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‘I’m sorry I’ve had to dump this on you,’ said Jamie, leaning over to kiss her cheek in relief and gratitude.
‘I’m not.’
Shay thought,Hell will freeze over before that bitch marries my son.
She stood alone for a few seconds, closed her eyes, willed some strength into her bones. She felt her mother inside her, filling her limbs, straightening her spine. Her gorgeous, wonderful, selfless mother who had loved her more than lifeitself. There was no official guidebook on any of this parent stuff: when to rush in, when to keep in the wings, when to shout up and when to pipe down; you just had to go with your heart. And at that moment, her heart couldn’t have been banging a bigger drum.
Shay went back inside the church. She walked down the aisle, feeling eyes from the bride’s side of the family on her, appraising, evaluating, gossiping. She took a seat next to her daughter after Mort had shuftied up. She noticed they were holding hands, Courtney’s looked tiny and lost in his big shovel of a mitt.
‘Mum, you look gorgeous.’ Shay could now see that Courtney was wearing a navy suit. From the neck down, she looked very glam and traditional. She probably had some rebellious underwear on but Shay would take her slightly nuts daughter over the ‘normal’ of her sister Paula or the Barbie Dollesque Karoline any day.
Bruce, on the row in front, swivelled around and caught Shay’s eye.
‘All right,’ he greeted her perfunctorily, then turned quickly back. From behind she could see his neck start to blotch; he was imagining her eyeballs boring into his skull, she thought. He was safe today, she had bigger fish to fry.
Paula leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
‘Thank you for the parcel of things you sent but I appear to be missing a couple from my list.’
Shay twisted in her seat.
‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ she whispered back. ‘Shame you didn’t come and help us though. We found hundreds of fifty-pound notes in a suitcase under Mum’s bed. They weren’t on your list though, so I didn’t send you any.’
Shay heard the gurgle of distress in her sister’s voice. She’d presume the lie was the truth, because Shay had too much of a past history of being honourable, a good girl who flew under the radar so she wouldn’t upset any more applecarts, who stood in the shadows propping up those who wanted to stand in the sun.
But Mrs Nice Guy was having a day off today.
Chapter 44
The organist severed her tune, a beat, then she started the opening salvo of the Bridal Chorus. She had arrived: Princess Karoline and her pink entourage. The whole church rose to their feet. Mrs Battenberg across the way beamed, pride pulsing from her like microwaves. Shay turned to see a dress taking up the width of the church aisle, a giant puff of satin, tulle, lace, and in the midst of all that white froth was the Jabberwocky bride with her jaws that bite and her claws that catch. Her son stood, looking blank and condemned, next to his best man whose forehead was as furrowed as a ploughed field. All that was missing from the scene was a black square of silk sitting on top of the vicar’s bonce.
Karoline’s father was obscured by the voluminous frock, squashed against the pews as he walked in pin-steps in sync with his daughter’s pace, but his obligation was not to shine, just to fork out the dosh and speak when spoken to. Shay could see the red slash of a smile beneath Karoline’s cathedral-length veil. She had wanted this wedding more than she wanted the groom. She would have stored her dressin a protective cover, the veil in tissue, her sparkling tiara in a satin-lined box, but the groom she had kicked and battered until he had to be patched up in the casualty department of the local hospital, pretending he’d been injured in a rugby game.
In front of Karoline, scattering rose petals over the red aisle carpet for her to tread on was a tiny girl, and a page boy dressed up to the nines, carrying a box on a cushion as carefully as if it were a UXB. At least they’d have had their moment of glory, thought Shay. Two child bridesmaids in pink flowery frocks followed Karoline, six grown-up ones in pink satin behind them, possibly relations because they all shared a similar look: short, busty, blonde, condescending, no discernible neck. Courtney would have stood out like a sore thumb among them but she still should have been there, rocking pink at her only sibling’s wedding; instead she’d been rejected and that had been sitting on a slow burn within Shay as well.
No expense had been spared for this spectacle, that was clear. Two hundred and fifty people would be sitting down to a meal at Crastley Manor after posing for the family album. They’d be greeted at the door with waiters bearing silver trays of champagne and caviar blinis, then they’d be led through to a pink-themed room to dine on foie gras, suckling pig, fried baby squid and other courses, no doubt as fittingly cruel: vivisected slices of peach tart and gouged eyeballs of cheese and the like. Shay reckoned that ‘Mrs Fattenberg’ and her dopey tool of a husband couldn’t have had change from sixty thousand pounds for this day. Shame.
Shay’s heart was thumping so hard she was sure people could hear it over the organ music; even more so when thetune ended and the vicar asked everyone to be seated. Jamie, at the front, sweat clearly visible on his brow, flashed Shay a look of sheer desperation. It said,please, Mrs B, PLEASE.He needn’t worry, she’d got it.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man—’
My precious son,thought Shay.
‘—and this woman—’
That obnoxious cow.
‘—in holy matrimony…’
She felt a hand reach for hers – Courtney’s. But when she looked to her right, the oddest thing happened because, for the slightest moment, she saw her mum in violent violet sitting there instead.
‘If any person here can show just cause why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.’
Someone coughed, earning a look of disapproval from Angela. In fact, her head spun so fast on her neck, it was like watching a Richard Curtis version ofThe Exorcist.
The vicar opened up his mouth to carry on with the ceremony but Shay’s voice rang out, beating the main protagonists of this farce to say, ‘I do.’
She levered herself to her feet. Her legs were shaking, her inner magma had turned to water but she’d done it. She was up, and there could be no retraction. The moment seemed to stretch, enough to take in that over three hundred pairs of eyes must be on her, not including those of all the monks, knights, saints and St George’s dragon in the stained glass windows. Sunny’s jaw was hanging loose, Jamie was blowing out his cheeks, Bruce in front had bowed his head and was saying, ‘Jesus Christ’ in a non-religious way.Someone laughed nervously; Angela’s jowls were juddering. Karoline’s expression was pure ‘Carrie White’ just before she started going bonkers at her prom.
