The Wedding Crasher, page 24
I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?
L x
Poppy slipped her phone into a clutch bag. Every time she thought about what she was about to do, a wave of nerves washed over her. She had practised her conversation opener like a bizarre mantra in the mirror each morning before work and each night after she washed her face, skin pink from unnecessarily vigorous scrubbing. I don’t think we should be together. I need to be alone. I don’t think we should be together. I need to be alone.
After months of thinking about it, a few near misses, and long, exhaustive conversations with Lola in the attic, Poppy had realised there would never be a good time to break up with Josh. All this was true, yet Poppy hadn’t considered how being dressed as a 1920s flapper girl might make it more difficult. The New Year’s Eve party they had been invited to was The Great Gatsby themed, but if the night turned out the way she predicted, Poppy would be seeing in the new year alone. It was why she couldn’t leave the conversation until tomorrow. The thought of Jools Holland counting down from ten to one like a tiny human trumpet was too much, especially if Josh turned to her for a kiss she couldn’t return when the party poppers burst. Besides, she wasn’t in the party mood – not that you could tell from the glittery kohl around her eyes and dark purple lipstick.
Josh only paid attention to her mood when it directly impacted something he wanted to do. Living with it was a minefield. When it suited him, he was an attentive, all-consuming feature in her life, but when it didn’t, he was distant and cold. Poppy was suffering from the long-term effects of emotional whiplash. She loved Josh, but she didn’t like him anymore.
Pitbull played as Josh got changed, the double doors of their wardrobe open as he combed his hair back with gel. Pitbull made music for people who didn’t like music, which was why it suited Josh.
‘Can you draw me a tash?’ he asked, angling a trilby hat on his head.
‘A tash?’
‘Yeah. Like Marlon Brando.’
Poppy’s heart thumped in her chest as she pulled the lid off her liquid eyeliner. Josh sat at her dressing table. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, unable to give him the real reason why this was a bad idea. You couldn’t break up with someone when they looked like the Doritos logo. You just couldn’t.
‘If I’m going as The Godfather, I’ve got to look like The Godfather.’
‘There’s isn’t a godfather in Gatsby.’
‘It’s pretty much the same thing.’
Poppy held her breath, coloured in a sparse moustache, and snapped the lid back on. ‘There.’
‘Thanks.’ Josh ran a hand up her leg and squeezed the inside of her thigh. When she tensed, he frowned at her. ‘What’s up?’
‘Can we go for a walk?’ she asked, the words tumbling out before she could haul them back.
‘What, now? We’ve got to leave in twenty minutes. You know what it’s like at these things; everyone gets pissed too early and I won’t be able to talk to Caroline and Stu.’
‘Who?’
‘God, Poppy. You really need to listen more in staff briefings. Caroline and Stu. The new deputy heads? I’ve got to show initiative. You know, get in with them early.’
‘Surely that applies to work meetings, not fancy-dress parties in a colleague’s new kitchen-cum-living room extension?’
‘And that thinking is why I’m going to get the promotion.’
Poppy felt her throat tighten. She knew her muscle memory would try and convince her to stop, but she resisted. ‘Please, can we go for a walk? Just a quick one. It’s important.’
Josh slowed the buttoning of his collar, alert. He nodded.
Outside, the night was unseasonably warm for mid-winter. They walked behind a row of red-brick Victorian terraces and through a set of wrought-iron gates that led into a graveyard. Broken tombstones lit up with blooms of purple and red as teenagers lit cheap fireworks in the park.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ asked Josh, rubbing his bottom lip.
Poppy looked at him as they walked. He was brooding, wide-shouldered in a suit borrowed from his grandfather, hands pushed deep in his pockets. Poppy knew what she had to say, she just needed to say it.
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve not been myself recently.’
Josh put his arm around Poppy’s shoulder and squeezed. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen. It was Lola again.
I believe in you. Hold fast! L x
It was like her friend could sense her hesitation rising, the panic catching in her throat.
‘I have noticed you’ve been a bit off,’ said Josh. ‘You’re barely eating. I wondered… no. You go on.’
‘You wondered what?’
Josh half laughed, half coughed. ‘I wondered if you might be pregnant.’
Poppy’s nerves took a swan dive. She hadn’t considered this in her rehearsals. ‘No. Oh, no that’s not what I was implying.’
Confusion flickered across Josh’s face. What had Lola told her to do? When you say it, just say it. Don’t do a run-up. A punch in the gut hurts more if you can see someone walking towards you with a boxing glove. Straight out with it, babe.
‘Before I go on, I just want you to know that I’ve thought about this properly and I don’t want to hurt you. That’s never what I wanted to do.’
Shit. Somehow, she’d done it anyway.
‘Yeah, you’re freaking me out now,’ said Josh, his face pale as they walked under a streetlight. Poppy pinched herself so hard her eyes began to water. She turned back on herself, forcing them both to stop.
‘I don’t think we should be together anymore,’ said Poppy, her eyes wide with insistence.
After a moment, Josh spoke, his voice neutral. ‘Why?’
‘When I’m around you, I don’t recognise who I am. Sometimes you speak to me like you actually profoundly dislike me and it’s making me not like myself either. We’re different people now,’ said Poppy, rushing her words as anger flashed across Josh’s face. She was kidding herself if she thought this might be easy.
When Josh spoke, it was in a whisper. ‘Of course we aren’t the fucking same now. We’re six years older. We’ve got jobs.’
Poppy remembered her next line, despite the blood rushing in her ears. ‘I think I need to be on my own.’
‘Yeah, yeah… because fucking off is always something you’re an inch away from doing, isn’t it?’ Josh shook his head, furious. ‘Every time things get tough, it’s what you want to do. It was the same with New York, it was the same for your mum, and now history is repeating itself. Why am I not surprised? You can’t blame me for every anxious feeling you have, however terrible the patriarchy is.’
‘What?! This is only about us. You don’t have to bring my fucking mum into it,’ said Poppy, her worry morphing into anger that forked out of her mouth, hot and sharp.
‘Don’t you dare,’ said Josh, pointing at her with a finger raised like a gun. ‘If it’s parents we’re playing around with, you haven’t won Top Trumps. My dad fucked off too. I would never do that. I do everything right by you. You don’t have to be alone, not with me. Isn’t that what you want?’
‘You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how things have been. We’re ghosts in each other’s lives. Be honest!’
‘You want some hard truths? Here’s one: you’re selfish and manipulative. Listen to yourself.’
Poppy felt her throat close. She tried flexing her hands, but she couldn’t feel her fingers. Talking was useless. Like a tablespoon of Alphabetti spaghetti, all meaning was lost in a jumble of incomprehensible letters. Panic rose inside, dominating her with one singular thought. Make it stop.
‘I… I…’ Poppy gulped and closed her eyes.
‘I what?’ said Josh, flicking open his jacket.
She couldn’t do it. She’d been so close to starting again and yet, she couldn’t do it.
‘I think we need some time apart.’
‘Yeah, we do, because you’re not making sense,’ said Josh, as though he were in a rush. ‘I’m going to go to this party. There are people I want to talk to. You can do what you want. If it’s independence you’re after, there you fucking go. If you still want to talk about it tomorrow, fine, but I’ll say when. You can’t spring this shit on me when I’m not prepared for it, okay? People are staring. Come on, I’ll walk you home.’
The following morning Poppy didn’t speak to Josh. Her resolve had entirely failed. She met Lola for brunch as promised, her eyes hooded, her heart hollow.
A bell above the café door tinkled when she pushed it open. From a corner, half-hidden behind the fronds of a palm fern, Lola waved, slurped a mug of tea, and tidied a messy stack of documents into her handbag.
‘Sorry about the papers,’ said Lola, snapping the lid on a highlighter. ‘I’m having a nightmare with the venue for that wedding I told you about. Essentially, I know it’s a hotel near the sea, but they won’t say where exactly “until necessary” for legal reasons. Madness.’ Poppy scanned through previous conversations she’d had with Lola. If it was the wedding she only ever referred to as The Big One, Lola had been annoyingly vague. However, it could well be the case that she had told Poppy, but the details had bounced off her forehead, distracted as Poppy was from Lola’s excited monologues by a constant murmuring of dread.
Lola pushed her cat-eye glasses into her loose purple hair. ‘You look like shit, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘I feel like it.’
‘How did he take it?’ said Lola, chin propped on her hands.
‘He…’
‘I don’t hope that he’s devastated, but he fucking well should be. Do you think he knew it was coming?’
‘No, he didn’t. He had a huge suit on and a fake cigar in his pocket,’ said Poppy, building up to her admittance of failure. Her head ached from a lack of sleep, her memory fuggy and incoherent.
‘Well, that sounds like it was made easier,’ said Lola. ‘Did you stay there last night? How are you feeling? Fuck, I’m so proud of you. Total champion. When you didn’t text me back, I nearly drove round, but he’s a good talker, isn’t he? I assumed you’d be at it for hours. That’s the worst bit done, I promise. You know you can stay with me, right? If he has the audacity to make this difficult for you. We should get you a glass of prosecco. Not for me, obviously. Oh, babe. This is the start of something. I promise you.’
Lola sat back in her chair, cheeks dimpled with pride. Poppy’s heart sank. She loosened her scarf and tapped her foot with restless energy. She couldn’t bring herself to look Lola in the eye, because as soon as she did, Lola would know.
‘Oh, babe. It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? Don’t worry about the practical stuff. I can always head back to yours and pack a bag if you don’t want to go. I’ll borrow my Uncle Kev’s rottweiler to keep Josh out for a while. He’s got a pet ASBO. Excellent guard dog.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ said Poppy, stealing a glance at Lola. The awkward silence that fell between them was cut through by a barista steaming a jug of milk. By the time it stopped, Poppy felt tears prickling behind her eyes.
‘What do you mean you didn’t do it?’ said Lola.
‘I didn’t go through with it. Or, I did. I tried to. I said everything I’d written down, one way or another, but it didn’t work.’
‘You either broke up with him or you didn’t, babe. Which is it?’
‘I don’t know how literally he took it, but I did explain how I feel,’ Poppy rubbed her eyes, her skin hot and sore from anxious tears. ‘Maybe I jumped the gun. If I’d spoken to him more when we had a chance to fix things it might be different.’ Poppy replayed her conversation with Josh until the image of his crestfallen, moustachioed face was etched on the inside of her skull. Lola didn’t understand how hard it was to break up with someone who refused to be broken up with.
‘When will it be bad enough to leave?’ said Lola, her voice strained.
‘Please don’t be upset.’ Poppy clutched her friend’s hand, panicked. Lola calmy and carefully extracted her fingers and pooled them loosely in her lap.
‘We’ve been here before,’ said Lola, scratching her nose with her little finger. ‘What did he say this time to make you change your mind?’
‘It wasn’t him. You know, I don’t think I’ve been honest either. I keep saying he’s made no effort with me, but that’s not true. Last week, he asked me to go bouldering with him.’
‘Did you want to go bouldering?’
‘Well, not particularly, but it shows something, doesn’t it? He’s not a monster.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, that’s a low fucking bar.’
‘Can you stop talking about him like that?’ said Poppy. ‘I know you hate him, but I’ve been with Josh for eight years.’
‘Fine, fine. I know you don’t want to stay with him, whatever you’re telling yourself now, but I can’t force you to be ready when you’re not. At the end of the day, nothing I say will make a difference until you decide yourself,’ said Lola.
‘I know.’ Poppy nodded, her chin heavy and childlike. She brushed away a fat tear, exhausted. She couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud, but Lola was right.
‘I really want you to listen to me now,’ said Lola. ‘I’m not going to do this again. If you’re deciding to stay with Josh, that’s on you. But his behaviour isn’t just affecting you anymore. I have a fledgling business. Every time you say you’re ready to leave him, I’m there. This was the last time, okay? When you call me next, it has to be because you’re ready to move on, and not before.’
‘I don’t want to hurt him,’ she said.
‘Why are you not maintaining that same standard for yourself?’
‘Lola—’ said Poppy, her hands flat on the table.
‘What?’
‘I love you. Don’t think I take you for granted. I don’t, truly.’
‘I love you too. That’s why I’m putting this boundary in place. Do you get me?’
‘Not really,’ said Poppy. She squashed the feeling of freefall that prickled in her chest.
‘You will, eventually. Now, can you please buy us a flapjack? You look so sad they might give us an extra slice for free.’
‘It didn’t work last time.’ Poppy gave Lola a fleeting smile, which she returned, exhaling through her nose. As she walked away, Lola caught her wrist and pulled her into a hug, arms encircling her waist.
‘I’ll be strong enough. I will. Just not today,’ said Poppy into Lola’s hair.
‘I know, darling. I know.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Day Before the Wedding
Poppy scanned the expansive dining room before spotting Lola. In the corner, a hundred glass jars pinned a linen tablecloth down, all at various states of upcycling. Lola swore as she attempted to tie a bow with her stiletto nails, roughly pulled the knot loose, and dropped the lace over the back of a chair adorned with pre-cut lengths of twine.
‘Hey, I need to talk to you,’ said Poppy.
Lola looked up, a chunky chalk pen now in her hands.
‘Has someone died? Who is it? I have a contingency plan for this, but it depends on the age,’ said Lola. She put the cap back on the pen and propped it on an easel that displayed a partially complete seating plan.
‘Everyone is alive, as far as I’m aware. It’s something else.’
‘Oh.’ Lola pursed her lips. ‘Disappointing. I’d been waiting for a good time to test drive my mortality manoeuvres. What’s up?’
‘Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere a bit more private?’ said Poppy. She dropped her voice, conscious of being overheard by the bar staff who lived off gossip like it was a rapidly depleting life source. She’d worked as a silver-service waitress at university, so she knew what it took to make it through a ten-hour shift with the minimum government-sanctioned breaks.
‘Will we be long?’
‘I don’t know. It depends on your reaction.’
‘All right, but I’ve got fifty thousand things to do. Ottilie wants the “homemade wedding” look but doesn’t want to pick up a glue gun, so yours truly spent last night learning squiggly calligraphy. If the photos from this wedding aren’t all over Pinterest the moment we leave this island, I’ll have failed.’
Poppy picked at a hangnail and nodded at the army of jam jars double stacked on the table. ‘It looks brilliantly shabby chic, but—’
‘I know,’ said Lola dreamily, stepping back to admire her work. ‘I could add another two hundred quid to my fee for this. FYI, I can’t sit down. I’m breaking Ottilie’s wedding shoes in.’ Lola pointed to her feet. She wore a pair of fluffy slipper socks tucked into plastic sandwich bags, which were in turn stuffed into sky-blue satin ballet shoes, complete with ribbons loosely criss-crossed at the ankle. ‘She has wide feet and doesn’t want blisters. I don’t want to sweat into her shoes. It’s a paradox for which I’ve found a genius solution.’
‘Isn’t that the kind of task that she should be undertaking?’
‘From now on, I am following the path of least resistance and saying yes to everything Ottilie requests. She doesn’t remember most of it, so if she’s happy, I can get on with organising everything else behind the scenes. By extension, Will is happy, and as long as he continues to trot around in a haze of pre-marital love, the Mountgraves are happy, which means I’m happy and still within shot of a bonus. Win-win!’
‘Uh, about that. Let’s talk.’
Lola beckoned Poppy to follow her into the kitchens, but when they pushed the chain-link curtain back, they found Tamiko hunched over a steel workbench, slicing carrots so quickly he sounded like a woodpecker on speed.
‘Jesus, it’s hot in here,’ she said.
Tamiko sighed, as though this wasn’t the first time the kitchen had been used for a meeting of the privy council. He nodded towards a broad stainless-steel door. ‘There’s a walk-in freezer over there. Cool off if you like. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, or we’ll lose a hygiene star.’
