Читать книгу Love Me, Love Me Not: An addictive psychological suspense with a twist you won’t see coming - Katherine Debona, Katherine Debona - Страница 14

Five years ago

‘I can’t go in there.’ I shook my head back and forth, bare feet tucked up underneath me and my stilettos tossed into the far corner of the bathroom.

‘You have to.’ My mother rolled her eyes, swivelling her wrist round to linger on her watch, a deliberate reminder that we didn’t have time to dwell on my little emotional outburst. Always the same. Always doing something she didn’t approve of. Always making her clean up my mess.

‘Why?’ Couldn’t I just stay in here a moment longer? Wrap myself up into oblivion and pretend none of this was even happening?

‘Because you chose this for yourself.’

She turned her back to me, showing me the zip along the length of her dress, the clasp of her necklace jiggling as she started to wash her hands. Slow, repetitive movements as she sluiced water between her fingers. There was no need for her to clean her skin. It was simply a way of keeping those hands from reaching out to me.

‘How can you say that?’ Would she ever offer me anything resembling a normal reaction? Simply support me, placate me because I was her daughter? Why the constant need to remind me I wasn’t what she expected?

‘You chose her as your friend. I warned you against it for this very reason.’

‘Of course, Mum.’ I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. ‘You had a crystal ball that predicted this precise outcome the very moment Elle and I became friends.’

‘And here you are, sitting in a pool of self-pity and proving me right.’

‘Thanks for the support.’ The thread stretched out and I wrapped it around my little finger, tighter and tighter until the tip of my finger turned white.

A long, drawn-out sigh, as if my mere existence exhausted her. ‘Oh, Jane, why can’t you see that all I’ve ever done is support you?’

‘Meaning the version of me you thought was best.’

She didn’t reply as she turned off the tap and shook away the excess droplets of water. One landed on my cheek, mixing with the tears that had been flowing ever since I’d locked myself away from the sight of Elle in her wedding dress.

‘Get up,’ she said as she hauled me to my feet. ‘Prove that you’re so much better, that you’re who I raised you to be, and don’t ever let them see you cry.’

Dark eyes skimmed over mine and I wanted to ask her how she’d dried up all her own torment. How she’d managed to lock it away and never let it escape.

‘Be the better person.’ She touched one hand to my cheek and I couldn’t help it, I flinched. A nod, a tiny movement of understanding before leaving me alone with nothing more than a crumpled heart, all its hope long since drifted away.

Everyone was waiting for me. The maid of honour. The one who had helped Elle plan every detail of the perfect wedding, right down to the choice of flowers for her bouquet. White roses for purity along with dusky pink peonies to bless the newlyweds with prosperity and luck. I’d convinced her to add in some hydrangeas for vanity, although she liked them simply because of the way they complimented her dress.

My own bouquet had a smattering of anemones. A symbol of my unfading love for Patrick as well as protection against the evils of this world. Much like the way the flowers closed their petals when rain was approaching, I found myself curling inward, fighting against all the pain that awaited me on the other side of the bathroom door.

It was too late. For months I’d told myself that at some point one of them would realise the mistake they were making, that this was not how the fairy tale was supposed to play out. But the only thing staring back at me from the mirror was the answer to a question I never needed to ask.

He chose her.

* * *

‘If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.’

The vicar’s voice washed over me as I stood, mute, while he went through the necessary proceedings to promise a woman to a man. All it would take was a few more words and then they would be linked to one another in the eye of God.

I could feel my mother watching me from a few rows back. As if her fingers were stretching through air to burrow beneath my skin, pulling the invisible strings that bound us, making sure I didn’t do anything untoward. Anything to bring attention to us.

My own fingers scratched at my wrists, hidden behind my wilting bouquet. Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch they went. Not stopping until I felt my flesh give way, I slowly brought my hand up to my mouth, licked away the blood from underneath my manicured nails.

Nobody loves you.

Did I speak the words aloud? For Elle’s head turned to me, a line between her brows as she asked a silent question, one I was unable to understand. One I did not want to hear because I was no longer capable of feeling. No longer capable of putting myself through the torment of giving but never receiving.

Nobody wants you.

All of me was numb, apart from the fresh line of red that itched to be made more. One more step along the world we go. Words that filtered through to my subconscious as the congregation sang its final hymn. Something banal about always moving onwards, something as ludicrously ill-conceived as everything else about that loathsome wedding. A wedding I helped create. A wedding I did nothing to prevent, assuming the Universe would fold and settle in the way it was supposed to. I’d been stupid enough to think there was nothing I needed to do and suddenly it was too late.

One more step into the chasm of forever as my body did what was required of it and stood dutifully outside the church, posing for photographs I never wanted to see. My treacherous mouth formed itself into a smile, pretending all was as it should be. A mouth that never spoke the words screaming inside my mind. It was supposed to be me. All of it should have been mine, not hers.

The guests formed a semicircle around the happy couple. Took their own photographs as evidence they had been there. Commented on how perfect and special the two of them were. How well-suited. How gorgeous and wonderful and incredible their offspring would be.

‘Isn’t she simply exquisite?’

‘Stunning.’

‘Never seen her look so beautiful.’

I pushed through the throng as all their words echoed inside my head. Headed for the manor house that was only a hop, skip and jump from the picture-perfect chapel that had sat in the grounds for centuries, bearing witness to so many holy unions before that day.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch went my fingers, for otherwise I didn’t know what they might do.

Walking through the main reception, there were people every way I turned. Idiotic guests adorned with more sparkle than a ballroom-dancing competition, along with fake tan and layers of cologne to match. Waiters navigated the crowd, offering up glass after glass of vintage champagne along with morsels of food too delectable to turn down.

At the bottom of the staircase a woman sat astride a harp lilting notes of Mozart that weaved through the reverie, a symphony that no one was paying any attention to, but which no doubt would be commented on when the wedding was relived in days to come.

‘Such a beautiful service, don’t you think?’ Katya, one of the other bridesmaids, stood by an antique mirror, watching me in its reflection as she adjusted the scoop of her dress, two bulbous breasts jostling for the attention she’d craved ever since school.

‘Depends what your interpretation of beautiful is, I suppose.’

‘Careful, Jane,’ she replied. ‘That mask of yours is in danger of slipping.’

She walked away before I could reply, followed the procession of people out and into the marquee where the celebrations would continue.

The house had been chosen not just for its looks, but also for its links to aristocracy, because of what it said about the family who were paying for such a grand show. There was croquet set up on the lawn, a rose garden, a lake and even a fucking peacock that paraded about the place, snapping at anyone who got too close.

I liked that bird. Could identify with it. Because I had done what my mother told me, gone back out to help Elle finish getting ready and just about managed to hold my shit together until she presented me with a little blue box containing a thank you gift for all I had done. A golden hair clasp made up of interweaving vines that matched the beaded collar of my dress. A clasp she wanted me to wear on her special day. A clasp that made me think of the night I’d given myself to the man she was about to marry.

I was supposed to be in the middle of it all, celebrating the union of my two nearest and dearest, but instead I stood in the gardens, looking across to the lake and wondering what lay beneath, in that pool of darkest blue, and whether it was safer down there than up where all my fears were coming true.

I edged away, past the kitchen where the final touches were being put to the veritable feast that was about to be served. Roasted pig fought with the honeyed perfume of hundreds upon hundreds of oranges, but the air I breathed was bitter on my tongue. Despite all the beauty, everything tasted wrong.

‘Jane?’ My brother. As faithful and attentive as any pet. By my side with a look full of understanding as he went to offer me a drink and saw I wasn’t willing to show my hands.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. Eyes searching behind the bouquet I was still clutching.

Robin knew. He was the one who’d found me wrapped around an empty bottle of homemade gin after the engagement had been announced in The Times. Curled up next to my own vomit with a gash along one hip where I’d tried to climb the stairs and stumbled over my grief. He was the one who’d washed my face and tucked me into bed, brought me painkillers and coffee the next morning.

‘Well, I could hardly not show up, could I?’

‘It’s like some kind of sick joke, the way they treat you.’

He was the one who listened as I poured my soul into his ears, navigating his way around my wretched heart. Never once did he tell anyone else what I told him. Never once did he question my twisted allegiances, my need to always forgive and forget, to let bygones be bygones and all that crap.

‘I’m leaving.’

‘What, now?’

‘Tonight. I’ve taken the job in Hong Kong.’

‘But you can’t, Jane. Please, you said you wouldn’t.’

‘If I stay here, I’ll kill her.’

My mother was heading in our direction, eyes fixed on mine as she navigated her way across the sweeping lawn in heels she wasn’t accustomed to wearing. Each faulty step revealed to me her agitation.

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I? I’m not a good person, Robin, and I’m terrified of what I’ll do if I don’t go.’

She was pointing in the direction of the marquee. Where all the other guests had congregated, awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom. She was mouthing something about where the hell had I been, thinking I was doing her a disservice by hiding away instead of spouting some shit to anyone who would listen about how glorious this day was. Except they were all far safer with me lurking in the bushes, staying out of reach, away from all that was tempting me to do wrong.

‘At least take some time to think about it.’

‘It’s all I ever think about. Don’t you see? I can’t live, I can’t breathe because of them. Everything I ever do or think or say is because of them and it’s consuming me. It’s breaking me apart, day by day, so that soon there’ll be nothing left. I’m supposed to have a life too. Where’s my happily ever after? It sure as hell isn’t here.’

She was getting closer, jaw clenched and eyes alive with rage because I wasn’t doing as I was told, and I saw there was no other choice. What will be will be and all that crap.

‘What about me?’

‘Robin, I love you, but I can’t do this anymore. Please. You have to let me go.’

I dropped the flowers to the ground and snatched from him one of the golden flutes, pouring its bubbly contents down my throat as I strode past my mother and into the marquee where all heads turned at my arrival. Seconds later a trumpet sounded and in the happy couple came, accompanied by cheers, whistles and rapturous applause. So beautiful. So touching. So fucking blah.

But still I looked. Still I watched as she glided through it all, like Jesus parting the waves. An ephemeral being so beloved by all. So utterly unaware of the damage she had done.

The crowd stilled as the bride and groom took their places at the top table, perched high above, where they could look upon their minions. Then murmurs of conversation floated between the tables as attention was pulled back to the free drinks.

‘Before the food arrives, I just wanted to say a few words.’ Elle remained standing, her voice laced with emotion I didn’t want to listen to. ‘I know it’s unconventional, but I need to say it now or else I’ll lose my nerve.’

It wasn’t part of the plan. Elle had never said anything to me about making a speech and I wondered what it was she didn’t want me to know in advance?

‘As some of you may know, my favourite song is “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette. Of course, words aren’t exactly my strong point, so I didn’t really understand what she was going on about until someone pointed out to me that it wasn’t sweet and romantic after all.’ A few polite laughs as she looked across at me.

‘But there’s one part of the song that has always meant so much to me, especially now. Especially today. “Life has a funny way of helping you out when you think everything’s gone wrong and everything blows up in your face.”’

She was still looking at me. They all thought she was talking about Patrick, were even ooh-ing and aah-ing in mock appreciation. But I saw her looking over at me with tears that threatened to fall and I allowed myself a moment to enjoy her attention once more. To remember what it was like when all she seemed to care about was me, only me and no one else.

‘I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for you, Jane.’

All eyes on me.

‘I’ll never forget that day at school when you ran through the showers naked, not caring what anyone thought. Teaching me not to be afraid to be yourself because that’s when love means the most.’

The last of her words were lost among a sea of mirth, of lewd comments and knowing looks from the women who had revelled in my humiliation that day. Who’d stared at me when I didn’t cover my breasts. Who called me a lesbian, pointed out the hair between my legs as if I were the unnatural one for not waxing it all away.

I lifted my glass to my lips, drank long and full, my own eyes never leaving hers over the top of its polished rim.

‘Because sometimes it’s the people you never expect anything of who end up defying all your expectations.’

She thought the memory was hers, that somehow it could be used to define her relationship with Patrick. That my torment, my utter humiliation, belonged to her. That she could embarrass me all over again because it was her right to lay claim to absolutely everything about me, past, present and future.

‘My world is a better place because of you.’ At this she turned to Patrick, shone her traitorous light onto his upturned face. Leant down to bestow upon him a lover’s kiss as the crowd called out in glee.

The stem of my glass split in two and I was left holding a jagged stick, like a fencer’s foil that jittered in anticipation.

Told you so.

I saw it all laid out in front of me. No one would question why I rose from my chair and made my way over to my best friend in all the world. No one would stop to think why I was bending forward to whisper something in her ear. No one would believe it possible that I could slit open her throat, covering the wedding feast in crimson waves. No one would understand what had happened until it was too late.

‘Jane.’ My brother’s voice slipped inside my fantasy, broke it apart before I could carry out my desire.

‘I have to go,’ I replied, releasing my weapon and pushing back my chair. He made no effort to stop me. He didn’t ask me to stay.