I Should Be So Lucky (19 page)

‘That’s great about you going home. Not before time, too. Much longer and you’d have been a permanent mummy’s girl.
Now
you can concentrate even harder on getting back your real life.’ Charlotte was approving, as if it had all been her idea.

‘She’s got a real life, Char,’ Amanda said quietly.

‘Yes, but … look, what I meant was …’

‘You meant a man.’ Lisa was nodding as if a huge burden of new wisdom was on her. ‘A man is a comfortable thing to have around the place.’

‘Ha! Not always!’ Viola laughed. That was progress. It was a laugh without bitterness, without resentful memory. ‘I might be in the market for a kitten, if anyone knows of any going, but I’m not looking for a man, thanks.’

‘No, sweetie. Best not to,’ Charlotte agreed, rather unexpectedly. ‘But now it’s the holidays, you must come out with me. I have a
thing
to go to and I know you’ll love it, so don’t even think of saying no. My friend Abigail, she’s singing at an event and she is
just
wonderful. Voice to die for. I mean, er … she sings like a dream. Anyway, it’s invites only and I’d love you to come with me as my Plus One. What do you think?’

What did she think? Well, not every trip out had to end in loss of property, arrest and a sleepless night, did it?

‘Where is it? Is it night, day or what?’

‘Daytime. Mid-morning, next Thursday, and then we can go for lunch. Very simple and civilized.’ Charlotte glared at Amanda at this point.

‘Hey!’ Amanda laughed. ‘Don’t give me that look, Charlotte. It wasn’t my fault Viola had her bag nicked!’

‘You told Charlotte?’ Viola asked.

‘Sorry, I just mentioned it in passing. Sorry.’

‘Nothing like that will happen on
my
watch,’ Charlotte told Viola. ‘You’ll be fine with me, sweetie. There will be no thieving rabble at
this
event, so there is absolutely no need to worry on that score.’

‘Oh, I won’t,’ Viola said, although in the face of Charlotte’s excessively fervent reassurance she was already starting to feel a slight dread and reluctance to go anywhere at all. Wasn’t it always the way? She’d go. In spite of the bag and pee thing she’d go to everything, absolutely everything, anyone invited her to. If she didn’t, it could be next stop agoraphobia.

SIXTEEN

SHE SHOULD HAVE
realized. Of course she should. What an idiot. Viola could have kicked herself for being so trusting and unquestioning. After all, the clue had been right there in Charlotte’s slyly brief instruction: ‘It’s quite a formal little do.’ She’d dropped this into their phone chat that morning when she’d called to check Viola was still on for their outing and to tell her what time she’d pick her up, casually adding, ‘Maybe wear something pretty, you know? Simple, kind of
summer-flowery
, sort of thing?’

Viola should have picked up on the ‘formal’, but somehow it whizzed right over her head because at the time she was talking to Charlotte she was on a very quick early visit to Bell Cottage, and concentrating on making sure that in her bedroom’s bright sunlight the shade of palest Caribbean-sea-colour paint Marco had recommended was that essential bit more blue than
green
. Honestly, though, for what other possible event could you be ordered to come up with ‘formal’, clotheswise, unless you were up in court, possibly? The woman, for brutal thoughtlessness, really took your breath away. Now captive in Charlotte’s car, she tried a last-minute protest and resolved that if all else failed, she would just refuse to go in, glorious unmissable voice this Abigail woman might have or not.

‘Char, I
really
can’t go to this. I don’t even know the … the …’

‘The happy couple? Oh, neither do I, but Abigail said it’ll be fine,’ Charlotte supplied with a breezy lack of either hesitation or qualm, as she swung her little Audi convertible into a space in the car park outside the hotel. Ribbons, flowers and balloons decorated the doorway and people were collecting in silkily dressed groups, chatting and laughing.

‘You
don’t
? You don’t have an invitation? Jeez, let’s just go home.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling. Anyway, legally I’m sure all weddings are public. We won’t even see the bride and groom till after the ceremony and they’ll be fairly easy to avoid, trust me.’

‘Charlotte, I absolutely
don’t
want to go gatecrashing strangers’ weddings. I mean,
why
? Doesn’t this Abigail sing at other events we could have gone to?’

‘Well, she does quite a few funerals, but I didn’t think you’d want to go to one of those.’ Charlotte switched off
the
engine and took hold of Viola’s wrist, possibly more to stop her doing a runner than to reassure her. She even had the grace to look a tiny bit shamefaced. ‘But weddings, they’re such
happy
events. You must remember yours – it wasn’t that long ago.’

‘Of course I bloody remember. I’m
so
not doing this.’

‘Oh, but Abigail …’

‘Abigail? I don’t even
know
bloody Abigail! I don’t care if I never, ever hear her phenomenal sodding voice! How could you, Charlotte? This is ridiculous. I thought we were going to a … oh, I don’t know, a private view at a gallery or something. No wonder you were all mysterious about it.’ Viola unfastened her seat belt, grabbed her bag and opened the car door, very nearly smashing it into someone who must have been waiting to pounce on them.

‘Hello! So glad you could make it. I’m Daniel Fields.’ A tall and unbelievably glamorous man, one who would certainly come under the heading of ‘Older’ – lustrous long silver hair, a fabulous purple velvety jacket and black silk opera scarf – took Viola’s hand and helped her out of the car. ‘Bride or groom? Sam or Jack?’

‘Well, neither,’ Viola replied firmly, taking back her hand. ‘Not any …’

‘Oh! Both – that’s even better. May I escort you both into the marriage room?’

‘Thank you. So kind,’ Charlotte said to him, pushing her hair back so her diamond earrings were at
maximum
twinkle and treating him to her most radiant smile. She even had the nerve to wink at Viola across the back of Daniel. Suddenly, it was a done deal – no backing out, especially when, after her initial fury subsided a bit, Viola considered the distance back up the hotel’s long, long gravelled driveway and how much her feet would hurt In These Shoes if she abandoned Charlotte and strode off in a huff to catch a bus home. Also, on the hotel steps the group was now quite a large one and any huff gestures would be seen by all of them. Even though none of these people had ever met her, she could imagine (and oh, how she could imagine …) the speculation if she suddenly ran away, probably along the lines that she was a thwarted fiancée or something, come to put a curse on the day.

‘Glorious day for it, the photos on the veranda after will be gorgeous,’ Daniel murmured to Viola as the three of them approached the hotel steps. He smelled lovely, she thought, something floral yet sharply mannish as well.

‘Sorry, that’s such a stupid thing to say, isn’t it?’ he chuckled. ‘But someone at a wedding usually does, if it’s sunny. Happy the bride, and all that.’

‘They do, it’s true. As if it makes a difference.’ Thinking about it though, she considered perhaps it did. The day she’d married Rhys, the rain had poured on the steps of the Marylebone register office. Naomi had said perhaps they shouldn’t go through with it, but Rhys had told her
he
couldn’t plan his life on the whims of the Met Office forecasts.

Now as she walked between Charlotte and Daniel, Viola surreptitiously slid her hand inside her jacket and hitched up her knickers through her dress. That had been, she now realized, the morning’s first mistake – she’d forgotten that this particular silky pair, unless held firmly in place by either trousers or tights, had an unnerving way of sliding down her hips as she walked.

Inside the marriage room, Viola tried to make Charlotte go into a row at the back so they could escape quickly at the end, but Daniel seemed to have taken on the role of minder, leading them further forward and ushering them into more central seats. A few people nodded and murmured greetings, the groom and his best man gave them a welcoming wave and Viola managed to respond politely, feeling she was on some kind of autopilot.

‘If there were hundreds here I wouldn’t mind so much,’ she whispered to Charlotte, ‘but there’s only about fifty. We’ll be busted, soon as.’

‘Smile, darling; just be nice and all will be well.’

It was too late anyway as music started, everyone stood and the bride, a woman of about Viola’s age, came in, with two young boys of about ten and twelve, dressed in kilts. She was wearing a short, strapless cream dress and carrying the darkest red roses, with a small rose-trimmed tiara on her head.

Viola found herself fishing for tissues in her bag. What was it about weddings that brought on the tears? Little else moved her so easily. Even at Rhys’s funeral she’d found it impossible to cry, although there was, around her, plenty of heartfelt sobbing from everyone else, especially Kate, who had howled from the moment the coffin entered the chapel and clutched her arm throughout as if to prevent either of them from falling down in distraught prostration. All the time Viola had felt such a sham – angrily counting the seconds till the ordeal was over and she could push her way out of the church, go back home and lie under a duvet, wishing she’d never, ever, met him.

‘There’s Abi.’ Charlotte nudged Viola and pointed a silver-nailed finger at an elfin young blonde woman in a pink taffeta cocktail dress, sitting at the front with her harp, facing the congregation. Abigail caught sight of Charlotte and flickered her fingers discreetly at her, smiling gently as the vows were exchanged. Viola’s eyes kept filling as she looked at the couple’s faces, full of love and hope.

‘Abi’s got her professional face on,’ Charlotte whispered loudly, causing three aunt-like figures in front to turn round with a loud ‘ssh’ chorus.

Abigail only sang at the end of the short ceremony. She played a few seconds of quiet harp and then she began to sing ‘Love Is All Around’ in a clear and soaring voice. Viola had run out of tissues by now. Daniel
pushed
a perfectly ironed white cotton handkerchief into her hand and she dabbed at her leaky eyes. Charlotte squeezed her hand but she wriggled out of her grip. She wasn’t going to forgive her for this so easily.

And it was over. ‘I’ll just play some “going to the bar music” now,’ Abigail announced, and the guests started to make their way to the door.

‘Can we go now, Charlotte?’

‘Just a little drink with Abi first, sweetie. Anyway, you look like you need one. Who knew you were such a softie about weddings?’

‘No, really, let’s just
go
. Before anyone clocks we shouldn’t be here.’

‘They won’t. Who’s to know?
Lovely
ceremony, wasn’t it?’ Charlotte smiled, turning to a guest, one of the aunts who shushed them earlier on. ‘And such a sweet dress … And wasn’t the singer …?’

‘Marvellous!’ the aunt replied. ‘To the bar, now, I think.’

‘See? No one’s going to say anything. Just a quick hello to Abi and then we’ll go, I promise. Hang on, that’s my phone …’ She scrabbled in her bag and Viola hesitated. ‘No, sweetie, do go on ahead with Daniel, I’ll catch you up,’ Charlotte gushed, almost pushing Viola at him. He took her arm and firmly led her across the lobby to the bar that opened on to a veranda overlooking the hotel gardens. Oh joy, Viola thought as she
hauled
up her floor-bound knickers again, wondering, as she walked with this man, had she been set up? It wasn’t easy to tell. Charlotte and Daniel didn’t give any clues they knew each other (and Charlotte would have been hopeless at disguising it), so she had to assume not. He, at least, seemed quite happy to accept the two of them as genuine guests, so that was something.

‘So how do you know the bride and groom?’ he asked.

‘Er, well, I sort of don’t exactly. We’re really only here for Charlotte’s friend … the er … singer. We’ll be going in a minute, honestly. Don’t want to crash the reception. Obviously. How about you? Are you …?’

‘Well, like you, I’m another of those who are rather on the edge, shall we say.’ He was smiling as if there was more to give away than he was admitting. She let that go because, really, if he didn’t feel the need to tell her, then fine. If there was some mystery, she didn’t need to be at all involved.

‘No receiving line. That’s good. They’re always tricky,’ Daniel said, looking quickly round. The bride and groom were by the windows, surrounded by family. ‘Champagne?’ he asked her as a waiter approached with a tray.

‘OK, yes, I will, thanks.’ She looked around for Charlotte. There was no sign of her. ‘Actually,’ she said, feeling her knickers slide another inch floorwards, ‘I’ll just visit the loo for a sec. Won’t be long.’

‘I’ll be right here,’ he told her. ‘I’ll guard your drink.’

‘Very
gallant
, isn’t he, your companion?’ One of the guests, a woman in a feathery fascinator that glistened with gold sequins, commented.

‘He is, isn’t he? Not that I actually know him,’ Viola said, catching sight of the sign for the Ladies.

‘Ah, well – always the way at weddings,’ the woman replied with a knowing grin and the hint of a nudge. ‘They’re quite the places for making
new friends
.’

Viola wasn’t sure what was being implied here, but right now the most important thing was to deal with the sliding pants, which were in immediate danger of making an appearance at the party. It wouldn’t do to upstage a bride, she thought. Once safely locked in the loo cubicle, she took them off, rolled them into a ball and stuffed them into the far corner of her handbag. She felt a bit exposed and would be glad to get home and find another – more reliable – pair, but unless she had a horrible falling-down-with-skirt-over-head accident, no one here would be any the wiser. And besides, the moment she found Charlotte she was going to make her take her straight home, no arguments, before they were hauled off to line up for the photographs.