Trophy Life (18 page)

'Oh, shit, the time,' Freddie said out of nowhere looking at his watch. 'I have to pick up Rupe.'

The words stabbed Amy, bringing context back into their bubble. Freddie's eyes lingered on her a moment too long.  'Want to come?'

'To pick up your son?' It came out abrupt, horrified. As if to accent this, she stood up uncertainly.

'His nursery is just round the corner. It’s lucky that Fran and I work near each other because we were able to send him there.'

'I’m not sure that’s such a good idea-'

'Oh come on. We’ve still got things to discuss and I’d love you to meet him.'

And before she knew it, she was waiting at the door of Little Tigers Day Nursery, multi-coloured drawings evident through the glass of the windows around it, waiting for Freddie to emerge. Mums and dads kept coming in and out of the building, smiling at her with a mix of caution and politeness as they passed. Most of them looked like they were her age, maybe slightly older. They all looked so tired when they went in, but almost invariably transformed when they came back out holding their offspring in their arms or by the hand. It was like they were feeding off their energy. Finally, she saw Freddie. 

'Amy this is Rupert,' Freddie said, holding the hand of a slim boy with tousled brown hair, giant brown eyes and rosebud lips. He was a truly beautiful child. 'Say hello to Amy, Rupert.' Rupert obliged politely and Amy knelt down to eye level. 'I’ve known Amy since before you were born.' Rupert’s eyes widened at this.

'Did you know mummy since before I was bored?' he asked looking up at Freddie, the mispronunciation of the word making him all the more adorable.

'Yes,' laughed Freddie.

Rupert chatted animatedly and enthusiastically if not sequentially at Amy and Freddie, making them laugh with his comments as they walked back to the office. Looking around at the people they passed, Amy thought that to them they might look just like a happy family reunited after a day’s work and nursery.

'Did you help tidy up today Rupes?'

'No daddy.'

'Why not?'

'Because I am too handsome.'

They burst into laughter at this declaration, delivered with complete sincerity.

Once they reached the office and Amy’s car, she felt herself tense. She wasn’t sure why but there was an awkwardness in saying goodbye, as if they had done something untoward. Only Rupert seemed unaware of this.

'Bye Amy!' he waved his little hand with abandon.

She waved back with a, 'Bye!'

'I’ll be in touch tomorrow,' Freddie said. 'There’s loads to do just finalising numbers and making sure everything is lined up.'

'Ok,' she smiled, getting into her car and watching as they disappeared into the building. The smile seemed glued to her face, like she had been filled with so much joy that her face couldn't contain it. But at the same time, it was bittersweet. There was a tiny thought igniting into life in her mind. Could that have been her life?
Should
it have been her life? Had it been stolen from her all those years ago? 

Chapter 14

'Are you ready?' a faraway female voice echoed.

Playful sunshine streamed through the large bay window of the hotel room as Amy surveyed herself in the mirror. The thin gauzy fabric of her veil added an ethereal quality to everything she saw, from the delicate yet plush material of her skirt billowing around her to the fine beading at the top of the dress. It was a Vera Wang creation, an A-line strapless dress. It had a glittering belt which dazzled at her waist, cinching it so perfectly, it made her look tiny, especially with the mounds of fabric which flowed down from it. The assistant at the bridal shop had breathed that it was 'So Chelsey Clinton. Just divine.' Amy didn’t really know what this meant, but she did think the dress was beautiful.

That day, in Browns bridal shop in Marylebone with Julia and Lucy, they had laughed as she had tried on so many dresses, enjoying the flowing champagne and private dressing room with its endless mirrors. It had actually been quite nerve wracking entering the elegant shop, but Harry had insisted that she go there. Apparently Giselle had said it was simply the only place to shop for bridal wear. When she had finally tried on this dress, the laughter had given way to gasps.

'Definitely that one,' Julia had declared, her champagne flute sloshing precariously near another exorbitantly priced gown.

Dress shopping was one of the only aspects of the wedding over which Amy had wielded any control. Everything else seemed to have a life of its own; the planning was like an unstoppable river rushing towards an inevitable waterfall.

She reached her hand up to touch her hair before hearing a squeak of dissent and seeing a look of horror cross Jean-Paul’s face from behind her in the reflection. He had his hand outstretched as if to stop her. She smiled back at him and lowered her hand from the intricate up-do from which strands of her hair flowed around her face. James had not long ago finished applying her makeup with a flourish, the two men tussling for her to move this way and that.

'Amy?' It was Laura, the event planner. 'It’s time to go.'

She snapped out of her reverie turning to see her mum and dad waiting along with Julia who was holding a squirming Flynn. Her children along with Giselle and James’s were acting as bridesmaid and page boys while Julia was her maid of honour. Lucy, newly skinny and keen to show it off, was also wearing a stylish bridesmaid’s gown, a simple black and white backless silk number.

'I won’t hug you,' Julia said. 'But you look beautiful.' She had tears in her eyes and blew her a kiss.

Everyone except Laura, Amy, her dad and a photographer left. Laura kept talking into a headset, looking straight ahead as she did so, except when she was consulting a clipboard. The photographer meanwhile kept taking surreptitious snaps of Amy whilst she did innocuous things like looking out of the window or checking her nails.

Eventually, Amy threaded her arm through her father’s and Laura guided them through the halls of the hotel, down an elegant staircase and towards the events suite. As they walked through the hotel lobby, people stopped and stared. Women gasped and children pointed.

'Mummy, it’s a princess!' one small girl holding a doll had said.

'It’s a bride, darling,' her mother had responded in a stage whisper.

Amy walked slowly, purposefully. She could feel her father’s pride emanating from every part of him. 'You really do look beautiful,' he said, still looking ahead.

The complement was the same as one Harry had given her on one of their early dates. It might have been their third or fourth and he had taken her to the country home of one of his friends, the Earl of Firlton.

'You really do look beautiful,' he had whispered as they walked up to the grand doorway to the imposing estate home. He was always complementing her, making her feel special. She had still been in two minds about their compatibility. Still unsure whether they were a good match. But his intentions towards her always seemed so pure and positive; it was like basking in warm light after being out in the cold. 

After that first date she had been certain that they would not have another, but he had pursued her so diligently, so purposefully. He had been so attentive, calling and texting that it had felt almost rude to say no. What’s more, dating Harry was certainly exciting. Every outing was like visiting another world, whether it was the dark and tempting one of Maddox Club or the bright glamour of that day at a country estate.

So, while Amy had never been blown away by their conversations, had hardly ever burst into giggles like she had regularly with Freddie or chatted for hours like she remembered in the early days with Will, her curiosity and his enduring attentions towards her propelled her forwards. After all, what else did she have to do? It wasn’t like her career was going anywhere. There had been no success on that front at all. Indeed, her parents’ letterbox as well as her virtual mailbox welcomed only bills and junk mail nowadays. There wasn’t even the merest sniff of a job offer.

Amy could remember how, welcomed by a butler of almost stereotypical pomposity, their feet had echoed their way through vast halls and gilded rooms to a large, dusty dining room with windows all along one side. There they had met with Teddy and his wife, Charlotte – Lady Charlotte Amy had silently giggled to herself – a tall redhead with a nose so long it would have made Pinocchio gasp. Harry and Teddy had reminisced about old times while Amy and Lottie – for that is what Charlotte insisted she call her – had a stilted conversation about the weather and the house. It was, considered Amy, not dissimilar from one she had seen Lady Mary share with a maid the night before on
Downton Abbey
.

There had been plenty of awkward conversations since then. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised by this. Amy had little in common with most of Harry’s friends’ partners. Most of them had attended the same private girls’ schools, were on the same committees and had grown up in the same circles. Yes, they had attended university, but that seemed to be something they had done as a sideline, a small distraction, a tick box exercise. None of them had ever considered an education as worthwhile in its own right or something that might lead to a career. Not, she had thought sardonically, that she could talk.

Now, as Amy waited for the frosted glass doors to open for her to walk down the aisle, she forced herself to concentrate. Laura was giving her a silent countdown with her fingers, mouthing at the same time. Three. Two. One. Go.

As the doors swung open, the music stopped. Amy held her breath as the light from the hall poured in, momentarily blinding her. After what must have been only a few second, but felt like much longer, she heard the music starting up again with the familiar first chords of Richard Wagner’s
Bridal March
.

Laura had made Amy and her dad practice this for a whole week. At first they had laughed their way through the practice sessions, but as the day had loomed larger they had taken it more seriously, something for which Amy was glad now as she was able to operate on autopilot. Hold your flowers low. Chin up. Not too high. Smile.

***

Amy didn’t need to count the number of guests in the vast events room. She knew it by heart: 350. A mere 80 were from her side, the rest from Harry’s. Apparently they simply could not avoid inviting Lord and Lady Sicklemore nor the Finches or Dewsberrys or the Earl of Halsbrook. Laura had told Amy that Andrea had actually invited several royals, although only a couple of minor ones had RSVP’d in the affirmative. She was fairly certain her wedding rivalled Debrett’s in the volume of present honourable titles.

As she marched her way down the aisle, she caught her sister’s eye. Julia gave her a big thumbs up. She looked so happy for her. Was it genuine? Amy thought back to when Julia had first met Harry. They had been dating three months by then and, despite being practically inseparable and her having met countless friends of his, the only other person from Amy’s side that they had seen had been Lucy. Amy needed her sister to meet Harry as a reality check, because it didn’t actually feel real. It was still all so alien.

On the night itself, everything had been so pleasant. So 'nice'. Everyone chatted and smiled around the table and eaten and drunk, but there was something about the interactions that didn’t quite fit.

'It must get quite tense sometimes,' Mark had said jovially to Harry as they talked about his job. Her brother-in-law then proceeded to lift his fork to his mouth, eyes on Harry.

'Ah yes, well, it has its challenges,' Harry had begun with a chuckle. Lifting his fork in the air as if about to conduct a concerto, he went on, 'I mean, the calibre of clients at my firm does mean that things are more, shall we say, refined, but there have been some funny instances. I remember one angry husband posted a copy of their Visa card on Facebook showing entries for her plastic surgery.' He shook his head and smiled into the middle distance as if recalling a fond memory.

Anyone who didn’t know her sister, her brother-in-law, would have thought they were having a great time. But Amy sensed their discomfort, their surprise at this man she had brought into their midst. In particular, she could feel that Harry’s manner, his admittedly conceited demeanour and tendency to bulldoze through a conversation were out of sync with her sibling’s family’s more laid back approach. But it wasn’t like her sister was completely unaccustomed to such things. After all, their mother was a barrister. Conversation at home had been lively in the extreme. She tried to broach it with her sister later, but she had been evasive.

'What do you think?' she had asked her on the phone that night. Usually while on the phone to Julia, Amy would have been multi-tasking. Maybe removing her makeup or even brushing her teeth, but today her sister had her undivided attention.

'He was nice.' The tone was bright, pleasant. Completely fake.

'Julia! Nice? What does that mean?' Amy was desperate for her sister to like him. To approve. Without that, she knew she couldn’t continue.

Her sister had paused, clearly debating with herself whether she should say anything.

'He’s, um, very talkative.' Quickly adding, 'Not in a bad way though.'

'What’s wrong with that? You like chatty people.'

'Yes.' Another pause. 'Look he’s a really confident guy. Obviously very successful.' That had been the end of it. Yet she hadn’t had to say anymore. Amy knew exactly what her sister had thought. By 'Talkative' she had meant that Harry hadn’t let anyone else get a word in edgeways. Amy had silently willed him to ask Mark a question, to take an interest in their kids, but to no avail.

'I think he was a bit nervous,' Amy said defensively. 'It’s hard to meet your girlfriend’s family.'

'I know,' Julia had conceded. 'Of course it is. Sorry. He’s just different from the kind of guy I thought you liked, but what do I know? The most important thing is that you’re happy.'

Of course she was happy. Why wouldn’t she be happy?

She looked at Harry standing at the front of the room, looking so handsome in his morning suit. He was always complementing her. Always telling her she was beautiful. How she was so different to other girls he knew. Her life had been so much more since she had been with him. It had been unrecognisable in fact. No more quiet days searching the jobs market for anywhere that might be remotely willing to hire her. Now she was whizzing around in Harry’s Aston Martin. No more humiliating rejections. Instead she found herself swept to the fronts of queues and in the VIP rooms of the hottest places in London. It had been like swapping drudgery for a dream. What could be wrong with that?

***

'Ladies and Gentlemen, honoured guests, welcome. We are so happy you’re here with us on this special day.' This was a promising start to James’s best man speech. Out of all of his myriad of friends, Amy had been surprised that Harry had chosen his brother as best man, especially given their ill-concealed rivalry, but he had said that he had been James’s and it only seemed right since their father’s death. It’s what he would have wanted.

'Harry has never been the fastest or the funniest or the
tallest
one.' This attracted a titter. Amy saw Giselle roll her eyes and Harry looking annoyed. 'But he has been the smartest and the luckiest I have known. No more so than when it comes to love. For, from the first time I met Amy, I knew she was the one for him.'

Amy had to stop her mouth from dropping open. This was certainly not how she remembered their first meeting.

In fact, it had been an intimidating experience, not least given the fact that it was also her first experience of meeting Giselle. That had been hard enough. She had never seen such human perfection before. It had unsettled Amy, making her wonder what such a glamazon must think of a tiny, imperfect creature such as herself. Like a swan meeting a shrew.

Then there was the clear sense of competitiveness between the two brothers that threatened to bubble over. She couldn’t help but cast back her mind to the conversation that day.

'So, this is Amy,' James had said with an impish smile. The way he said her name made it feel like something childish. Silly. Later in the proceedings, he had said, 'You’re certainly different from what mummy had expected. Eh bro? There again, better than the alternative.' He had guffawed and Amy had wondered what he had meant, whilst simultaneously being slightly annoyed that Harry had said and done nothing to defend her. It was Giselle who had stood up for her, elbowing James hard in the ribs.