Confessions of a Serial Dater (23 page)

And I just can’t think straight. I mean, how can I jilt poor Jonathan in church, based on a strange flight of fancy? It’s just not something that happens in real life, is it?

Shrek’s sixty-pound fleece weighs heavily on my conscience, and I feel old, and heavy, as if I’m trying to run underwater.

“Darling,” Mum pokes her head around the side of the door. “We’re off to the church now. Could I have a private word before we go?”

“Um, yes.” I pin a beam on my face and walk onto the landing, closing the door on my bemused friends. Here, in front of me, is one of the majorly, hugely important reasons why I have to go through with this.

It would destroy Mum if I did this to her. For fuck’s sake, she’s only just coming through Dad’s death and moving on with her life. This could spiral her off into another bout of depression and treatment.

The treatment for which Luke has been paying, I suddenly remember, because in the midst of everything I’d forgotten. Another point to add to the dilemma…

“Rosie,” she says, taking both of my hands in hers, and the tears are stuck in my throat. “You are so beautiful. Dad would be so proud of you today if only he were here. Our little girl, all grown up and heading to her wedding.”

“I know,” I tell her, smiling weakly.

“You’re a good girl,” she says, squeezing my hands. “But I just want to make sure that this is what you want. That Jonathan is exactly the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your life. Because marriage is a huge step, and if you felt that it wasn’t quite right—well, then, no one would think the worse of you if you changed your mind.”

“Oh.” I’m so stunned that I can only stand here with my mouth open, guppy fashion.

“The car’s here,” Colin calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Better get going.”

“Coming, Colin. See you in church, Rosie,” she tells me, and then kisses me on the cheek. “Whatever you do, be happy, darling.” And then she heads off down the stairs.

What the hell am I going to do?

“Look, will you just put us out of our misery and tell us what happened with Luke?” rolls out of Carmen’s mouth the minute I go back into my bedroom. “Because I’m not going to buy some weak, half-baked story of saying good-bye, be
cause it’s obvious to anyone who looks at him that he’s got it bad for you.”

My friends collectively nod their heads.

“But why didn’t you say anything?”

“We have, darling,” Charlie says.

“We keep asking you if you’re sure about Jonathan,” Lewis jumps in.

“Because we can’t butt in too much, because if we were wrong, then you’d not feel comfortable confiding in us, and we had to let you figure it out by yourself,” Jess, for once totally on the ball, interrupts. “Just like you let me realize that Aster was bad for me and Philip was under my nose all that time.”

“I just
know
there’s a lot more to this that Miss Secretive has been bottling up. Spill,” Carmen commands me.

And so I do.

And as I do, I feel like Shrek, finally caught and sheared on National New Zealand TV. Little by little, with careful scissors, the shearers chopped off the weight of years.

I begin with the kiss in Piccadilly Circus and feel lighter.

I tell them of our night of passion, and my discovery that Luke was married, and feel lighter still.

I tell them about Elaine confiding in me at the christening.

I re-cover all the ground, every moment I’ve ever spent with him, and finally, finally, when I tell them what Luke said to me just a few minutes earlier, and that I’ve only just discovered that he has been paying for Mum’s treatment, they are all watching me in wide-eyed silence.

“You dark horse.” Carmen, unsurprisingly, is the first one to recover her tongue. “I suspected as much, but I can’t believe you’ve kept this from us for—how many months?”

“Yes, but she thought she’d slept with a married man,” Jess points out.

“Well, she did,” Charlie adds, grinning widely. “Even if she didn’t know he was married. That was a bit naughty of Luke,
though. He should have told you before he leaped into bed with you.”

“I didn’t exactly give him the chance,” I say, blushing.

“Yes, yes, but what are we still doing here?” Carmen says. “It’s obvious. He fell for you, asked Rowan for a divorce, and then you went and got yourself engaged to Jonathan. I can’t believe you took Elaine’s comments verbatim. You know how she likes to embroider the truth.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do? Because, sweetie, this is your future you’re talking about,” Charlie prompts me.

“Sometimes you have to put your faith in someone, despite the fact that it might mean heartache,” Lewis adds. “And embarrassing mole moments.”

In that moment, as my life flashes before me, as all my thoughts roar around my brain, it condenses down to one thing.

I know exactly what I am going to do.

I’m going to risk everything.

“I want to go to Heathrow airport and find Luke. Whether you’re right or wrong. Whether he says yes, or no, and I make a complete and utter fool of myself.”

“Yes.” Carmen raises a triumphant fist to the ceiling. “Charlie, you and Lewis find out which airlines have flights to New York today in around two or three hours’ time.”

“He’s flying Virgin Atlantic,” I say.

“Well, see—that’s obviously a sign that he wants you to go after him,” Jess tells me.

“I’m going to see if I can catch Flora and Ned on Flora’s cell phone before they get to the church,” Carmen says. “Ned has a van, therefore we can all fit inside for the journey. Because we’re all coming with you.”

“But what about Jonathan?” There, I’ve said it. I still have another layer of wool to shed…

“I’ll call Philip and tell him what’s happening,” Jess says. “He’ll break the news to Jonathan. He’s kind, so lovely and kind, and he’s good at this type of thing.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I tell her, my heart aching for what I am about to do, but do it I must. “But I have to go to that church and tell him myself. If I’m going to wreck his life and break his heart, he deserves to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

And as I steel myself for what I have to do, I reach for the too-small Jimmy Choo wedding shoes Jonathan bought for me.

I deserve to feel pain.

Twenty minutes later, as the hired bridal car pulls up outside the church, and as we scramble out into the cold, November air, I want to be sick.

“My fuck, would you look at your face,” Carmen says, pulling up the skirt of her dress and unsheathing the brandy flask from the elastic contraption attached to her calf. “I brought this with me in case of an emergency. I think we can safely say we have a situation. Have some brandy.”

I grab the flask, my hands shaking as I gulp down a large swig of the fiery spirit, and it hits my stomach with a whoosh.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Jess tells me. “Worse things happen at sea.”

The mention of sea makes me seasick, and I swallow another mouthful of brandy before passing it on to Charlie.

Ned, Flora and Paul are all waiting outside the church, because Carmen called them and filled them in.

Paul, also acting as my photographer today, does not take any cozy snaps of the wedding party glugging back brandy on this occasion, because it’s hardly a Kodak moment, is it?

“Dear girl, this is a fine to-do,” Flora booms at me, shaking her head, but her eyes are warm and sympathetic.

“I know. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I feel awful for what I’m about to do.

“No, it’s good that you realized before the service,” Ned tells me kindly. “Better to sever the ties now. But Luke? I really had no idea. He’s not exactly one to confide, although I knew something was bothering him.”

“Me, neither.” Flora shakes her head.

“We must be the only three,” I tell them, shivering with nerves and fear and cold. “Well, I’d better go get this over and done with.”

“Good luck, dear girl,” Flora says, giving my arm an encouraging squeeze. “Philip’s all primed. As soon as he sees Ned open the main door, he’s going to send Jonathan to the vestibule so that you can, you know, um—”

“Casually break his heart and ruin his life,” I say bitterly.

“Well I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Carmen tells me. “You’re saving him from certain misery, too.”

“But if only I’d done it before the actual, you know, wedding,” I wail. “Oh, how hurt and humiliated he’s going to be.” I put my hands to my face.

“Better to make a clean break,” Charlie tells me.

“Rather than leave him in a fool’s paradise,” Lewis finishes
for him, and I smile bleakly at the way they seem to complete each other’s sentences these days.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to, you know, do the, er, honors?” Ned asks me, pausing at the door.

“No. Jonathan deserves better,” I say, frozen to the core, despite the brandy. “Um, you all stay here and, um, I’ll see you, you know, afterwards. Okay, Ned, do your thing.”

And as I wait for Jonathan in the dark vestibule, each second drags, and my stomach drags, too. The condemned woman waiting for the hangman. And I think of all the lovely times we’ve had together, and how hurt he’s going to be, and how fond of Jonathan I am. But in the end, fond just isn’t enough.

“Rosie?” It’s Jonathan. “Philip said there was a problem? My, but you look lovely.” He looks so nice and handsome, and so kind, that I hate myself even more.

“Jonathan,” I say slowly, my voice a death knoll. How can I do this to him? I am a horrible, terrible person.

“Is, um, everything alright?” he asks as his face turns a chalky shade of white, and I steel myself to speak.

“Actually, Jonathan, it’s not,” I say. “Could you please close that door?” I point to the door, which will close off the vestibule from the main church hall. After all, this isn’t the Jerry Springer show. And as he complies, I begin to pace as I wonder how to delicately phrase this.

There isn’t a nice way to put it.

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” I begin slowly. “So very sorry. And, um, I know I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know until about, oh, an hour ago, but I’ve fallen madly in love with someone else, and I can’t marry you, because I’d make you miserable and ruin both of our lives.” It all comes out in a rush.

And then, before poor Jonathan can take in the awful
thing that I have just told him, the door he has just closed flies open and Elaine is standing in the doorway.

“Oh, this is
all my fault,
” Elaine wails, rather dramatically. Which is a shock, because no one invited her along to this breakup party. “I should have
told
you before things got to this stage, but I didn’t know
how,
” she wails again, loudly.

Loudly enough, actually, for the whole congregation to hear. In fact, the whole congregation is turned toward us and is hanging onto every word.

So much for a private breakup,
I think as I also wonder what on earth Elaine’s talking about. How can me breaking up with Jonathan be her fault? And how did she know?

“Now, Elaine.” Jonathan holds up a hand. “I thought we’d agreed to discuss this later—better to deal with it after the, er, stresses of the day.”

“Discuss what later?” I ask, totally confused and bemused. The whole congregation is confused and bemused, too.

“I’ll never
forgive
myself for completely
ruining
your
life,
” Elaine wails as tears spring to her eyes.

“Um. How, exactly, have you ruined my life?” I thought I was the one doing the life ruining, but it seems that we now have a whole new agenda to which I am not privy.

“I was
so,
so upset after Mungo and I broke up, and then when I bumped into
Jonathan
last August, and he was so
kind
and
sympathetic,
I just couldn’t help myself. I fell
prey
to his
advances.
”

“What?” Carmen’s eyes narrow as she rounds on Elaine, because, of course, my friends heard Elaine from outside the church, so loud was her voice as it reverberated from wall to ceiling, and they have come inside to find out what’s going on. I’d rather like to know that, myself.

“Hold on,” I say, holding up my hand, my attention focused on Elaine. In fact, the whole congregation’s attention is
focused on Elaine. Which is bad, because if she’s saying what I think she’s saying about Jonathan, then it means he cheated on me, and now the whole church knows it. How humiliating!

“Um, could we just, you know, step outside a minute and, um, discuss this in private?” I mumble, my face burning, but Elaine is not to be stopped.

“Oh, I’m so
sorry,
” Elaine wails again. Loudly. “I accidentally, because of my emotionally low state at the time,
slept
with Jonathan when you were first
dating
him.”

Oh. My. Fuck.

There is a collective gasp from the congregation, followed by a deafening silence as they all try to absorb her rather startling statement. Even Carmen, for once, is stunned into silence and is catching flies with her mouth. Jonathan slept with Elaine? I can’t take it all in…

“And,” Elaine begins again, and pauses dramatically. “There’s more.”

What more could there be? Oh. My. Fuck. Jonathan is…

“Jonathan is Baby Becky’s father.”…Baby Becky’s father.

As the stunned silence deepens into a deeper, horrified calm, I turn to Jonathan. My friends and the entire congregation also turn to Jonathan, because they, like me, are waiting for him to deny this.

I don’t need to ask, because the truth is written all over his face.

Despite her tears, I’m sure that smug, triumphant expression on Elaine’s face is not my imagination. It really is true, then…

“Well, you needn’t say it with such a smug, triumphant expression on your face,” Jess, surprisingly, breaks the deadlock. Which is also shocking because Jess isn’t usually so con
frontational. “Especially in the house of God. You’re not a very nice woman, not a very nice woman, at all.”

And it all falls into place. Elaine was always one for making statements at the time they could be of maximum embarrassment and humiliation to her victim. And I wonder, as I have done frequently through my life, why she feels the need to do this to her nearest and dearest.

“Why—” I begin, and stop to clear my throat. “Why,” I begin again, “did you not say something sooner? Why wait for today, of all days?” I know the answer, but I can’t quite believe that she has done this to me.

“Well, I just didn’t know how,” Elaine says. “I was worried you’d be upset.”

“You were going to wait until the service, until Philip asked if there was a reason why Jonathan and I shouldn’t be married, weren’t you?” I ask rhetorically, because I can read the answer in her smug expression. “But when I didn’t show up at the altar and called Jonathan to the back of the church, you knew that something was up, so you made the most of the opportunity. You intended to wreak as much havoc and pain for me as you could. But why?”

“Why would I do something so terrible?” Elaine takes a step back as I advance on her, because I’m furious that yet again, I was lulled into a false sense of security. That I really thought she’d changed, and all the time she was saving this little gem of information to share with the world.

“Elaine Mayford, you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself,” Mum tells her as she stalks down the aisle, a lioness protecting her cub. “Ruining poor Rosie’s wedding day. You’re nothing more than a common trollop. You were always a nasty, spiteful little girl, and now you’re a nasty, spiteful woman.”

“I say, just who do you think you’re talking to?” Auntie Pat, not one for missing out on the action, is a step behind her.
“How dare you speak to Elaine that way, you filthy-mouthed, common piece of work?”

“Oh, do shut up, Patsy,” Mum turns on her. “You’ve deafened us for years with that holier-than-thou mouth of yours, and your aspirations of grandeur. Sorry, Bill,” she tells poor Uncle Bill, who has followed Auntie Pat.

“Oh, I agree,” is Uncle Bill’s surprising comment. “I should have put down my foot years ago.”

“William,” Auntie Pat turns on him. “Remember your responsibilities.”

“Oh, I’ve been remembering them for thirty years. You never miss an opportunity to remind me, but this is too much. Shame on you, Elaine.”

And as Uncle Bill puts down his foot for the first time in thirty years, I turn to Jonathan.

“Why?” I ask him.

“I’m—sorry, darling. It was a slipup. It was just the once—”

“Five times, actually—” Elaine interrupts.

“Dirty little slut,” Granny Elsie tells her. “You always were a dirty little slut, though. Always wanted what everyone else had, and you ain’t changed.”

“This, from a common tart from Bethnal Green,” Auntie Pat says, which is not helpful.

“Shut up, Pat,” Uncle Bill warns her. “You’ve always lorded it over Sandra, Elsie and Rosie and, in fact, over dear Edward when he was still alive. Not that you had any reason, either.”

“Really, Patsy, you should stop glaring down that snobby nose of yours,” Auntie Lizzy wades in to protect Mum and Gran, but they truly don’t need it. “And you, Elaine. I just don’t know how you could do this to your own flesh and blood.”

“Especially coming from the illegitimate daughter of a semi peer of the Realm,” Uncle Bill adds, and we all gasp as Auntie Pat turns white.

“But I broke it off with Elaine because it was you I loved,” Jonathan insists, taking my hands. “It’s you that I love still. You that I want to marry.”

“But you conveniently forgot to tell me about your daughter?” I ask. I cannot believe he could be so callous.

“I only found out she was mine earlier this morning when Elaine came to see me,” Jonathan says to me and to the congregation at large. “I swear I didn’t know. I’d never ignore a baby I’d fathered.”

And I feel sorry for him, because I know he’s telling the truth. It’s just the kind of thing Elaine would do. Especially as she’d just had her romantic hopes in Luke dashed.

I can tell that everyone else believes him, too, because they are all shaking their heads and muttering under their breath.

“But,” he continues, squeezing my hands, “we can put this behind us and move on to our future together.”

“What about Baby Becky?” Elaine jumps back in. “Are we to be forgotten? You’re her father, Jonathan. You have an obligation to her and to me.”

It is at this moment that the sheer ridiculousness of our predicament hits me full in the face.

“Oh, dear. I think I’ve rather upstaged your performance, Elaine,” I say slowly. “You saved this prime bit of news to spoil my wedding. But you really needn’t have bothered.”

“Exactly.” Jonathan squeezes my hands again, and I pull them away from him.

“But the only reason I came to the church at all was to call off the wedding.”

The congregation gasps collectively. Again.

“I’m, um, sorry Jonathan. Sorry everybody.” I feel even more terrible.

“Rosie, dear, are you sure this is what you want?” Mum asks me gently.

“Of course she is,” Granny Elsie, not one to be left out, jumps in. “She’s in love with someone else.”

“But she wanted to do the decent thing,” Carmen, unsurprisingly, has found her voice again and is taking her turn to address the congregation. “Rosie, true to her nature, knew that she owed it to Jonathan to tell him herself.”

The crowd gasps again—it is a day for gasping, it would seem.

“It’s true,” I say slowly. “I am in love with Luke Benton.” That feels so—liberating. “I’m truly sorry, Jonathan,” I say gently, meaning it. “I can’t marry you. I really am in love with Luke Benton,” I say again, as the sixty-pound fleece of wool falls completely from my shoulders.

What a soap opera, what a drama,
I think, as the complete irony of the situation really hits me.

I’ve never heard of a wedding where (a) the bride wants to call off the ceremony because she’s in love with another man, (b) the ex-lover of the groom wants to wreck the ceremony, for some nefarious reason known only to herself, (c) the groom is the father of the bride’s cousin’s baby, and (d) the bride is wearing pinchy shoes to punish herself for not wanting to marry the groom. I mean, it just sounds so ridiculous, doesn’t it?

And I can’t help it. I begin to laugh hysterically, because it’s better than crying, isn’t it?