I had nothing else to wear. All I’d brought was jeans and a T-shirt for the morning and I could hardly join the evening do at a posh country hotel wearing those. I’d have to sort out my hair and make-up and leave the dress as it was. If nothing else, it would be a talking point and anything to steer the conversation away from, ‘Wasn’t James your boyfriend, dear?’ was most welcome. Plus, there was a disco so it would be dark. I might be able to get away with it. Hopefully nobody would spot the blood.
Fifteen minutes later, with my hair and make-up sorted and some of the mud sponged off my shoes, I was about to go downstairs when my phone beeped with a message:
✉︎ From Rich
Thomas came to earlier and they think he’s had a mild stroke but he has low blood pressure so he’s definitely in overnight, maybe longer. Would you like me to let you know if I find anything else out? Rich
His name was Thomas, was it? He looked like a Thomas.
✉︎ To Rich
Thank you so much. Yes please to keeping me posted. I found a gorgeous tabby cat. There was a spare key so I’ll feed her again tomorrow on my way home. I didn’t get a chance to say earlier but I’m starting a teaching job at Reddfield TEC next month so will be moving to the area. Any local knowledge gratefully received
✉︎ From Rich
Great news about the cat and congrats on the new job! You’ll love it here … once you find your way round. I’d invest in a better sat nav, if I was you! If you need a tour guide, just shout. My partner, Dave, and I have lived here all our lives so we know all the back roads … and the best pubs
I smiled at his comment about his partner. Rich obviously liked to get his cards on the table from the very start. It had crossed my mind that he was attractive – athletic build with broad shoulders and dark hair – but I hadn’t been remotely attracted to him. How could I be when James still held my heart tightly?
✉︎ To Rich
I’ll take you both up on that! Thanks. Better haul my muddy backside down to this wedding and throw some shapes on the dance floor … if my cousin is still speaking to me, that is!
There were several missed calls showing on my phone from Chloe, Dad and Hannah, alongside a dozen or so ‘where are you’ texts from Chloe and Dad. Hannah had also sent a longer text:
✉︎ From Hannah
You’ve either bottled it or you’ve got hideously lost. Whichever it is, I’m hoping you’re OK. Chloe had a scary bridezilla moment when you weren’t here for the photos. She was convinced I knew where you were but I pleaded ignorance and, of course, didn’t say anything about our earlier conversation and never will. My back is killing me and I’m shattered so I drove home after the meal. Toby’s getting a taxi home later. You know where I am if you want to talk. Big hugs xx
I wasn’t surprised to hear about Chloe’s reaction. She was prone to being overly dramatic in high-stress situations and I completely understood why my absence would not have been appreciated.
✉︎ To Hannah
Got hideously lost. Arrived safely now but covered in mud! Long story which I’ll tell you tomorrow. Thanks for the concern. Hope you’re feeling better after putting your feet up xx
My heart raced as I made my way down the stairs and my legs actually felt quite wobbly. Grabbing the handrail to steady myself, I took a deep breath, pushed back my shoulders and continued my descent. It was fine. Everything was fine. My dress was muddy but it wasn’t ripped. The love of my life was now my cousin-in-law, if such a title existed, but he made Chloe happy which made me happy. I’d get over him eventually and a little physical distance would help that. Once I’d settled into my new role, I’d find somewhere to rent and fully start afresh.
‘Where’s the wedding reception, please?’ I asked the woman behind the check-in desk.
‘Go down that long corridor and you’ll find the lounge and bar on your left
and The Arundel Room on your right a little further down.’
Thanking her, I headed down a dark, wide, stone-flagged corridor, the sounds of laughter and the baseline of the music hitting me as I got closer to the end. You can do this. You’re only late and muddy. It’s not the end of the world.
I peeked into the bar as I passed. It was busy but there was no sign of the bride or groom. I needed to seek out Chloe first, apologise for missing everything, then I’d find Dad and down that much-needed glass of wine.
I’d almost reached the end of the corridor when Great-Aunt Agnes’s voice pierced through me. ‘Not so fast, young lady.’ Damn! She must have been in the bar and seen me sneaking past.
Turning to face her, I braced myself for a lecture.
‘Where do you think you’ve been all afternoon?’
‘I got a bit lost and—’
‘A bit lost? A bit? We left the church five hours ago, Samantha. Where on earth did you go? Via Manchester?’ Her shrill tone cut through me.
‘I really need to find Chloe and explain it to her.’ I started to turn.
‘I hope it’s a good excuse. You’ve certainly had plenty of time to dream one up.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I turned back to fully face her, hands planted on my hips.
‘You know exactly what it means. Can’t say I blame you for running out, though.’
‘I didn’t run out. I was sent to get something – for you, as it happens – and I got lost on my way here. Several times.’
‘Probably because you were so distracted. Can’t be easy pretending to be the doting bridesmaid while your cousin marries the man you love.’ She raised her voice on that last sentence and, from the way she nodded her head as she looked past me, I knew why. What a cow.
‘You’re in love with James?’ Chloe cried.
Heart thudding, legs shaking, I turned round to face the bride, standing near the entrance to the function room. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open.
‘Of course not.’ I hoped I sounded convincing.
Great-Aunt Agnes sidled past me and stood next to her favourite great-niece. They both stared at me and I could feel my burning cheeks betraying me. I couldn’t keep eye contact and my hands seemed to have taken on a life of their own, plucking imaginary threads from my dress.
Chloe took a few steps closer to me. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not in love with my husband.’
A crowd had gathered round us, no doubt drawn out of the bar and function room by the raised voices. I could feel everyone staring at me as though they were watching a real-life soap opera unfold. And among them was my hero: my dad.
‘Chloe, sweetheart,’ he said, moving to my side. ‘What sort of question is that to be asking on your wedding day?’
‘A question I want to hear the answer to,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘So, I’ll ask you again. Samantha Wishaw, are you in love with my husband?’
A wave of nausea rising in me, I gulped. Why couldn’t I just look her in the eye and say: No, Chloe, I do