later we sat in Gemma’s room surrounded by the detritus left behind when three women get ready for a wedding. The hair and make-up people had left and the photographer, who had been taking photographs of us getting ready, had gone off to take some photos of Mike and his best man.
I’d scrubbed up well considering how bad I felt – the make-up artist had her work cut out with me, but she’d worked magic. Even I couldn’t tell how bad I looked underneath when I saw my reflection and the dark blue of the bridesmaid’s dress brought out the green in my eyes. I almost looked healthy, and my ridiculous Billion Dollar Brows had calmed down just as Gemma had promised they would.
Gemma sighed audibly.
‘Cold feet, Gem?’ Caitlin joked.
‘Dad,’ Gemma said quietly. ‘James walking me down the aisle just won’t be the same. I wish he could be here.’
Neither Caitlin nor I said anything. Neither of us knew what to say. Neither of us had ever known what to say since the day, just over a decade ago, just before Rupert left, when Gemma’s father had been arrested for corporate espionage and fraud. It turned out that’s how he paid her school fees, amongst other things. Neither of us knew if Gemma had ever visited him in prison and we didn’t know if she’d seen him since he got parole and went to live in another part of the country. We never talked about Gemma’s father and we didn’t even know if he knew she was getting married. Her brother was giving her away today and we left it at that.
‘And soon we’ll all be married,’ Gemma went on, sounding rather maudlin. ‘Old matrons who never get to see each other often enough.’
‘We don’t get to see each other often enough now,’ Caitlin said.
‘And I still won’t be married,’ I disagreed. ‘I’m not even dating anyone.’
‘Oh, but you will be after today,’ Gemma said. ‘As soon as you see Rupert the two of you will fall madly in love again, and then you won’t even be in London anymore.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I replied. ‘I’ll always be in London.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she said. ‘You’ll marry him and then you’ll move to York and we’ll exchange Christmas cards once a year with a circular letter inside full of lies and exaggerations about how brilliant our lives are and how wonderful our children are and—’
‘For God’s sake,’ I interrupted this depressing dialogue. ‘What on earth are you talking about? It’s you who invited him to the wedding anyway.’
‘Cold feet, Gem?’ Caitlin said again, with a grin.
Gemma was saved from replying by a knock on the door. She tried to jump up to open it but the full skirt of her wedding dress prevented her, so I went instead. My mum and James were standing outside.
‘It’s nearly time,’ Mum said, as I stood aside to let them in. James went over to his sister to make a fuss of her and Mum took me to one side.
‘Rupert’s here,’ she whispered. She’d been almost as excited about him coming to the wedding as Gemma had been. ‘He looks ever so handsome. He hasn’t changed much, has he?’
Something inside me unravelled. I’d been looking forward to seeing him again more than I was prepared to admit and part of me had wondered if he would turn up. I smiled my first genuine smile of the morning.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘You don’t look very well.’ The make-up wasn’t fooling Mum, clearly.
‘I just slept badly,’ I said. ‘It’s so hot.’
Mum looked at me as though she didn’t believe me and pulled me gently into the corridor away from everyone else.
‘I know you’ve not been sleeping properly since Gemma’s hen do,’ she said. ‘I can hear you still up when I go to the loo in the night. I’m worried about you. Tell me what’s going on.’
I sighed and looked away from her. ‘Memories,’ I said. ‘Seeing him again has just brought everything back. I can’t stop thinking about that summer, about Dad …’ As I trailed off I felt her fingers brush against my cheek and I turned to look at her again. I saw her blink back the tears that always came whenever anyone mentioned my father. I wondered if she would ever get over him, if she would ever move on. Mum and I were the same, both waiting together for our lives to start again.
‘Maybe it’s a good thing,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe it’s time to open your heart again.’
I shook my head. ‘Too much has happened,’ I said. ‘Too much has changed.’
‘Don’t burn your bridges, Jess. Try not to think about the past or the future today; try to enjoy yourself. Drink champagne, laugh, dance with Rupert.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You and Rupert were always inseparable,’ she interrupted. ‘Maybe you both need that again.’
I opened my mouth to speak, to contradict her, but I knew that in a way she was right, that part of me did wonder what it would be like to spend the day with him again. Part of me was curious as to where it would lead – the part of me that regretted not swapping numbers with him in York, that hadn’t wanted to watch him walk away.
‘Just see what happens,’ Mum said. ‘Just for today.’
‘OK,’ I replied. ‘Just for today.’
… The summer that we turned twelve was the first birthday we hadn’t spent together, the first time we hadn’t had a joint party. We had a short, awkward phone conversation and you sent me a card with a cat on the front of it.
By that summer I’d begun to grow used to you not being around. Even though you’d been home for Christmas and Easter I felt as though I’d hardly seen you – your parents were always taking you off for extra tutoring or educational trips. I’d started to spend more time with the kids who lived on our block, just like we had when we were younger, even though we all went to different schools now. Growing up on those streets that backed onto Midsummer Common, onto the River Cam, having all known each other since before we could remember, was a common denominator. We hung around together even though we weren’t really sure if we liked each other anymore. I don’t think I was the only one who missed you though.
That afternoon in July we were all playing a rather undisciplined game of rounders on the Common. I’d been consigned to deep field as usual – always hopeless at sports. I had a headache and was considering going home. I heard you before I saw you, the squeal of your bike brakes, the skid as your back wheel flipped round towards me, cutting me off from everybody else.
And there you were suddenly. Home. Standing in front of me in your Arsenal away shirt. It was summer, and the holidays felt as though they could go on forever. There was no way they could keep us apart all summer. You smiled that smile that gave me butterflies, even though it was another four years before I realised why. You’d grown again, already well on your way to six foot – your bike was too small for you, your jeans too short. You’d exchanged your glasses for contact lenses, tired of being called the Milky Bar Kid by the boys at school.
You were there.
