It’s the day of the big wedding. As I get dressed, I picture myself in the hours before mine. I allowed a system to take control. A system of tradition that I wasn’t comfortable with but accepted as part of the process. I wore white underwear, I made a cream dress out of a thick, silky fabric. It had a high neck, ruffles across the front, I added splits in the sleeves. I, of course, had my customary wax. I wore more than the usual make-up, I had my hair blow-dried by a professional. I sat in a chair, looking at myself in the mirror for much longer than I normally would. I stared at my face, reminding myself that my husband-to-be made this decision all by himself. I never applied any pressure to get married. He wanted to. Love and joy was inside of me somewhere, and for that morning I allowed it to flourish. I was a bride. A wife-to-be. I think maybe I thought life was about to change forever. Acceptance of myself on the outside and the inside, all because someone else was willing to do the same.
But Liam blew it. He squeezed out my recklessness and smashed it on the floor. I immediately crawled back into my shell, with even less inclination to come out. Now, every day when I get dressed, my aim is to cover as much of my body as I can without looking like I am dressed like a nun. I am sure Lauren Pearce’s wedding will be full of young women exposing flesh like they are produce in a butcher’s fridge. Not me, I will be in my usual velvet armour. Albeit in a fabulous colour.
I consider shaving my entire body, but it’s never worth it. Within hours the hair would start to grow back and that is very uncomfortable. I pluck my chin and I pack my tweezers. Twelve hours is a long time, and who knows what will sprout from where by the end of the day. I put on the crimson version of the dress but it’s too hot for tights. It’s a warm day and I’ve packed a portable fan to keep me cool. I presume this ‘back room’ will at least have a window?
Rebecca has told me to bring a sandwich. She said she was sure there would be something available for us, but that I shouldn’t rely on it. I don’t eat sandwiches, so I make a neat packed lunch of some rice cakes and crudités with a generous amount of hummus in a Tupperware box. I also pack deodorant and a pair of tights in case I do get cold. You never know if there will be air conditioners or not. I have my computer, of course, my charger, and an Internet dongle in case there is no Wifi. All of this requires one of my larger totes. A cheeky Anya Hindmarch with a pair of googly eyes on it. It’s quite ambitious on the fun factor, considering who owns it. But I quite enjoy the irony of that.
A car is waiting for me outside my house. It’s a Mercedes – apparently they’re providing a fleet of cars for the event. Every guest has been sent one as the wedding party don’t want random taxis showing up. I was asked by Rebecca to #Mercedes with a selfie of myself on the way. I told her I would do no such thing. I am going to this event to work, I am being paid. I have no obligation to enter into the brand support just so that Lauren Pearce and her famous husband can get loads of things for free.
The driver isn’t chatty, so it’s a fine journey as we travel about forty-five minutes west of London. I spend most of it thinking about Bonnie, and what a mess I have made of her nursery situation. After a wax, it is top of my things to have sorted by the end of next week.
A text comes in from my mother.
Not answering my calls? I hope you are a better mother than you are a daughter.
I don’t reply, despite the barrage of attack I would like to throw in her direction. It’s never worth it.
‘What is happening? Some kind of festival?’ I ask the driver. There’s tape and barricades and wardens in high-visibility vests as we enter a small village.
He looks in his rear-view mirror and raises his eyebrows as if I am joking. I find it irritating.
‘It’s for the wedding?’ he says.
‘Ohhhhh.’
‘Apparently there are five hundred guests,’ he tells me, proud of his knowledge. ‘That’s why all the roads are closed. And to stop the press getting too close.’
I had no idea it would be an event of this magnitude.
I have been told to call Rebecca as soon as I am out of the car, and that she will come to meet me at the entrance. As we pull up, I text her. I really don’t like talking on the phone.
Hello Rebecca, I’m arriving now.
K, dwn in 5
There is no need for that level of abbreviation. Rebecca is one of those women who goes on about being busy all of the time. So many emails end with something about her not having much time. It’s just a subtle way of telling people not to try to get any more out of her than she is offering. If she knew who she was conversing with, she wouldn’t bother.
I get out of the car and wait on the step. There are literally hundreds of people rushing around. Florists wheeling in huge arrangements, caterers with trays of glasses and food. Trucks pulling up, being unloaded with God knows what. I even see two people carefully carrying an enormously tall white box, which must be the cake. I don’t know what it is about me that wants to go and push the box over. But all of this wedding joy is triggering my own wedding trauma. I remember choosing all of those things. The cakes, the flowers. It all felt so out of character for me, but I went along with it all because I was in love. It was important to Liam to be traditional and he was important to me. I became a bride. I chose cake toppers. I selected food I thought my guests would enjoy. I played the part. And then he ruined it with a ‘joke’. My self-awareness is too feisty a beast to take humour on the chin.
And here I am at Lauren Pearce’s dream day. How does a model who uses fake mental health issues to sell products get to have this level of joy in her life and not me?
‘Ruby,’ calls Rebecca, coming up behind me. She is wearing red trousers and a cream blouse. Her brown curly hair is tied up untidily, and she has accessorised with large, fashionable earrings. She has a simple lick of mascara on, rosy cheeks and a solid red lip. She knows how to make casual look good. Well you would, when you spend your life surrounded by magazine people and photographing models. The trousers are a little controversial for a wedding, but I suppose they offer her a little more flexibility as she will be moving around a lot, squeezing into small spaces, and doing what she can to get the perfect photo. She’s not a small woman. Tall, with solid thighs. I haven’t seen her for a number of years and there is definitely a little more weight around her middle. The mole on her face is as prevalent as it ever was and the first thing you notice, even when you know it is there.
Her unpleasant aura is still as powerful. We don’t bother with pleasantries that go beyond a simple ‘hello’. As always she gets out of conversation by implying how busy she is with various comments and gestures. She does, however, look me up and down without complimenting my dress, which obviously means she hates it.
‘OK, follow me and I’ll show you your room,’ she says, leading the way. She looks around, seeming a bit on edge.
‘Are you looking for someone?’ I ask her.
‘Nope. Just checking out locations for possible photos.’
She’s like a sniffer dog, always on the job.
‘Thanks for coming early. Lauren wants a lot of getting-ready photos. Everything from her bath, to putting her underwear on. She wants to approve each shot and that will mean giving her a few options so we will have to work quickly if we’re going to make these posts feel live. You OK with that?’
‘Well I don’t have anything else to do today, so I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’
‘OK, Lauren is in there.’ She points at a door off a long corridor. I am curious to see Lauren in real life. Whatever real life is, to someone like her. I’ve erased her flaws in picture form, I now want to see them in the flesh. I’ve built quite the dislike for this woman, and she’s done that all by herself with her Photoshop requests and ludicrous Instagram feed, yet still I am met with a small thrill at the thought of seeing a major celebrity move and breathe. This day is actually quite exciting. I am pleased I took the time to make a good dress.
‘She has her mother with her. I just took loads of pictures of them but need to get more. She has two bridesmaids but they’re in their own rooms with their own PRs, which is so weird I don’t even know what to say about it. Gavin is in a room on the other side of the house. I’m about to go and get some shots of the cake, then I’ll get some of Gavin and his groomsmen, so then you can get working on those while I go and photograph the bride. She’s being quite intense.’
‘Intense?’
‘Snappy. She wants photos but doesn’t want photos. Fucking brides, I swore I’d never do weddings.’
‘Why did you then?’
‘The money. I’m being paid like a footballer to shoot this wedding. So we better get to it. The contract stated they want one shot of the champagne fountain and some bottles around it, followed by Gavin and then the reveal of Lauren and photos of the day as it progresses. Oh look, here comes Lauren’s mum.
‘Hey Mayra, this place is a maze, isn’t it,’ Rebecca says, conversationally, waving Mayra over.
‘A maze? I don’t know why you all have to abbreviate everything,’ she says, which seems unfriendly.
‘Pardon?’ Rebecca asks.
‘Did you not have time to say “amazing”?’ Lauren’s mum says. Her tone is quite spiky and I dislike her immediately. Neither of them think to involve me.
‘I said this place is a maze. As in, there are loads of corridors and it’s quite hard to find your way around,’ Rebecca says. Two not very nice ladies having an awkward chat. I don’t try to make it three.
Mayra laughs, but doesn’t apologise. ‘Oh, I’m so used to Lauren doing that. It’s so confusing to me. Anyway, have you photographed Gavin and his groomsmen yet?’
‘Nope, I’ll get there in about fifteen minutes, I reckon.’
Lauren’s mum looks at her watch. ‘OK, I’ll go and let him know.’
She walks quickly away from us.
‘She’s a real piece of work,’ Rebecca informs me. ‘No wonder Lauren is a mess. Anyway, this is your room.’
‘Wow,’ I say, walking in. It really is stunning. The way she was talking, I’d been imagining myself stuffed into a broom cupboard. But this is really magnificent. Beautiful, opulent fabrics surrounding the windows and furniture. A four-poster bed with multiple fluffy cushions and a bathroom of pure marble with an enormous bath.
‘Goodness me, this is wonderful,’ I say, almost wanting to do a twirl when I walk in. I’m delighted to spend the day in such a gorgeous and unexpected place.
‘Lovely, isn’t it. OK, the Wifi code is on that pad over there. Here’s the first card with photos of the venue and Lauren and her mum. If you could find one of the champagne that would be great, just make sure the colours pop. And can we just do a few test shots? My flash has been playing up and I need to just check the exposure.’
‘Um, OK,’ I say. ‘Snap away and I’ll have a look at them on my computer.’
‘OK, thanks. If you stand by the window that would be good. The back light is what’s worrying me.’
I walk over to the window slowly, unsure why it matters where I stand. She raises the camera to her eye and points it at me, I quickly dart to the other side of the bed.
‘No, no, sorry. I don’t want to be in any photos if that’s alright.’
‘No one will see them, it’s just so I can check stuff.’
‘No. Sorry, I really don’t want to be in any pictures.’
Rebecca looks annoyed. Tough shit. Nowhere in my contract does it state I have to be in any photographs. I don’t want to do it, she’ll have to find someone else.
‘OK. Then can you take the photo? I like to test with people in the shot. Would you at least do that?’ she asks, sarcastically. As if I have just personally offended her. I tell her I will of course take some photos. She goes to the window and poses awkwardly. I take a few pictures. She checks them on the camera, then asks me to take some more. She leans against a chair, sits on the bed. It is a very strange five minutes as we barely say a word; she really isn’t very easy to get along with. She takes her camera, checks the photos, makes a few adjustments and finally seems happy.
‘Are we done?’ I ask, wanting her to get out so I can enjoy my room.
‘If you need anything, there will be staff catering happening in about five minutes in a staff tent downstairs. Maybe you could grab something and bring it back up? The guests arrive at two so Lauren will be right in the throes of getting ready then, and I want to get the images to her quickly.’
‘OK, thank you,’ I say, wondering if she will leave now.
‘Great, well, you have my number if you need me. I’ll keep popping back with the cards, and I guess we just get on with it?’
‘Great,’ I say, opening the door to encourage her exit. I want to swan around this room and pretend it’s in my house. She hovers by the door. ‘Was there something else?’
‘I’d really appreciate you getting going, please don’t treat today like a spa break.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course,’ I say, getting my computer out of my bag and setting it up on a little desk near the window. It’s such a strange feeling to have someone talk to me that way. I really have no authority in my life and I respond to it quite negatively when faced with it. ‘I’ll get on much quicker if you leave me to it,’ I say, regaining some control. I don’t like being spoken to like someone’s employee. Finally, she leaves.
I immediately lie down on the bed and stretch out my arms and legs. It’s gloriously comfortable. I love hotels, and occasionally splash out on one on a Saturday night while Liam has Bonnie. It’s been a while, I am due a mini-break.
I get up and look out over the grounds from the window. It’s a stunning location and a gorgeous summer’s day. On the lawn there is an aisle created between two sections of about three hundred chairs. At the end is a flower arch, there are explosive arrangements everywhere. The flowers alone must have cost tens of thousands. Even with my cold heart, I have to admit it looks very pretty. This place is the dream location for a day such as today. It’s what you get, I suppose, when you sell your body for hundreds of thousands of pounds and marry one of the most successful businessmen in the country. Oh to be the future Lauren Riley.
Realising Rebecca’s work might take some time, considering the effort needed for uploading all of the pictures of Lauren and her mother, I wonder if maybe I will take a walk down to the staff tent. I could fill up my water bottle, maybe get some extra crudités. I’m intrigued by this fantastic location, I want to know more about how much it will cost for me to come and spend a weekend here. I’d never leave the room. I’d sit by the window and read Brontë novels all day long.
I walk through the kitchens and out into the gardens to the staff tent. Multiple waiting staff are lining up to receive their free lunches. I see a side table with some fruit and coffee. I take an apple, a satsuma and a black coffee. I know the pace of work is about to ramp up, but even these few minutes are a bonus I didn’t anticipate.
Just as I’m walking up the beautiful staircase back to my room, Lauren Pearce appears at the top. It startles me … she is a real person. Of course I knew that, but here she is, skin and bones, right in front of me. It’s harder to dislike someone when you see them in the flesh. The reality of everything you created about them in your head now challenged as their eyes move, and their skin breathes, and they become actual people, instead of objects I have worked on. She has a nervous demeanour. She is delicate and pretty. She is wearing a white tracksuit, her hair tonged to perfection. I won’t have to do much to it today. I had always imagined her to be more bolshy, or loud, or overconfident, but she is gentle and timid. Her smile spreads across her face as she sees someone behind me. She runs quickly past.
‘Dad, you’re here,’ she says, as she throws her arms around him.
I can’t believe what I am seeing as the man approaches, the coincidence hitting me like a cosmic message I know must mean something. I hurry back to my room. I don’t want him to see me.
‘Double-check that the favours are to the left of the forks please. And that the leaves with the names are in the middle of the napkin. Oh, and then do the chairs. Five inches from the table, no less, no more. It’s what she wants.’
I have everything in order, I think. I am waiting for the last-minute drama, there always is one.
‘Hey boss, so Tom the magician is ill, but he’s sending a replacement. I’ve forwarded the NDAs and I’m waiting for them to be emailed back to me. I made it clear no one is allowed on site until they have sent one through. Just letting you know,’ says Risky, reeking of efficiency. I’m very glad for it.
‘OK, that’s OK. If he’s weird or crap at magic, we just send him home. Simple. Shame about Tom, he’s good. Anything else?’
‘The florist just gave me the buttonholes for the groomsmen …’ She is holding a tray with them laid out. She stands looking at me as if waiting for approval. ‘Shall I go and give them to them, or do you want to?’
Ah, she is asking me if she is allowed to go and see Gavin and his brother. ‘Give them to me, I’ll …’ There is a massive crash in the marquee. It sounds like glass. A lot of glass. ‘Shit!’ I say, running over to see what happened. ‘OK, go and give them to him. And then leave!’
‘Yes boss.’ I see a cheeky smirk on Risky’s face that she immediately tries to hide.
In the marquee, one of the waiting staff has knocked over a perfectly compiled pyramid of coupé champagne glasses. She is sobbing in a chair with around three other members of staff trying to calm her down.
‘It’s OK,’ I tell her. ‘Why don’t you go to the staff area and have a cup of tea? I’ll have someone deal with this.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m having a terrible time at the moment, I’m not quite myself.’
‘Go to the staff tent and get yourself together, I need everyone to forget their problems today, and just get through it. You’re not in trouble, OK?’
She nods and hurries away. All feelings must be cast aside today. The only emotion I want to see is pure joy from the wedding party. Everyone else, me included, needs to just deal.
Every time I think about Michael I want to throw up in a flower arrangement. I keep trying not to think about Tommy, because when I do I become riddled with a guilt that makes it impossible for me to even pretend to want to celebrate the concept of love today. I just have to get through this wedding, then I can work on the state of my own marriage.
I’m walking towards the groom’s quarters to find Risky, when she suddenly appears in front of me, running and crying. My first thought is that she has been attacked.
‘Risky, Risky, what happened?’ I ask, running towards her. ‘Are you OK? Did someone hurt you?’
She can barely catch a breath.
‘Risky, pull yourself together. What happened? Was it Adam? Did he upset you?’
‘No. No. No … It’s Gavin, he’s …’
‘He’s what? What is Gavin doing?’
‘I can’t. Boss, no. I need to unsee it. This can’t be happening, I just can’t take it.’ She is hysterical. I put a hand on each shoulder and tell her to breathe.
‘Risky, calm, calm, calm. OK, what did you see?’
‘Gavin.’
‘Yes, I gathered that. What is Gavin doing?’
‘I can’t say it. I can’t. That room down the corridor, the third on the right. Go look.’ I start to make my way down there, terrified of what I might see, Risky following close behind. I’m thinking the absolute worst. ‘Quietly boss, be really, really quiet.’
I approach the door nervously and push it open. ‘Holy shit!’ I say, shutting the door quickly but quietly. ‘Oh my GOD.’ There is always a last-minute drama, but this takes it to a whole new level.
‘Did you see?’ Risky says, catching a breath at last.
‘Yes. Yes I did.’ I am now becoming hysterical myself.
I take some long slow breaths.
‘Is that really happening?’ I say, not really asking. I saw it with my own eyes. It was absolutely happening. No doubt, not a single bit. Gavin is in that room a hundred per cent having sex with … oh my God!
My nipples start to leak.
‘Quick, Risky, I need to pump. Where is it?’
‘Follow me,’ she says, as we race down the corridor.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Risky asks me, a blanket over her shoulders like she has just been rescued from a sinking ship. She is sipping water, holding the bottle with both hands. Shivering, despite it being quite warm. I am sitting opposite her in a small room, my breast pump on. We are working out our next move while the bottles fill up.
‘We have to tell Lauren,’ Risky says, every bit the woman’s woman she preaches to be.
‘What? No Risky, we can’t do that. We can’t do anything.’
‘He’s cheating on her. It’s so bad, and with her? It’s horrible. The worst. Lauren needs to know. All of those rumours, there are so many. They’re all true. If he can do that, he can do anything. She has no real friends. It’s down to us to save her.’
Oh God, the crusade. Women supporting women can be really limiting when you need a wedding to happen.
‘Listen, Risky, no marriage is perfect. OK? Do we really believe Lauren has no idea who she’s marrying? She’s made her decision, this is what she wants. It isn’t up to us to crush her dreams.’
‘But he just … on their wedding day … with …’
‘I know, I saw. But seriously. It’s not down to us to fix this. We’re here to do a job, and I think we just have to do it.’
‘Beth, in the nicest possible way, you have the perfect marriage. Maybe you just can’t accept that love isn’t always a Disney movie.’
I can’t handle this anymore.
‘For God’s sake Risky, no marriage is a Disney movie. I got shagged up the arse by a stranger the other day because my husband refuses to touch me. When are you going to understand that relationships are just shit?’
Silence. To be fair, I just gave her a lot to process.
‘Michael refuses to touch you?’ she asks. I am glad she chose to focus on that part of my sentence.
‘Yes. It’s been really terrible for a long time. He has some weird sex phobia and it’s made me do something terrible and now I’m in such a mess and I don’t know what to do about it.’
‘Beth,’ she says gently, coming close to me. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Because I am your boss and we have a wedding to get through. I don’t like to bring my personal life to work.’
‘You sit there with your tits out half the day. I watch your nipples being stretched like rubber bands, milk squirting out the end of them. You can tell me anything, OK?’
She hugs me and it feels very strange to consider this very young girl my friend. But I do.
‘But wait, you got done up the arse by a stranger? Beth, that’s pretty full on.’
‘Inspired by you, Risky. Quit with the judgemental face.’
‘Hey, I’m not judging. I’m actually impressed – I thought you were a prude.’
‘I think I am a prude. Can we stop talking about it? It’s making me feel weird.’
‘OK, yes. For now we can. Also, we need to get back to Lauren and Gavin. Lauren needs to know what we saw. God, I hate rich white men.’
‘You’re right,’ I say, ‘but it isn’t our job to sort that out.’
‘But what about the sistership?’
Bloody hell, she is so annoying. ‘What about the sistership, Risky?’
‘What’s the point of feminism if we don’t help women? How can we just watch her marry a cheat? Cheating is the worst thing you can do in a marriage. People who cheat should be punished.’
‘OK, OK Risky, remember what I just told you?’ I say, my guilt not needing a hammering.
‘Yes, but you had good reason.’
‘Maybe Gavin has good reason?’
‘To shag someone else on his wedding day? And her own—’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Look Beth, we could let this go, or we could exercise the power afforded to us by recent feminist movements and actually save a sister from a life of mental abuse at the hand of her cheating husband and her cruel, cruel … Oh God, I’m going to tell her.’
She runs out of the room. I realise that entire exchange took place with my left boob hanging out. I reclip my nursing bra, do up my shirt and hurry after her. I catch her up as she is knocking on Lauren’s door.
‘Risky, please. Can we at least discuss how we do this, we can’t just barge in, this will be devastating for so many—’
The door opens and a whole new nightmare stares me in the face.
‘Anal man!’ I screech clear as a bell, when I see my recent sexual conquest standing in front of me. His face doesn’t jog any memory of his real name.
‘Wow,’ he says, alarmed by such a graphic hello.
‘What? This guy?’ Risky asks.
‘No, another man,’ I say, trying to cover my tracks. ‘Look, it’s another man.’
‘Is Lauren in here?’ Risky asks him, moving on. She will deal with me later.
‘Yes, who shall I say it is …’
But Risky bursts past him before I have a chance to answer.
‘Come in,’ Anal Man says sarcastically. We stand for a second staring at each other. ‘Well this is strange,’ he says.
‘It is. I, er …’
He leans in and whispers, ‘You just called me Anal Man, is that my new name?’
‘No. Look, oh God sorry, can we catch up later, I really need to …’ I push past him too.
‘Sure, why not. Anyone else wanna come in?’ he jokingly shouts down the corridor, before shutting the door. When he turns around, Risky and Lauren are standing opposite each other. I am in a corner begging the ground to swallow me up. What is he doing here?
‘Are you OK, love?’ he asks Lauren protectively.
‘Yeah, I’m OK Dad. This is Risky and Beth, they’re my wedding planners.’
Dad? Anal Man is Lauren’s dad? For fuck’s sake!
‘Lauren’s dad? Wow,’ says Risky. ‘The plot thickens …’
‘What’s wrong, Risky? Did the cake not show up or something?’ Lauren asks.
‘The cake showed up,’ Risky says, mentally preparing herself.
‘OK, well what is it then? Something is wrong, isn’t it? Oh God, is it the ice sculpture? Did it smash?’ Lauren is doing her best to guess while Risky prepares to blow up her life into a billion pieces.
‘The ice sculpture is fine. I … I … Oh I can’t do it, Beth, tell her.’
‘What? Why me?’
‘Because you’re the boss?’ Risky says, as if that makes any sense. Lauren turns to look at me. She is worried now, maybe starting to panic a little. Why would we burst in like this if it wasn’t serious? I have to tell her, but how?
‘What is it, Beth?’ Anal Man asks.
The room is suddenly deathly still. I have no choice.
‘Lauren, Risky and I just saw something we wish we hadn’t seen.’
‘What?’ she asks nervously. ‘What did you see?’
I take a deep breath and hang my head. I can’t look at her while I say this.
‘We saw Gavin having … he was having …’
‘Having what?’ Lauren asks, a little tear appearing.
‘Having sex with your—’
Right on cue, in storms Mayra. ‘Right, let’s get this dress on, shall we darling?’ she says. ‘Oh Ross, you’re here!’
‘Ross!’ I yelp. ‘Ross, that’s it!’ Everyone looks at me strangely.
‘Having sex with who?’ Lauren says. And I realise she hasn’t moved an inch, or taken her eyes off me. Waiting for me to finish my sentence with her entire life depending on it.
‘With her,’ I say, pointing at Mayra. ‘Risky and I just saw Gavin having sex with your mother.’
Lauren and Mayra lock eyes. Risky smiles at me, and mouths, ‘Well done.’ I feel like the worst person alive.
‘Mum?’ Lauren says, with so much pain in her voice that it hurts just to hear it. ‘Is that true?’
‘What? Of course it’s not true. These women are trying to get publicity for their business. It’s very obvious, darling. Now please, everyone out. It’s time for the bride to get dressed.’
I start to leave. A part of me just wants this to pass over. I said it, it’s up to them now.
‘Come on Risky,’ I say, urging her to come with me, but she doesn’t move. She just stares at Lauren like she is a puppy in a shop window and needs to be saved.
‘I saw it though,’ she says, breathlessly. ‘You’re her mother, how could you?’
‘Oh, take your lies somewhere else you vicious little girl. Making up tales to sell to the press to make money for yourself. Disgusting,’ Mayra says. The venom in her voice is a bit startling. I step back and stand by Risky. I can’t have her spoken to like that.
‘Mayra, if you choose to lie to your daughter then so be it, but please don’t make accusations like that to me or my staff.’
‘Oh, I can’t make accusations, but you can, is that it?’
‘Is it an accusation though?’ Ross says, chiming in. Lauren has not moved.
‘Excuse me?’ Mayra says, looking at him like lasers might come out of her eyes and kill him.
‘It’s not like you have no history of cheating on people you love, is it?’
‘Ross, this is not the time.’
‘Oh, I think this is exactly the right time,’ he says, like he too has been waiting for this moment.
‘For God’s sake, what has got into you all? As if I would sleep with Gavin on the day of your wedding,’ Mayra says, blushing now. Some sweat appearing on her brow.
‘Well you slept with my brother on the day of ours,’ Ross says.
‘What?’ Lauren says. ‘Is that why you don’t speak to Uncle Stewart?’
‘Yes, the affair went on for years. I found out about it when Verity died. Turns out she needed him for comfort at the funeral, not me. I walked in on them in the bathroom.’
‘Oh my God,’ Lauren says, as if years of drama now make perfect sense.
We all just stare at Mayra, willing her to crack. Of course, she finally does.
‘I deserve happiness too,’ she says, pitifully. It’s an obvious confession.
‘No,’ Lauren says, white as a sheet, despite the fake tan. ‘No, this isn’t happening.’
‘I don’t know how to stop it,’ Mayra says, falling back into a chair. ‘It’s so hard to find anything that takes the pain away. Gavin does. I can’t help it.’
Lauren starts to shake quite violently. It’s unclear what will come out of her, tears or flying fists. She bends right down to Mayra, pushing her face as close to hers as she can before it touches.
‘It will be all your fault. This time I will not fail.’ And then she runs out of the room. Mayra looks at Risky and me and lets out an ear-splitting scream.
‘Quick,’ I say. ‘We better follow her.’
Leaving Mayra to wallow in a stinking heap of her own destruction, Ross, Risky and I find ourselves in the corridor.
‘You go that way, I’ll go this way,’ he says, desperately.
I run off with Risky to find Lauren.
Staring into the bathroom mirror, I wonder why life does this sometimes. Why worlds collide in this way, why people jump into your life in such a way that it startles you to the point of reassessing everything, including yourself. You’re being led down a path that you think is maybe going one way, but suddenly there is a fork in the road and you find yourself going in a direction you never imagined. For me, this means a road of sympathy instead of frustration. Understanding rather than judgement. Openness to acknowledge, rather than a knee-jerk reaction to shut something down. The man from the bench is Lauren Pearce’s father. Everything I assumed about her has now been turned on its head.
I hear the door slam. I walk back into the bedroom expecting to see Rebecca, but instead I am faced with Lauren. This synchronisation of the cosmos leading me further into the unknown. She is looking out of the window. I must be in an alternate universe. One that is forcing me to stop and take stock. To realise that I have done the exact thing I fear people do to me to someone else: I have judged her completely by what she looks like and the tiny version of herself that she chooses to share with the world. I thought I had collated a detailed picture of the woman standing in front of me, but maybe I got her entirely wrong. I’ve failed to consider the layers that make up a person who is ridden with such self-loathing. I haven’t considered that grief may have been part of her experience, nor that the bubble of the perfect life I wanted to see was formed off the back of something so painful and sinister, rendering her flaws irreparable and her pain more real than any Instagram post could ever convey. I want to tell her I am sorry. Instead I stay quiet, peering from behind the door.
She is still in her white tracksuit, her hair perfect. She is looking out of the window and crying. What could have happened now – last-minute nerves? Longing for the sister who should be by her side? She has something in her hand that she keeps looking at.
I’ll give her the time she needs, she doesn’t have to know that I am here. As I step back from the bathroom door, I hear the little white bottle she has in her hand rattle. It’s a bottle of pills.
I’m sure she must just have a headache. Getting married is stressful. She is crying. A migraine? Oh dear. She pours the entire contents of the bottle onto a little table, sits down, and stares at the pills whilst crying harder and harder.
Is she planning on taking them all?
She pours a glass of water from the jug that is on the table and pops two pills into her mouth and swallows them. Phew. But then she takes another two, and then picks up some more. She takes them and picks up a few more. I don’t have time to question myself.
‘Wait,’ I say, bursting out of the bathroom. ‘Wait, Lauren. Don’t do that.’
She looks at me briefly, but soon gets back to her pills. She picks up yet more.
‘Please leave,’ she says bluntly, putting them in her mouth. It’s only another two, I see them on her tongue. That’s about eight so far. Hopefully not enough to do any damage, but she really cannot take any more.
‘Please, stop. Don’t do that,’ I say gently. My heart is beating so fast and I’ve started shaking myself.
‘Seriously, just go. Whoever you are you shouldn’t be here for this.’
I always thought that if someone wanted to commit suicide they should be allowed to do it. If that urge to die is so strong, and life has spiralled to a point that they don’t feel they can own it anymore, let them at least have control of their own fate. But when it’s in front of you, you realise that letting it happen is impossible.
‘I can’t leave, Lauren. I’m sorry. You must not do this.’
‘Why? Who would care?’
‘A lot of people would care. Gavin?’
She stares at the pills.
‘Please leave me alone.’
‘I can’t do that, Lauren. I can’t leave this room. Whatever has happened can be fixed.’
‘You really have no idea so please, just go,’ she says. I see that she is shaking. She looks so upset.
‘Maybe I don’t, but I know you.’
I move a little closer to her.
‘You don’t know me,’ she says painfully. ‘You, like everyone else, knows a version of me and that isn’t even real.’
‘Actually, I know you better than that. I know you hate your thighs the most, and wish they were thinner. I know that you have a mole on your right arm that you wish wasn’t there. I know that you quite like your eyes, and that your left incisor slightly shades the tooth in front. I know that you like your bottom. I know that you have a tattoo of a V on your hip that you don’t want the world to see.’
She looks up at me. I’ve confused her, obviously. Possibly even scared her a little. I keep going.
‘I know that V stands for Verity,’ I say, calmly.
‘Who are you?’ she asks nervously, like I have been watching her through a secret hole in her shower wall for the past five years. She stands up cautiously, some pills still in her hand.
‘I’m Ruby. I’m the person who retouches your pictures.’
She looks a little relieved.
‘And I know your dad. I’ve chatted with him. We met in the park. He’s helped me realise a lot about myself. He told me all about Verity. It must be so painful, especially on a day like today. Is that what this is all about?’
‘It’s painful every day. But no, this is about me and my mother. You wouldn’t understand. Please, just go, OK?’
‘Have you and your mother had a falling-out?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Your dad told me she has struggled too since Verity died. Trying to present herself as happy when really her happiness is impossible. That must be hard. My mother and I don’t get along either. I’ve barely spoken to her in twenty years.’
She sits back down, rolling the pills back onto the table. She puts her head into her hands and starts to cry.
‘What happened today, Lauren?’ I ask gently.
‘She slept with Gavin.’
‘She?’ I ask, as if I must have missed something.
‘Yes, she, my mother. The wedding planner and her assistant just walked in on her and Gavin. Downstairs, just now. On my wedding day. Did your mother do that to you?’
‘Oh my goodness. No, my mother didn’t do that. I see why you are so upset.’ For a moment I wonder if maybe my mother isn’t so bad after all. I quickly get that thought out of my head. She is as awful, just in different ways.
My words remind Lauren how upset she is and shift her focus back to the pills.
‘I hate myself,’ she says, picking a few up again. ‘Today was the day I was supposed to gain something, not lose everything. Please, just go. I’m doing this whether you’re here or not.’ She puts more water into the glass.
‘Lauren listen, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you. You’ve got your looks, you’re so beautiful …’ I am annoying myself with all the clichés, and it gets on her nerves too.
‘Oh, what would you know? All tall and skinny. Not in the public eye. You don’t know what it’s like to be defined by the way you look. I’m a body, a face. Feeling like a heap of shit every day because I know I’ve done it to myself. I’m in a cage. I have no one. No one who really cares.’ She looks at the open bathroom door.
‘Lauren, come on, seriously, there are other ways to cope. You don’t need to have your mother in your life. You can just detach from her, not let her hurt you anymore. You don’t have to do this to yourself.’
She realises I am not leaving and wipes her hand across the table, guiding the pills back into the bottle. She heads towards the bathroom; if she shuts and locks that door there will be nothing I can do.
‘Wait,’ I call, but she is walking towards her death and I’m not sure what to say to stop her. ‘Wait,’ I say again, scrambling to find my zip and yanking it down. As I run to the bathroom door and block it, my dress falls to the ground. My body is exposed, just my underwear is left. Other than my heavy breath creating a ripple down my body, everything is still.
‘You’re …’ she can’t find the words. ‘You’re …’
‘I’m disgusting.’
‘No, you’re …’ She still doesn’t know what to say.
‘It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything,’ I say, not looking at her. Just letting her take me in, until I know she understands. ‘We can all find a reason to hate ourselves, OK? We can’t just pop some pills to deal with it.’
The bedroom door bursts open. Lauren drops the pills, the contents of the bottle spilling all over the floor.
‘What the fuck!’ screams Rebecca when she sees me. I try to cover myself but it’s pointless. I reach down for my dress but my trembling hands can hardly cope. I get all caught up in it. I can’t do it. Where is the zip? I need Rebecca to get out.
Two more women burst in. I try to escape into the bathroom but I trip over my dress and fall. Naked on the floor, I feel like a wild animal trapped in someone’s house.
‘Please, shut the door,’ I plead, trying to pull my dress over me to cover my hideous body.
‘What the actual hell is happening?’ Rebecca asks, with her usual lack of grace. The other two women seem relieved to have found Lauren. The youngest woman goes straight over to her and hugs her, politely ignoring me.
‘Thank God we found you,’ she says before noticing the pills on the floor. ‘Wait, were you …?’ she begins, but clearly unable to find the words to ask if Lauren was about to kill herself. While the focus isn’t on me, I get to my feet and pull my dress up.
‘Seriously, what is going on?’ continues Rebecca, so confused. ‘Why are you in here, Lauren? Ruby, why were you standing in front of her naked? I’m sorry Lauren, I take full responsibility for Ruby’s behaviour and will send her home immedi—’
‘No,’ Lauren says. ‘No.’ She comes over to me, lays her soft hands on me and helps with my dress. ‘Please don’t be embarrassed,’ she says as her hand slides up my back, pulling up my zip. I allow her to help me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, feeling like maybe we understand each other.
‘I just wanted to show her that she isn’t the only one who feels defined by her body,’ I say, keeping my head down. ‘That we all label ourselves. We all decide what people see. That’s all.’
I head sheepishly over to the window where I sit on one of the chairs. I am quite winded by all this. Quite damaged. Quite unable to be tough. We are all wondering what happens next.
After a painfully long silence, Rebecca says, ‘Girls at school used to Sellotape raisins to their faces and take the piss out of me. I’ve been terrified of women ever since.’ Her harshness evaporates from her like steam from a kettle.
Another short pause.
‘My belly looks like a dartboard after giving birth and I’ve put on so much weight my husband finds me physically repulsive and refuses to look at me, let alone touch me,’ says a nice-looking but quite plump lady. ‘Hi, I’m Beth, by the way,’ she adds, smiling at me and Rebecca.
We all look to the young pretty one, wondering if she has any defects she would like to confess to. It takes her a minute, but eventually she thinks of something.
‘I’ve got terrible haemorrhoids from too much anal.’
‘Risky!’ Beth yelps, horrified by her words. But the haemorrhoids did just the trick. We all, somehow, manage to laugh.
Suddenly Ross, my friend from the bench, comes in. He is hot and bothered. I’ve seen him look that way before. I turn my face away so he doesn’t recognise me, but carefully spread the skirt of my dress over the pills on the floor, so he doesn’t have to see what Lauren was about to do. I know how much that would upset him.
‘There you are!’ he says, hugging Lauren like the loving father he is. He reminds me of my own dad.
I am glad he still has a daughter to hold. It makes me think of Bonnie.
‘Come on, let’s find a way to sneak you out of here and I’ll get you home, OK?’ Ross says.
‘Ruby?’ I hear her say. But I have ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, I don’t want her father to see me. When I am sure he and Lauren have gone, I come back out.
‘What you did was very brave,’ Beth says to me, seeming to understand my sacrifice.
‘I did what needed to be done.’
‘Yes, well, you did a great thing. Now I guess I better go and make an announcement,’ she says. ‘There are around five hundred people downstairs expecting to see a wedding. Including the groom. He has no idea any of us know what happened yet.’
‘Good luck with that,’ I say, not envying her task.
‘I’ll come with you,’ says the one with the haemorrhoids. ‘I’ll find Adam, he can tell Gavin. You focus on the crowds.’
Before they leave, she turns back. ‘This is the sistership right here,’ she says. ‘When women come together, the world gets better. We don’t know our own power sometimes.’
Maybe she is right.
Rebecca and I pack up our things, then share a Mercedes home. She’s much easier to get on with since she admitted to being picked on because of the mole on her face. It’s like she set the elephant in the room free. I feel a little of the same thing.
From my sofa, in my dressing gown, I watch the drama unfold online. The press and social media are already speculating all sorts of theories as to why the wedding didn’t go ahead. I just feel pleased it’s not a far more sinister news story, and that Ross didn’t lose another daughter today. Who’d have thought that, one day, this body would save a life?
I did good. And I feel OK.