Читать книгу The Pieces of You and Me - Rachel Burton, Rachel Burton - Страница 21

I woke up on the morning of Gemma’s wedding feeling as though I’d been hit by a truck. Not today, I thought. Please not today.

Five years previously I had come down with glandular fever. I’d known other people who had had it, I knew that it could take weeks, even months, to recover, but for me something had gone wrong. The virus had triggered something else in my body, something worse, and had left me sick and weak for years. Up until a year or so ago I would wake up most mornings feeling like this – every bone in my body aching, my glands swollen, my head pounding. I knew when I stood up I would be dizzy and that everything I did, from cleaning my teeth to brushing my hair, would be exhausting; that every movement would feel as though I was walking through jam.

Over the years, the bad days became less frequent and I was able to live a more normal life – if going to bed at 9 p.m. and barely drinking or socialising could be considered a normal life for a woman my age. My thirtieth birthday party ended at 6 p.m. and the strongest substance imbibed by me was Earl Grey tea.

These days I still got tired easily and, towards the end of the day, the bone-aching weariness would return. But as long as I took my painkillers and my other medication I could usually manage most situations.

I lay in bed racking my brains, trying to work out what I’d done to trigger a flare-up like this. I knew the run-up to Gemma’s wedding – the endless hair and beauty trials, the rehearsal dinner, the dress fittings and the stress of the last-minute arrangements – would be exhausting, but I’d tried to get early nights, tried not to drink and tried to do the things that I knew helped me. Yet, despite my efforts the wheels had fallen off on the one day I needed them more than ever.

The only thing I could think of was that London was enjoying a brief heatwave and, although I loved the summer time, the heat could be a trigger for my symptoms – especially in an old hotel without air conditioning, when I hadn’t slept well.

I wasn’t going to admit, even to myself, that I hadn’t been sleeping well recently because I’d been up late night after night reading my old journals, poring over the box of photos, lost in memories of the past. And I wasn’t going to admit that my insomnia had increased along with my anxiety at seeing Rupert again today. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and excitement at the thought.

I took some deep breaths and tried to remember the times I’d had to battle flare-ups like this before – like when the deadline for my second novel was looming, or Gemma’s engagement party. I’d got up, taken my meds and got on with the day. As I sat up in bed, swinging my legs over the side and reaching for my medication bag, I tried not to remember the consequences of those times I’d battled through, tried not to remember how they had left me depleted for weeks.

By the time Caitlin knocked on my hotel room door to collect me, I was showered and dressed and ready to go and get my hair and make-up done.

I watched Caitlin’s face fall as I opened the door.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

I forced a smile. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly, it’s just been a long time since you saw me without make-up on!’

She looked at me for a minute, scrutinising me.

‘If you need anything today just ask me, won’t you?’ she said.

I opened my mouth to tell her again that I was fine, but I knew I couldn’t lie to her. Caitlin knew me too well.

‘Just ask,’ she repeated, and I nodded. ‘Now come on,’ she went on. ‘We can’t leave the bride-to-be waiting any longer. She’s phoned me three times this morning already. Has she phoned you?’

‘I switched my phone off.’ I grinned.

‘Sensible girl,’ she said, taking my arm and leading me off to the bridal suite.

*

An hour and a half later we sat in Gemma’s room surrounded by the detritus left behind when three women get ready for a wedding. The hair and make-up people had left and the photographer, who had been taking photographs of us getting ready, had gone off to take some photos of Mike and his best man.

I’d scrubbed up well considering how bad I felt – the make-up artist had her work cut out with me, but she’d worked magic. Even I couldn’t tell how bad I looked underneath when I saw my reflection and the dark blue of the bridesmaid’s dress brought out the green in my eyes. I almost looked healthy, and my ridiculous Billion Dollar Brows had calmed down just as Gemma had promised they would.

Gemma sighed audibly.

‘Cold feet, Gem?’ Caitlin joked.

‘Dad,’ Gemma said quietly. ‘James walking me down the aisle just won’t be the same. I wish he could be here.’

Neither Caitlin nor I said anything. Neither of us knew what to say. Neither of us had ever known what to say since the day, just over a decade ago, just before Rupert left, when Gemma’s father had been arrested for corporate espionage and fraud. It turned out that’s how he paid her school fees, amongst other things. Neither of us knew if Gemma had ever visited him in prison and we didn’t know if she’d seen him since he got parole and went to live in another part of the country. We never talked about Gemma’s father and we didn’t even know if he knew she was getting married. Her brother was giving her away today and we left it at that.

‘And soon we’ll all be married,’ Gemma went on, sounding rather maudlin. ‘Old matrons who never get to see each other often enough.’

‘We don’t get to see each other often enough now,’ Caitlin said.

‘And I still won’t be married,’ I disagreed. ‘I’m not even dating anyone.’

‘Oh, but you will be after today,’ Gemma said. ‘As soon as you see Rupert the two of you will fall madly in love again, and then you won’t even be in London anymore.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I replied. ‘I’ll always be in London.’

‘No, you won’t,’ she said. ‘You’ll marry him and then you’ll move to York and we’ll exchange Christmas cards once a year with a circular letter inside full of lies and exaggerations about how brilliant our lives are and how wonderful our children are and—’

‘For God’s sake,’ I interrupted this depressing dialogue. ‘What on earth are you talking about? It’s you who invited him to the wedding anyway.’

‘Cold feet, Gem?’ Caitlin said again, with a grin.

Gemma was saved from replying by a knock on the door. She tried to jump up to open it but the full skirt of her wedding dress prevented her, so I went instead. My mum and James were standing outside.

‘It’s nearly time,’ Mum said, as I stood aside to let them in. James went over to his sister to make a fuss of her and Mum took me to one side.

‘Rupert’s here,’ she whispered. She’d been almost as excited about him coming to the wedding as Gemma had been. ‘He looks ever so handsome. He hasn’t changed much, has he?’

Something inside me unravelled. I’d been looking forward to seeing him again more than I was prepared to admit and part of me had wondered if he would turn up. I smiled my first genuine smile of the morning.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘You don’t look very well.’ The make-up wasn’t fooling Mum, clearly.

‘I just slept badly,’ I said. ‘It’s so hot.’

Mum looked at me as though she didn’t believe me and pulled me gently into the corridor away from everyone else.

‘I know you’ve not been sleeping properly since Gemma’s hen do,’ she said. ‘I can hear you still up when I go to the loo in the night. I’m worried about you. Tell me what’s going on.’

I sighed and looked away from her. ‘Memories,’ I said. ‘Seeing him again has just brought everything back. I can’t stop thinking about that summer, about Dad …’ As I trailed off I felt her fingers brush against my cheek and I turned to look at her again. I saw her blink back the tears that always came whenever anyone mentioned my father. I wondered if she would ever get over him, if she would ever move on. Mum and I were the same, both waiting together for our lives to start again.

‘Maybe it’s a good thing,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe it’s time to open your heart again.’

I shook my head. ‘Too much has happened,’ I said. ‘Too much has changed.’

‘Don’t burn your bridges, Jess. Try not to think about the past or the future today; try to enjoy yourself. Drink champagne, laugh, dance with Rupert.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You and Rupert were always inseparable,’ she interrupted. ‘Maybe you both need that again.’

I opened my mouth to speak, to contradict her, but I knew that in a way she was right, that part of me did wonder what it would be like to spend the day with him again. Part of me was curious as to where it would lead – the part of me that regretted not swapping numbers with him in York, that hadn’t wanted to watch him walk away.

‘Just see what happens,’ Mum said. ‘Just for today.’

‘OK,’ I replied. ‘Just for today.’