As hen parties go, it was remarkably restrained. Apart from Polly kissing the policeman, and Cath from the front desk pouring the best part of a bottle of Prosecco all down her front, nothing much happened. Sarah had promised herself she wouldn’t drink too much as she knew how busy the rest of the week was going to be and, in consequence, she got back to the flat really remarkably sober. What she found when she got home, however, was the most sobering experience of her thirty years of life so far.
She let herself in quietly in case James had already gone to bed. His stag do was scheduled for the following night and he had indicated he would try to get a good night’s sleep in advance of it. When she peeked round the bedroom door, however, she found the bed not slept in and no sign of him. She checked the other rooms, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.
Then she went into the kitchen.
On the kitchen table was an envelope. He had propped it up against the brown sauce bottle so it was pointing straight at the door and she wouldn’t be able to miss it as she walked in. On it, he had just written her name.
She picked it up and tore it open. It wasn’t a long letter, but its message was brutally clear. She read it through in disbelief, unable at first to take in the significance of what he had to say. It was only when she reached the final lines that her befuddled brain started to react.
I’m afraid I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m too young to be tied down to one woman for the rest of my life. I want to enjoy life with other people, have other experiences, meet other girls. I’m sorry it’s taken me until now to make up my mind, and I’m really sorry to hurt you this way, but my mind is made up. The wedding’s off. I can’t go through with it.
Sarah dropped the letter on the table and sank down onto a chair, trying to digest his words as her whole world crumbled around her. She pushed a dirty plate away from her and swept up the crumbs from where it looked as if he had made himself beans on toast before leaving. She rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands, eyes closed, as much to hold back the tears as to help her concentrate. The recurring thought going through her brain was, why? Why had he chosen this moment, only a week before their wedding, to call it off? They had known each other since university and had been living together for seven years now. The wedding had been his idea, after all, and it wasn’t even as if it was going to be a big event. And yet, for him, it must have marked some kind of watershed. The finality of the wedding must have tipped him over the edge.
For a moment she wondered if he had maybe panicked and got drunk and that this was just a crazy moment he would bitterly regret next morning. But, after all these years, she knew him too well. James didn’t work like that. It took him a long time to make a decision, whether about the choice of a new computer or where to go on holiday, but once he made up his mind, that was that. This letter hadn’t been written in a moment of madness or insobriety. He meant it.