AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
“Audrey? Audrey, wake up!” Nick’s voice is loud in my ears. I stretch my legs across the bed, feeling for him as I drift in and out of sleep. It’s a bedtime routine he’s become accustomed to over the years; whenever we share a bed, that is, which is at least five nights a week, either at his place or mine.
He usually welcomes the slither of my feet caressing his long limbs in the mornings, especially if he’s feeling a bit frisky; but, strangely, is none too pleased on wintry nights when I unexpectedly fasten my freezing cold feet against his warm calves. On those occasions, he leaps to the edge of the bed in fury, screaming expletives at me, complaining that he’s not a frigging radiator. I can’t think why he freaks out over it. I mean, come on, it’s a girl thing, isn’t it? It comes with the territory, and is surely much better than wearing off-putting bed-socks.
I wriggle my toes in contentment. His side of the bed is empty but his scent is still lingering, wafting through the Egyptian cotton sheets. A subtle odour of perspiration infused with fresh, citrus cologne and a hint of tobacco. His smell. So familiar. So masculine, that even after eight years I still find him incredibly sexy. I can’t wait to marry him. I’ve been counting the days, crossing them off my office calendar with a thick red marker in large diagonal lines.
“Audrey.” His voice again, only, this time, more persistent. I force my heavy eyelids open and try to focus on his hazy image crouched by the bed. Oh God, what does he want? What day is it? It’s morning, I know that much because the sunshine is pouring through a gap in the blinds, filling the room with a dim light. My head feels as if it’s about to explode. I’m never drinking again.
I catch a glimpse of the outline of Nick’s face, his perfectly shaped nose, strong jawline and wavy, unkempt brown hair, before a sharp pain zooms in on my right temple and my eyes close. Jeez, how many drinks did I neck last night? I want to cry.
“Audrey… honey,” he whispers urgently in his slight Irish twang, “can you hear me?” I groan and turn my face into the comfort of my pillow. What time is it, for goodness sake? It’s far too early to be up. Nick knows I’m not an early bird, what is he thinking?
Church bells are ringing, louder and louder, gently lulling me back to sleep, then suddenly it hits me. Today is my wedding day. That’s why Nick is desperate to wake me! Oh, my God. I’ve got to get up. I’ve got to shower. I’ve got to get dressed. Where’s my dressing gown? What time did Chloe book me in for hair and make-up? I can’t remember. My brain is frazzled.
I start to rouse as last night’s events slowly slip into my mind like a film trailer. A Greek taverna by the sea. Mum and Dad’s smiling faces, talking, drinking, enjoying the ambience. Loud, lively music, and mouth-watering fish-meze, which I barely touched, spread across a crisp, white tablecloth in front of us. Bottles of Thisbe upturned in ice buckets. A handsome, roguish, young waiter taking my hand for a group dance – everyone egging me on, “Opa, opa, opa!” - laughing, singing, clapping.
I try to swallow but my mouth feels like it’s been pumped with a litre of compressed air by a sadistic dentist. Oh Christ, did I make a complete fool of myself? I know I did as I shamefully recall attempting a high kick and then stumbling back on my heel before collapsing onto a fellow diner’s lap. My arms instantly wrapped around his neck like an octopus as I struggled to regainmy equilibrium. And then I gaped at him, bleary-eyed until he slowly came into focus – dark blonde, forties, and quite fit.
“I bet you’re married,” I slurred, “the good-looking ones always are.” And he smiled, embarrassed. Shit! Nick must’ve been watching in the distance, no wonder he’s all narky and shouty this morning. “I know what,” I yelled, “let’s take a selfie together, yeah? I’ll post it on Facebook so that all my friends in drizzly, cold London can see what a fit bloke I met in Cyprus. Where’s my iPhone? Muuuuum!” I waved my arm aimlessly in the air demanding that someone fetch me my handbag. “Oh, look,” I giggled as I swivelled back towards him, “you’ve got two heads.”
The good-looking man held me in his strong arms as I limped awkwardly back to my table. One shoe on my foot and the other…. where was my other shoe? And then the tears, so many tears. Mum’s arms around me, comforting me, telling me that I’d had too much wine and it was time to go home.
Why on earth did I do it? I know that I’ve become a frigging lightweight since turning forty who gets wasted after a measly three glasses of wine. And as I probably knocked back the government’s recommended fourteen units a week in one binge session last night, I now have the hangover from hell. On my wedding day!!
My breathing calms. I wish Nick would just stop gawping at me, go into the kitchen and fetch me two strong painkillers and a jug of water, but no chance. He’s still here, being persistent, as usual. I suppose that’s the most annoying thing about Nick, his stubborn nature.
“Audrey?” He moves closer. I grunt as I strain to open one eye, the other feels like it’s been sealed down with superglue. “My God,” he breathes, running a hand through his longish hair, which I must say does look like it’s in dire need of a wash, and he hasn’t even shaved yet. He seems troubled. His eyes are red.
I think he’s been crying. I wonder if everything’s okay. I don’t want any hitches, not today of all days. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can go wrong. I frown, which only accentuates my headache - bad move. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. I don’t think so, not after the boozy night I had, and I’m still wearing last night’s makeup. “I’ve been a complete dick. Can you ever forgive me?” He lowers his head for a moment then suddenly looks up, eyes brimming with tears. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about me, Foxy, do you hear?” Foxy is his pet-name for me. He usually reserves it for when he wants to get onside. So, obviously something’s wrong. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m really, really sorry and I’ll do my best to get back to you as soon as I can. Okay? I love you.”
“Huh?” I try to speak but my mouth feels as if it’s about to crack. What is he on about? Where’s he going? We’re supposed to be getting married, for goodness sake! I force my eyes wide open, and for a few fleeting moments, our eyes lock. I blink and then he’s gone.
I turn on my back quickly; my camisole clings against my damp skin. I’m wide awake. Nick’s isn’t here. He never was. I’ve been dreaming about him. AGAIN. I roll onto my side hugging my knees like a foetus, eyes stinging with tears. My stomach feels like it’s spun an 8kg load of washing. I think I’m going to be sick.
A hum of voices and the shuffle of movement feeds through the bedroom door, then everything starts to slot into place, piece by piece, moment by moment. I cover my head under the duvet as reality hammers its way wickedly into my mind. Today was SUPPOSED to be my wedding day. I howl with grief.
“Darling?” There’s a tap at the door, “Are you okay? Can I come in?” And before I can reply the door flies open and my mother swiftly wafts into my bedroom on a gust of warm air and Chanel No5. She’s holding a wooden breakfast tray and looking like something out of The Stepford Wives.
By the time I gather the energy to protest she whips up the blinds effortlessly with one hand, balancing the tray in the other. I shut my eyes as the garish light streams into the room, and wince as the terrace door clanks into the security latch. Has this woman ever heard of a hangover? And then the room is flooded with warm, soothing air, washing over me like a healing light.
The church bells are still chiming in the background, and I remember that there’s a beautiful church right behind our apartment.
“Never a dull day in Cyprus, Audrey,” Mum trills, “Blue skies and sunshine all day, every day.” I want to throw up. I heave myself up on my elbows, squinting as my eyes adjust to the daylight.
“How’re you feeling?” Mum plumps up the pillows behind me then perches on the edge of my bed, and I almost vomit into her lap. “Rough, I expect, after last night.” Leaning forward, she smooths back my long brown, tousled hair, then holds my face in her soft, warm hands that smell of baking, and suddenly I feel as if I’m five years old. “You really shouldn’t drink so much, darling.” She narrows her hazel eyes and presses her petite nose against mine, a feature, I’m pleased to say, I’ve inherited from her. “It’s terribly bad for you.”
“I didn’t have that much,” I protest, “that wine must’ve been off.” Mum raises an eyebrow giving me a “nice try” look, and I grouchily deflate into my pillows.
“I know what day it is,” Mum says darkly, picking an invisible thread off my red, silk camisole, a gift from Nick last Valentine’s day, only I’ve no recollection of changing into it last night. “He’s not worth your tears, Audrey. You’re well rid of him. I always said he wasn’t in it for the long haul, didn’t I? Right from the start.” She’s referring to the way Nick eats his meals. Mum has this theory, you see; she reckons she can analyse people by the way they eat their food. “Always saving the best till last means you’re a procrastinator.” She fills a glass from the water-jug. “You never get anything done, and I was right, wasn’t I?” She shakes her head knowingly, not expecting a reply. I take the glass from her hand. “I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’, Audrey, but I did warn you about the age difference too.” At thirty-six, Nick’s five years younger than me, big flipping deal. “But would you listen? No.”
I want to tell her to leave me alone; that I miss him so much that I physically ache. That I dream about him constantly. Think about him every waking moment of the day. But I know it’d only kick off an argument. I stay silent, taking large gulps of water. The cool liquid coats my dry mouth, sliding down my throat, and I start to feel semi-human again. I stretch my arm out for a refill.
“Time’s a great healer, darling, you’ll see.” Yes, so people keep telling me but they’re not the ones that were left red-faced ten days before their wedding day, were they? It’s a good job I had Louise on hand to cancel everything and let all the guests know. She’s always had my back, ever since our first day at primary school.
We lost all our deposits, of course - the venue, the honeymoon, the lot. The Bridal Wear shop refused point blank to take back my beautiful silk, handmade strapless dress. I didn’t bother taking out any wedding insurance, didn’t think that after eight years together there’d be any doubts, to be honest.
“George rang this morning to see how you were getting on.” Mum pours coffee from the cafetiere into a tall, white Villeroy mug, which she brought with her from London because she won’t serve coffee in anything else.
