White Wedding (43 page)

She thought that could very possibly be true. She was slipping more and more into a dark, cold world of depression and panic attacks.

‘Oh Violet,’ he said, and he left his seat to go and sit next to her. His arms came round her and she surrendered against him. She felt his lips on her hair and his finger on her
chin lifting it up. Then his face came closer still and his lips touched hers. They barely butterflied past but something blissful tore through her and sped to every nerve ending. He pulled away
gently to see if he had offended her but saw instead that her lips were flushed, soft, and his met with hers again. Then he pressed her head into his shoulder and sighed in the manner of one who
had just found home.

‘I’m sorry, Violet. This is unforgivable of me,’ he said, his hold unrelenting. ‘I don’t want to let you go.’

‘You’re caught up in my confusion,’ said Violet, afraid to let herself believe that this beautiful man holding her could really be offering her anything but comfort.

‘My timing is not good, but my feelings are not confused,’ said Pav firmly and she knew without any doubt that she could not live a life without ever being kissed like that again.
Pav’s kiss had sealed the fate on the charade of a wedding. Whatever the fallout of that decision would be.

‘I’m scared, Pav. I’m scared of the power I have over his life,’ said Violet, savouring the warmth of him.

‘Don’t you see,’ Pav replied, ‘it is he who has more power over you? And he wields it like a stick to beat you with. You have to leave him. Today. He will cry and he will
plead and he will threaten and manipulate but you must be strong and go.’

He was right. All this time Violet felt weighed down by responsibility for Glyn, and it was an illusion: he called the real shots.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Pav, locking the shop. No painting had been done that day, but more important things had been achieved. ‘I want to know that you are
safe.’

‘Glyn wouldn’t harm me,’ said Violet.

‘Yes, he would,’ said Pav. ‘By hurting himself, he knows he hurts you. This is the way he affects you. It has to stop.’ His hand came out and cupped her cheek. ‘I
am here for you.’

Violet pushed her face against the roughness of his palm and drew a badly needed strength from it. She was shaking with fear as she got into her car, knowing that what she was about to do was
probably going to be the hardest thing of her life.

As Violet locked her car door, she resolved that in half an hour – max – she would be back inside it, driving away from Glyn’s flat for the last time. Well,
maybe not the last time because she doubted she would be able to gather all her stuff together tonight, but certainly the last time as his fiancée. She felt her resolve slipping with every
step she took towards him. Visions fired at her of Glyn wired up to machines in the hospital, Joy crying, Norman clutching his chest, a coffin, a grave, guilt, blame. Then she thought of that gold
and dapple-grey horse on the wall breaking away from Carousel, like the horse in that old song her nan used to sing, his heart free.

‘Please, God, keep me strong,’ said Violet as she walked up the staircase. The sound of each step she took felt amplified as if she were watching herself in a slow-motion film. Then
she was at the door. She opened it. Glyn was setting the table.

‘Hello, lovely Letty. Tea’s nearly ready, darling. Lemon sole tonight.’

‘Glyn . . .’

‘Come on, Letty. Sit yourself down.’

‘Glyn, I’m leaving you.’

The words slipped out so easily that she wondered why they had been so difficult for so long.

‘Don’t be daft,’ he turned and went into the kitchen. She heard him open the oven door. She heard a tray clatter to the floor and him grumble.

‘Glyn. Please come and sit down. Leave that.’

‘Leave it? Give over, Letty. I’ve been cooking for ages. I’m not just going to leave it,’ and he laughed – a horrible, forced noise. He knew she wasn’t
joking. He was refusing to hear the words. It was all happening again, but this time she had to stick to her guns. This time she had to go and he had to know that she would not be back. Whatever he
did to himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said gently, but firmly, to his back as he wiped at the mess of fish with a dishcloth. She took in a big breath to deliver the death knell:
‘There’s no good way to say this but I’m not in love with you.’

‘I know,’ he said, rinsing the cloth. ‘But you were once and you can be again.’

‘No, I can’t,’ she said. ‘It’s over.’

She twisted the engagement ring from her finger and placed it on the coffee table for him to find later. Then she went into the bedroom and pulled her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. Next
stop was the bathroom, where she put her dirty clothes that were in the wash basket into a carrier bag and then threw in her make-up. By the time she returned to the bedroom, Glyn was lifting the
case back up on to the wardrobe again. This time she knew, though, that nothing was going to stop her leaving – suitcase or no suitcase, she was going. Just as Freya had picked up her bag one
day and walked out on her abusive husband.

He expected her to try to wrestle it from him, but she didn’t. She grabbed a handful of carrier bags from the kitchen drawer and proceeded to fill them with her underwear, skirts, jeans,
phone charger, jewellery.

He stood with his back pressed against the second wardrobe so she couldn’t get to her clothes in there. She had to remember to stay firm and focused. Making her battle with him gave him
the opportunity to manipulate her, physically and mentally. Indifference was a stronger tool. She could live without a few blouses and skirts.

She took the four filled carrier bags and strode out of the room.

‘Letty, what’s happened? What is it? Is it
him
? Is that what this is all about?’

‘Him? Who?’

Glyn spat out the name. ‘That Pav bloke. You know I can’t live without you, don’t you? I can’t spend every day thinking about you together with him. I just couldn’t
go on.’ He was crying now. Heavy tears were rolling down his face and yet Violet forced herself to stay impervious.
Don’t fall for it
, said a voice inside her.
He is using all
the ammunition he can
.

‘Glyn, I stayed with you because I couldn’t bear to think you’d harm yourself again. But what basis for a relationship is that? Fear and blackmail?’

‘Well, at least you won’t have to worry about me getting in the way of you and
Pav
if I’m dead,’ he yelled.

Violet’s resolve wobbled, then she heard Pav’s words so clearly in her head it was as if he were at her side, whispering them into her ear:
This is control, this is not
love
.

‘You’ll hurt your parents far more than you can ever hurt yourself, Glyn. They went through hell last time.’

‘I don’t care,’ he screamed at her. And she saw that he didn’t. His wants came first. All this time she had thought he was the most generous person she had ever met, and
in truth he was the most selfish. She feared for Joy and Norman. But she couldn’t stay with Glyn just to protect them.

She took a deep breath and said something that felt cruel and alien to her.

‘I won’t grieve if you injure yourself, Glyn. You can’t hurt me by hurting yourself any more.’

‘We’ll see, shall we?’ he said, in the manner of a petulant child intent on pulling out all the stops to punish when he couldn’t have his own way.

‘I’ll be staying at a hotel,’ she said flatly, without any emotion. ‘Mum and Nan have enough to deal with at the moment and I won’t be telling them where I am so
there’s absolutely no point in ringing them unless you want to get yourself a police harassment order.’

‘God, you’ve changed,’ he spat bitterly.

‘I hope so,’ she replied.

‘I won’t be here after tonight, if you change your mind, you do know that,’ he said, in a voice so quiet and calm that it chilled Violet to the bone. She pulled all her
reserves of strength to the front line and stared him straight in the eye.

‘Goodbye, Glyn.’

Then she took a step towards the outside door and he sprang in front of her, barring her way. He was using his full toolbox of tricks.

‘Please,’ he sank to his knees. ‘I’m begging you not to leave me. I’ll change. I’ll do anything.’

‘No, Glyn.’

‘I love you so much.’ His hands were clenched as if he were praying to her. ‘Look after my mum and dad for me.’ Her pity for him segued into revulsion at that.

‘This isn’t love, Glyn. And you know it isn’t.’

‘You did this to me,’ he yelled. ‘You came into my life and you made me love you and now you’re ripping out my heart.’

She opened the door, determined to do whatever was necessary to get out, but, to her surprise, he didn’t stop her. Instead he collapsed to the floor, prostrate, sobbing. Violet walked out
and shut the door behind her, half expecting it to open again and for an arm to drag her inside with brute force, just like in an old horror movie after the tension had been released, only for it
to crank straight back up again.

Once she had left the building, she gulped at the outside air as if her lungs were starved of it, just as she had been in her own dreams. She felt as if a thick rope that had tethered her to
something heavy and rotten had been severed. She dared to glance upwards hoping that she wouldn’t see him at the window, ready to jump out. But all was still. She opened her car door, climbed
inside and, with a severely trembling hand, slotted the key into the ignition.

She drove straight to her mum and Nan’s house. By the time she got there, there were fourteen missed calls from Glyn on her phone. She would have to change her number in
the morning. Another job to add to the list.

She breezed in with a lightness of step she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Susan was ironing in the lounge watching a
Come Dine with Me
rerun. Nan was in her dressing gown, asleep in the big chair. She looked tiny, bony and suddenly very old.

‘Hello, love, this is a nice surprise,’ said Susan, folding up one of Nan’s nighties. She studied her daughter’s face. ‘Are you all right? You look—’
she hunted for the right words – ‘bloody awful.’

‘Mum.’ Violet swallowed. ‘I’ve left Glyn.’

‘Oh,’ said Susan, and she switched off the iron. ‘Come into the kitchen and we’ll talk.’

Violet followed her mum out of the lounge. ‘How’s Nan?’

‘Not brilliant,’ said Susan. ‘I could weep at some of the things she comes out with: talking to angels and singing that song about the carousel horse all the time. I made her a
cheese sandwich and she swore blind that she’d never liked the stuff.’

‘Nan? Not like cheese?’ said Violet with a nasty feeling of dread. She remembered having her tea every Sunday at Postbox Cottage. Lots of cheese and crackers and celery and
pâté, and Nan and Grandad would have a glass of port with it and pour her a glass of Ribena so she didn’t feel too left out.

‘Lately she hasn’t been able to manage a dry night,’ said Susan.

‘You must be so tired, Mum.’

‘I’m her carer so it comes with the job,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t care how hard it gets; she’s not going in a home.’ She took a bottle of white wine out of
the fridge and screwed off the top. ‘I think I need one of these before you start, and I’m sure you do. So come on, out with it.’

And so Violet told her. Everything. And at the end of it Susan felt the drag of sadness in her heart.

‘You silly lass,’ she said. ‘I’m your mother. It doesn’t matter whatever else is going on in my life, you should always be able to talk to me. What if you’d
got a daughter and she were sitting where you are now and you were sitting here? How hurt would you be that she didn’t come to you for help?’

Violet nodded. ‘I’ve made a right mess of everything.’

‘No, you would have made a right mess if you’d married him. I’m glad you’ve had the sense to pull out if you feel like you do. I mean, I know he thought the world
revolved around you but . . .’ Susan stopped, afraid she was saying too much.

Violet urged her on. ‘But what, Mum? Go on, say it.’

‘I’d always wanted you to have someone with a bit more fire in them. Life with Jeff might have been cut short but, my God, we had some fun. I never saw much light in your eyes when
you talked about Glyn.’

Susan reached over and hugged her daughter. ‘Life’s too short to be a martyr, Violet. Promise me that your life starts again right now, right here.’

‘I promise,’ said Violet. But she had a dreadful feeling of foreboding that she wasn’t quite out of the dark woods yet.

‘Christ on a bike,’ Max exclaimed, as she sat in Postbox Cottage about to dig into a fish-bit and chip supper.

Listening to Violet’s story both her mouth and Bel’s had dropped open so much that they looked like two copies of Munch’s
Scream
.

‘How many times has he rung you now?’ asked Bel, hearing the phone vibrate yet again on the table.

‘One hundred and two,’ replied Violet.

‘Well, at least he’s still alive, then,’ said Max, crunching down on a chip.

‘That was a bit harsh,’ winced Bel.

‘True, though,’ sniffed Max. ‘You can do better. Next time—’

Violet held up her palm towards Max to halt her and chuckled. ‘I think I’ll have a rest from men for a while.’

‘That’s three cock-up weddings now.’ Then Bel made chimp noises as the chip she had just put into her mouth was too hot.

‘If Roy Castle were still alive, I’d be writing to
Record Breakers
,’ said Max. ‘Pass me that vinegar, V. My fish bits are crying out for it.’

‘That sounds so wrong,’ winced Violet. The phone vibrated again.

‘I’m going to pick up that thing in a minute and tell him to piss off,’ hissed Max. ‘You need to change your number.’

‘I know. I’ll do it tomorrow,’ said Violet. She still couldn’t believe that she had broken free of Glyn. After all this time of being totally and utterly miserable, she
had just walked out of his life today. Euphoria didn’t even touch it. But she needed company tonight. She wasn’t so sure any more that Glyn wouldn’t try to hurt her. Max and Bel
had been only too happy to come over when she rang them and told them the news. Max had picked up fish and chips on the way; Bel had picked up a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc from Rhythm and
Booze.