Читать книгу Five Unforgivable Things - Vivien Brown, Vivien Brown - Страница 9

Natalie hesitated outside the bridal shop. The lights were on inside, so it was still open, even though it was almost five-thirty. The dress in the window was absolutely stunning, in sleek sculptured ivory satin with just a hint of lace in all the right places, and tiny buttons that glinted like pearls. It was exactly the kind of dress she had longed for ever since she and Phil had finally set the date, but going inside a shop like that by herself would just feel way too strange. Even if she tried the dress on, which she so wanted to do, how would she know it was right with nobody there to oooh and aaah and spin her around in all directions and take sneaky pictures on their phones?

Natalie wasn’t used to doing things alone. In fact, these last few days had probably – no, definitely – been the first she had ever spent entirely by herself. Phil was away at a work conference so boring she didn’t even want to hear about it when he called, let alone be there with him, and Mum was off on one of her regular retreats, her mobile deliberately switched off. Jenny and Beth were visiting some seaside spa place together on a cheap mid-week deal for two. Natalie hadn’t been able to get the time off work to join them, even if squeezing an extra bed into their room had been a possibility, but the truth was she hadn’t been asked. Despite their distance, the bridesmaid question still hung in the air between them, unspoken but so obviously there, and she knew that by the time they came back, it needed to be answered.

Natalie shook her thoughts away, tentatively leaned into the glass door of the shop and eased it open. Although the best of the summer was over and the days were already starting to get noticeably shorter again, the sun was bright today and she could feel her spirits lift along with it. The path through the park was bordered by bouncing rows of tiny-headed purple pansies, newly planted in neat rows, and, after a week of relentless drizzle, her raincoat and boots were at last stuffed back in the hall cupboard in favour of a lighter jacket and her favourite sandals. There was something about the change in the weather that seemed to promise better things to come, making her feel suddenly bold. It was her wedding, after all. Not theirs. And she would do things the way she wanted to, whatever any of them said.

The shop’s interior was an oasis of beauty and calm. There was a deep cream carpet and floor-to-ceiling mirrors without so much as a smudge on their shiny gilt-edged glass. The sweet scent of jasmine drifted in the air but, in the absence of any real flowers, it seemed to be coming from a huge fat candle that floated in the centre of a bowl of water on a shelf, well out of harm’s way, behind a small desk in the corner. Little red velvet-covered chairs were dotted about around the edges of the room, between tall slim glass cases with the most wonderful satin shoes, beaded bags and glittering tiaras displayed on their shelves. One wall, the longest one, off to her right, was swamped by an unbroken row of big billowing floor-length dresses that brought the phrase ‘as far as the eye can see’ instantly to her mind. There was nobody else about and, for a moment, she just came to a standstill right in the centre of it all, feeling completely overwhelmed.

‘Can I help you?’ A small bird-like woman, with a slight foreign accent Natalie couldn’t quite place, and a tape measure looped loosely around her neck, emerged from behind a curtain at the back of the shop, revealing a brief glimpse of a hidden workroom beyond, with a sewing machine and scraps of satin and lace strewn across a cluttered table in the centre, and yet more dresses, draped on hangers from an over-full coat stand and all encased in see-through plastic bags.

Natalie saw the look of surprise that flickered across the woman’s heavily made-up face before it was swallowed up in what was clearly a well-practised customer-friendly smile. It was a look she was used to, one that told her she was not quite who, or what, had been expected to come rolling in.

‘Sorry … about the carpet.’ Natalie turned her head to indicate the small trail of dirt and soggy leaves her wheels had brought in with them.

‘That’s all right. Can’t be helped.’ The woman’s face flushed as she came forward, fiddling nervously with the tape around her neck.

‘I’d like to look at a dress, please,’ Natalie said. ‘The ivory one in the window. And, I’m sorry, but I might need a bit of help to try it on.’

***

The house felt cold and empty when she got back, echoing with an unfamiliar silence as she eased her chair into the hall. The one thing you could say about a house normally full of women was that it was rarely quiet, and Natalie was surprised just how much she was missing the hustle and bustle of her family in full swing. Only two nights and the girls, at least, would be back. Mum was a different prospect altogether. If she wasn’t standing on her head or wrapping her legs around her own neck at some yoga class, she’d be trying out a new aromatherapy course or letting herself be hypnotised into thinking she was once Cleopatra, or sitting in a circle in the woods with a group of protesters, waving ‘Save our copse’ placards while communing with the lesser-spotted tree frog. This time it was something involving immersing herself in healing water, though quite what it was that needed healing, Natalie wasn’t at all sure. She’d said she’d be back on Sunday but, with Mum, it was best to take all plans with a pinch of salt and just wait and see what happened.

She knew she should go and check on Ollie but the thought unsettled her. She never knew what mood he might be in, and if it was a bad one she didn’t want to have to cope with it alone. If he’d just lay off the booze for a while, it might help. Laura had been gone almost five months now, and his way of grieving, which involved nothing more than bemoaning his life and the world in general through the bottom of a bottle, was never going to work. Oblivion, yes, but bringing her back, no. And as for even the slightest movement towards acceptance or recovery, definitely not.

Natalie had liked Laura. Loved her, even. She and Ollie had lived together for almost two years and they’d all thought of her as family. Natalie had been thrilled at the prospect of the little niece or nephew they’d announced was on the way, and Mum had been so excited she’d got an old pair of knitting needles out, not that anyone had ever actually seen her use them. In the end, she didn’t get the chance.

The miscarriage had been devastating, for Laura, for Mum, for all of them, but on the face of it, Ollie had seemed to cope remarkably well. He’d done all the right things, assuring Laura they could try again, that it was just one of those things, and that everything would be fine next time. But, as things turned out, it wasn’t. And Natalie knew it was hard for him, being the man, trying to be the rock that Laura needed, when it was so obvious that all he wanted, every time, was to curl up in a ball and just sob his heart out.

Laura left after they lost the third. Just after Easter. Said she couldn’t take any more, that Ollie deserved someone better, someone whole, someone who could do this one simple thing that her body was refusing to do, and no amount of pleading would change her mind.

Natalie had always expected Laura to come back. Ollie probably had too. At the start, anyway. Her giant Easter egg was still sitting on the dining table, unopened, unmoved, untouched, since the day she went, its huge yellow ribbon like one of those ‘Come home’ messages tied around a tree that you hear about in songs. But she didn’t come back. She just went off, not even leaving an address behind, asking them all to respect her decision and not come after her, and poor Ollie still hadn’t got over it. Losing her, or the babies.

There were three tiny crosses on the wall over the bed at his flat, each one carefully carved out of wood. He’d put his heart and soul into making those crosses. Not bad for a man who said he didn’t believe in God, and who spent far too much time with a glass of whisky in his hand, even more so in recent weeks, when there had been no work to think about. Natalie used to envy him those long school holidays, with nothing but a bit of lesson planning to think about, but now she was grateful that September had come around and he’d finally had to go back. He wouldn’t risk his career, would he?

Ah, but it was Wednesday, she realised, with a sudden sigh of relief. Ollie’s chess club night. He’d be out for most of the evening, and with other people, so she wouldn’t have to do her Good Samaritan act after all. He’d probably be drinking, between games at least, but there was little she could do about that. She wasn’t his keeper. None of them were, even though Mum seemed to think it was their mission to help him. To save him, even. But then, Mum knew, better than any of them, how it felt, struggling to have babies, and losing them. No matter how many survived, it was still the ones lost along the way that left their special mark.

She poured some baked beans into a pan and toasted a couple of slices of bread. She’d have a quiet evening in, with an easy meal and a good book, and make the most of this rare time by herself. It might give her the chance to think clearly about the wedding arrangements too, without the constant input of the world and his wife telling her what to do, who to invite, what was expected, how much they all wanted to play their part.

Why was it so wrong to want to keep things small? Phil wouldn’t care one way or the other. He was happy to leave the decisions to her. Whatever made her feel most comfortable. All the fuss of parading up the aisle, with everyone watching, and bridesmaids and ushers … none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things, did it? It wasn’t as if she could link her arm through Dad’s and walk beside him. She’d have enough trouble managing her dress and making sure her hem didn’t get caught in her wheels. That was the bridesmaids’ job, really, if she relented and decided to have any, but short of crouching down next to her or edging along on their knees, she couldn’t picture how it could be made to work. In fact, beautiful though that dress was earlier, the impracticalities of wearing something like that, something meant to flow and sway and skim along the floor, probably made it a no-go. Dresses like that just weren’t meant for the likes of her.

After a lifetime of trying to be as unobtrusive and normal as she could, so people wouldn’t stare at her or ask all those embarrassingly awkward questions, it wasn’t easy to find herself thrust forward, forced to take centre stage. Wasn’t it possible to just be the bride, to slip into the church and marry the love of her life without having to lead an attention-grabbing cavalcade of followers up the aisle? And in a dress bunched up around her lap too? It was a shame, but wedding dresses – proper wedding dresses – were expensive. It was a lot of money to spend, money they were going to be quite short of once they’d paid for the honeymoon and all the adaptations Phil’s small house needed just so she could get comfortably through the front door and up the stairs. No, it would have to be something simpler, shorter, cheaper …

When the phone rang it made her jump. She’d been staring ahead at the wall, imagining the worst, as usual. The beans had gone cold on the plate and she was surprised to find she had tears in her eyes.

‘Hey, Nat. How are you, sweetheart? I miss you.’

Phil. Wonderful, kind and caring Phil. Not for the first time, she couldn’t help wondering what on earth he saw in her, Natalie Campbell, a girl who couldn’t walk or run or even give him a playful kick when he deserved one. Why her, when he could have had anyone? She didn’t know the answer, never had, but she did know she was so very, very lucky to have him.