24. Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

I drive to Lucy's like a maniac, my vision permanently obscured by tears, my head all over the place. My happily ever after has suffered more shakes than a snow globe, and I'm not sure it can survive this one. I abandon my car outside, grab my holdall from the boot, and pray to God she is still home and hasn't already left for Ibiza.

I knock on the front door and ignore my phone vibrating in my back pocket. I've got nothing to say to him.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the door swings open to reveal Lucy, dressed in black shorts and a yellow vest top, her suitcase ready and waiting in the hall behind her.

"Oh, hi, Soph. I thought you were my taxi to the airport."

Her eyes travel from my red eyes to the holdall in my hand and then back again as she susses out something's very wrong.

She gives me a thin smile. "Great then. I hope you've packed your passport."

As the pilot announces we're currently flying seventy thousand feet somewhere above France, I take a swig of cheap white wine from the plastic cup and wince as the dry alcohol hits the back of my throat.

"I didn't think I'd be spending my honeymoon like this," Lucy sighs from the seat beside me.

I didn't think I'd be spending my evening like this either.

Loving Art is like riding a roller coaster. I never know when the next drop is coming, and I'm not sure I've got the stomach for it.

She nudges my elbow and laughs. "Cheer up, Sophie. It's not that bad. At least you didn't marry a guy you didn't even love."

I know her attempt at humour is masking her true feelings.

"It's bound to feel strange. You and Mark had been together for years, you got married, and now, all of a sudden, you're over. Everything's happened so fast."

She winds the end of her ponytail around her finger and stares out of the window into the darkness. "It's sad but the right thing to do. We both agreed. It was all pretty civil, given that he acted like a twat at the wedding. We've grown apart. I think we got swept away with the whole wedding thing and didn't really stop and ask if it was the right thing for us. I think we were scared too. To be with someone for so long and then to be suddenly on your own again, it's frightening and weird. It's not been an easy decision."

It all sounds very sensible and grown up.

"When are you going to break the news to your parents?"

She grimaces at the prospect, and I don't envy her having to break the news, especially to Geraldine, who was in such a tizz yesterday.

"We're going to tell them separately soon. I think I'm going to offer to pay Dad back some of the money he spent." She takes a slug of wine. "I feel terrible."

What a nightmare!

"So, are you actually filing for divorce, or will you just separate?"

"Mark's contacting the solicitors this week. We're going to look at getting the marriage annulled because we didn't … well, you know, consummate it."

From what I recall, the state Mark was in on his wedding night meant he couldn't have even if he'd wanted to.

"It's positive that you've parted on good terms."

She casts me a sideways look and hesitates, as if she's deciding whether to tell me something. "Listen … I've got a bit of a confession."

I take another sip of cheap wine because I think I'm going to need it.

She twists the plastic cup around on the drop-down tray in front of her. "I didn't say anything to you about this before because I didn't want you getting the wrong idea and thinking this was the reason why I had second thoughts about the wedding."

I don't like the sound of this. "Okay, go on," I say slowly.

"Before I tell you, I want to be clear, this didn't have any bearing on my and Mark's relationship whatsoever. We'd been on a slippery slope for a long time, and this had only just happened. Well, nothing's actually happened at all really."

I briefly close my eyes as a horrid thought strikes me. "Please tell me there's no one else."

She wrinkles her nose and ponders my question. "Not really."

Oh God.

"Either there is or there isn't."

"It's not like that."

I shake my head in disbelief. "You've met someone else."

"No! This is why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd think this," she says crossly.

"Look at it from my point of view. You just got married, called it off, and now, you're talking about some guy you met. Isn't this all a bit fast?"

I thought Art and I had shifted quickly in moving in together, but Lucy's beating us, hands down.

"I'd had my doubts about our relationship for a while, and so had Mark; it's just neither of us had the balls to have the conversation. This guy and I have only talked. Twice."

I roll my eyes. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Yes, because it's the truth." She gives me a firm look. "We've just talked. We haven't flirted or anything really. I don't even know if he likes me like that. He's divorced." She heaves a sigh and stares down at her wine. "It was nice just to be listened to for a change."

I feel bad. It's clear she's not been happy with Mark for some time. If I'd been paying attention, instead of caught up in my own affairs, I'd have known this. Who am I to tell her off for potentially finding happiness? Maybe I'm being harsh even though I still think she's moving too fast.

I throw her a rueful look. "What's he like?"

"You know him actually."

My brain's too tired for playing detective. "Who is it?"

"Big Steve – well, actually … it's just Steve."

My eyes widen in surprise. "Seriously?"

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and looks oddly bashful. "One of the times he came to the hotel, we got to chatting on reception. I ended up getting called away because George needed help with something or other, but when I went back to the desk, he'd left a note with his number on it, telling me that he'd enjoyed talking to me and asking if we could meet up for a drink."

Blimey, Big Steve's smooth.

"So, what did you do?"

"I called him and explained I was getting married, so nothing could come of it, but we ended up talking for hours. It was nothing flirty. He talked a bit about himself and his divorce, and I told him about me."

It sounds reasonably innocent.

"So, you like him then?"

The apples of her cheeks turn pink, and I don't think it's because of the wine.

"He's nice." She gazes wistfully off into the distance. "And big and burly."

I feel it's only right that I come in with some common sense here.

"Listen, I don't want to be the one to rain on your parade, but it's really early days, Luce. Your head's got to be all over the place at the mo. Just because you've felt neglected by Mark, don't do anything hasty."

"I know, I know, but maybe a rebound is what I need now. Some excitement." She drains her cup. "God knows I need it."

Maybe she's right.

What do I need at the moment?

I ponder that very question when I feel a nudge in my ribs.

"You and Art will be okay, you know."

I shake my head. "I'm really not sure. Not this time, Luce."

"You'll overcome this hurdle because love conquers all."

I suppress the desire to roll my eyes at her romantic nonsense. "He still hasn't told me he loves me, and now, I realise why." I glance at Lucy to find her watching me with a perplexed look on her face. "He can't, can he? He's kept things from me. I don't really know him. I suppose I should be grateful he's not enough of a hypocrite to say it when he's keeping loads of secrets."

She shoots me a look, which tells me she doesn't agree. "The accident's in his past. Everyone's got one."

"Yeah, but what he did …"

"I know, I know. But I can see it from both sides." She gives my hand a reassuring pat. "I get why you're so upset. He should have told you sooner, but I get why he struggled. As soon as he heard how your dad died, he must have felt awful. And scared of what you'd do when you found out."

I bite the inside of my cheek to stem my trembling lip and look out of the window into blackness. "He should have told me, especially after last time. Instead, he just used Dad's death and the fact that he was scared of losing me as an excuse for not telling me."

"Maybe they're not excuses. Maybe it's the truth."

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. An intense ache throbs across my forehead, telling me I need to stop drinking and go to sleep. Above all, I need to forget for a while.