done it.
Stopped the train and run away—from Nick, from the certainty of her carefully planned and mapped-out future, from everything that made up her life, and she felt lost. Cast adrift, swamped by a million conflicting emotions, unsure of what to do or think or feel.
Actually, she couldn’t feel anything much. Just numbness, a sort of strange hollowness deep in her chest as if there was nothing there any more.
Better than the ice-cold dread of doing the wrong thing, but not much.
She tugged off her veil, handing it to her bridesmaids. If she could she would have taken the dress off, too, there and then. She couldn’t get out of it fast enough. Couldn’t get out of all of it fast enough, the church, the dress, the car—the country?
She almost laughed, but the hysteria bubbling in her throat threatened to turn to tears so she clamped her teeth shut and crushed it ruthlessly down. Not now. Not yet.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Her mother’s face was troubled but calm, and Amy heaved a shaky sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t going off the deep end. Not that her mother was a deep-end kind of person, but you never knew. And her daughter hadn’t ever jilted anyone at the altar before, so the situation wasn’t exactly tried and tested.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m really sorry, Mum.’
‘Don’t be. It’s the first sensible thing you’ve done for months.’
Amy stared at her, astonished. ‘I thought you liked him?’
‘I do like him! He’s lovely. I just don’t think he’s right for you. You don’t have that spark.’
Not her, too, joining in with her alter ego and reminding her she’d been about to do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons and should have pulled out much, much earlier.
Or he should. Both of them, for everyone’s sake. Oh, what a mess!
The car door opened, and she realised they’d come to rest on the drive. Gathering up her skirts, she climbed awkwardly out and headed for the front door. Her mother unlocked it and pushed it open and Amy was swept inside on the tide of her redundant bridesmaids, into the hallway of the house she’d left such a short time before as a bride on the brink of a nice, safe, sensible marriage. Now she was—she didn’t know what she was.
A runaway bride?
Such a cliché. She gave a smothered laugh and shook her head.
‘I need to get out of this dress,’ she muttered, kicking off her shoes and heading for the stairs and the sanctuary of her bedroom.
‘I’ll come,’ her mother said, and they all fell in behind her, threatening to suffocate her with kindness.
She paused on the third stair and turned back. ‘No, Mum. Actually, none of you. I think I’d like to be alone for a moment.’
They ground to a halt, three pairs of worried eyes studying her. Checking to see if she’d lost her marbles, probably. Wrong. She’d just found them, at the absolutely last minute. Oh, Nick, I’m sorry...
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ her mother asked, her face creased with concern.
‘Yes,’ she said, more firmly this time. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Sure about everything except what her future held. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything stupid.’ Or at least, nothing as stupid as marrying the wrong man would have been. Not that she knew who the right one was, or how she’d recognise him. She seemed to have a gift for getting it wrong.
They were all still standing there as if they didn’t know what to do now their carefully planned schedule had been thrown out the window, but it was no good asking her. She didn’t have a clue. She turned back to the stairs, putting one foot in front of the other, skirts bunched in her quivering hands.
‘Shall I bring you up a cup of tea?’ her mother asked, breaking the silence.
Tea. Of course. The universal panacea. And it would give her mother something to do. ‘That would be lovely, Mum. Whenever you’re ready. Don’t rush.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Her mother disappeared into the kitchen, the bridesmaids trailing in her wake as one after the other they came out of their trances, and she made it to the safety of her bedroom and shut the door before the bubble burst and the first tears fell.
Odd, that she was crying when she felt so little. It was just a release of tension, but without the tension there was nothing, just a yawning chasm opening up in front of her, and she thought she was going to fall apart. Pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs, she slid down the door, crumpling to the floor in a billowing cloud of lace and petticoats, and let the floodgates open.
* * *
He had to get to her.
He could only imagine what state she was in, but that look in her eyes when she’d glanced up in the car—
He pulled up on the driveway of his family home, and after checking that the baby was all right and the catering was under control he headed through the gate in the fence into Amy’s garden and tapped on the kitchen door.
Amy’s mother let him in, her face troubled. ‘Oh, Leo, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, and hugged him briefly, her composure wobbling for a second.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. She’s gone upstairs. She wouldn’t let us go—said she needed to be alone. I’ve made her a cup of tea, I was just about to take it up.’
‘Give it to me. I’ll go and talk to her. This is my fault.’
‘Your fault?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I asked her if she was sure.’
Jill smiled back at him and kissed his cheek. ‘Well, thank God you did, Leo. I haven’t had the guts. Here, take it. And get her out of here, can you? She doesn’t need all this hoopla.’
He nodded, took the tea and headed for the stairs. Her bedroom was over the kitchen, with a perfect view of the marquee on his parents’ lawn and the steady stream of guests who were arriving for the wedding reception that wasn’t.
Damn.
He crossed the landing and tapped on her bedroom door.
* * *
Someone was knocking.
Her mother, probably. She dropped her head back against the door and sucked in a breath. She wasn’t ready to face her. Wasn’t ready to face anyone—
‘Amy? Can I come in?’
Leo. Her mother must have sent him up. She heard the knob turn, could feel the door gently pushing her in the back, but she couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay there for ever, hiding from everyone, until she’d worked out what had happened and what she was going to do with the rest
