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‘Hi honey,’ he said.
The sound of his voice churned up the guilt that had been staved off with champagne and old friends.
‘Are you back?’
‘We got into New Jersey ten minutes ago. I just wanted to say have fun this evening.’
‘How was Vegas?’
‘Robert lost a hundred thousand dollars on blackjack.’
‘He can afford it. It’s the strippers I’m worried about.’
He laughed. ‘It’s the strippers I’m worried about, Brooke. Bachelorette nights are always far worse than bachelor parties.’
‘I doubt that,’ she said, over–playfully.
‘I guess you don’t want me to come round tonight?’
‘I think it’s going to be a late one.’
‘But I’m driving up to Belcourt in the morning. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?’
She inhaled to steady her voice. ‘Honey, this will be my last Christmas with my family. I thought that’s what you wanted too.’
Part of her was desperate to see him at that very moment, as if his presence would somehow erase what had happened the night before. On the other hand, she was grateful for the three days of Christmas that was conspiring to keep them apart.
‘I know, I know. I just miss you, Mrs Billington.’
Mrs Billington. Suddenly she started feeling hot. ‘Not yet,’ she replied weakly, feeling her skin flush.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
She snapped the phone shut, tugging at the high funnel neck on her black jersey cocktail dress. There didn’t seem to be much air in the room. She pushed through the crowd, heading for the outside. On the dark cobbled street she bent down, hands on her knees, blonde hair falling forward. She was sure she was going to be sick. She had spent the last twenty–four hours in a state of complete anxiety, constantly bouncing from one conflicting emotion to the next: fear, love, guilt, shame – and right now she felt so consumed by it she could barely breathe.
‘Hey Brooke. What’s wrong?’
She looked up to see that Tess had followed her into the little side street.
‘I’m okay, I just felt a little sick in there.’
Tess looked down at her, those searching eyes examining Brooke’s face.
‘Brooke. What’s wrong?’
She uncurled her body, feeling the knot of claustrophobic panic subside a little. But she couldn’t go on like this; she had to tell someone. It might as well be the person paid to sort out her troubles.
‘I’m not sure I can go through with it, Tess,’ said Brooke, tears welling up. ‘I don’t know if I can marry David.’
She watched Tess’s eyes widen in amazement. ‘I don’t understand.’
Neither do I, thought Brooke, closing her eyes. Neither do I. She had no idea whether it was because she loved David too little or cared for Matt too much. It had been something she had been raking over again and again in her mind since she had left Matt Palmer’s apartment. The thought of having to drive to Belcourt over Christmas and call off her wedding made her feel physically ill, but the idea of never seeing Matt again made her heart thud with pain. It had made Brooke realize, no matter how selfish and greedy it may seem, that perhaps the human heart was big enough to love more than one person.
Tess walked over to Brooke, high heels clacking on the cobbles. ‘You’re drunk, it’s just nerves,’ she said, rubbing Brooke’s shoulders. ‘It’s only natural. Why don’t I call you a car? I’ll take you back home and we can talk this over.’
Brooke looked up at her. ‘I slept with Matt Palmer.’
