Next of Kin (13 page)

‘Worry,’ she said grimly, pulling the dress on over her head.

He smiled. ‘Haven’t I already told you. There’s nothing for you to worry about now. It’s all sorted,’ he said. As he spoke he pulled a little tub of pills out of his suit jacket pocket and glanced at the label. ‘Do you want one of these? They’ll help calm your nerves. Just settle you. You look tired. I took them when I was doing my exams last year. They’ll take the edge off.’ He held them out towards her.

Sarah shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘You’re sure? Just one? They’re not addictive.’

She nodded. After a moment or two he dropped them back into his pocket and picked up the box of safety pins.

‘Turn around,’ he said.

She found it disconcerting to have Woody standing so close to her, his fingers resting lightly in the small of her back as he zipped the dress up. She could feel his breath on her skin, smell his aftershave, pick out a thread of stubble across his jaw that had been overlooked. He worked methodically around the dress, getting her to put her hands on her head, and turning her around while he pinned the fabric where it gaped.

He was gentle, solicitous, standing back a couple of time to gauge the effect, reassuring her that it would all be just fine, and for a moment Sarah wondered if she had misjudged him. Maybe he really was helping them out after all, maybe he had just been clumsy in the way he had gone about it. Maybe.

Finally with the makeshift alterations made she put the dress back on, right sides out.

‘There you are,’ Woody said, turning her gently so she could look into the mirror. The improvement to the dress was immediately obvious. Sarah

was thinner, paler, with dark rings under her eyes but the dress looked just fine now.

‘That’s better, isn’t it? Let me just fix the belt for you. There we are. You look lovely.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, unsettled and completely wrong-footed by his kindness.

As if he could read her thoughts Woody said, ‘I want this to work, Sarah. And I don’t want to rush you but we really need to be going soon. I reckon another ten, fifteen minutes at the most, will that be enough for you to finish your make up or do you want longer?’

‘That will be fine,’ she said. It would be long enough to put some concealer on to try and hide the dark circles, long enough to apply lipstick and draw on some eyeliner, but not long enough to make any of this right.

Woody picked up the bouquet and held it out towards her.

‘There we are, the final touch,’ he said. He smiled. As she took the roses from him, Sarah felt the bite of a thorn, and wincing, stared down at her thumb. A bead of blood, the deepest darkest claret blossomed on the pad.

‘Oh god, I’m sorry. Here, here, quickly,’ said Woody, grabbing a tissue from the dressing table. ‘You don’t want to get blood on your dress. I’m sorry I thought I’d cut all the thorns off. Let me look.’

He reached out as if to take her hand but she held it tight. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, putting her thumb in her mouth, although even as she was saying it Sarah knew that wasn’t true; as she took it out and nipped the tissue tight to stop the bleeding she knew that there was something left in the wound, the tip of a thorn that hurt as she applied pressure.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then Woody had smiled and turned away. ‘Okay. Don’t be long, will you?’ he said.

She had shaken her head and sat back at the dressing table, nipping her thumb and clutching it to her breast.

Sarah could still feel the thorn now, as she stood in the kitchen, watching Ryan and Amy flirting. She pressed her finger and thumb tight together so she could register the pain, just to let her know that none of this was a dream, however much she wanted it to be.

Ryan meanwhile had put the camera down and was cracking open another can. He glanced round the doorway as if there was chance he might be caught or told off. ‘Did you see Mrs Howard from next door?’ he said.

Sarah nodded. ‘A little while ago. Why?’

‘She said she wanted some copies of the photos. I was thinking it would be nice if I took one with you together. Woody was giving her the full charm offensive when I saw her. She must be eighty if she’s a day. She was telling me that she thinks he’s a real catch.’

‘Does she?’ said Sarah.

Ryan nodded and lapped up the suds where they bubbled out of the can. ‘I better get going. Are you going back in? Maybe we can find her.’

‘Or maybe Woody’s hoping you’ll rescue him?’ suggested Amy. ‘Go on, go and rescue your man.’

Sarah hesitated. ‘Can you tell him I’m just talking to Amy in the kitchen?’

‘I thought it was me talking to Amy in the kitchen,’ said Ryan.

‘That’s right,’ Amy slurred. ‘And don’t let him boss you about, start as you mean to go on, that’s what I say. Show him who is boss.’ She hiccupped and then she giggled and waved Ryan away with a little flap of her hands, and a salacious wink. ‘I’ll catch up with you later,’ she said.

Ryan’s grin widened. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, heading back into the hallway.

The moment he was gone, Amy swung round. ‘Okay so you can tell me now he’s gone. I’ve been dying to ask – any man who pipped Josh to the post has got to be something special. So what’s he like, this new husband of yours, aye? We thought you might be – well, you know.’ She glanced fleetingly as Sarah’s washboard flat stomach. ‘Given you were getting married so quickly. I mean I know these days you don’t have to get married, but you strike me as an old fashioned sort of a girl. Doing the right thing. Although to be honest I really thought you and Josh were the real deal—’ Amy stopped mid-sentence. ‘Sorry, not very tactful, under the circumstances.’

Ryan stuck his head back round the door. ‘Woody said will you come in now. He’s planning to do a first dance thing and I’m supposed to be videoing it. For the family album.’

Ryan winked as he said it.

Sarah pressed the thorn in her thumb; the pain was exquisite.

Chapter Fourteen

It was well after midnight before the last of the guests finally left. The house was a mess from top to bottom. There were bottles and cans, glasses and plates in every downstairs room, with odd ones left on the stairs and landing, and more on the tables out in the garden. Someone had been sick in the downstairs toilet and by the door there were upturned bottles wedged into the hedge, which glittered in the glow from fairy lights as they moved on the wind.

In the hallway on a table was a pile of wedding presents. There was a discarded plate in amongst them, along with half a can of beer.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Woody called after a gaggle of girls – the last of the guests to leave; they’d arrived late and brought vodka, and Sarah hadn’t recognised them. The girls giggled and wobbled down the path towards the gate on impossibly high heels, holding each other up, doing a little fingertip wave as they headed off into the night. Sarah had no idea who they were, but they knew Woody and had been happy to pose for one of the endless wedding photos. Woody’s precious wedding photos – between them Ryan and Woody must have taken hundreds.

Sarah was exhausted. Her head ached. She wanted her home back, but more than that she wanted her life back.

Ryan was drunk and some time during the evening had changed out of his suit and tie into a tee shirt and chinos. He had something red smeared across his front and there was a greasy stain on his trousers.

Sarah had taken off the wedding dress the minute they got back from the register office and, rolling it up into a ball, had stuffed it into a rubbish bag in her bedroom. As soon as she was alone she planned to dump it in the bin or better still burn it in the garden. If she never saw it again it would be too soon.

Woody was the only one still in his wedding outfit, his only concession to the late hour and the long day was that he had loosened his tie. As the front door finally closed Sarah felt the tension easing out of her shoulders. She headed into the sitting room, switched off the music and opened the windows, and opened curtains wide to let out the smells of the people, of beer and wine and hot dancing bodies and then she went into the kitchen and slumped down at the table.

No longer on show she twisted and wriggled the wedding ring off her finger, and when it wouldn’t come off, put her finger in her mouth to get it wet to help ease it off. She hadn’t realised that Ryan was watching her from the doorway.

‘I just thought I’d come in and say good night,’ he said. He was still holding a can of beer. ‘It was a good do, wasn’t it? It went well.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Woody got to?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘I’ve got no idea,’ she said.

He grinned. ‘I thought that maybe I’d better make myself scarce. You know, leave the happy couple alone.’ His tone was jokey and intimate. ‘Wedding night and all that.’

Finally the ring started to move on Sarah’s finger.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘What does it look like?’ Sarah said, finally easing the ring off. She got to her feet and, flipping open the pedal bin, dropped the ring into it, where it vanished in amongst the discarded wrappers and packets, the waste food, the cans, paper plates and cups.

Ryan’s eyes widened. ‘What the hell did you do that for? That isn’t Mum’s wedding ring, is it?’

Sarah stared at him. ‘Seriously, Ryan? You think I’d wear Mum’s ring for this?’ She held up her hands to encompass the day, the wedding – the whole damned mess. ‘Of course it isn’t her ring, Ryan. I bought in on the market along with a scabby little engagement ring.’ She rocked the second ring backwards and forwards and then, when it gave up the ghost, dropped it into the bin to join its mate.

Ryan frowned. ‘I don’t think you should have done that, I think you ought to wear them,’ he said. ‘At least for a little while. So that people can see that you’re married. You know just in case.’

Her expression hardened. ‘Oh really? That’s your advice, is it? So that they can see that I’m married? Well, let me give you some advice, Ryan. I’m
not
married, do you understand? Not in any real sense of the word. And it wasn’t a
good do,
it was a farce, and there is no way I want to be alone with Woody. Ever. Do you understand? Is this how you imagined I wanted to get married? Is it? The only reason I’m doing this is so that you don’t end up dead, Ryan.’

He opened his mouth to speak but Sarah cut him short.

‘I’ve been trying to keep the peace for weeks, trying to get through it, trying to make everything sweet. Well, now I have. It’s all done and I’m finished with it. And I’m finished with you. Do you understand? That’s it. I can’t understand how you could get yourself into this in the first place but worse, you got me into it too. Never ask me to do another thing for you.
Ever
. If you ever borrow any money again you can sort it out yourself. And if your share of the bills isn’t here every week on the nail then I’m not picking up the slack. Do you understand me? That’s it. No more, Ryan, no more. You have no idea what you’ve done, have you? Not a bloody clue. And I’m going to arrange for the basement to be billed separately for electricity, gas and council tax.’

He stared at her. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Sarah. We talked about this.’

Sarah stared him down. ‘For fuck’s sake, what?’ Her anger finally bubbling up like hot lava after weeks of keeping a lid on it, weeks of Ryan healing, weeks of fear and shock and feeling like she had no choice and now this, this horrible parody of a wedding day.

‘I’ve bailed you out for the last time, is that clear? You’re on your own now. I’m counting down the days to when we can sell up and go our separate ways, Ryan. I’ve had enough.’

His jaw dropped. ‘Sarah,’ he started. ‘You can’t mean that. We’re family – we’re—’

‘We’re what? Family? Don’t you dare talk to me about family. You sold me off to pay your debts off – that isn’t my idea of family,’ she snapped.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ he began.

‘No? Well that’s what it feels like from where I’m standing. All the weeks of keeping quiet, of not saying anything, of having you and that bastard Woody following me around like I’m a dog on a leash, making plans for the future when between you, you killed my future. I love Josh, Ryan, do you understand? I wanted to be with him. I thought he was it – the one – if I was going to marry anyone it was going to be him. Well I’m done now. I’m married, you’ll have your fucking debt paid off, and Woody will get his leave to remain. Me? I’ve lost the man I loved and any self-respect I ever had. That’s it. Now get out of here.’

By the time she had finished speaking Ryan was ashen. For a moment she thought he was going to protest or argue, or tell her that she was wrong, but instead he headed out towards the back door and the basement flat.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as he was about to step outside.

She shook her head. ‘I told you before; sorry doesn’t cover it, Ryan.’

And with that he was gone.

‘You shouldn’t be so hard on him.’

Sarah swung round.

Woody was standing by the kitchen door leaning casually against the frame, tie off now, waistcoat unbuttoned. ‘And he’s right, you really should wear the rings for a little longer. Just for a few weeks. Just to keep up appearances. We have to keep this up for a while yet.’

‘How long have you been listening?’

‘Long enough. Ryan’s not like you. He’s weak. You see what needs to be done and then you do it. I admire you for that. He isn’t capable of behaving in that way. As far as Ryan is concerned nothing is ever his fault, nothing is ever his responsibility or his to deal with. He needs you, Sarah.’

Sarah looked up at him, her tone icy cold. ‘My relationship with my brother is none of your business, Woody. And I’d appreciate it if you kept your thoughts and your pop psychology to yourself where Ryan is concerned.’

He nodded in a gesture that Sarah hoped meant that he conceded the point, but she could see that he wasn’t done.

‘And what about you?’ she asked. ‘Do you need me too?’

He smiled. ‘At the moment, yes, but not for long. I promise you that it will soon be all over and done with. There are a few things I need to sort out. Don’t worry, I want to be free of this as much as you do.’

Sarah very much doubted that.

‘It is just a means to an end,’ he said.

‘For you, maybe.’

Woody grunted. ‘For you too.’

Sarah had no intention of continuing the conversation with him and said nothing.

Apparently making the effort to change the subject Woody glanced round the room. ‘I thought we could leave the cleaning up till the morning.’

Sarah pushed herself to her feet. ‘There’s no
we
about it, Woody. There is just me and Ryan.’

Woody grinned. ‘I think you’ll find you’re wrong, Sarah, we’re all one happy family now; at least that’s what everyone else has to believe. And if they don’t, and I find out that it’s you? Let’s just say Farouk owes me one for getting him his money back.’

If Woody was hoping she was going to respond to the threat he was disappointed. The day had already numbed any fear she had. She sat very still, her eyes not leaving his, the bile rising in the back of her throat, until finally it was Woody who looked away first and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

When she was sure that he was gone, Sarah ran across the kitchen and threw up into the sink, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed, all the stress, all the panic and fury finally unleashed, making her head hurt and her throat raw.

When she was done, Sarah rinsed out the sink, washed her face and then took a roll of black plastic sacks out from the kitchen cupboard and started to clear away the remains of the party. Over the next few hours she gathered up all the rubbish, along with the glasses and plates, packed the dishwasher, opened the remaining windows, wiped the surfaces down, plumped the cushions, straightened the curtains, cleaned the bathrooms, swept and washed the kitchen floor, and finally hoovered all the way through the downstairs rooms, claiming the house back, struggling to claim herself back along with it.

It was daylight by the time she climbed the stairs and headed for bed. For a moment Sarah paused on the landing and looked up towards Woody’s room on the next floor. There was light coming under the door and she was sure she could hear him moving around. The floor creaked, the old boards moving under his weight and she wondered fleetingly if he was going to open the door.

She paused for a beat, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rising – and then she hurried into her bedroom, turning the key in the lock and sliding a chair up under the handle.

Sarah

‘Tell me about the photos, Sarah.’

‘Photos?’

The ones that Ryan and Woody took of the wedding. Do you know why he wanted so many?’

‘He told me that he wanted as much evidence as he could get to support his application to stay in the UK; wedding photos, party photos, all sorts of proof that we were a real couple. He said it would help his case. The morning after the wedding he brought some down that he had printed off, and then he put them in frames around the place. To be honest they made me feel sick.’

‘But you didn’t stop him?’

‘No, I thought that if someone from Immigration came round they would help his case, and the sooner he got his leave to remain sorted out the sooner he would be out of my life.’

‘There are a lot of photos here, Sarah. There must be two or three hundred in one box alone.’

‘I know, every time we were home together Woody would get the camera out and get Ryan to take photos of the two of us.’

‘The happy couple?’

‘I think that was what he had in mind. It was like he was trying to prove a point. And then there were all sorts of business plans for the future. Empire building. He and Ryan were thick as thieves working on those together, and then Woody said we had to provide details of savings accounts, financial details, birth certificates, all that sort of thing. For the interviews.’

‘Interviews?’

‘With the Immigration Office.’

‘Okay. And how did those go, Sarah? Did you go with Woody?’

‘No. I thought that I’d have to – I mean I assumed they would want to see both of us and interview me about his application. I’ve seen it on TV, but Woody said that I didn’t have to go unless they specifically asked to see me.’

‘Not once?’

‘No, he never asked me to go, and as far as I know they never asked to see me. I never had any correspondence about his application. Nothing. I assumed I would have some contact. I thought they might ring me. Or call round. I’d thought it would be really complicated with lots of red tape.’

‘Didn’t that strike you as odd, Sarah? After all, surely your being his wife and being British was the back bone of his application?’

‘I know. I mean it wasn’t the only odd thing – but yes, I did wonder whether I needed to contact them, but I was afraid that if I did it might jeopardise his claim – let sleeping dogs lie and all that. I did try to talk to Woody about it but he said it was all in hand, that he had filled in all the forms, and now we just had to wait and that if they wanted to see me then they’d let him know. I’ve never had any dealings with Immigration before so I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked and he seemed so sure of what he was doing. But yes, it did seem a bit odd. I had thought that we would have to go there as a couple to see people – you know, in Immigration – and lie. I was really worried about that.’