The Wedding Crasher, page 30
‘About…?’ Poppy asked the question, but she knew the answer.
‘You tell me.’
‘Stop testing me, Josh, I genuinely don’t know.’
‘Your pill.’ He waited for the penny to drop, but Poppy was still thinking. ‘I found three packets in the bin.’
‘They’re old ones,’ she said.
‘Don’t lie to me, Poppy.’
‘They are, they’re’—Poppy scanned the mirrored corridor, but she wasn’t sure what she was looking for—‘I never said I wanted to have a baby, like… now.’
‘Are you having me on?’
‘Yes! Why the hell are you going through the bins? Am I under surveillance now?’
‘We’ve been married for nearly six years. We’ve got a really fucking good life. What do you think happens next?’ he said, his consonants sharp.
‘I don’t want to talk about this now. When you’re aggressive, my mind doesn’t jump to the thought of procreation, surprisingly.’
‘Aggressive? That’s how you’re labelling me?’ He bit his bottom lip and cradled his fists. ‘You’re an embarrassment. There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s you reacting like I’ve just asked you to be my fucking handmaiden.’
Poppy recoiled, her eyes wide. He’d said this kind of thing before at home, but never in public.
‘I never said that children were high on my priority list.’
This wasn’t entirely true. Poppy had an idea that children would feature in her life at some point, but recently the noise that had once been a loud ringing in her head had grown dull, like she was listening to it through a wall.
‘What bumped it down? Too much of a sacrifice, is it? I’d be making sacrifices too, or had you not realised that? At the end of the day, I’m not the one who pushed this topic to begin with.’
‘You are.’
‘I’m not!’ said Josh, his voice husky with anger. A barmaid looked up from the tap she was cleaning. Josh noticed her make eye contact with Poppy and moved to block her view. He lowered his voice. ‘I’m not. We’ve spoken about this.’
‘Yeah, in the same way we’ve spoken about going to New Zealand and investing in a drinks cart. I wasn’t aware a baby was something we were actively seeking,’ she said. As the words left her mouth, she knew they didn’t suit her. At this point, raising a child with Josh would be like asking a swimmer to catch a cannonball when they needed a life ring.
‘You told me you’d stopped taking your pill.’
‘I told you I was thinking about it. Even if I had, you can’t go announcing it to everyone. Now every time we go out, to a BBQ or whatever, they’ll watch what I drink and make endless comments about it.’
‘They won’t. They’re our friends, not the fertility police.’
‘You know that’s not true. Why? Because you let them believe I’m pregnant.’
‘Poppy, lower your voice, for Christ’s sake. You might not realise it, but you sound hysterical. That’s not you.’
‘Maybe it is. Maybe I’ve felt hysterical for months. Is it hysterical to want to maintain some semblance of privacy over my own body?’
‘It’s our baby,’ said Josh, catching himself as the words left his mouth. ‘It would be our baby.’
‘Yeah, and it would be my body. I control it, so I also have the right to an opinion on how it’s spoken about.’
Josh smirked and shook his head, his tongue pushed against the inside of his bottom lip. ‘I knew you’d turn this into a feminist thing.’
‘Well, thanks to your wonderful Day of the Girl assembly, I’m all clued up on feminism. Speaking of which, thanks for taking my ideas, putting them on a shit PowerPoint, and passing them off as yours. No one uses fucking Comic Sans anymore.’
‘No, I’m drawing a line there. Comic Sans is the easiest font to read. Besides, you can’t claim equal rights as “yours”. Feminism is a movement, not a monopoly.’
‘You know what women really like? Having their own rights explained back to them. With caveats.’
‘I’m the Equal Opportunities representative at school. I had to deliver that assembly. You know I’m going for the Deputy job, or do you not want more income coming through the house?’
‘It’s wild to me that you can’t see a hint of irony here. Progressive ideas shouldn’t be used for career opportunities.’
‘Yeah, well, you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?’
Poppy coughed, incredulous. Josh leant against the wall and massaged his palm with his thumb, refusing to make eye contact. He knew he’d dealt a low blow, but was too stubborn to backpedal.
‘If we’re taking a trip down memory lane, should we talk about what I gave up to be with you? A master’s in New York? The chance to be a fully professional photographer?’
Josh held his hands up, his mouth small and mean. ‘You strung out a list of reasons why you didn’t want to go. You didn’t like flying; it was too expensive; you needed to keep an eye on your dad,’ said Josh, ticking them off his fingers. ‘You claimed you didn’t need the exposure of an academy in New York. You were good enough on your own. Is that what you’re saying now? That you don’t need me?’
‘No. I’m saying that I’m slowly suffocating.’
Josh went cold, his eyes glazed with indifference. ‘I’m sorry that being married to me has been so painful for you.’
‘You’re twisting my words.’
‘Poppy, I didn’t force you to stay here when that creep with the goatee offered you a scholarship.’
‘He wasn’t a creep! You proposed to me at my first public exhibition. What was I supposed to do, say yes and fuck off to America for a year? Everyone would have hated me. You would have hated me,’ she said. Poppy felt light-headed, like a valve inside her had disintegrated over time and finally blown. Josh flexed his fingers, his breathing staggered. ‘Be honest with me, would you have waited?’
‘Would you have wanted me to?’
She paused. Josh pressed his temples and shook his head. ‘I can’t believe this. Did it ever cross your mind that whatever… issue that’s affecting our relationship should have been brought up earlier, back when we could have done something about it? Why now? Take some fucking responsibility; you can’t come out with shit like this without having an end goal in mind.’
‘I don’t know. I think I know, but—’
Josh elbowed the wood panelling beside him, the force rattling a pendant that hung from a glass wall light. ‘Which is it?’
Poppy stepped back. In the gap that had opened between them, a man opened the bathroom door, fiddling with his trouser zip. Poppy and Josh turned to look at him. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, side stepping behind Josh.
‘Every decision we’ve made as a couple has swung solidly in your favour,’ said Poppy, her voice quiet.
Josh rolled his eyes. ‘We live in a townhouse – your choice. Yes, you put down the deposit, but I’ve spaffed money doing it up because you don’t like new builds.’
‘We live ten minutes away from your mum. Whose choice was that?’
‘She lives alone.’
‘So does my dad.’
‘You don’t even like him.’
‘You don’t get to say that!’
Josh exhaled through his nose, as though it took every ounce of willpower for him not to punch the wall.
‘Wow. Honestly, I don’t think I know you anymore. Six years. Six fucking years and now you’re acting as though you’ve swallowed Simone de Beauvoir’s backlist? You’re my wife.’
‘What does that even mean, really?’
Josh wiped his face. There was a small part of her that felt a thrill of excitement when he got angry. At some point in the future, she would spend a lot of money unpacking this particular reaction, but not now.
‘I hold my hands up. Is this about what I said out there, or is there something else going on with you? You’ve not been right for weeks. Months, even. It’s not just me who thinks so.’
‘Oh? I’m not Princess Diana. I don’t think anyone else analyses my behaviour with that much interest.’
‘The head has mentioned it at school. Said your last lesson observation was… what was the phrase he used? Frantic? Which is odd because you’re a brick-wall level of boring at home. Every time I try and get a rise out of you, there’s nothing there.’
‘That’s because I can’t have a conversation with you anymore without doubting myself fifty times a minute. I don’t know what my opinions are anymore. I tell you I’m worried, you tell me I’m catastrophising. I tell you I’m excited, you tell me to calm down. I tell you I don’t feel much at all and you say I’m being distant. Is it any wonder I don’t know what to fucking say?’
Josh hooked his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and laid his forehead on her shoulder. He smelt good, which annoyed her. It would have looked intimate if it wasn’t for the strain in his neck and the press of his fingers against her hip bones, a little too hard. ‘Pops, listen to me. Don’t you think a baby would be good for us? Give us something to focus on, you know?’
Poppy slipped underneath his arm, her heartbeat pulsing in her throat. ‘Remind me what century you’re living in? Babies aren’t correctional tools, Josh.’
He nodded, as though she’d fallen beautifully short of his expectations. ‘This is what we’re doing now, is it? I feel like you’re about to call me a misogynist.’
Poppy performed a slow clap. Exasperation had made her eyelids heavy and her tongue loose. ‘Bra-fucking-vo.’
‘I am not going stand here and listen to this. You can tell everyone why I’ve left without saying goodbye because that’s what you deserve. Let me know when you’re ready to have an adult conversation.’ Josh’s voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes pink with anger or sadness – Poppy couldn’t tell. He rocked on his heels, chin aloft as though he were waiting for an apology.
Lola appeared behind him. ‘Jesus, Josh. Have you had a few too many E-numbers tonight? We can hear you from outside. Poppy, what’s going on?’ asked Lola, her voice light, her eyes narrow.
‘Lola, this has got nothing to do with you,’ said Josh.
‘If you’re upsetting my friend, I think it bloody well does. Poppy, do you want to go?’ said Lola, her tone insistent. Poppy nodded. ‘Right, come on then.’ Lola held out her hand. Poppy knew with singular focus that taking it was the only way she would have the courage to leave. This was her life raft. She needed to climb on.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Wedding Day
Poppy pushed herself off the floor, wincing, her neck stiff and sore from spending the night with her ear pressed against the thick carpet. Lola’s room was above the suite that Will would ordinarily be sharing with Ottilie if she weren’t still hiding out in the fisherman’s hut. After hearing a group of men failing to shush each other quietly in the early hours of the morning, she had been listening for the moment that Will was finally in his room alone.
Whilst waiting for signs of life downstairs, Lola had channelled her stress into backcombing and hair pinning that bordered on sadomasochism, resulting in a gravity-defying beehive that had distracted her until they heard a window open on the floor below. Eventually, Lola had gone to investigate. A few minutes later, Poppy heard a keycard being inserted into the door, signalling Lola’s return.
‘Is he there?’ asked Poppy.
‘He’s there,’ she said, fanning herself with her hand. ‘You were right; his cousins crashed in there with him. I kicked them out on the pretence that we had wedding timings to discuss, but I panicked when Will looked so worried and said that the dried rose petals had arrived but were blush pink, not fuchsia. All in all, I don’t think I bought much time. Do you still want to tell him on your own?’
Poppy nodded. She got to her feet and tried to rub the carpet grooves out of her cheek. ‘I don’t want it to come across as an intervention.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Lola, smoothing down her satin dress. ‘I know this is selfish, but I’ve got to pretend that I don’t know what’s happened. There are ten places I need to be this morning and I can’t call anything off before I know what Will wants to do.’
‘Okay, you keep busy. I don’t think anyone will be looking for me since Christian arrived to take over, so leave the awkward conversations to me. Is there any chance Ottilie will turn up early?’
‘Doubt it. I’m walking hair and make-up over to the fisherman’s hut in… thirty minutes,’ said Lola, checking her watch. ‘So she’ll be out of the way until the ceremony. In theory.’
‘Right.’ Poppy pressed her knuckles into her eye sockets, the pressure alleviating the tension that had built up. ‘This is not how I thought the week would end.’
‘You’re telling me. I’m still not sure about this. If Lawrence left a letter for him, do we really need to get involved? I don’t think this will go down quietly. People love a wedding, but you know what gets more headlines? A public jilting.’
‘I doubt he’s going to walk around in his wedding suit for the next thirty years. Anyway, I thought you said the media was being carefully controlled?’ asked Poppy.
‘It is, but I’ve heard people talking. As much as this feels like Big Brother, Will’s dad can’t control everything. Lord Mountgrave is trying to direct noise towards the wedding, but there’s enough bad blood here to fill a swimming pool. If it’s a “source close to the couple” we’re thinking about, there are some strong contenders here who would happily use it as an opportunity to see the Mountgraves with muddy knees. Inappropriate wording, but you get me, right?’
‘I know, I know.’ Poppy was hot. She opened a window and took a deep breath, looking down at the stark white walls of the hotel. On the floor below, Will’s window was also pushed open. Her stomach twanged as she heard him singing every other line of Al Green’s ‘Love and Happiness’, the music tinny, as though he’d put his phone in a fruit bowl like they used to do at university when no one had a speaker to hand. He can’t have found the letter yet. That was if Lawrence was being truthful about the letter at all.
‘I can’t let Will go in blind,’ she said, turning from the window.
Lola’s phone rang. She glanced at the number and tapped her teeth with the end of her nail. ‘I’ve got to go and brief the arrivals team. Metaphorically speaking, before we jump out of the plane, are you sure about this?’
‘I am. But I also feel a lot of other things. Bad for you, mainly. This was supposed to be your big career break.’
Lola smiled, resigned to the idea. ‘The only bad publicity is no publicity, right? I’ve got some decent pictures for the website, thanks to you, and I’ve mentioned my business name in every conversation I’ve had this week. Subliminal messaging, except… not so subliminal.’
Poppy exhaled sharply. ‘If something drastic happens, I’ll let you know, but not before. Ignorance is bliss and all that.’
‘Hydraulic ejection into a different country is bliss, more like.’ Lola enveloped her in a hug, her arms birdlike and stiff. ‘I could get used to this whole affection thing,’ she said, her voice muffled by Poppy’s hair.
‘We’ll work on it.’ She interlocked her little finger with Lola’s and squeezed.
‘For someone who has avoided drama for the past decade, you do seem to be making up for lost time,’ said Lola.
Poppy stood outside Will and Ottilie’s suite, glanced down the corridor, and knocked before she had a chance to retreat. A silver domed food cart trundled behind her, pushed by a waiter with a linen tea towel flicked across his shoulder. The smell of cooked eggs and warm butter hung heavy in the air as Poppy stumbled forwards, the door clicking open. Will caught her elbow, his other hand adjusting the navy silk tie that he’d partially pulled through his collar.
‘Hey! I didn’t know whether you’d left yesterday. Does this mean you’re staying for today?’
‘Today, er… Yeah. I actually came to talk to you about that. Can I come in?’
Will pulled the door wide and gestured for Poppy to follow him, finishing the knot of his tie. He kicked the door shut with his heel, smiling. ‘Are you doing “getting ready” photos? You’re a bit early. Dad’s been down already, but the guys are showering up. It probably wasn’t the best idea to eat Pop Tarts and play Uno when we got in last night, but it’s not every day you get married.’
Poppy faltered, her feet rooted to the floor. ‘Will, I need a word.’
‘Where’s your camera?’ he asked, looking at himself in an antique mirror so large it was like the room had been built around it.
Poppy wandered further into the room, unused to leaving without her lens bag strapped around her waist like a cowboy’s holster. Will caught her eye in his reflection, jawline smooth and boyishly buffed. Had he picked out a new aftershave? One that would capture memories of today? Taken more time to shave? Thought about the first moment he’d be alone with Ottilie after the guests had locked themselves back in their rooms with sore feet and cloudy heads?
‘Are you all right?’ asked Will. ‘I thought it was me who was supposed to be wobbly. I can’t seem to do this bloody tie,’ he said, shaking his head as he pulled it loose again.
‘I’m not all right. Look, I need to tell you something.’
Will turned, still for the first time since she’d come into the room. He scanned her face, looking for evidence that she was building up to a joke. When it was clear she wasn’t, he put his hands in his pockets, his chin dipped. ‘What do you want to tell me?’ he asked, his voice quiet.
‘I’m going to jump straight to it because there’s no way of saying this nicely. Ottilie and Lawrence slept together a few days ago. Here, at the hotel. I know it’s happened before too.’
At first, Poppy didn’t think Will had heard her. He blinked, immobile except for his foot, which tapped on the carpet.
‘I’m so sorry. I know this is horrible timing, but I couldn’t leave without saying something. She doesn’t think anyone knows.’
Will ran a hand down his neck and let out a deep, low groan.
