Wedding Night

Wedding Night Page 122

What does any of it mean?

I take my coffee from Sarah with trembling hands. I thought coming back here to the guest house would be the glorious finale to our honeymoon, where all the threads would come together in a big satisfying knot. Instead, it feels as though all sorts of bright new threads have appeared and nothing is tied up at all. Especially Ben. He feels like he’s unraveling away from me. He won’t meet my eye, and when I put my arm around him, he shrugged it off. I know Sarah saw, because she tactfully turned away.

“We get old.” Arthur is still on his rant. “Life gets in the way of dreams. Dreams get in the way of life. That’s the way it’s always been. Anyone want a Scotch?” He brightens suddenly. “Sun’s over the yardarm, Greek time.”

“I’ll have a Scotch,” replies Ben, to my dismay. What’s he doing? It’s eleven in the morning. I don’t want him to start sinking into glasses of Scotch. I shoot him a Is that really a good idea, darling? look, and he sends me back a glare, which I have a horrible feeling means, Butt out and stop trying to run my life.

And again Sarah is tactfully looking away from us.

Oh God, this is torture. Other women tactfully looking away while you exchange acrimonious glares with your husband is the most mortifying experience going. Tied with your tie-dye shorts splitting while you try to do a cartwheel.

“Good man! Come and choose a single malt.” Arthur ushers Ben into the recesses of the guest house, and I’m left with Sarah on the veranda. The air feels prickly between us, and I don’t know where to start. I desperately want to know … what, exactly?

“Delicious coffee.” I retreat into politeness.

“Thanks.” She smiles back, then sighs. “Lottie. I just want to say …” She spreads her hands. “I don’t know if you’re aware that Ben and I …”

“I wasn’t,” I say after a pause. “But I am now.”

“It was the briefest of flings. I was out here seeing Dad, and we just clicked. It lasted a couple of weeks, if that. Please don’t think …” Again she pauses. “I wouldn’t want you to—”

“I wasn’t thinking anything!” I cut her off brightly. “Nothing!”

“Good.” She smiles again, showing perfect teeth. “It’s lovely you’ve come back. Lots of good memories, I hope?”

“Yes, loads.”

“It was an awesome summer.” She sips her coffee. “That was the year Big Bill was out here. Did you know him?”

“Yes, I knew Big Bill.” I unbend a little. “And Pinky.”

“And the two Neds? They got arrested one night when I was here,” she says, grinning. “They were thrown into jail, and Dad had to bail them out.”

“I heard about that.” I sit up, suddenly enjoying this conversation. “Did you hear about the fishing boat sinking?”

“God, yeah.” She nods. “Dad told me about it. What with the fire, it was, like, the year of disasters. Even poor Ben got the flu. He was really ill.”

What did she say? The flu?

“The flu?” I echo, in a strangled voice. “Ben?”

“It was awful.” She draws her brown feet up onto her chair. “I got quite worried about him. He was delirious. I had to nurse him through the night. I sang him Joni Mitchell songs.” She laughs.

My brain is whirring in a panic. It was Sarah who nursed him through the flu. Sarah who sang to him.

And he thinks it was me.

And that was the moment he “knew he loved me.” He told a whole audience so.

“Right!” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “Wow. Well done, you.” I swallow. “But no point dwelling on the past, eh? So, er … how many guests do you have at the moment?”

I want to get off this topic fast, before Ben comes back. But Sarah ignores me.

“He said the funniest things while he was delirious,” she reminisces. “He wanted to go flying. I was like, ‘Ben, you’re ill! Lie down!’ Then he said I was his guardian angel. He kept saying it, over and over. I was his guardian angel.”

“Who’s your guardian angel?” Ben’s voice greets us. He appears on the veranda, holding a glass. “Your dad’s taken a call, by the way. Who’s your guardian angel?” he repeats.

My stomach is churning. I have to stop this conversation right now.

“Look at that olive tree!” I say shrilly, but both Ben and Sarah ignore me.

“Don’t you remember, Ben?” Sarah laughs easily, throwing back her head. “When you had the flu and I nursed you through the night? You said I was your guardian angel. Nurse Sarah.” She pokes him teasingly with her foot. “Remember Nurse Sarah? Remember the Joni Mitchell songs?”