Page 55 of The Ghost of Exes Past

If he loves me as he says he does, he will understand that.

I’ve just talked myself into more wine, using feminism and trauma. That’s new.

I lift my head, blow out a breath, and go back out there.

It’s not a protest. It’s just a party – my party – and I intend to enjoy it.

As I walk through the hall, I try my hardest not to glance at Timothy, although I feel his eyes following me. I grab a glass of wine from a staff member holding out drinks on a silver tray, thank them with a small courtesy and continue towards the back doors.

The cold outside is physical – it hits me before the door is fully open. A gust of ice-cold winter air almost takes my breath away. It’s like walking into the Arctic. The frosty grass crunches under my heels. I look to the sky – no snow yet.

Above the treeline, Whitby Abbey is lit by a full moon, like a spotlight; it looks like the main character on a theatre stage. It looks like a painting of a ruin, rather than an actual one. Like something that chose to fall apart for beautiful effect. I spot a group of smokers mingling under an oak tree and decide to join them. I haven’t smoked for years but, man, do I crave one now.

It’s some of Timothy’s restaurant people, as well as Vik and his wife. Vik clocks me coming and lifts his chin. I can do this small performance of sociability.

‘Smoke?’ a guy asks, offering a pack. I vaguely remember him – Augie, I think his name is. A finance guy at one of Timothy’s restaurants.

‘Ugh, thought you’d never ask.’ I put one in my mouth and he lights it. The first drag does what I needed it to do. I tip my head back and exhale, let the sound of the sea nearby find me. Waves against rocks, relentless and soothing.

For so long, I couldn’t wait for my own wedding day – to experience that specific sort of attention: the feeling of the whole room being there for you and the person you’ve chosen. I used to think that sounded incredibly romantic, only to be gained when you found the one.

Now that it’s here, I can’t locate that feeling. Everyone watching Timothy and me, cataloguing us, deciding privately whether we’ll last … Or won’t we? I can feel it all happening in real time and it’s too much.

I’ve been in a room full of people watching me all evening. Out here in the dark, this smoke in my hand, chit-chat around me, I can be nobody for a moment. Eyes shut, head up to the moon, surrounded by small talk.

I feel him before I see him.

A change in the atmosphere, the group adjusting slightly, attention shifting. I’ve been with Timothy for three years – I know the effect he has on people. The way they gravitate towards him, the way rooms reorganise themselves when he enters.

I turn to face the manor and see him approaching. He’s smiling, but it’s pained. I know that look and I know he, too, is acting now. That’s his ‘I’m stressed because I’m not in control right now but don’t want people to see I’m freaking out’ look.

‘There you are,’ he says, coming to stand beside me. Hand at the small of my back. His voice is warm, easy, totally unaffected. He’s very good at this. ‘I was looking for you.’

‘Oh, were you?’ I smile up at him. I know you watched me walk out here.

‘Let’s leave you lovebirds to it!’ Vik grins, already stubbing out his cigarette, steering his wife and the others back towards the party.

When they’re gone, he doesn’t say anything immediately. He just looks at the cigarette between my fingers.

‘It’s one cigarette,’ I say. ‘It’s not heroin.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You were about to.’

He pauses and exhales, slowly, through his nose. ‘I’ve spent the last hour and a bit … I’ve just been—’ He stops. And starts again, but quieter now. ‘What’s going on? This isn’t like you.’

‘Which part?’

‘The shots. The dancing on the …’ He glances towards the manor. ‘All of it.’

‘It’s a party, Timothy.’

‘It’s our rehearsal dinner.’

‘Which is also a party.’

‘Belle.’