The First Last Kiss (33 page)

3.45 a.m.

BRIIIIIIING!!

I sit up in the dark, feeling completely disorientated and glance at the clock and then groan. Because of my jet lag I only got to sleep half an hour ago. I spent the rest of the time downloading pictures from our cover shoot that the photographer had sent me so I could look at them before work on Monday. Ryan, of course, hasn’t been disturbed by the doorbell.

BRIIIIIINGGGGGGGG! The insistent noise proves that this isn’t a drunken passer-by like we sometimes get, living on a main road. I heave myself out of bed, tempted to wake him, but he looks so blissful I don’t see the point of waking both of us, unless it’s some sort of major problem. He’ll only panic and start looking for inanimate objects to bash an intruder with. Last time it happened I saw him brandishing a hairdryer. ‘What were you going to do?’ I’d said to him afterwards. ‘Style them into submission?’

I go over to the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ I say sharply into the speaker.

‘Molly? Can you c-come down . . . I step back from the speaker in shock as I instantly recognize the voice, even though I haven’t heard it since Ryan and I got engaged. I quickly buzz her in, bolt across our lounge through our little hallway. I open our flat door and run down the stairs to meet her just as she steps through our front door. Casey looks at me dully. Her hair is all over the place, her eyes swollen and bruised, with tears and . . .

‘Casey? What’s wrong?’ I pull her through the front door and into a hug. She feels so painfully small and thin and helpless in my arms. I can smell smoke in her hair, alcohol on her breath. I pull away from her and hold her at arm’s-length. She tries to hide in my shoulder but then I notice that those bruises aren’t just from tiredness. I glance down and take in the red rings around her arms, the marks on her throat.

‘What the hell has happened to you, Casey?’ I say, feeling the tears spring into my own eyes. She shrinks to the floor like a rag doll, her handbag strewn by her side and I am body-slammed by a vivid memory of her in a playground, her poor body lying helpless, defenceless. I bend down and lift her up so I’m cradling her in my arms. I don’t know what has happened, I just need to get her upstairs. She opens her eyes and smiles weakly at me.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, Molly,’ she whispers. ‘I was so worried you wouldn’t be . . . I don’t want to be on my own . . . ’

‘You don’t have to be, Casey. I’m going to look after you now.’ I clear my throat and swipe my hand across my eyes. ‘Come on honey, let’s get you upstairs . . . ’

We walk slowly up the stairs and into the flat.

‘Ry?’ I call loudly, the word catching in my throat, wanting his help, not sure how to handle the situation alone.

‘No!’ she says, shaking her head and looking at me with pleading eyes. ‘Please don’t get him. I don’t want anyone else to see me.’

‘But he’ll know what to do, Case,’ I answer gently, aware that I don’t know what to do. Not at all. I bring Casey into our lounge and am at once acutely aware of how warm and inviting it is, how safe and secure and so far removed from wherever Casey has come from. I see her clock the cosy scene with one flicker of her dull, murky-coloured eyes, Ryan’s discarded trainers and my Converse huddled together on the floor by the sofa, the open wedding file on the coffee table, the debris of a cosy night in for two. Suddenly I am all too aware how different my life is to hers.

I start to lead my best friend, who I haven’t heard from for two months and who used to be closer to me than a sister, over to the couch slowly. How did this happen? Who did this to her? She winces in pain and clutches her ribs, and I’m trying not to cry at what I’m witnessing.

I hear Ryan stumbling down the stairs in the jeans he’s hastily put on, brandishing a tennis racket as a weapon. My husband-to-be, sporty even in self-defence. He’s rubbing his eyes blearily as he comes into the brightly lit room.

‘What is it, Moll?’ He looks shocked, then horrified when he sees her. He looks on as I lead Casey to the sofa. She looks at him and then he dashes over and skids to his knees in front of the sofa.

‘What happened, Case?’ He lifts her chin gently and she gazes at him, her bruised black and mauve eyes are soulless and empty. She buries her head in a cushion.

‘Hey, Case,’ he says kindly. ‘We’re going to look after you, but babe, whoever did this to you shouldn’t be able to get away with it.’ Her shoulders heave up and down, but her face stays buried. He pulls her hair back, kisses her on her cheek and strokes her head.

I sit down on the edge of the sofa and stroke Casey’s hair, too. It is damp but warm, sweat mixed with a steady stream of tears, and – is that blood? Oh God.

‘What happened Case? Can you tell me?’ I ask gently, my voice wobbling with fear and shock.

She raises her head slightly off the sofa cushion and looks at me. Her face is the shade of newspaper carbon when it rubs off on your skin. Her hands are shaking uncontrollably. I notice there is dirt under her fingernails. I can see it through her pink varnish. I stroke her head and she lowers it again. Ryan pulls a blanket that’s folded over the side of the couch and I pull it over her gently.

‘I was l-l-leaving work . . . ’ she hiccups. ‘There was a group of them . . . it had been a busy night at the club. Lots of people on the door pissed off that they couldn’t come in. I finished early and had a few drinks to unwind after my shift. I was going home on my own . . . ’ She trails off and I nod to encourage her to go on, and she does. ‘They just came out of nowhere. The girls. They started p-punching and k-kicking me. I couldn’t do anything . . . ’ Casey talks quietly, stopping and starting, stumbling over the details, unable to recall the exact order of events. I look down at Casey in horror and clutch Ryan’s hand as we stroke her hair, and Casey stumbles through her explanation of how they launched themselves at her on her walk home. They kicked and punched her in the face, called her a stupid slut and left her on the pavement outside her house. She’d been too petrified to go into her flat in case they came back so she crawled into her car and drove straight here. She said she recognized them. Southend is a small town.

I cradle her in my arms as she cries and I’m so fucking angry, not just with them, but with me. Why wasn’t I there to protect her, like I’ve always been before? Back then, I didn’t leave her side but now, when she needed me, I wasn’t there. And I promised I always would be. Why have I been so consumed with myself and my life and this wedding that I’ve left her to fend for herself? Casey
can’t
look after herself, I’ve always known that. She’s not strong enough to live on her own, or to work in a club like that. I knew it but I didn’t do anything to protect her.

What happened to BF’s forever?

‘I didn’t mean to make this happen, Molly,’ she sobbed, ‘you’ve got to believe me, I know I’m stupid and irresponsible but I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to . . . I didn’t, honestly . . . ’ She looks up at me imploringly ‘. . . and I didn’t mean to not call you, and I’m sorry Molly, I’m s-so, so sorry . . . ’

‘Shhh, you don’t have to be sorry for anything, Case, it’s my fault, I’m the one to blame here, not you. I’ve neglected you. I should have been there, not just tonight . . . ’ I say as she burrows into my neck and cries and then I cry with her, for her and for us. For the naive kids that we were who thought that life would always go in the same direction for us.

‘I’ve missed you, Moll,’ she weeps.

‘Shhh,’ I repeat, and kiss her on her head, and I sit there stroking her hair for what feels like hours until she drifts off to sleep.

The Wish You Were Here Kiss

Why is it when you’re about to wed there’s this ridiculous tradition to spend a weekend away from your intended? I mean the whole point of getting married is that you want to be together
forever
. From this day forward.

In my lowest moments I have obsessed over the weekend of my hen do. Sometimes I lie in bed and I close my eyes and imagine that Ryan and I spent that weekend in Paris, or in Rome, or tucked up in a B&B on the coast together, or in a log cabin, lying in front of a roaring fire as the snow drifted outside the door, talking about the exciting future that lay before us. Sometimes we’re even in Jackie and Dave’s annexe in Leigh-on-Sea. Anywhere other than apart.

But then it’s not long before my mum’s words spoken on my wedding morning permeate my dreams. ‘The only person your happy-ever-after is hinged on is you, Molly,’ and I realize that nothing has been stolen from me, not really. How can I think about what I lost when I have gained so much? Instead of wishing
he
was here, I just need to be thankful that
I
am.

FF>> 15/04/06>

‘Woohoo, this is fun!’ squeals Lydia, lifting up two bottles and pouring the most gigantic amounts of tequila and vodka into her cocktail shaker, a tiny bit of orange juice, and then holds up a cranberry before dropping it in the drink. ‘I’m going to call this one “Lyd’s Loose Lips”,’ and she raises an eyebrow.

‘You’re all class, Lyd,’ I giggle as I make the raspberry Martini just as the mixologist guy showed me, batting my eyelashes as I lift up my finished drink for his inspection.

‘It’s perfect,’ he says with a movie-star smile.

‘So are you,’ sniggers Mia, and gestures pinching his arse as he turns his back on us. She gulps down her own Martini and slams the glass back on the bar.

‘Hey, he’s mine!’ Lydia protests.

‘I’ll fight you for—’ She bites her lip and glances at Casey, and I quickly grasp her hand and squeeze it. Some of her minor injuries have now healed but the emotional wounds of that night are still raw. ‘Sorry,’ Mia says, touching her bruised arm. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

Casey looks up from her own non-alcoholic concoction and smiles wanly.

‘Are you OK, Case?’ I murmur, like I’ve been doing approximately every three minutes since my hen party began.

She nods and smiles at me – but without any of her usual sparkle. ‘Fine, babes, happy to be here.’

I touch her arm. ‘You know you don’t have to be,’ I say.

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ she says, her chin and nose pointed determinedly in the air.

I’m still amazed she’s made it. She’s been staying with Ryan and me ever since that night – God, was it a month ago now? It feels like yesterday. We only went back to her flat to pack up enough things to bring them to ours for the forseeable. She didn’t want to go to her mum’s, understandably. I’m not entirely sure that Toni would have been particularly bothered; she’s got a new boyfriend at the moment. So Ry and I instantly offered her our couch. We’ve even exchanged it for a sofa bed to make it more comfortable for her.

There are squeals as Freya and Lisa both clink their cocktail glasses at the other end of the bar. We smile and do the same.

‘To friends, your future and having FUN,’ Casey says with effort, and I swallow back a tear at her bravery. Mia hugs us and I link my arms through both of theirs, feeling so happy to have them here. My best friends.

I still can’t believe my hen do is finally here and in one week’s time, I’ll be Mrs Ryan Cooper. It doesn’t seem possible, and yet it can’t come quickly enough as far as I’m concerned. I kissed Ryan goodbye this morning. He and the boys are heading out to Ibiza early for his stag do.

I look at my two best friends either side of me and the other girls here – Lydia and the girls from work; I only invited a handful because I wanted the chance to spend quality time with everyone and not feel part of a circus. And more than anything, I didn’t want to have a celebration that would make Casey feel awkward. Historically she hasn’t coped well with other friends of mine, and although she and Mia have been fine(ish) for years, I’m sure that’s only because Mia moved to Australia. I think as far as Casey has always been concerned, Mia couldn’t ever threaten our closeness whilst she was living 10,000 miles away. Which is funny, because although Mia may live on the other side of the world, in many ways we’ve actually grown closer over the years. Perhaps it’s because we understand each other’s jobs, maybe it’s because we don’t demand much of each other, perhaps the distance stops us from having the petty ups and downs of most friendships, but Mia is my rock.

‘OK ladies,’ says the super-cute mixologist, ‘are you ready for the next cock—’

‘OH YES!’ we chorus.

‘ . . . tail.’ He finishes and we all fall about laughing. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and throws his shaker into the air Tom Cruise-style, as we all ooh and aah and gasp with pleasure like we’re at a fireworks display.

‘Okaaay,’ he drawls lazily, ‘now I’m going to make someone a special cocktail designed just for them. A Moll . . . Flanger? Is that right?’

I scream and burst out laughing as Mia points and winks at me across the bar.

‘And a virgin one for the pretty lady in the black dress,’ he grins wolfishly at Casey, who has stuck to her decision to stop drinking since the night of the attack.

She lifts her glass and winks with the eye that isn’t healing from the stitches (a heel cut the corner of it – she was lucky not to lose an eye). For a moment both eyes shut in transition and I realize that with no fake tan, her long black hair unstyled (she can’t lift up her arms for long) and her olive skin sallow and still bruised from the attack, she looks ghostly, ethereal almost. ‘I’m about as far from a virgin as anyone can get! Haaa!’ she blurts out jokingly with what seems like a desperate attempt to get into the hen spirit. ‘Besides, there’s no chance of me getting any with this beat-up face!’

We all look at each other awkwardly as a ripple of discomfort works its way through the group. Lydia has assured her it’s nothing that can’t be covered with make-up on the big day. She is now determined to be chief bridesmaid at my wedding. I take Casey’s hand and squeeze it again, trying to let her know that she doesn’t have to do this, that we don’t expect her to try and make crude jokes just because we’re on a hen do. It’s enough that she’s here and she still wants to be there on my big day.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘you have to admit it’s a bit funny! Laugh!’