White Wedding (44 page)

‘Heard anything from “you know who”?’ Bel asked Max.

‘Only that he’s moved in with Jenny. Luke thought I ought to know. Poor bloke was in a state whether to tell me or not.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Violet, giving her an affectionate nudge.

Max shrugged her shoulders. ‘I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it. It didn’t actually hurt as much as I thought it would. Funny that. You can be with someone for so long and
then overnight you become strangers.’

The phone began to vibrate yet again.

‘Answer it or I will,’ commanded Bel.

Violet picked it up and put it on speakerphone.

‘Glyn,’ she said calmly into the mouthpiece. ‘You have to leave me alone.’

‘I just want to talk to you.’ He was crying hard and the words came out in stuttering chunks. ‘P-p-please come h-home.’

‘No, Glyn. It’s over. I won’t be answering the phone again.’

‘C-can we talk when you come to get your things? I’ll m-make us a meal and—’

‘I think it’s best if someone else comes and gets them,’ Violet interrupted him. Max pointed to herself and Bel.

‘Please, p-please—’

‘Don’t ring again, Glyn. It won’t do you any good.’

‘But what d-did I do?’ he pleaded.

‘Goodbye, Glyn.’

His tone hardened. ‘I will kill m-myself, Violet. You’ll be s-sorry. I’ll haunt you—’

Violet pressed the ‘disconnect’ button and shivered. She hadn’t even taken a breath before it rang again.

‘Well, that worked well,’ said Bel. ‘Bumhole.’ She picked up Violet’s phone and switched it to silent. Violet wouldn’t have turned it off just in case her mum
needed her.

‘Anyway, for anyone who is interested,’ Bel announced, ‘Richard and I went to Leeds for lunch yesterday. We even walked around the shops like a married couple.’

‘You are a married couple,’ said Max. ‘At least one of us got to sign the register.’

‘I win,’ laughed Bel. She seemed in amazingly good spirits. Just like the days when they had all first met.

‘That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say about him?’ asked Max. ‘Come on, one of us surely will have some sort of success story to inspire the other
two.’

‘That’s all the news I have for now,’ said Bel.

‘I think we are all due a bit of a quiet period,’ Max said and the humour had slipped from her voice. The others knew that whatever brave front she was putting on, she was still very
raw inside. The fact that Stuart had moved on so quickly to another relationship had really twisted the knife into her side.

‘Yeah, here’s wishing us a quiet spell,’ Bel raised her glass of wine and chinked it against the drinks of her friends. It was, however, a wish that was to be far from
granted.

Pav arrived at Carousel at ten p.m. that night. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. His brother and sister-in-law weren’t speaking and the atmosphere in the house was
horrible.

Violet had been on his mind all evening. He had hoped she would ring him to tell him she was all right, but he knew tonight would be hard for her and he did not want to pester her.

At least he could finish off the wall for her and make her smile that way. Then she could open her ice-cream parlour and have something to take her mind off things. He’d had a brainwave to
touch up the dapple-grey horse with gold paint. Then, when he was too tired, he could nap on the couch in the room upstairs and finish it before she came to the shop in the morning.

It was three o’clock in the morning when Glyn arrived at Carousel. It had taken him over two hours to walk there but there was no need to keep up the pretence of
agoraphobia. He was convinced she would be staying here. He knew that she was telling the truth that she wouldn’t be at her mother’s house, but he didn’t buy the hotel story, not
when she had a room in the shop she could stay in.

When he saw the red van parked there, a hit of rage blasted through him because he recognized it as the painter’s vehicle. He had been right, then. She had left him for another man. And
they were both here, together
.

Glyn took out the spare shop key that he’d had cut ages ago and slid it into the keyhole. He entered stealthily and then closed the door carefully behind him. Everything was still and
silent. The light from the full moon was silver-bright and highlighted the gold paint on the grey horse’s back. Glyn looked around.
They
must be upstairs. She must have put a bed up
there for them to fuck in.

He was about to look in the kitchen when he noticed the wedding dress hanging up at the side of the door in the protective plastic coat. Why was that there?
Because she’s going to wear
it for
him
, for
Pav, came the answer from a warped, irrational part of his brain. And he couldn’t let that happen, could he?

He went into the kitchen. There was a lighter and a packet of foreign cigarettes on the work surface.
His
. Glyn quietly searched the drawers and found a huge pair of scissors among the
cutlery. He opened the scissors and slashed at the dress with the blade. He wanted to scream with anger as he was doing it, but he wanted to surprise
them
in bed more, so instead all the
fury that would have been vented verbally channelled down the arm and into the hand holding the scissors. Peach roses fell to the floor, the silk cutting easily as the blade plunged into it and
ripped down. He was so caught up in the frenzy that he didn’t hear Pav pad down the stairs.

‘Who’s there? What are you doing?’
That voice, that dark, rich
Pav voice
.

Pav rounded the corner then saw the dress on the floor and the man standing above it. Pav lunged at him, grabbed his shoulder and Glyn gasped as he felt his arm twist behind him. The younger man
was fit and toned whereas he was soft and flabby.

‘Get off,’ he yelped, as Pav propelled him forward, to pin him against the wall.

‘You’re the one who came the other day and said you wanted to clean the windows, aren’t you?’ asked Pav. He nodded to himself. ‘So you were really staking out the
building.’ Glyn was no match for him strength-wise but Pav did not realize what he was holding in his left hand. Pav crushed Glyn against the wall and reached in his jeans pocket for his
telephone.

‘I’m going to ring the police,’ he said. ‘You have been stupid. There is nothing here to steal.’

He thinks I’m a burglar, thought Glyn. He has no idea who I am.

Pav punched in the first 9 and, as he did so, Glyn pushed all of his weight against Pav and freed his arm. He lifted it high in the air then watched the scissors swoop down in a smooth arc
towards the young man’s chest. Glyn heard Pav’s groan of pain as he crumpled to the floor. He saw the scissors sticking between his ribs.

Adrenaline coursed through Glyn’s panicking body. He hadn’t meant to stab him, merely to escape. His first thought was to help, and he grabbed the savaged silk from the floor to
staunch the wound. Then his brain pulled rank on his instincts. He couldn’t be seen here. He would be arrested and lose Violet for ever.

‘Help me,’ Pav pleaded. His hands were pressed against the wound, uselessly trying to stem the flow of blood, which was pulsing out between his fingers.

Glyn looked around and saw a bottle of the turpentine that Pav used to thin his paint. Quickly Glyn screwed off the top and soaked the material. He stepped over Pav to retrieve the lighter he
had seen in the kitchen. The fire would destroy the evidence that he had been here.

‘Please,’ said Pav again.

‘I can’t,’ said Glyn. ‘I’m sorry.’

He clicked the lighter and the material bloomed into flame. Then Glyn threw the lit rag down on to the box of paper serviettes and left Pav to die.

Violet was a little girl again on Nan’s knee. And Nan was singing that old song about the carousel horse.

Then the room went dark and smoke started to billow through the windows and she and Nan were coughing. And Nan was saying, ‘The horses, Violet. Rescue the horses.’ Violet could hear
their terrified whinnying. And she could still hear them when she woke up.

Something was very wrong. Violet’s heart was galloping with anxiety as she grabbed her jeans and stuck her bare feet into her boots before pulling a jumper over her pyjama top. She opened
the bedroom door cautiously, expecting to see smoke rushing up the staircase, but there was none.

The cottage was clear of any danger when she went downstairs and she wondered if she had just had a bad dream about Glyn. She knew she was too shaken up to sleep so grabbed her car keys from the
coffee table. Maybe she needed to drive past Glyn’s flat, just to be on the safe side. That dream was too real.

Nan’s song was reverberating in her head.
Horses
.
Carousel
. She did a three-point turn on the road and set off towards Maltstone first instead. She knew she was being
ridiculous going over to Carousel at this time in the morning, but at least if she could prove to herself that she was being stupid, she might get back to sleep.

As she turned into the garden-centre car park, she saw a light in the shop window. Then she saw that light flicker. Flames. And Pav’s car was there.
Dear Jesus
. She pulled her
mobile phone out of her jeans pocket. She had never rung an emergency number from it before – was it 999 from a mobile as well? She couldn’t remember afterwards what service she had
requested. She was talking at the same time as smashing the shop windows with pieces ripped from a nearby dry stone wall. She burned her hand when she grasped the door handle. Then she heard the
blessed sound of sirens in the distance getting louder and louder.

People appeared from nowhere, some in clothes, some in dressing gowns. Arms were holding Violet back as masked firemen fell into a long-practised routine. The ambulance men
were waiting for clearance to go in and attend to the wounded man. Police were talking into radios and muffled scratchy voices were answering back.

‘Okay,’ a fireman signalled to the ambulance crew, who strode in purposefully with their equipment.

‘Please let me in,’ sobbed Violet. ‘He’s my friend.’

And one of the firemen must have nodded because Violet was suddenly free and she flew into the building and saw Pav lying in a huge pool of blood, an oxygen mask on his face, her kitchen
scissors protruding from his chest.

‘What’s his name, love?’ one of the ambulance men was asking her.

‘Pavel Nowak. Pav,’ she answered, her throat full of smoke.

‘Pav, hello, Pav, we’re going to need you to stay with us, mate,’ the ambulance man said to him, while the other injected him and spoke into his radio.

‘Come and talk to him, keep him with us,’ said the ambulance man, beckoning Violet over. She dropped to her knees and pulled Pav’s big hand between her own. It felt so cold, so
heavy, so lifeless.

‘Pav, it’s Violet. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.’

The sight of him lying there, still and bloody, was tearing her apart and yet she couldn’t cry. The feeling inside her was too big for tears. It was as if the whole of the inside of her
had collapsed; it was a sensation of utter devastation. He couldn’t die. All that talent, that beauty, his youth – it couldn’t just be extinguished as easily as the firemen had
snuffed out the flames.

Violet lost all concept of time. On the one hand it seemed ages before Pav was wheeled out on the trolley towards the ambulance; on the other it flashed past as if whole frames of action were
missing.

‘You’ll need to get to the hospital yourself, pet,’ said the ambulance man. ‘There will be no room in this ambulance, shall I send for another?’

‘I’ll take her,’ said a man she didn’t recognize, one of the people from the nearby houses.

‘Please look after him. Don’t let him die,’ Violet pleaded with the ambulance man as he shut the back door.

‘We’ll be doing all we can,’ he said. ‘I promise you that, lass.’

While the ambulance tore away at break-neck speed, the siren cutting the air with its augmented shrill, the kind stranger put his arm round Violet and gently guided her to
where his wife was standing. ‘You just stay here, love, and I’ll go and get my car.’

The police were questioning a man from round the corner, who had seen a man with a grazed face run past him when he let his dog out for a wee. The dog had nearly tripped him up. The man was able
to supply a description of someone about five foot seven with mid-brown hair, stocky, wearing a dark-blue padded jacket. When they asked Violet if she knew who that could be, she answered yes.
Nothing felt real. Surely Glyn wouldn’t have done this?

As she sat in the stranger’s car, sad silent tears eventually began to leak out and slide down her face, making white tracks on her soot-painted skin. If only she’d had hindsight,
then she would never have gone back to Glyn a year ago. If she hadn’t gone back, Pav wouldn’t be on the critical list now. There was no way Pav would survive, she knew. There was too
much blood. The fire had raged in the corner by the window and not spread to him, but she knew that the smoke was as dangerous as the flames and the shop had been full of it. The flames had licked
away the beautiful horses. Only one dapple-grey head remained with its flecks of gold.

When they reached the hospital, she let the nurses put her in a wheelchair and take her inside. Violet didn’t even feel the pain in her hand or on her arms where glass had sprayed and cut
her. And inside she was numb. She wasn’t sure that she would ever be capable of feeling anything again.

They cleaned her up, tended her cuts and burns and stuck a giant plaster on her cheek, which made it nigh-on impossible to see out of her left eye. She didn’t want to go
home so she sat waiting for news, but all they could tell her was that Pav was in the operating theatre and could be for hours. Every time a doctor rounded the corner her heart seemed to freeze.
When that doctor passed without stopping to face her and tell her that he was sorry but there was nothing they could do, it began to beat again. ‘No news is good news,’ she repeated to
herself like a mantra. Nan always said that where there was life there was hope. She prayed to any god who would listen; she asked her grandad to help Pav; she imagined her affection for him as a
big white ball and rolled it towards the operating theatre. Then, in the distance, she heard her name being called and turned to find her mother walking towards her.