Wedding Night

Wedding Night Page 30

The flu? I don’t remember nursing him through the flu. But, then, my memories are so fuzzy. I’m sure I did, if he says I did. And I don’t want to interrupt or contradict him, because it would ruin the mood. So I just nod gently.

“You cradled my head. You sang me to sleep. I was delirious, but I could hear your voice, getting me through the night.” He takes another swig of wine. “You were my guardian angel, Lottie. Maybe I went off the rails because I didn’t have you in my life.”

His guardian angel. That’s so romantic. I’m quite interested to know how he went off the rails—but to ask him would spoil the moment. And who cares? Everyone goes off the rails. Then they come back on the rails. It doesn’t matter what they were doing meanwhile.

Now he glances at my left hand. “How come you haven’t been snapped up, anyway?”

“Haven’t met the right guy,” I say casually.

“A gorgeous girl like you? Should be fighting them off.”

“Well, maybe I have been.” I laugh, but for the first time this evening my composure slips a little. And all of a sudden—I can’t help it—I have a flashback to the first time I met Richard. It was at the opera, which is weird, because I never go to the opera normally, and nor does he. We were both there as a favor to friends. It was a charity gala of Tosca and he was in black tie, looking tall and distinguished, and the moment I saw him with some blond woman on his arm I felt a pang of jealousy. I hadn’t even met him and I was thinking, Lucky her. He was laughing and handing out champagne, and then he turned to me and said, “I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced,” and I nearly fell into his gorgeous dark eyes.

And that was it. It felt magical. He wasn’t with the blond woman after all, and after the intermission he switched seats to be next to me. We went back to the opera on our first anniversary, and I thought we’d do it every year for the rest of our lives.

So much for that. So much for telling the story at the wedding reception and everybody saying, Ahh …

“Oh God.” Ben is peering at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve said something. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” I smile hastily and blink. “Just … everything. You know. Life.”

“Exactly. Exactly.” He nods fervently as though I’ve solved some massive problem he was wrestling with. “Lotts, do you feel as fucked up by life as I do?”

“Yes.” I take a deep slug of wine. “Yes, I do. Even more so.”

“When I was eighteen, when we were out there, I knew what I was about.” Ben is staring moodily into space. “I had clarity. But you start out in life and somehow it all gets … corroded. Corrupted. Everything closes in on you, you know what I mean? There’s no escape. There’s no way to say, ‘Just stop a fucking moment. Let me work out what I want.’ ”

“Totally.” I nod earnestly.

“That was the highest point of my life. Greece. You. The whole deal.” He looks gripped by the memory. “Just the two of us, together. Everything was simple. There was no shit. Is it the same for you? Was that the best time of your life?”

My mind does a hazy rewind over the last fifteen years. OK, there have been a few high points here and there, but in general I have to agree. We were eighteen. We were hot. We could drink all night with no hangover. When has life ever been that good?

I nod slowly. “Best time ever.”

“Why didn’t we stay together, Lottie? Why didn’t we keep in touch?”

“Edinburgh–Bath.” I shrug. “Bath–Edinburgh. Impossible geography.”

“I know. But that was a crap reason.” He looks angry. “We were idiots.”

We had the “impossible geography” conversation many, many times on the island. He was going to Edinburgh University. I was going to Bath. It was only a matter of time before it ended. There was no point trying to keep things going beyond the summer.

The days after the fire were weird, anyway. Everything started to fall apart. We were all billeted in different guest houses, all over the island. People’s parents swooped in. Some actually arrived on the next boat, with money and clothes and replacement passports. I remember seeing Pinky sitting disconsolately at the taverna with two very smart-looking parents. It felt like the party was over.

“Weren’t we planning to meet once in London?” It comes back to me in a flash. “But then you had to go to Normandy with your family.”

“That’s right.” He exhales sharply. “I should have bailed out on them. I should have switched to Bath.” His eyes suddenly focus on me. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Lottie. Sometimes I think, what an idiot I was to let you go. What a fucking stupid idiot.”