Читать книгу No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham - Brigid Coady - Страница 10

The little girl unfolded her arms and held out a hand. Edie looked at it as if it would bite her. She remembered all the other little flower girls she had held the hands of. She remembered the sticky residue, the snotty slickness.

“Come on! Get up! We have to get going,” the hand was shaken closer towards her. Edie wanted to say she wasn’t dressed, that it was cold outside and didn’t the little girl have parents who would be worried about her? Instead, Edie reluctantly took the hand. It was soft and warm, dry and without stickiness and it was very strong.

With a raised eyebrow the Ghost said,

“Stop letting outside appearances blind you to reality.”

And then it pulled Edie from the bed and took her towards the window.

Edie didn’t have time to grab her robe, her bare feet squeaked on the floor and she shivered in her t-shirt and cotton pyjama bottoms.

“I’m not going out of the window,” she said.

The Ghost reached out and up and laid its small hand on Edie’s t-shirt, right over her heart.

“Have faith.” The eyes were kind even though they still burned bright, “just put up with having my hand here and you’ll be supported in all this and more.”

And with those words they passed through the wall.

“What the…”

There was no plummeting to the ground, as Edie had tensed herself to expect. In fact they were already on the ground but they were definitely not in London any more. Instead of her street of mansion blocks, they were outside on the verge of a lane beside a country churchyard.

Instead of darkness and that weird fog, it was a bright summer’s day. The sort of June weather that happened when June behaved properly and it was the way Edie remembered her childhood when she thought about it, which wasn’t often. Butterflies flitted from cowslip to buttercup.

“Oh my God…” breathed Edie.

Her hands shook as she reached to touch a flower. She slowly turned on the spot, drinking in the scene. “This can’t be, this is the place where I grew up. This is Little Hanningfield.”

Her hand went to feel the rough stone wall that separated the grass verge they were on from the tiny cemetery and the small squat stone church.

The Spirit looked up at her, a strange smile hovering round her little girl lips, but it was a grown-up, wise smile.

Edie rubbed her chest; she could still feel the imprint of the little hand on her. She could feel each finger and along with it she could smell her childhood. Freshly cut grass, the smell of warm tarmac and horses. And with the smells came rushing in all her childish thoughts, hopes and dreams. The dam she had barricaded them behind had been breached by the touch of a tiny hand and she was flooded.

“You OK?” the Ghost asked. “Your lip is trembling and… are you crying?”

“No, no… just a touch of hay fever,” muttered Edie with a husky catch to her voice. “So where are we going?” she changed the subject.

“Where do you think?” the Spirit asked.

“Home,” breathed Edie.

“Do you remember the way?” The flower girl asked, staring hard at Edie.

“Remember it! Of course I remember it!” she scoffed.

“Odd, it isn’t like you visit here often,” the Ghost replied.

Edie rushed off the grass verge and headed down the small country lane, away from the church and towards the village green.

“Look that’s old Mrs Scaman’s cottage, it looks exactly the same. I used to come here because she made the most amazing lemon drizzle cake. And see, all the cats are out sunning themselves. There’s Gerry and Dylan and Merlin.”

She paused.

“But they died when I was a teenager.”

She looked from the cats towards the Ghost who was standing in front of her.

“This is the Past, Edie. Shadows of what has been. They don’t know we’re here,” she replied.

Tell that to Merlin, thought Edie, as the smoky grey cat twined itself between her legs, purring.

“Bloody cats,” said the Ghost. “They never can stick to the rules.”

Five minutes later they stood by a worn wooden gate, a garland of flowers and ribbons covered it. Red balloons bobbed from the gate post.

“But this was Philly’s wedding,” Edie gasped, remembering. “But that was…” she did some frantic calculation in her head and came up with a number which shocked her.

“I told you, I’m the Ghost of Weddings Past,” said the Spirit. “And this was your first wedding. Come watch.”

Edie allowed the small strong hand to pull her to one side of the gate.

Suddenly, out of the front door of the house flew a little red whirlwind about the same age as the Ghost standing beside her. Fine dark hair in a bob was held ruthlessly back with a flower headband that allowed a mischievous freckled face with two front teeth missing to show.

“Look Mummy! Look! Daddy, come and see!” the girl cried as she started twirling in circles, looking down at the way her dress flew round her. “I’m a princess!”

“I felt like a princess that day,” whispered Edie. Her eyes blurred as she stared down at herself. “I used to dream that I could have that day again. That I would have a wedding day and feel like a princess again.”

Behind the young Edie came a woman who was about Edie’s age now.

“Mum!” both Edies cried.

“She is so young,” wondered the older Edie.

“She’s younger than you are now,” pointed out the Ghost.

She was, thought Edie. And she had a family and a home then. It had all gone wrong; everything did, but her mother had known it however briefly. What did Edie have?

A job, a voice in her head said. It sounded like Ms Satis. Edie had a life where she didn’t have to answer to anyone but herself. And that was just fine, wasn’t it?

“Oh this is where my Aunt Philly comes out!” Edie remembered. “She looked like a queen. I wanted to be just like her. We had so much fun planning the flowers and putting together the orders of service. Did you know that flowers have a language? That if you use different blooms they mean something?” Edie was smiling; tension that had been in her jaw for years was easing.

And then from out of the house came a glowing young woman, the dated gown doing nothing to dispel her beauty. Little Edie and her mother instantly surrounded her. When was the last time Edie had been with just her mother and aunt? Last Christmas? The Christmas before?

Oh no, not then. That was the year she had gone away on her own because she was too stressed from work to be able to deal with her mother and the empty space which they all tried to ignore. And well, who had time at weekends to visit? At least she would see her at Mel’s wedding. Edie’s mood dipped.

“I wish,” she whispered, blotting her leaking eyes with the back of her hand, “but it’s too late.”

“What is it?” asked the Spirit staring up at her seriously.

“No, it’s just that my mother phoned me the other night and because I was too busy and tired and didn’t want the stress I didn’t answer and never called her back. I wish I had. She’s all I have left.”

And then from behind her aunt came a man. Her father. She looked at his face, her memory of it had been blurred by so many years without seeing him. That was what he looked like.

He was young and handsome.

She had his eyes.

He wrapped an arm round her mother’s shoulders. She leaned into him and they shared a look. Edie’s tears flowed again.

“Is that your father?” the Ghost asked but Edie knew it was rhetorical. She nodded as she drank him in. She watched as her younger self skipped round the couple, laughing while her aunt looked on. She'd been totally secure in that world, a world she believed centred round her. How wrong she’d been.

The older Edie ached. When was the last time she'd seen her dad? It had been a long time ago. Not too many years after this wedding.

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its basket saying, “Let’s see another wedding!”

The foliage grew and retreated, blossoms came and went, and little Edie went from six to thirteen in the matter of a minute. Her dress was now peach silk, and her body hovered on the threshold of adulthood. She was at that stage where she was neither fish nor fowl.

She picked at flaking paint of the gate, her face set in a sullen scowl.

“Hey Edie!” A bundle of blonde energy also in peach came running down the lane.

Teenage Edie’s scowl lightened and she smiled.

“Mel! Can you believe it, my mother won’t let me wear any make-up!” she grumped to her best friend. "She and Dad had the most massive row about it. God, sometimes I hate her. She never wants me to have any fun."

The older Edie felt the tears gathering. That had been the last big row she remembered them having, and then he'd left. Although she hadn't known that then.

And they’d rowed because of her.

“It’s alright,” the petite elfin face of Mel looked down, frowning as she rummaged through the funny bag that she clutched to her chest. It was a facsimile of a reticule and was done in the same shiny peach fabric.

“Here!”

Triumphantly she waved a set of cosmetics at teen Edie.

“Oh, I remember,” said the older Edie, her face alight with memories.

She watched her younger self inexpertly apply lipstick and mascara while her best friend held the small compact mirror in front of her.

“There! Tom will have to notice you now,” said Mel.

Little Edie’s face flushed hotly and clashed violently with the peach dress.

The watching Edie’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the name. The same way she knew her heart had skipped a beat all those years ago.

“Ah, so you remember Tom then?” the Spirit quizzed.

“How could I forget Tom,” Edie said. But she had. She’d buried all those memories deep, locked them away. Even when Mel had told her that he was the best man at the wedding she'd ignored it. Nodded and then carried on as if she didn't care.

Edie and the Ghost moved to follow the teenagers as they piled, giggling, into the flower decked horse and carriage that had pulled up in front of the gate.

“Do you know where they’re going now?” asked the flower girl Spirit.

“To the church,” she replied. “It was our teacher, Miss Stray, getting married. She was marrying Mel’s cousin, Charlie. Tom was, well, is his brother.

“He was fifteen that summer. And Charlie's best man and all I wanted was for him to notice me.”

The scene dissolved into soft focus and refocused with them back outside the church. Edie jumped.

“Saves time,” the Ghost apologised.

From the inside the church came the sound of the wedding march.

“Ready?” asked the Spirit.

Was she? Fizzing deep inside her was the teenager who wanted to see Tom again. She wanted to feel all the innocent pleasure of being in love for the first time all over again. That wrenching panic that they might never see you, might not love you back. But no matter what happened, you couldn’t stop the hope and yearning from filling you all the way to your fingertips.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Was this the last time her life had been uncomplicated? Mum and Dad had still been together and her world had been whole.

They walked up the path and went into the church; they went from the bright June sunlight to the cool darkness of the Norman church. They passed the font and began to follow the bridal party down the aisle.

“There’s Joanne Kitchner!” Edie squeaked. “My goodness last time I saw her she was screaming at her kids in the supermarket. Wow, she looks so young.

"Jessica!" she called as she passed a teenage girl. The young Jessica wore the same superior look as the ghost from the night before. The only difference was age and spots. "I'd forgotten she was at this wedding."

Edie tried to grab her attention by shouting.

"She can't hear you; this is just a reflection of your past. She isn't here," the Ghost said.

Edie sighed. It would've been useful to have an ally against the tiny tyrant. She moved on down the aisle.

“And there is Justin Douglas. My goodness, how all the girls used to swoon over him. Mel used to doodle Mrs Mel Douglas all over her books." Edie cocked her head on the side to look at the gangly adolescent whose hair was gelled to within an inch of its life and still wondered what Mel had seen.

“And you?” the Ghost asked as she skipped down the aisle in a parody of the flower girl she resembled.

“It was always Tom for me,” Edie sighed.

She remembered the love hearts she'd doodled with 'Tom + Edie 4 Ever' written in them.

They reached the bridal party; the teenage Edie was gripping her posy so hard her knuckles were white. Her face was flame red as her eyes kept darting to look to her right.

“There!” her older counterpart pointed.

It was Tom.

The Tom of all her adolescent dreams, the Tom who had turned into her dream man until she put those dreams away from her.

Standing solemnly next to the groom, watching the vicar and not glancing to the left at teen Edie or anywhere else, was a tall, slight man boy. His curly blond hair was ruthlessly held down by hair product so that only a slight wave was discernible. Edie’s fingers itched with the memory of those curls unfettered between her fingers, the soft springiness. The way he smelt.

Her heart turned over as her eyes traced his profile. A smooth forehead unblemished by the frown lines she had carved there. Mouth full and slightly smiling. When had she last seen him smile? There hadn’t been much smiling in that last year.

“How on earth are you doing all this?” she fought against the tearing feeling inside her. “Is this some complicated and sophisticated hologram? And who the hell told you about Tom?”

Yes this was better. Stop the maudlin memories. Edie rubbed her chest near her heart, she needed this to stop.

The Spirit raised an eyebrow, a very adult look on a six-year-old face.

“Edie,” she said with a hint of exasperation.

“Well I suppose anyone could have told you about me and Tom! I mean all these people were at the wedding…” Edie’s voice petered out. “I don’t know how you made it all so life like, it must have cost a fortune but I’ve seen what they can do in films these days.”

“You want more proof?” the little flower girl asked.

Proof? Hell yeah she wanted proof.

“Yes,” she said it and jutted her chin out.

The pain in her chest retreated as she wrapped herself in her familiar blanket of stubbornness.

The Ghost sighed dramatically.

The scene vanished in a blink of an eye.

It felt as if part of Edie was wrenched out and left behind.

A scene emerged around them; they were inside a marquee which had fairy lights strung on the ceiling mimicking a star-studded night. The flashing lights of the mobile DJ twirled to the beat of the music blaring from the speakers.

“Oh no,” Edie groaned.

“Well you wanted proof,” the Ghost said sanctimoniously.

“No really, I believe you,” she was desperate. “Can we just stop it now? Go back to my room? I’ve learnt whatever lesson you want me to learn.”

She couldn’t relive this again.

“So who is that over there?” piped the Ghost.

Surely it wasn’t against the law to hit a Ghost who looked like a six-year-old girl?

“Me,” she muttered.

“And what are you doing?”

No, she couldn’t hit her; knowing her luck this was really some precocious stage school brat whose parents would sue her for lost earnings.

“I’m…” the words stuck in her throat.

“Yes?”

“I’m dancing,” she said.

“Dancing? Really?” the Ghost was definitely trying not to laugh.

Edie’s face burned for her younger self. She wriggled in embarrassment for what was to come.

“I think we need to get just a little closer,” the Spirit said and for a six-year-old she had a freakishly strong grip and pull.

Edie got closer to the writhing flushed figure in peach silk. Oh God, had she really thought that she was dancing in a sexy way? Her puppy fat was spilling over the top of the dress and she was squinting up under her eyelashes. And to think she had spent hours perfecting her sexy gaze in the mirror thinking it would have a devastating effect on men. I suppose it did, she thought, devastating in a ‘run screaming from this girl’ sort of way.

She watched as the dance continued, her breathing increasing in time with young Edie’s. The anticipation that she knew she’d felt as she danced closer to her quarry; the unsuspecting Tom, who was leaning against one of the marquee poles. He was surveying the dancers whilst surreptitiously drinking a stolen glass of champagne.

“Hi…” young Edie croaked out as she wriggled in front of him. It really did look like she was trying to shed a too tight skin.

He hadn’t heard her.

“Hi!” she shouted.

It reached every corner of the marquee. Trust the damn DJ to cut the song for one of those shout back moments. Heads whipped round to look at her.

“Er… hi,” he replied uncomfortably. He took another swig of champagne. His eyes were desperately looking round for escape; or was it to check he hadn’t been seen with alcohol?

“Can I have some?” the teenage girl asked and the watching woman’s stomach knotted in synch.

“Well, you’re a bit young to be drinking,” he said, worried.

“I’m old enough! I’ve drunk champagne loads of times!” Twice at least and then only a sip from her Dad’s glass at New Year but this was Tom. She was going to lie, wasn’t she?

He looked at her, unconvinced.

“Walk away. Walk away,” whispered older Edie.

Oh God, it was like watching a car crash about to happen and having no way of stopping it.

“Come on, outside,” he said as he looked round and snagged the whole champagne bottle and sauntered out.

The teenage Edie glowed.

It made the older Edie shiver; she had never seen that look on her face before.

It was the look that Mel had when she looked at Barry. What her parents had once had. Even drippy Rachel had looked like that. Lit from inside with the wonder that was love. But what she saw on her teenage face was even purer.

This was first love.

It was an effing disaster.

She lunged at herself. Her hands went straight through her own arms.

“We’ve got to stop her! I mean me!" she said.

“This is your past. You can’t change the past,” the Spirit said as she twirled gently to the music on the dance floor, making her skirt rustle.

“But she is going to be devastated. Mortified. For years she is not going to be able to look at champagne, never mind drink it. Or rather I won't." Edie was desperate and confused.

She had to stop herself from making this mistake. Again.

“You can’t change the past,” repeated the Ghost.

“Well I’m going to try!” she said.

She hurried across the dance floor, the dancers somehow avoiding her as if a force field surrounded her.

Her stomach felt as if it were round her ankles. Her skin flushed and then paled as she remembered; it crawled in repulsion at her stupidity. She’d relived it time and time again, woken up sweating on many nights. She couldn’t go through it again.

She burst out of the marquee into the deep dark night. The stars scattered across the sky, twinkling down, winking at her. Was the whole world laughing at her?

“Ow!” she heard a muffled shout.

It was beginning… her teenage self had just tripped over the guy rope to the marquee. If she turned around she would see herself. Her dress would’ve flown up and she’d be sprawled across the ground.

She turned.

Yes, there she was.

And she really had shown her knickers to the world.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” young Edie said, voice high and squeaky.

“Give me your hand,” Tom said putting down the stolen bottle.

He held out a hand and hauled her up.

Old Edie had to stop this.

“Edie!” she shouted, “Edie, go back inside!”

No one answered.

She jogged over to the teenage couple and tried to grab young Edie’s arm. It passed straight through as if she were a ghost.

“You’re only a visitor here,” the small muffled voice came from the vicinity of her elbow.

“Really?” She was getting annoyed. “Well if that is the case where did you get the sausage roll?”

The Spirit gave a fake smile as she carried on eating the stolen sausage roll, then turned back to the couple in front of them.

“Oh dear”

Edie looked up.

Young Edie was attempting to pout sexily whilst leaning against a tree. It was less a pout and more a scowl.

And it was just about to get much worse.

“So can I have a drink then?” Edie junior croaked.

She really hadn’t purred in the sexy way she had thought.

“Have you got a cold or something? Because I’m not having your germs!” Tom asked.

“No,” she coughed. “No, I’m fine. No germs, honest.”

No germs. Nothing contagious. Because it isn’t like you can catch stupidity, the older Edie thought.

Tom passed over the bottle of champagne and young Edie took a large swig from it.

The watching woman’s nose itched in sympathy as the bubbles hit the teenager and started her sneezing.

“You have got a cold! Sheesh, Edie! I’ve got my exams coming up I can’t be ill!”

“No! It was the bubbles. I’m really OK.” She spluttered.

For a few minutes they stood sharing the bottle, passing it back and forth. The memory of that night came back to Edie and she remembered her mind had been racing like a hamster in a wheel trying to think of something witty to say. And how the champagne was acidic on her stressed stomach, making it roil queasily.

“Hey Tom!”

And suddenly there was Justin, and Edie was now the third wheel.

The relief on Tom’s face was just as hard to see a second time.

“Champagne! Good one! Hand it over, Dick!” Justin swaggered up.

Both Edie’s top lips curled at the offensive contraction of her surname. But the younger one silently gave up the bottle.

“Ciggie?” Justin expertly tapped out a cigarette from a pack he conjured up from his pocket.

Tom took one like a proper smoker and then the pack was in front of Edie.

“Don’t do it,” she whispered. Please let this young Edie make a different choice. “Don’t do it.” Her hand was at her mouth.

The teen reached out and inexpertly took a cigarette. It looked awkward in her straight fingers, the tube of tobacco too near the palm.

A flame erupted from the Justin's lighter and the two boys leant forward and lit their cigarettes.

Teen Edie leant forward, the cigarette trembling in her hand.

The sudden smell of burnt hair and hairspray fought with the jasmine.

“Silly mare, you’ll go up in flames!” Tom pulled her back and peered through the gloom at her fringe.

“You’ve taken off at least an inch. Here, take mine.”

Tom passed over his cigarette and took Edie’s unlit one; which he soon had lit.

The larger Edie groaned.

“That bad, huh?” the little Ghost whispered mesmerised by the scene, the half-eaten sausage roll was hovering by her mouth.

Bad? The worst was just a few drags away.

The glowing end of the cigarette wavered as she brought it up to her mouth. The teenage Edie sucked on it quickly and coughed out the smoke immediately.

“Have you never done this before?” Justin asked.

“Of course I have,” she spluttered.

“Yeah right! Well you’re supposed to inhale,” he said and proceeded to demonstrate.

Edie lifted the cigarette again. This time she inhaled.

The memory of the acrid smoke filling her mouth and then her lungs came burning back to her as she watched. Older Edie knew the moment when her teen body rebelled against all the abuse. Her older body tried to relive the memories as she watched herself experience them.

The terror from the lack of oxygen and her dizzy head added to the roiling stomach from tension and champagne. The eyes became wide with the dawning horror that the old saying ‘better out than in’ was about to play out. The sheer panic as her body convulsed, sides aching.

And then came the eruption.

All over Tom’s shoes.

Mortification flooded both of Edie’s bodies.

“Ahh man! That is gross!” cried Justin.

Bent over, all the young Edie could do was throw up again and again, tears dripping from her nose until they were the only liquid left for her to expel.

She had wanted the earth to swallow her up then and there. Even all these years later she would happily wish for it again. She watched as Justin backed away in disgust. Hadn’t Tom gone as well?

But he hadn’t. She didn’t remember him staying. She watched open mouthed as she saw Tom hesitantly raise his hand and slowly rub her young back in sympathy.

He’d rubbed her back?

Dumbfounded, the older Edie watched. How come she had never known that he’d stood there rubbing her back? She would’ve known surely.

“Go away!” rasped the teen.

And he went.

Edie looked at herself. The bedraggled vomit sprayed hair, the green white face with black streaks from too much mascara, which had now been cried off.

“Take me home,” she turned to the ghost. “I’ve learnt whatever you wanted me to. I’ll agree to anything just let me go home.”

The flower girl looked up at her pityingly.

Pity. Edie cringed. She wasn’t pitiful, goddammit.

“There are a few more things you have to see,” the Spirit said solemnly.

“No!”

“No?” the Spirit raised an eyebrow.

“No. N.O. I’ve had enough of this circus, I want to go home to my own bed.”

“Oh you’ll be lying in your own bed soon enough, wrapped in a chain,” the Spirit retorted.

A small sprinkle of pink glitter fell from its fingers.

Edie shuddered.

Not the pink glitter.

She caved.

“OK, your way then,” she sighed.