Ava felt desperate. It was as though a vampire had sucked the life out of her. She’d been sick too. In fact, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and hide from the world. But however much she and Gail didn’t get on, she was still her sister, and today meant everything to Gail.
She stared in the mirror, her hand shaking as she held her red lipstick close to her lips, a sudden anger rising inside her. She struck each cheek with the lipstick, as though painting a picture. ‘I hate you,’ she yelled at her reflection. ‘Why don’t you just curl up and die?’
*
Later, after she’d scrubbed away the lipstick in the shower, Ava eased herself into her yellow satin dress, her body trembling. She’d hated the dress when she first saw it, and yet now she almost liked it – a blast of sunshine on the darkest of days.
She placed the ring of flowers on her head and took the stairs slowly with the aid of the banister. A rumble of excited voices radiated from the lounge, making her want to turn back.
She opened the lounge door. Jeannette was faffing with Gail’s white gown, and Ava had to admit her sister looked stunning. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with ringlets falling softly each side of her perfectly made-up face. Her dress was delicate, feminine, the top half made from Victorian lace, the bottom silk.
‘You look lovely,’ Ava said, meaning it. Sometimes all she wanted was for her and her sister to get on, be friends. But she knew it would never happen.
‘Yes, yes I know,’ Gail replied, looking at her nails, distracted.
Willow was spinning in circles, her yellow satin dress flaring outwards from the waist. She was gripping a small bouquet, her hair decorated with tiny white flowers. My darling girl.
Peter looked good in a royal-blue velvet suit, his hair fastened in a neat ponytail. He’d scrubbed up pretty well.
Her mum looked the best Ava had ever seen her in an ankle-length dark green skirt suit, and a fascinator Gail had forced her to wear, pinned to her hair. Everything looked so normal – happy. The book’s cover – the real story inside.
‘Hey, Ava,’ Peter said, catching sight of her in the doorway. ‘Looking good, sis. Very nice.’ She felt far from it but tried for a smile.
‘Pretty Mummy!’ Willow squealed and stopped spinning to run and grab Ava’s legs.
‘For God’s sake, Ava, don’t let her stain your dress,’ Gail yelled.
Ava crouched down, and studied the flowers pinned to Willow’s hair, touching them gently. The gash from Willow’s fall had healed well, just a tiny scar now, as the nurse had predicted. Ava wished her own wounds would heal as well. ‘You look like an angel, Willow,’ she said, kissing her daughter’s cheek.
Willow smiled, and touched her mum’s face gently, and Ava took her small hand and kissed it three times.
‘The car’s here! The car’s here!’ yelled Gail, looking through the window. ‘Oh God, should we leave now? I want to be a bit late.’
‘Why?’ Jeannette said. ‘You don’t want to give Rory a reason to change his mind, do you?’
‘Maxen won’t let him change his mind,’ Gail said.
‘Maxen?’ Ava said uneasily. Surely it couldn’t be the same Maxen?
‘Anyway, Mum,’ Gail went on, ignoring Ava. ‘Why would he change his mind?’
‘I was only joking, love.’
‘Maxen?’ Ava said again.
‘Maxen Jones.’ Gail narrowed her eyes, her tone irritated. ‘Rory’s best man.’
‘Really?’ She should have known. Maxen had mentioned Rory that day at Kathy’s Café and again at the arcade. Yet she still found their friendship surprising. They were so different.
‘Yes? Why are you so shocked?’ Gail said. ‘Do you know him?’
‘I really think we should leave now, Gail,’ Jeannette cut in.
‘Yes. Well, OK, I guess we’d better go. Get me to the church on time,’ she sang, raising her bouquet in the air as she headed for the door.
They poured from the cottage, and down the path towards the waiting limo – Gail holding onto Peter’s arm, Jeannette a few steps behind, Ava and Willow following on hand in hand. It was chilly, but a watery sun shone high in the blue sky. Gail had picked the perfect day to get married.
Once in the car, Ava opened her silver clutch bag. The velvet box was at the bottom. Someone must have seen it before, and what better place to find out who than a village hall full of locals.
*
‘Rory and I have been friends since we were kids,’ Maxen was saying. He’d already told tall tales about their antics in their teens to raucous laughter, and now his tone was more serious. ‘He had a much more exciting beginning than I had. Living in Italy for a while with his mum who adored him.’ He looked over at Rory and tilted his head. ‘I know the loss of his mother was traumatic, and his dad more recently – but they would be proud of you now, mate.’ He smiled at Rory. ‘Proud of everything you’ve achieved.’
Ava zoned out, her eyes falling on Dexter in a pale grey suit, sitting at a table with his mother, and a group of Gail’s friends, looking a bit fed up. He caught her eye and smiled, dimples forming, and raised his glass to her. She shuddered. It was the first time she’d seen him since that awful night. She hadn’t realised he would be here.
‘And now we’re the closest we’ve ever been,’ Maxen was saying. ‘I’d do anything for you, Rory. You’re the best friend a guy could wish for. To the bride and groom,’ he said, raising his glass.
There was a resounding echo of congratulations in the room, as Ava knocked back a full glass of champagne. ‘To the bride and groom,’ she said.
Next, Ava watched on with a pang of envy, as Rory and Gail presented each other with necklaces, and Rory told Gail how much he loved her, that he was the luckiest man in the world to have met her.
The only comfort for Ava was Willow, sitting next to her so well-behaved, throwing her mum looks every so often as if to say, ‘Are you OK, Mummy?’
*
Later, Ava made her way towards Dexter. He was alone at the table now; his mother and Gail’s friends had vanished to the separate bar area. It was that in-between time you get at weddings: the meal had finished, but the evening festivities hadn’t started – although the band had almost set up.
Dexter looked handsome, as he always did, his hair tousled, his eyes on her.
She sat down, and he leaned forward, went to touch her cheek. She batted his hand away. He shot back, as though burnt.
‘Christ, Ava, what’s wrong with you?’ he said, his dark eyes hurt.
‘Who invited you?’ she snapped. Being so close to him sent her body into meltdown. Had he raped her? Had he drugged her? If it wasn’t him, where was he when someone put something in her drink? Why hadn’t he seen someone take her that night? Why hadn’t he protected her?
‘Gail. We go to the same gym. I hadn’t realised she was your sister until today.’
‘So you brought your mum as your plus one?’
‘Yes.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘She’s about somewhere. Probably gossiping.’
‘I need a drink,’ she said, rising, and he followed her through to the bar. ‘Large wine,’ she said to the barman, and turned to Dexter. ‘What about you?’
‘Think I’ll pace myself,’ he said, putting his hand up as though she’d offered him poison. ‘I’ve already had a fair bit.’
‘Fine,’ she said, paying for the wine, and taking a mouthful.
‘I messaged you,’ he said, following her once more into the hall. ‘They said at work you’ve been ill.’
‘Yes. I have. Very ill.’ Her words were clipped. She struggled to stay near him. Stay near anyone.
They sat back down, as the lights dimmed, and the band launched into a Beatles track. Within moments Peter was up on the floor, dancing with Willow and a little boy Ava didn’t recognise.
Dexter and Ava sat in silence until the song ended, and the dance floor cleared.
‘Are you going to speak to me?’ Dexter said, his voice cracking.
She drained her glass. ‘I need another one of these,’ she said, getting up and leaving him. He didn’t follow this time, and as she glanced over her shoulder at him sitting alone, she wanted to cry. She’d liked him. She’d liked him a lot. But the overwhelming fear the attack had left her with had set up home. She knew it would never leave.
At the bar she downed another wine. Dutch courage, that’s what her mother called it. Fake strength. But heading back, she felt unsteady. She dropped down at a table and buried her head in her hands, as the band played a cover of ‘Yesterday’ and Gail’s friends at the bar sang along, out of tune. She lifted her gaze to see them swaying in time with the music – all fascinators, posh frocks and heels – and wished she could remember what it felt like to be that happy. In fact, she wasn’t sure she ever had.