘You never asked though, did you?’ I said. ‘You and Mum just assumed because you hated Dad I should too. All my life I’ve felt there’s been something missing. I just want to find him.’

‘Is that right?’ Auntie Nora said. I could almost hear the
cogs of her brain working as she seemed to be coming to a decision. Finally she said, ‘Caroline, I believe I owe you an apology,’ which was unexpected. I couldn’t recall her apologizing for anything in her life.

‘Oh?’ I said, my fury abating somewhat.

‘I’ve always been that angry with him for what he did to your mam – using that Riley charm and blarney till he got her in the family way and then leaving her alone in a foreign country with you a wee babby. It wasn’t right, I tell you. That’s why I told your mam to have nothing to do with him. I thought I was doing the right thing. And I’m sorry. I’ve been talking it over with Father Miserecordie and he thinks you should know the truth.’

‘Which is?’

‘That I’ve known your father’s whereabouts for the last thirty years. I’ll give you his address and phone number. If you want to see him, it’s your choice, not mine.’

Doris

‘So now that you’ve finally got your bridesmaids sorted, do you think you can calm down about the wedding a bit?’ said Darren, as he expertly spoon fed Woody. He managed to do it without making any mess, which was quite miraculous. ‘It will all be all right on the night, you know.’

‘It is a great relief to know the girls can do it,’ I said. ‘And things do seem to be slotting into place. Flowers are sorted, Caz has taken over dealing with those wretched people at the Claygate, so I don’t have to worry about that any more. I’ve got all the dresses, the table decorations are all sitting in boxes in the spare room, Sarah’s tracked down some Mickey Mouse cameras, the DVD man and photographer are both booked, my family are all happy, even
your
relatives seem happy. I do feel much better about the wedding at least.’

‘Good,’ said Darren, imitating an aeroplane as he spooned food into Woody’s mouth. Then he looked at me. ‘What do you mean “at least”? You’re not having any more stupid thoughts about the wedding not going ahead, are you? Just because that woman at your support group is in a bad way, it doesn’t have to follow that everything will go downhill as fast.’

I’d told Darren all about Flo. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and how awful it must be for her.

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘If Flo can cope with what she has to deal with, I’m sure I can manage. I mean, so far my symptoms aren’t so bad, and I may even go into remission, if I’m lucky.’

‘That’s my girl,’ said Darren. He put down Woody’s spoon and came over to me and stroked my hair. ‘You know I’m going to be so proud to marry you, don’t you?’

‘I know,’ I said, blinking away the tears. ‘And it’s OK, I’m. not planning to leave you standing at the altar.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Darren dryly.

To be honest, I still wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing marrying Darren, but I didn’t want to upset him. Besides, I felt like I was riding an unstoppable juggernaut. Everything was booked, all the guests had confirmed. If I pulled out now it wasn’t just Darren I’d be letting down, but all of our friends and family.

And then I thought back to my childhood. Sarah, Beth and Caz had been so important to me growing up and the breakdown of our little group had caused me such a lot of pain over the last few years. If one good thing had come from my illness, it was that my friends all seemed to be together again. I had to try and think things would all work out for the best. And then maybe they would.

I had taken to going to my support group every week. They’d become a necessary part of my life. And slowly I realized that there was life and hope after a diagnosis of MS. Tony was forever reminding me that he’d had it for fifteen years, and while he occasionally needed a wheelchair for outdoor trips, in the main he walked pretty well with a stick. Carol
clearly relished her life and didn’t appear to let her MS affect her at all. I found her resilience and strength quite remarkable. But the one I loved and admired the most was Flo. She was always so upbeat, always had a smile on her face. Yet you could see sometimes that she was in pain and that the feeding tube was a source of constant frustration to her. But she never complained, not once. Just smiled and put a brave face on it. Every week, I came away feeling more heartened than I had on the first occasion. After all, with Darren and Woody in my life, I had a lot to be thankful for.

Darren’s mum couldn’t always look after Woody, so I’d started asking Mum to do it. I told her I was doing a yoga class. To my delight, she was relishing the responsibility of having Woody – she’d always had a way with babies, one of the sadnesses in her life had been that she’d only had me, which is why she’d always been so welcoming to my friends. And for the first time since Dad died, she seemed to be emerging from her shell. She was even beginning to show a bit of interest in the wedding.

‘Is there anything you want me to do?’ she asked one day when I came round to drop Woody off. The first time she’d volunteered to do anything in months.

‘Would you…could you make the cake?’ I asked. Mum was brilliant at cake making. I’d been the envy of all my friends every birthday when Mum would bring out yet another amazing creation – normally Disney based, it had to be said.

‘I’d love it if you could make a Cinderella cake,’ I said. ‘You know, just like the one you made for my sixth birthday, only it has to be a fruit cake and have proper icing.’

‘Doris, how old are you? I can’t make you a Cinderella cake,’ Mum protested.

‘Oh yes you can,’ I said. ‘Please, Mum. Just for me.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Mum. ‘Now you’d better get off, or you’ll be late.’

I got up a bit too quickly and stumbled. Damn. I’d been careful to control my symptoms in front of Mum up until now.

‘Are you OK?’ she said as I righted myself.

‘Yes, fine,’ I said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘No reason,’ said Mum. ‘But if there was something wrong, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?’

‘I’ll trip over my own feet next,’ I tried to laugh it off. ‘There’s nothing to tell, honestly.’ But I caught her eye and saw a glimmer of worry there. I’d counted on the combination of Mum being wrapped up in her grief, and my ability to cover up ensuring that she wouldn’t notice anything wrong with me. But maybe she’d been more aware than I thought. I probably couldn’t keep it from her much longer.

The support group seemed less busy this week. I wondered at first, this being the middle of July, if people were already on holiday, but a sombre mood pervaded the air. I looked around for Flo, usually the life and soul of the party, but there was no sign of her. I had missed the previous week as Woody was ill, I wondered if Flo had been there then.

‘What’s the matter with everyone?’ I said to my neighbour, a middle-aged man in a wheelchair, to whom I’d never spoken before. ‘It seems very quiet today.’

‘Oh, hadn’t you heard?’ he said. ‘Poor Flo passed away yesterday.’

‘Oh no!’ I put my hand to my mouth. I knew from Dad how rapidly the disease could take hold, but Flo had seemed
fine a fortnight ago. ‘But…she was OK two weeks ago. Was it very sudden?’

The man looked at me pityingly. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘She’d planned it down to the last detail. Came in here last week to say goodbye.’

‘What?’ I said, but a creeping feeling of dread was spreading over me.

‘Her death,’ he said. ‘She planned it. She knew she was getting to the end of the road, so she flew with her family to Switzerland and yesterday she finally found peace. It was all over the news this morning.’

‘I didn’t have the radio on today,’ I said dully. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Flo, jolly, happy Flo, committing suicide? I just couldn’t credit it.

‘It’ll be in all the papers,’ said my new friend. ‘They’re saying the family shouldn’t be prosecuted, but it must be immensely stressful for them, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I wouldn’t like to think of my poor wife going to prison because of me,’ he continued.

‘No,’ I said automatically, shivering – what would happen to Darren if I asked him to help me die? Could I do that to him or Mum? My thoughts were reeling. It must get really, really bad for someone as vital and alive as Flo to take the drastic steps she had. I had thought she was so positive. She was the last person I could imagine taking her own life. If she couldn’t hack it, what chance did I have?

I got up and walked out of the centre, completely numb with shock. I didn’t really know where I was walking, and it was a surprise to find myself outside St Philomena’s church. It was years since I’d practised Catholicism properly. I’d had
Woody christened to please Mum and Father Miserecordie, and I had my own version of spiritualism. But the truth was, since Dad became ill, I’d been pretty angry with God and my mood hadn’t improved much since my diagnosis.

I stood on the porch, thinking about going in. At least it would be a quiet place to marshal my thoughts, if nothing else.

‘Going in?’ Father Miserecordie was by my side, appearing out of nowhere.

‘Sorry, you startled me,’ I said. ‘I’m thinking about it.’

‘Come and join me,’ said Father Miserecordie. ‘You don’t have to pray if you don’t want to, but I sense a soul in trouble.’

I followed him down the aisle, the same aisle down which I was hoping to walk in a couple of short months.

‘So, do you want to talk about anything in particular?’ asked Father Miserecordie, as we settled ourselves down in a front pew.

‘I was just wondering what you thought about assisted suicide,’ I said.

‘What
I
think, or what the Church teaches?’ he said.

‘Well, I can guess what the Church teaches,’ I said. ‘And I’m sure you’ll say the same, and until recently I’d have agreed with you. But now I’m not so sure.’

‘So what’s changed your mind?’

I poured out the story of my illness and my worries for Darren and Woody.

‘And now with Flo having gone ahead and done it, well I just can’t think straight,’ I said. ‘She seemed so full of life; I can’t believe she’s gone like that. And if she couldn’t find the strength to carry on, how can I? I’m not nearly as brave as her.’

‘Courage comes in many forms,’ Father Miserecordie
said. ‘You know I’m not going to tell you that I think she was right to take the path she chose, because I don’t. But I can understand why she did it. It was a courageous decision, even if I cannot approve the outcome. Do you really think you could do the same?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I just saw how hard it was for Mum and Dad and I don’t want Darren to have to go through it too.’

‘But your dad would never have taken a decision like that,’ said Father Miserecordie.

‘I know, far too Catholic,’ I said with a wry smile.

‘I’d say it was more than that actually,’ said Father Miserecordie. ‘He loved life so much that he clung on even when it seemed at its most dark and difficult. I think that’s brave too.’

‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘I’d never looked at it like that before.’

‘I believe your father was very close to God,’ said Father Miserecordie.

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But I’m still not convinced that I can be so long-suffering, and I don’t have his faith to sustain me. I really don’t know what I should do.’

‘You’ll find the right path I’m sure,’ said Father Miserecordie. ‘Time will tell.’

I was touched by his faith, even though I couldn’t feel it. But despite all the positive signs to the contrary, I couldn’t escape the feeling that time might be running out on me.