‘It’s my final dress fitting tomorrow, and my sister has just told me she can’t come.’
‘That’s awful. I’m sorry.’
‘Will you come instead? I want someone other than the person looking for my money to tell me it looks okay.’
‘Hold up.’ I scuttle across to the dining table and deep-dive for my diary. It’s covered in Post-it notes and is full of bookmarks and receipts and flinging it open only serves to cover the place in retail confetti. Circled in bright red letters, I’ve got a meeting with a printing company in the morning. ‘What time is your appointment?’
‘Midday. You can make midday, can’t you?’
I sigh. With a surreptitious look thrown my way, Christopher is becoming less able to hide the fact he’s listening. I shake my head and roll my eyes at him. I’m keenly aware of how uncomfortable he is right now. I’d give just about anything to bring the mood in the room back to normal. I also don’t want to be negative where Lainey is concerned because I’m so thrilled that she’s thought to ask me, even if it does put me between a rock and a hard place. Again.
‘Katie? Please?’ she begs.
‘Isn’t your mum going to be there?’ I try.
‘Naturally, but I need you there, too,’ she says. ‘I need you, I need you.’
‘Look, If I make it, it probably won’t be for midday,’ I explain. ‘I’ll probably be there a little after one o’clock. As I said, I’ve got an appointment first thing—’
‘Change it?’
Woah. Until now, I’d smiled and nodded along with the occasional pushy comment, but this feels like things are being taken to a whole new level. Surely, she doesn’t expect people to drop everything so she can try on a dress? Especially considering it’s the final fitting, which means it’s a done deal already. The success of my business isn’t quite as certain.
‘I can’t. This is important to me,’ I say. ‘Depending on when it winds up, I should leave here with just enough time.’
‘Please can you just be there? I need you there.’
I pinch at my forehead and, knowing I can’t do much else to appease her, I tell her I’ll do my best and end the call. Christopher is already halfway out the door.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you want to finish what we were doing?’
My voice drifts. I already know his answer by the look on his face. I’ve seen it on men more times than I’d care to admit.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that earlier.’ He picks at his fingernails as he speaks. ‘I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.’
‘What? No, of course not.’ Immediately, I regret that he feels this way. ‘But maybe right now isn’t the best time? For both of us. Just with, you know, the gallery, the school, getting everything organised.’
It’s only when I stop talking that I realise I’m breathless. I’m gasping like I’ve run a marathon.
‘I really don’t know,’ he concedes. ‘Maybe?’
‘You know what?’ I scramble. ‘Why don’t we just take a few days and we talk about it later?’
‘Actually, I’m not even sure I’m ready anyway,’ he says. ‘Goodnight, Katharine. I’ll see you around.’
Chapter 22
Everyone has those mornings where something simply doesn’t feel right. It’s not something that can be explained, like forgetting to charge a phone, or discovering an odd pair of socks. It’s more a charge in the air. That’s how I feel right now, life slipping off kilter as I step into the bridal shop. A bell above the door tingles to alert the God of mischief that it’s time to suit up.
There’s a tiny lie in that statement though. I’m certain I know what’s wrong, and it began in the space between my darkroom, kitchen and car park last night. The thought of Christopher’s face as he stood by the door making excuses for his behaviour makes me want to sob, the distracted eyes and downturned mouth. Even if I’d also decided I didn’t want anything to happen, the memory is too much.
Add to that my phone call with Lainey, and I was in two minds about being here today. Weddings are stressful things to organise but, even though I love her like the stars, I started my meeting this morning feeling rankled and hurried. As I stood in the office of the printing company, going over the cost of didactic boards, fliers and business cards, I constantly had one eye on the consultant and another on the clock.
They could tell I was rushing too, I’m sure of it. I can’t afford to make people feel like that, so I took a deep breath or ten, told myself I’ll get to London when I get there, and did my best to concentrate on the issue in front of me.
As it was, I had to race up and over the platform at Sheaf Street as the last call for the train bellowed across the station. And, though I had no control over the speed of the trip, I never truly managed to calm down until I toppled out the other side of a bus ride to the Chelsea bridal boutique. I had nearly three hours to chew over the events of last night, and that didn’t bode well for my emotions.
There’s enough tulle in this shop to sink a container ship, and I can’t quite put my finger on the smell. It’s a little plastic polyester with a dab of lavender to calm the nervous bride, mixed with a dash of eucalyptus to perk up the mother-of. Not too much, mind you – one strike of the wrong match and the place would melt in a Vincent Price spectacular.
I will admit, just quietly and between the walls of my mind, that some of these dresses are stunning. When I dig past the sequins, beading, boning and ghastly veils (as if he doesn’t know what you look like already), I find myself staring at a boatneck dress that is plain yet elegant, soft but heavy at the same time. It looks like a cloud I’d happily fall through. For now, all I can do is imagine what I might look like in it.
It would be a small wedding, a handful of people, and somewhere quiet. There’s no sacred churches or noisy public gardens in sight. I’ve got more cake than I’ll ever be able to eat, a dessert buffet, and it’s not so serious that people feel like they’re at a black-tie event. I peer up to my right to find Christopher standing in a tuxedo.
Wait. What?
How did he get here?
I stuff the dress back in the rack quicker than the Roadrunner on a freeway and give my head a quick shake in the hope Christopher might fall out of my made-up scenario. Nope, he’s staying put, clinging to the edges of my mind. And because he is who he is, he rebels by climbing straight back up into my daydream and making himself comfortable, gluggy paintbrush between his teeth in lieu of a flower.
I take a deep breath and press a hand to my chest and feel my heart thudding heavily beneath my shirt. Welp. I am dead.
‘Aaaaaand let me just take those before we have an international incident.’ From out of nowhere, a staff member with tightly pulled hair and the world’s best posture flits into view and back out again, absconding with the tray of coffee and bag of cupcakes I’d just paid way too much for at an overpriced food truck.
‘No, but I won’t spill them.’ I make grabby hands while she Mario Andrettis around the corner and out of my life. ‘That’s breakfast and I’m hungry!’