Thirteen Weddings (33 page)

‘Lachie is leaving in two weeks?’

‘Yes. And despite what you say about him not being interested, he does still care about you, Bronte. He’s been asking after you.’

‘Has he?’

‘Yes.’

I’ve stopped going for Friday-night drinks, but Bridget hasn’t.

‘He’s doing the wedding on Saturday,’ she tells me with meaning. ‘One last gig.’

‘I’m not sure I can—’

‘For pity’s sake,’ she snaps. ‘Don’t be another Sally. Rachel is depending on you. You’ve already let her down once this month.’

It’s true. I couldn’t face the last wedding I was scheduled to do, so Sally had to step in in my place. Made a change.

I nod, still feeling tearful. ‘Okay.’ I dry my eyes and blow my nose loudly. ‘Polly’s really getting help?’

‘Yes.’ She nods, but there’s a wariness to her expression. ‘I told her you were having some personal issues. It’s why you haven’t called.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply quietly.

‘She asked if it was to do with your dad.’

I give her a guarded look. ‘Did you tell her no?’

She looks at her hands and doesn’t answer.

‘What did she say?’

‘I didn’t know,’ she replies quietly. ‘About your dad.’

‘What about him?’ I ask dully, wondering just how far back Polly went.

‘She said he’s sick.’

I nod. ‘He is.’

‘And she said you had a difficult childhood,’ she adds carefully.

I swallow. ‘I don’t like to talk about it. And Polly should know that. She does know that, usually, when she’s not off her face on alcohol. I thought you said she’d
stopped drinking?’

‘She has. She was stone-cold sober.’

‘Then what the hell is she doing spouting off about my family?’ I ask angrily, getting to my feet. ‘If I want to talk about what happened, I’ll talk about it. I
don’t need that silly bitch bringing it all up again!’

From the look on her face, I’ve done the impossible: I’ve shocked Bridget.

I storm into my bedroom and slam the door. I’m shaking all over – violently. I want to break something, but the feeling doesn’t last too long. It’s a good half an hour
before Bridget dares to knock on my door.

‘Come in,’ I call.

She does, warily.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say bluntly, sitting up on my bed. I’m still angry, but I know it’s not Bridget’s fault. ‘I just can’t believe all that shit
followed me around for years, and Polly
knows
that. The talk, the rumours, the weird stares. It’s why I left my little beach town in South Australia. I couldn’t wait to get away
from there. She used to understand that.’ Sudden sadness crushes my anger and my bottom lip begins to tremble. ‘Oh God, not more tears.’ I sniff back my snot and reach for another
tissue, and Bridget ventures into the room and perches on the end of my bed. ‘I felt like a leper at school,’ I tell her miserably. ‘Polly was my only friend. I thought it was
just a matter of time before she ditched me, too, but she never did. I thought she’d be glad to get rid of me when I moved to Sydney, but the stupid cow followed me there a year
later.’

I laugh disconsolately and dry my eyes. Bridget regards me with compassion.

‘She always was a bloody nightmare,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t know why we were friends in the first place. I don’t know why we’re still friends.’

‘You have history,’ Bridget says gently.

I shake my head. No. I will not bawl my eyes out again. ‘Yeah, and she still didn’t ask me to be a frigging bridesmaid.’

Bridget starts to laugh, and I do, too. ‘Not that I wanted to be a frigging bridesmaid!’ I cry, bordering on hysterical. ‘Did you see what a nightmare she was? Poor
Michelle!’

My laughter dies eventually. ‘I guess she made the right choice in the end. Michelle was there for her, when I wasn’t.’

‘Polly’s not here for you, either,’ Bridget says quietly. ‘She hasn’t been here for you for a long time. Whatever history you have... I know you feel loyal to her,
but sometimes friendships are meant to go their separate ways.’

I nod shakily. ‘If I hadn’t come to that wedding, I wouldn’t be in this place right now.’

‘Don’t you think you still would have gone for that job at
Hebe?
If you had, you and Alex would have still crossed paths.’

I contemplate this and realise she’s right. And I’m pretty sure we still would have had chemistry. ‘But I might not have met you,’ I say as a fresh bout of tears fills my
eyes.

‘Well, in that case, I’m glad you came to the wedding.’ She sniffs as I witness another first: Bridget crying.

‘I’m sorry, Bridge. I know I’ve been a nightmare to live with. I’m sorry I’ve been moping about Alex. I promise to pick myself up and get on with things
now.’

‘Starting with the wedding this weekend,’ she says firmly. ‘Don’t turn into another Sally.’

I nod quickly. ‘Okay.’

‘Hey, you!’

I smile at Maria’s warm greeting as I climb into the back seat. ‘Hello!’ I reply as I put my kit bag on the seat next to me and lean forward to give her a kiss on her cheek.
‘Wow!’ I spy her baby bump – and it’s grown.

‘I know!’ she puts her hands on her belly. ‘It seems to have doubled in size overnight.’

‘Not quite,’ I tell her, buckling my seatbelt as Rachel sets off. ‘But you’re definitely looking pregnant now.’

‘It feels like ages since I saw you,’ Maria says, swivelling in her seat to face me. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Really busy at work,’ I reply apologetically.

‘Russ said you haven’t been well?’

‘Not that great, no, but I’m much better now.’

‘But you’ve still been at work?’

‘Yeah.’ My health problems are mental, not physical. ‘I just got a promotion, so I’ve been pushing through it.’

She looks concerned. ‘Take it easy, though. You don’t want to wear yourself out.’

‘Thanks. I’m fine now,’ I reiterate. ‘It’ll be good to get some fresh air this weekend.’

My eleventh wedding – tenth without including Pete & Sylvie’s – is in Rachel’s home town of Bath. The journey is about two hours’ long, and we’re setting
off early on Saturday morning and staying the night in a B&B.

‘You look well,’ I say to Maria. It’s true. I didn’t think her hair could get any glossier, but the proof is right in front of me.

She smiles. ‘Thanks.’

As Rachel drives into Camden, my nerves kick in. I haven’t seen Lachie since Maria and Russ’s wedding two months ago. He may have asked after me, but he hasn’t tried to contact
me, and he hasn’t attempted to see me. If my friends and colleagues have caught up with him, it’s because they’ve gone to his pub. Considering how easily he came to be a part of
our crowd, it’s strange how far he seems to have withdrawn.

‘Can you run up?’ Rachel asks me, as she pulls up on double yellow lines outside Lachie’s place. ‘I might have to go around the block.’

‘Sure.’ I prepare myself for seeing him again.

Lachie lives in an apartment within a townhouse which is not unlike the converted house where Bridget and I live, although Lachie’s could do with a coat of paint. I’ve never been
inside, so I climb out of the car and walk up the broad grey steps leading to the property’s front door. There’s a keypad with four buttons on it. I can’t see Lachie’s name,
but I remember his flatmate is called Dan. I’ve met him at the pub in the past.

I press the button with Dan’s name on it and a moment later, the door buzzes. I push it open, and hesitantly step inside. Which one is his apartment? I hear a door open on the first floor,
up the communal stairs.

‘Come up,’ Lachie calls.

The hallway is littered with junk mail. I step over it and climb the grubby stairs past the cream-coloured walls stained with years of handprints and who knows what else. One of the two doors at
the top of the flight of stairs is ajar, so I tentatively push it open.

‘Lachie?’ I call, peeking my head around the door.

‘Bron?’ He appears in the hallway, looking surprised to see me.

‘Weren’t you expecting me?’ I ask, walking inside.

‘Well, you didn’t come to the last wedding, so I wasn’t sure. I’ll be with you in a sec.’

My eyes scan the room. It’s tidy, but not too tidy, and there’s not a lot of furniture apart from a comfy sofa, a big flatscreen TV with a PlayStation set up in front of it and two
remote controls on the smudged glass coffee table. You can tell two guys live here.

‘I didn’t know you did that last wedding?’ I say. Rachel didn’t mention it.

‘Yeah.’ He gives me an odd look and then shakes his head, chuckling under his breath as he zips up his backpack. ‘I thought you must’ve been avoiding me.’

‘No,’ I say resolutely. ‘No. Not at all.’

He slings his backpack over his shoulder and turns to face me. ‘How are you?’ His question is packed full of meaning.

‘I’m alright,’ I say unenthusiastically.

‘How’s Alex?’ His tone is dry, but there’s even more meaning crammed into this question.

‘I don’t know,’ I tell him truthfully, my mouth turning down. He raises one eyebrow in silent query. ‘He’s been working in another building. I haven’t seen
him since just after Russ and Maria’s wedding.’

‘Oh.’ His blue eyes study me. ‘And are you alright with that?’

I shrug. ‘I’m trying to be,’ I answer truthfully.

He snatches a set of keys from the kitchen countertop and stuffs them into his pocket before grabbing his guitar case.

‘Ready.’

I lead the way back down the stairs, past the scattered piles of junk mail and out of the front door. Rachel is nowhere to be seen. Then she appears around the corner and pulls up.

‘Quick!’ she shouts through her open window. ‘Police car behind me.’

She screeches away from the kerb. There’s not a lot of room in the back and the whole of Lachie’s left-hand side is pressing into me.

‘Are you alright there?’ Maria asks him apologetically. ‘Sorry, sitting in the back makes me feel sick at the moment.’

‘I’m fine,’ Lachie says before glancing at me. ‘Will my guitar fit in the boot?’ he asks Rachel.

‘I don’t think so, sorry,’ she replies.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I tell Lachie, but he takes my kit bag from my lap and finds room for it under his guitar case.

I’m still not feeling very chatty, so I listen while the three of them make conversation before switching off and staring out of the window.

I finally spoke to Polly yesterday. She admits that she has a problem and she’s trying to combat it, with Grant’s – and Michelle’s – support. She apologised to me
for mouthing off at the pub that night – Grant told her all about it. She tried to strike up a conversation about me going home for Christmas, but I’m still not ready to open up to her
about that.

Lachie’s body is warm and comforting against my side and I suddenly feel very tired. I close my eyes.

I’m playing the organ, my small fingers tripping across the keys. I can’t believe I’m making this big sound – me! All by myself! Pride swells inside
my heart as my feet press on the pedals below. It’s only a simple tune, but surely Daddy will be proud of me. Oh, please let him be proud of me! I just want him to love me. Then suddenly
he’s there, staring down at me, but he’s not proud, he’s not happy. He’s angry. My fingers falter, my feet freeze, and then his hand closes over my wrist and he drags me off
the stool.

The dream jerks me awake, and Lachie jerks in turn. He sleepily unfolds his arms and looks down at me, blinking slightly as he comes to – he must’ve drifted off as
well. ‘What’s up?’ he murmurs. Rachel and Maria are talking, oblivious to the two of us in the back.

My pulse is racing and my heart has sped up.

‘Hey,’ he says gently. I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly, pressing my eyes closed to block out the memories, but I can’t.

My schoolmates are pointing at me, sniggering and whispering. Their expressions are hateful as they revel in my discomfort. I’m not doing anything to deny the rumours
are true...

I want to shove open the door and get out of the car, but we’re travelling at such speed, it would be suicide.

‘Bad dream?’ Lachie asks me and my eyes fly open.

I nod quickly and reluctantly let go of his hand, placing it back on his lap. But he shifts and puts it around me instead, pulling me into the crook of his arm. The gesture makes me want to cry.
He’s so kind to me, so sweet and gentle and funny. I don’t deserve him. But I don’t want to let him go, either. I turn into him and bury my face in his chest and he holds me
tightly as my breathing regulates. His hand moves up to stroke my hair and I turn my face so I can breathe more easily, but I don’t want to move away. His lips press onto my forehead and my
breath does an about-turn, quickening instead of calming down. I pull away and look up at him. If Alex’s eyes are the same shade as a cool blue ocean, Lachie’s are the colour of a
summer sky. My gaze drops to his lips and I remember the passionate kiss we shared at Pete and Sylvie’s wedding. He removes his arm from around me and that snaps me to life. He slowly rests
his head back on the headrest, but his eyes never leave mine. His face is full of regret, but I drag myself away and turn to look out of the window. I’m attracted to him. I’ve always
been attracted to him. But whatever Bridget said about me jumping back on the horse, I can’t do that with Lachie, even if he wanted me to. He deserves better than to be my rebound guy.

We’re staying in the same B&B as the groom, so we check in and drop our bags off before going to the bride’s parents’ house.

I don’t pick up on the atmosphere at first, but after a while it becomes clear to me that we do not have a happy bride on our hands. Her name is Hester and Rachel flashes me an
apprehensive look when she tells Maria she doesn’t mind whether she wears her hair up or down.

It’s not that she’s being easy or simply bowing to the expert. She doesn’t care. Her mind is on other things. And no matter how much we try to cheer her up or tell her she
looks beautiful, the most we get is a distracted smile.

‘Didn’t Maria have a practice run with her?’ I ask Rachel.