‘He’s not coming?’
Emily shook her head.
Hannah took a breath in through her nose and exhaled to make herself calm, to press down the disappointment. Then she took Emily’s hands in hers and said, ‘You look amazing. Like a movie star.’ She stood back a fraction to take in Emily’s slinky white satin column dress with its plunging neckline, shoestring straps and the delicate overlay like a spider’s web dotted with diamonds and tiny pearls sparkling like raindrops. ‘When I saw you my breath actually caught. I’m so happy for you.’
Emily waved the words away as if it was all lies. Then she squeezed the hand she was still holding and said, ‘I only found out he wasn’t coming today, otherwise I would have told you.’
‘Honestly, Emily, it totally doesn’t matter. This is your wedding day, you don’t have to worry about whether Harry turns up or not.’
‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘But I so wanted him to be here. I wanted him to see you looking so ravishing. This dress…’ Emily reached down and stroked the long glass fringing. ‘It looks like it cost a fortune. Stunning. Oh stupid Harry. Stupid, stupid Harry.’
‘Em, honestly, it’s nothing. There’s nothing between us anyway. He’s just a friend.’
‘Don’t give me that. I saw your face when we were leaving the restaurant. I saw it, Hannah, you can’t lie.’
Hannah looked away.
They were standing on the front lawn of Montmorency Manor, Emily’s home on Cherry Pie Island. The whole wedding party had walked there together from the riverbank where they had earlier watched a blessing take place on Jack’s boat. Emily and Jack had stood on the prow with the celebrant, having got married officially that morning at Chelsea Town Hall in secret, only Holly and Wilf there as witnesses. Since she had previously been burnt by a much-publicised jilting at the altar, Emily had been keen, she joked to the crowd gathered around the boat, to keep the actual vows for this one low key.
Hannah had smiled along with the rest of the guests but had felt a stab of sympathy. The relief that had radiated from Emily, that it had all gone ahead as planned, was almost tangible. The thing about trust, Hannah had realised, was that no amount of money could buy it back.
‘Harry would have liked it as well, you know, all the stealth wedding stuff, wouldn’t he?’ Emily said.
‘Yeah I suppose so,’ Hannah nodded, not wanting to talk about Harry any more, thinking how she was going to tell Jemima, who’d been storing up things to tell him for weeks, that he wasn’t coming.
‘Oh definitely. You know I’ve never seen him with anyone, Hannah. Or not anyone serious. I could hardly believe it when he jacked in his shift for you in New York. I don’t know why he’s not here, Hannah, but I feel like given half the chance he would have been, especially with you dressed like that.’
Hannah caught a glimpse of her reflection in the big windows of the house. All that work and he didn’t even turn up, it mocked. ‘Oh it doesn’t matter,’ she said, breezily.
‘Yes that’s the attitude. Sod him.’ Emily laughed then said, ‘And are you OK about yesterday? About the meeting? I do honestly think it’s nearly there.’
Hannah cut her off. ‘Emily, it’s your wedding day. Don’t think about work. I’m fine. I expected it. It’s good. Good for me.’
Emily narrowed her eyes and examined her, almost to check she wasn’t lying. Hannah smiled. ‘Go. Go and enjoy your wedding. Stop worrying about other people.’
‘OK. Right. Yes. I have to go and be fabulous, bride’s prerogative. You do look sensational, Hannah darling, and he really doesn’t know what he’s missing. What a fool,’ Emily said, giving her a hug. Then she whispered, ‘Keep your chin up, darling,’ in Hannah’s ear before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and disappearing off into the crowd.
Hannah stayed where she was and looked out at the grounds of the manor. Jemima was bouncing away on the inflatable castle next to a row of Montmorency cherry trees all bedecked with gold streamers raining down from the branches. A huge marquee had been erected at the back of the house where waiters were making the finishing touches for a sit-down dinner. Huge gold candelabras stood at intervals along long white tables, with candles ready to be lit. Next to them stood big white flower arrangements like pompoms bursting from their vases. Hundreds of white and gold balloons filled the ceiling, their metallic strings dangling in the air, catching and reflecting the light in sparks. At the entrance to the marquee were two giant swans, made completely from roses, that stood tall on silver plinths. Outside there was a champagne fountain, a martini bar and big chesterfield sofas dotted about for lounging. Hannah walked over to get a drink and go and watch Jemima as she bounced.
As she chatted and laughed, listened to the band, got dragged by Jemima to look at the swimming pool which had been filled with glitter and sparkled like gold algae, Hannah wanted so much to be having an amazing time. And she was. It was over-the-top, lavish, extravagant glamour. There was even a Cirque du Soleil-style performance on the lawn to the light of a giant bonfire. But she had expected Harry.
Much as she hated to admit it, she had been looking forward to seeing him more than coming to the wedding itself.
Jemima held out hope till the bitter end. ‘He’ll be here, Mummy,’ she said at regular intervals, as if expecting the hero to swoop in at the last minute and save the day. ‘I think he’ll be here.’ But then Hannah’s mum came to pick her up and take her home and, of course, Harry hadn’t arrived.
So Hannah made herself forget about him and enjoy the dinner and the speeches and the witty banter over coffees and gold-leafed chocolate truffles.
And it was actually working, she had relaxed, she was having a wonderful evening.
Then Harry turned up.
It was Emily who saw him first. Hannah was in conversation with a very nice environmental scientist to her left when a truffle hit her on the shoulder and bounced to the floor. ‘Ow.’ She glanced around to see where it had come from and noticed Emily making big eyes at her from the top table and nodding towards the door.
Hannah turned and looked and there was Harry, standing at the entrance of the marquee, next to one of the giant swans, wearing a grey T-shirt under a tux jacket and tatty old blue jeans. He’d clearly pilfered a white rose from one of the big displays at the gates and it was drooping sadly down his lapel, too big a flower for a buttonhole. His hair was dishevelled, there was a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his jaw and what looked like a bottle of vodka hooked between his first and forefinger.
She frowned as he swaggered in, tripping occasionally. Seeing someone he knew – a stunning-looking blonde who tipped her head back for a kiss – he paused for an upside-down half-lips, half-cheek kiss and then carried on his snaking journey towards the bride.
Hannah’s dress felt immediately stuffy and overly elegant. The environmental scientist had started up their conversation again but she could barely listen, her eyes following Harry as he swayed his way to the top table. Once there he lifted the vodka bottle, clinked it with Emily’s champagne flute that sat on the table in front of her and said, ‘Sorry I’m late. Have I missed anything?’
Jack leant over, with his arm around Emily’s shoulder and said something to Harry that Hannah couldn’t hear but made him put his hands up as if in apology. Behind him worried-looking waiters were hastily trying to find him a place at a table. Harry waved them away saying he could just lean where he was, in front of Emily and Wilf’s mum, Diana, at the top table. But Diana, clearly unimpressed with Harry’s slurring small talk, was already pushing her chair back and signalling to Wilf to do something. Hannah saw Holly nudge Wilf – who was chatting away to Jane on his left, completely oblivious – and beckon for him to go and sort his friend out. Wilf, who seemed terribly put out having had his story interrupted, glanced over to see what was going on, made a face that was somewhere between a frown and a laugh and then loped casually round the table to usher Harry away. He steered him towards a hastily set place at a table in the far corner, Emily’s eyes following them like daggers, ordering Harry to behave. Harry sat down with a guilty giggle and when he tried to stand up again, pointing towards Emily and clearly wanting to apologise, Wilf shoved him down hard on the shoulder.
All Hannah could think was, thank God Jemima had gone home. And wish that Harry hadn’t been seated in her direct eyeline. She watched him splashing vodka into his wine glass and then offer some to the woman on his right who glanced away with a look of disdain. Harry snorted a laugh and then leant back in his chair, swirling his vodka glass in his hand. To his clear surprise, the snakeskin-clad brunette sitting to his left leant right forward and, picking up the vodka from the table, took a sip straight from the bottle. Harry’s eyes widened, as did Hannah’s as she watched the pair chatting from across the marquee, the brunette clearly loving the addition of mischief. She linked her arm with Harry’s the moment the master of ceremonies called them all outside to watch the fireworks.
As they left the marquee they were handed blankets to drape over their shoulders to ward off the cold and cups of brandy-laced hot chocolate. Standing on the lawn, Hannah tried to keep her eyes fixed on the sky as it lit up like starbursts, but when their gazes were lowered to watch a giant Catherine Wheel, she caught Harry looking her way, the brunette from the table still hanging off his arm. When Hannah raised a brow and nodded towards his companion Harry turned and seemed taken aback to find himself linked to anyone. Hannah watched as he extricated his arm and then frown, seemingly lost as to what he had been doing a moment before.
Hannah blew out a breath and turned away, walking to the back of the crowd where she watched the rest of the show without looking down. Whatever had happened between now and New York, this wasn’t the Harry she’d spent the evening with, who was meant to be mesmerised by her stupid dress, who she had dreamt about seeing since her plane back from the hen do had touched down at Heathrow.
The party moved from the fireworks into the main house, where the huge living room had been lined with floor-to-ceiling high palm trees made out of gold lamé and festooned with fairy lights. Annie’s step-son River’s band was playing in the corner and there was a bar set up in the hallway at the base of the sweeping staircase. It was as Hannah was getting a glass of water, waiting for one of the barmen to fetch a crate of sparkling, that Harry caught up with her.
‘If it isn’t the ever aloof Hannah,’ he said with a slight slur, then to the barman added, ‘Two martinis, two tequilas, unless…’ he looked from the barman to Hannah. ‘Do you want one?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘No, Harry. Don’t you think maybe you should be thinking about slowing down?’
‘Slowing down?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Christ, I’m only just getting started.’
‘Harry, what’s going on?’
‘What do you mean, what’s going on?’ He frowned as if she was the idiot in their pairing. ‘There’s nothing going on.’
‘This…’ She pointed to the cocktails the barman was making for him. ‘This doesn’t seem like you.’
‘Oh right. And you know exactly what is me, I take it?’ he said, a touch more sharply than she had expected.
Hannah frowned. ‘No. No I don’t, I can only go on what I’ve met so far.’
‘Urgh.’ Harry shook his head. ‘Always the calm, in-the-right answer.’
‘Are you serious?’ Hannah took a slight step back. ‘Why are you being so mean?’
‘I’m not being mean, Hannah. I’m being me. This is who I am,’ he slurred, jabbing at his chest. ‘Anything else is you making me something I’m not. Sorry,’ he added with a laugh.
Hannah shook her head and looked away for a second. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Fine, Harry, just remember it’s Emily’s wedding. Don’t do anything else to upset her.’
‘Upset her? When have I upset her? I haven’t done anything. God, I’m just having a good time. Aren’t I allowed to have a good time? Isn’t that the whole purpose of weddings?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘Fine, Harry, suit yourself.’
The other barman appeared and, pulling out a bottle of fizzy water from the box he’d carried over, poured Hannah a glass. ‘Sorry for the wait, ma’am,’ he said and Hannah shook her head as if it was nothing.
‘Water?’ Harry frowned. ‘Why are you drinking water?’
‘Because I know my limit, Harry,’ she said, about to walk away.
He laughed. ‘You’ve probably got an uptight little rule about when you stop drinking, haven’t you?’
‘Are you kidding?’ She glared at him, aghast. ‘Is this because I said that you had rules? You’re so childish.’
Harry scoffed. ‘Seems to me like you’re fine telling other people what’s wrong with them but you can’t hear it yourself.’
Hannah didn’t know what to say. She just looked at him for a moment, dumbstruck. He’d turned away from her and was collecting the drinks that the guy behind the bar had poured, struggling to hold them all with two hands.
‘Well?’ he said, looking back at Hannah with one brow raised in challenge.
‘Harry, I think you’re just drunk. I think maybe you shouldn’t be talking any more.’
‘No,’ he said, sloshing the drinks as he turned to look around for whoever it was he’d got the drinks for. ‘No I shouldn’t, I should take these and find someone who is just as happy as me to drink them with. I’m assuming, after this little chat, that that won’t be you?’ he asked, stumbling backwards slightly as if he couldn’t quite stand still.
‘No, Harry,’ Hannah shook her head, swallowed over a lump of disappointment and disdain. ‘It won’t be me. It will never be me,’ she added before walking away so he couldn’t say anything else to upset her.
***
Hannah marched as far as she could in the opposite direction to Harry and found herself in the kitchen where she paused for a moment by the sink and surreptitiously ran her wrists under cool water to try and calm down.
She never had to see him again in her life, she knew that. She knew she didn’t have to stand there and mull over what he’d said. She’d known he was a pain in the neck the moment she’d met him in the Dandelion Café. Yet she didn’t want him to think those things of her. To find her aloof and uptight. She had thought he was her friend. She had thought, whatever happened between them, that they had been on a level emotionally. That they understood each other. That the threads of their minds connected in ways that they didn’t with other people. And yet, one drink too many, and he could go straight back to the box marked Stranger.
She moved through the crowd in the direction of the big sliding-glass windows where she could see the glitter-strewn swimming pool. Holly and Wilf, Annie and Matt, Emily and Jack were all sitting round a garden table, a heater glowing next to them, a bottle of whisky being passed between them. At the other end of the pool she saw Alfonso, sitting with his trousers rolled up and his legs dangling in the water next to a beautiful redhead who was laughing at all his jokes.
How different from France the end of this wedding was, she thought, about to turn away and go home. How easily it all slips back to what it was before.
But then someone came up behind her and, reaching past, pulled open the handle of the sliding doors.
It was Jane. Dressed in a lemon and black leopard-print shift, fabric Hannah recognised from her portfolio, hemmed with black fringing that reached all the way to the floor. ‘You trumped me,’ Jane laughed, looking Hannah up and down. ‘I thought I’d nailed it, but you trumped me. Look, William…’ She beckoned to a guy walking towards them, her fiancé William Blackwell, sharply handsome in his tux, a bottle of champagne under his arm and a couple of glasses in his hand. ‘Look, this is Hannah. Look, her dress is better than mine, isn’t it? I knew it, damn it.’
William tried to look diplomatic. ‘You both look sensational.’
Jane rolled her eyes. ‘Come on,’ she said to Hannah. ‘We’re going outside, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for dancing.’
Hannah looked between the two of them, Jane who’d stepped outside and was holding the door open, William who gestured for Hannah to go ahead of him. And instead of going home and moping about Harry, she went outside and sat around a pool filled with glitter, underneath a giant gold palm tree and drank champagne wearing what was agreed by the group, that after the bride, was the best dress in the place.
It wasn’t like before, Hannah thought as she saw Alfonso walk away from the pool with the redhead and, hearing the band drift outside, imagined Harry downing shots of tequila with whoever would join him, because now she had all these people. These friends. And she wasn’t Mum Hannah or Accidentally pregnant Hannah, or Work Hannah. She was just Hannah. A woman in a beautiful dress sitting under a gold lamé palm tree, laughing.