Someone to Love, page 24
Susan looked intrigued. ‘What kind of gift?’
‘Expensive French perfume. I had to google it – I’d never heard of it before. Maison Francis Kurkdjian. According to the Harrods website, it boasts a musky almond scent with a sweet jasmine top note. I wasn’t sure whether I was dousing myself in perfume or ordering lunch. It retails at over two hundred quid a bottle.’
Susan’s pale eyes grew wide. ‘Goodness. I don’t spend that much a month on food.’
‘And this is from the man who a few weeks ago bought me cheap supermarket flowers. Some turnaround, huh?’
‘You think he’s up to something?’
Connie sat back in her chair. ‘You bet, I do. The question is what?’
‘Maybe he’s trying to win you back?’
‘In which case, he’s got some cheek. Why bring Tiffany to the wedding if he wants a reconciliation? Tiffany is the other woman, by the way.’
‘I’d gathered as much.’
Connie waved her hand about. ‘Any decent man would finish his affair before returning to the wife. But no, Kenneth wants to have his cake and eat it. If I turn him down, he’ll be back with her before the day is out, you mark my words.’
Susan took a sip of beer, using both hands to steady the pint glass. ‘Are you going to turn him down?’
Connie mulled it over. ‘I’m undecided.’
‘Do you still love him?’
Connie shrugged. ‘Yes, but I’ve come to realise that love might not be enough. You have to respect someone, too, trust them, and most importantly, like them. And I’m not sure I like Kenneth very much these days.’
Susan sighed. ‘I know that feeling.’
‘Don’t you like your husband either?’
Susan sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know any more. I feel like I barely know him. We’ve hardly spent any time together these last ten years.’
Connie picked up her glass of wine. ‘Does he work away a lot?’
‘He’s been in prison.’
Connie choked on her wine, spraying Pinot Grigio down her front. ‘Goodness me.’
Susan patted Connie’s back. ‘Manslaughter, before you ask.’
Connie accepted the offer of a tissue and wiped her mouth. ‘When did he get out of prison?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Yesterday?’ No wonder the woman was looking so tortured. ‘Did you know he was coming to the wedding?’
Susan shook her head. ‘Neither did anyone else, including my grandson.’ She picked up her pint of beer. ‘Hence the need for this.’ She took a long slug.
Connie shook her head in bewilderment. ‘And I thought my life was complicated.’
‘The worst part is that he has no shame. He rocked up at the hotel like bloody Jesus returning from the desert, expecting a rapturous welcome and endless delight at his prodigal return. The fact that he wasn’t invited to the wedding was totally lost on him, as was the mortification on his children’s faces. Matt is utterly embarrassed, and Leah is furious as hell.’
‘What about you?’
Susan seemed to consider this. ‘I guess I’m depressed, mostly.’
‘Can you ask him to leave?’
‘Not without causing a scene. But the last thing I want is to have to pretend to play happy families all weekend.’
‘I know that feeling.’ Connie reached over and touched Susan’s hand. ‘Have you ever considered boxing?’
Susan looked startled. ‘Boxing?’
Connie nodded. ‘I can highly recommend it. Aside from the physical benefits, it’s a great stress reliever, especially if you attach a photo of your husband to the punchbag.’
Susan started laughing.
‘Trust me, it’s great therapy. You can yell and scream at the bastard all you want, and no one cares… Well, apart from the other boxers, but they’ve got used to me now and don’t take any notice. I urge you to try it.’
Susan smiled. ‘Maybe I will.’
Connie raised her glass. ‘In the meantime, here’s to dealing with complicated families, being stuck in the middle of arguments and not letting the bastards in our life get us down.’
Susan clinked glasses with her. ‘Hear, hear. Good luck for tomorrow.’
‘You, too. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.’
An hour later, Connie was arriving back at the hotel in a taxi, having decided that two glasses of wine were definitely enough. Sufficient to dull the pain of dealing with her family, but not so much as to cause an embarrassing repeat of last night.
Her plan to have a quick nap before the formal evening meal was interrupted by the sound of Kenneth’s voice behind her, as she climbed the stairs to her room.
‘Connie, darling, where have you been?’ He appeared on the landing, looking his usual smart self in a tailored suit. He had refused to partake in any of the fancy dress activities scheduled for the day. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
She viewed him sceptically. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine.’ His attempt to be charming increased her level of suspicion. ‘I was hoping we could talk.’
‘What about?’
‘Well, us, silly.’ He rolled his eyes like she was the one being unreasonable. It was a tactic he’d used many times in court to win over a judge, but she wasn’t so easily duped. ‘I’ve missed you.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Just a couple of whiskies.’ He came closer, pinning her with a seductive gaze that had once reduced her to a quivering wreck.
‘Where’s Tiffany?’
‘Let’s not talk about Tiffany.’ He took her hands and drew her close. ‘Let’s talk about us. We were so good together.’
Was he for real? ‘We were, Kenneth. Until you left. Or have you forgotten that?’
‘That’s in the past. I want to focus on the future.’
It was odd, but instead of feeling elated by the prospect of them having a future together, she felt nothing other than distrust. Her solicitor’s words rang loudly in her head, reminding her that Kenneth would do anything to avoid a big payout. ‘Have you and Tiffany fallen out?’
He looked affronted. ‘Why would you think that?’
She tried to withdraw her hands from his clasp, but he wasn’t letting go. Besides, it was nice to feel his hands, warm and soft. But she’d been fooled before. ‘Kenneth, only recently you were banging on about how in love you were with Tiffany, and how she’d given you a second lease of life. What happened?’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ She tugged her hands, but he still wasn’t letting go.
‘Tiffany is a wonderful woman, but she’s not you.’
‘Damned right she’s not.’
He drew her closer, breathing in her scent. ‘You’re wearing the perfume I bought you. You smell divine.’ His warm breath against her neck caused a shiver to ripple up her spine. ‘What was it Paul Newman used to say? Why go out for hamburger, when you can have steak at home?’ He kissed her neck.
She tried to quell the effects of another involuntary shiver. ‘Except Paul Newman hadn’t eaten the entire contents of McDonald’s before saying that.’ She tried to ignore the heat growing in her belly. ‘You’ve been eating hamburger for months, Kenneth.’
‘And now I want steak.’ He tried for another charming smile. ‘Forgive me, Connie.’ When he tried to kiss her properly, she instinctively jerked away, which wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. She’d wanted him to kiss her for weeks, and now it seemed she wasn’t so keen. Why was that? But deep down inside she had a feeling she already knew.
Before she could explore her feelings, Tiffany appeared at the top of the stairs, looking all curvy and seductive in a clingy dress and stilettos. The woman’s affronted expression was accompanied by a thunderous glare. ‘Get your thieving hands off my man!’
Kenneth dropped Connie’s hands and jumped away, trying to look innocent.
Lily-livered wimp.
Tiffany jabbed a long red nail at Connie. ‘You’re pathetic, you know that? You think you can shake that flabby arse of yours and he’ll come running back?’
Flabby arse? How dare she!
‘Well, over my dead body.’
‘Fine, if you insist.’ Connie had waited a long time for this. She adopted her boxing stance, squaring up to the woman. It wasn’t like she’d started it – she was just defending herself.
Tiffany’s alarmed expression at being confronted soon switched to outrage and she launched herself at Connie, arms flapping, screaming abuse. ‘Why you…’
Tempting as it was to knock her flat on her own ‘flabby’ arse, Connie used her boxing training to duck once… twice… It was rather satisfying to see her nemesis flailing about like a drunken Bambi on ice, hitting nothing but air, and getting increasingly irate.
Kenneth stood at a safe distance, like the feeble coward he was, no doubt enjoying having his ego inflated by two women brawling over him.
After several failed attempts to down her opponent, Tiffany eventually ran out of steam and toppled off her stilettos.
Connie could have easily let the woman hit the floor with a gigantic thud, but instead she did the mature thing and caught her, receiving a face-full of hair extensions for her efforts.
As she spat lacquered hair from her mouth and disentangled herself, she inhaled a waft of Tiffany’s strong perfume… musky almond with a hint of jasmine.
The world slowed. It took a moment for her brain to process the information, but when it did, she lowered Tiffany to the carpet, and then turned to face her ex-husband. ‘You bought me the same perfume as your girlfriend’s?’
He had the good grace to look sprung.
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday, 9th June – the day of the wedding
Matt blinked up at the bright sunlight flooding the car park and breathed a sigh of relief. No one wanted a soggy wedding day. The sky was a pale blue, the wind had disappeared and the rain had dried up, so the Hardy family had been able to congregate outside the Smugglers Bar, at the side of the hotel, for their formal photos ahead of the wedding ceremony in the afternoon. But however sunny and bright the weather was outside, there was still a storm raging of a different kind – namely, the unexpected arrival of his dad yesterday. Like they’d needed any further drama.
‘Can we have the two groomsmen either side of the groom, please,’ shouted the photographer, who was rapidly losing patience. She’d been trying unsuccessfully to capture shots all morning, and so far she’d been thwarted at every turn.
‘Have you told him to bugger off yet?’ Leah looked like a cast member from the Kingsman films, in her fitted tuxedo and polished brogue shoes. Her hair was scraped into a tight ponytail, which bobbed about as she subjected their father to evil stares across the car park. Whereas his sister normally looked ‘cute’, today she looked primed for a pub brawl involving poisoned umbrellas and spiked bowler hats.
Matt sucked in his breath and rebuttoned his tuxedo jacket, which had popped open again. He was already hot, and it was only ten a.m. ‘You know I haven’t.’
Leah gave him one of her looks. ‘He’s not wanted here. Look at our poor mother, she’s traumatised.’
Matt glanced over to where their mother was standing, with a glazed look on her drawn face. It was true. Despite her smart lilac outfit, and having her hair and make-up professionally done, she still looked like a woman who expected the world to implode at any moment.
In contrast, their dad was breezing about like the Godfather, bulging from the ill-fitting suit they’d managed to hire last minute from a shop in Launceston, and currently smoking a cigar.
It had taken all of Matt’s energies to keep his dad away from the formal meal last night, taking him into town for a beer and a curry on the pretence of wanting a catch-up. His real goal had been to persuade his dad to rethink attending the wedding, but when it became clear that Pete Hardy wasn’t to be dissuaded, Matt had accepted defeat, returned to the hotel and convinced his slightly drunk father to go bed, so as not to cause any further scandal.
This hadn’t stopped his half-brother Chris from banging on Matt’s bedroom door last night, accusing him of trying to sabotage his son’s wedding. Which was a bit rich, in Matt’s opinion, considering that Chris wasn’t happy about the wedding in the first place. His half-brother wasn’t above adopting double standards, it seemed.
‘You were supposed to make him leave,’ Leah said, still growling at him.
Matt wasn’t sure how he was the bad guy in all this, but that seemed par for the course these days. He wasn’t enjoying the situation any more than anyone else.
‘Can you look at the camera, please?’ the photographer yelled.
The three of them adopted fake smiles and posed for the shot. Leah’s grin was akin to that of an angry wasp trapped inside a glass. Zac looked slightly dazed, and Matt’s smile was about as genuine as the photographer’s – who looked like she’d had less trouble photographing the local cattle festival.
‘Zac doesn’t want him to leave,’ Matt replied through gritted teeth.
‘Of course he does,’ Leah hissed back, still holding onto her fake smile. ‘He’s just too polite to say so.’
‘Like it or not, he’s the kid’s grandfather.’
‘Step-grandfather,’ Leah said, throwing him a steely glare.
‘I am standing here,’ Zac said, the only one still looking at the camera.
‘Faces to me!’ the photographer yelled. They all turned to the camera and resumed smiling, as their shot was taken. ‘Can the grandparents join the group, please!’
Pete Hardy sauntered over and slung his arm around Leah’s shoulder. ‘How’s it going, my girl?’ he said, giving her a squeeze.
Leah ducked away from his embrace, choking from his cigar smoke, and repositioned herself on the other side of the group, next to Matt.
‘Don’t be like that, darling.’ Pete gave a half-hearted shrug, before turning his attentions to his long-suffering wife. ‘Come here, Susie, love.’ He pulled her close and offered the photographer a huge smile, his cigar balancing between his teeth. ‘It’s good to be out in the fresh air, taking in the sights and being with my family. Look at that scenery,’ he said, gesturing to the impressive landscape. ‘You don’t get views like that in prison.’
Matt groaned.
Leah swore.
Zac looked somewhat alarmed.
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Susan said faintly, trying her best to hold it together, no doubt for the sake of the family.
‘Nice big smiles!’ the photographer instructed. ‘Say cheese!’
‘Cheese!’ yelled Pete, the only one who did.
The rest of them looked like they were attending a funeral rather than a wedding.
It was hard to imagine anything more excruciating than mediating the tense atmosphere between his family members… until the door of the Smugglers Bar opened and the Hamilton clan emerged. Matt silently cursed. He wished he was someplace else. Anywhere. The Siberian desert would do. Anywhere but stuck in this damned tight suit, trying unsuccessfully to keep the peace. He didn’t even have Beth as backup, as she was on maid-of-honour duties, assigned to looking after the bride this morning.
As Zac’s family congregated on the gravel car park, nothing appeared amiss. Chris and Will were wearing their tuxedo suits, Gemma, Lily and Diane were dressed in colourful floaty wedding outfits, and Poppy was bouncing around in her sparkly pale gold bridesmaid dress. Only Bobby was absent from the group. If the man had any sense, he’d be in the bar, knocking back a stiff drink.
Matt’s mind briefly drifted to thoughts of enjoying a relaxing pub lunch, maybe with Beth for company. That’s assuming things were back to normal between them. It was hard to tell – he hadn’t seen her yet today. Their relationship seemed to constantly swing between wanting and arguing, never fully one thing or the other, and never staying fixed long enough to determine if anything was actually happening between them. The arrival of his father yesterday, coupled with the news about Megan’s first marriage, hadn’t exactly helped. Their attempts to get together appeared to be thwarted at every turn. Maybe they were destined never to be a couple, a thought that depressed him even further.
His attention was dragged back to the present and the volcano he felt sure was about to erupt. The tense atmosphere became even more apparent when Will and Lily broke away from the group and pretended to engage in conversation with Poppy. Diane hung back by the bar door, as if waiting for her husband, which left Chris and Gemma – the Mr and Mrs Smith of the group – staring daggers at Pete. Their mean and moody stares switched to Matt and then back to Pete, making it clear he was also included in their wrath.
How was this his fault? But he knew there was no reasoning with his half-brother. Chris believed Matt was responsible for Pete Hardy showing up at the wedding, and no amount of persuading would convince him otherwise, so Matt wasn’t about to waste his time trying.
‘Can you all congregate together, please!’ the photographer shouted, waving in an attempt to herd them into a group.
‘Come on, Chris, don’t be shy.’ Pete beckoned his stepson over with an oblivious smile. ‘You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do you?’
Matt cringed. Of all the things his dad could have said.
If Chris was scowling before, he was now positively enraged. ‘I’m not the one likely to disappoint her, am I?’ he said, storming over.
Pete looked puzzled. ‘Meaning?’
Susan reached out and touched her older son’s arm. ‘Not now, Chris.’
Chris reluctantly accepted his mother’s request. ‘I’m doing this for you, Mum,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘No other reason.’
‘I know, love. And I appreciate it.’ She wafted away a plume of cigar smoke that had drifted in her direction and smiled softly at him.
‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ Pete said loudly. ‘Anyone would think you lot weren’t pleased to see me.’ He took a drag on his cigar and looked around the group, most of whom averted their eyes. ‘You’re glad I’m here, aren’t you, Zac?’ He slapped Zac on the shoulder, filling the lad’s face with exhaled smoke.
