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32: Fliss
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Our Wedding Night 33
“Yes!” I erupt. “I am a little pissed off that, after I had sorted out the whole situation with Ben and my sister, you had to go barging in and wreck it!”I can see the truth slowly dawning on his face. “You’re blaming me?”“Of course I’m blaming you! If you’d said nothing, they wouldn’t bemarried!”“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head adamantly. “Incorrect. Ben’s mind was made up.”“Lottie said it was because of you.” “Lottie was wrong.”He’s not going to back down, is he? Bastard.“All I know is, I’d sorted the situation,” I say stonily. “I’d managed it. And then this happened.”“You thought you’d sorted it,” he corrects me. “You thought you’d managed it. When you know Ben as well as I do, you’ll realize that his mind flips direction like a fish. Previous agreements count for nothing. Agreements to sign crucial, time-sensitive documents, for example.” There’s a sudden irritation in his voice. “You can pin him down all you like. He still slips away.”“That’s why you’re here?” I glance at his
Our Wedding Night 34
About half an hour into the flight, Richard comes up to the front, where Noah and I are sitting in a row of three in club class. I haul Noah onto my lap and Richard slides in next to me.“How tall would you say this Ben is?” he says with no preamble. “Don’t know. I’ve never met him.”“But you’ve seen pictures. Would you say … five eight? Five nine?” “I don’t know.”“I’d say five nine. Definitely shorter than me,” Richard adds, with a grim satisfaction.“Well, that’s not hard,” I point out. Richard is at least six foot two. “Never thought Lottie would go for a short-arse.”I have no reply to make to this, so I roll my eyes and carry on reading the airline magazine.“I looked him up.” Richard mashes an airsick bag between his fingers. “He’s a multimillionaire. Owns a paper company.”“Mmm. I know.”“I tried to find out if he’s got a private jet. It didn’t say. Expect he has.” “Richard, stop torturing yourself.” I finally turn to him. “It’s not about privatejets. Or height. There’s no po
Our Wedding Night 35
“Do you do annulments?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.“Annulments?” Lorcan raises his eyebrows very high. “I see.” As he meets my eyes, his expression is so quizzical, I nearly laugh. “You have aMachiavellian mind, Ms. Graveney.”“I have a practical mind,” I correct him.“So they really haven’t—” Lorcan interrupts himself. “Hey. What’s going on there?”I follow his glance and see that the old woman who was sitting next to me is clutching her chest and fighting for breath. A teenage boy is looking around helplessly, and he calls out, “Is there a doctor? Is anyone here a doctor?”“I’m a GP.” A gray-haired man in a linen jacket hurries to the seat. “Is this your grandmother?”“No! I’ve never seen her before!” The teenager sounds panicky, and I don’t blame him. The old lady doesn’t look very well. We’re all watching the doctor talk to the old woman in a low voice and feel for her pulse, when suddenly the air hostess with the French plait appears.“Sir,” she says b
Our Wedding Night 36
It’s a game. Just a game. It doesn’t mean anything.Even so, I’m feeling more irritable by the second. Why can’t I remember this stuff? And, more to the point, why can’t Ben? Isn’t he interested in the details of my life?We’re sitting in the hotel garden with ten minutes to go before Couples’ Quiz starts, and I’ve never felt less prepared for a test in my life. Ben is lying in a hammock, drinking beer and playing some new rap song on his iPad, which really isn’t improving my mood.“Let’s go again,” I say. “And, this time, concentrate. What shampoo do I use?”“L’Oréal.”“No!”“Head and Shoulders, extra strong for monster dandruff.” He smirks. “No!” I kick him. “I told you. Kerastase. And you use Paul Mitchell.” “Do I?” he says blankly.I feel instant rage boiling up inside me. “What do you mean, ‘do I’? You told me you use Paul Mitchell! We have to be on the same page for this, Ben. If you say Paul Mitchell once, you have to stick to Paul Mitchell!”“Jesus.” Ben takes a sip of beer. “L
Our Wedding Night 37
By question eight we’ve covered season one, season two, and the Christmas special. Melissa and Matt are ten points behind, and Melissa’s looking more and more tetchy.“This can’t be true,” she says, as Ben finishes describing our “most memorable day together,” which involved an armed siege, a police chase through the Central Park Zoo, and blowing out the candles on his birthday cake in a jail cell (long story). “I dispute these answers.” She raps on the microphone as though it’s a gavel and she’s a judge. “Nobody has a life like this!”“Dirk and Sally do!” I say, trying not to giggle as I meet Ben’s eye.“Who’re Dirk and Sally?” she demands at once, looking from face to face as though we’re tricking her in some new way.“Our pet names for each other,” says Ben blandly. “And may I ask what exactly you’re suggesting? That we learned an entire set of fake answers especially for this competition? Do we look like tragic losers?”“Come on!” Her eyes spark indignantly. “Are you telling me yo
Our Wedding Night 38
“France?” I say tentatively. “A farmhouse in France?” I’ve always fantasized about moving to France. “Maybe the Dordogne, or Provence? We could do up a house, find a real project.…” “I love that idea.” Ben’s eyes are sparkling. “Find a wreck, turn it into something amazing, have friends to stay, long lazy meals—” “Exactly!” My words tumble out, mingling with his. “We’d have a great big table and wonderful fresh food, and the children would help make the salad.…” “They’d learn French too—” “How many children do you want?” My question halts the conversation for a moment. I’m holding my breath, I realize. “As many as we can,” says Ben easily. “If they all look like you, I’ll have ten!” “Maybe not ten.” I’m laughing in relief. We chime perfectly! My worries were unfounded! We’re totally on the same page when it comes to life choices. I almost want to get out my phone and start finding old French properties to drool over. “You really want to move to France?” “If there’s one thing I
Our Wedding Night 39: Fliss
There’s nothing wrong with Sofia, Bulgaria. It’s a great city. I’ve been here many times before. It boasts beautiful churches and interesting museums and an outdoor book market. However, it is not where I want to be standing at six in the evening, hot, sweaty, and harassed, waiting for my baggage at the carousel, when I should be on the Greek island of Ikonos.The only plus point of the situation: I can’t blame Daniel. Not this time. This one is firmly fate/act of God. (Thanks a lot, God. Is this because of what I said in religious studies class, age eleven? I was joking.) Although I’d actually like to blame Daniel right now. More specifically, I’d like to kick him. Failing that, I may well kick my baggage trolley.The crowd around the carousel is five deep. There are people waiting for luggage from several flights, and no one is in a good mood, least of all my fellow passengers from Flight 637 to Ikonos. Not many smiles. Not a lot of jolly banter.Sofia, bloody Bulgaria. I mean.Year
Our Wedding Night 40: Lottie
This is the perfect setting for a wedding night. I mean, our own private beach! How cool is that?We’re in a secluded little cove that you reach from the main beach over stepping stones and there’s a DO NOT DISTURB sign placed on a rock. Our two massage therapists led us here in a little procession, followed by Georgios and Hermes carrying champagne and oysters, which are waiting for us on ice. Now we’re lying on a huge double massage bed, while the two massage therapists, Angelina and Carissa, rub oil into our bodies. Billowing all around us are white curtains, so we’re totally private in our enclosure. The sky is that intense blue you only get at a certain point in the early evening, and scented candles planted in the sand are giving off a sweet aroma. Birds are swooping and calling. I can hear the tiny splash of waves on the sand, and the air has a salty tang. It’s all so scenic, I feel as though I’m in some arty pop video.Ben reaches out his hand to take mine, and I squeeze it ba
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