Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

You were firm. ‘We can’t change our plans now, Ian. It’s only six months – it’s not long to wait.’

It wasn’t, but I still counted off the days until you would be Mrs Petersen. I told myself I would feel better then: more secure. I would know you loved me, and that you would stay with me.

The night before our wedding you insisted on staying with Eve at the hotel, while I suffered an awkward evening in the pub with Jeff and Doug. Doug made a half-hearted attempt to make a proper stag night of it, but no one resisted when I suggested I should get to bed early ahead of the big day.

At the hotel I calmed my nerves with a double whisky. Jeff patted my arm and called me a great chap, although we had never had anything in common. He wouldn’t join me in a drink, and half an hour before the ceremony he nodded over to the door, where a woman in a navy hat had arrived.

‘Ready to meet the mother-in-law?’ Jeff said. ‘She’s not that bad, I promise.’ On the few occasions I had met Jeff I had found his forced joviality intensely irritating, but that day I was grateful for the distraction. I wanted to call you, to make sure you were going to be there, and I couldn’t quell the feeling of panic in my stomach that you might leave me standing there; that you might humiliate me in front of all these people.

I walked with Jeff across the bar. Your mother put out a hand and I took it, then leaned into her and kissed her dry cheek.

‘Grace, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’

You told me you looked nothing like your mother, but I could see your high cheekbones in hers. You might have had your father’s colouring, and his artistic genes, but you had Grace’s lean frame and watchful expression.

‘I wish I could say the same,’ Grace said, with a flicker of amusement at the corner of her lips. ‘But if I want to know what’s happening in Jenna’s life, it’s Eve I have to speak to.’

I gave what I hoped was an expression of solidarity, as though I too was at the mercy of your failure to communicate. I offered Grace a drink, and she accepted a glass of champagne. ‘In celebration,’ she said, although she didn’t propose a toast.

You kept me waiting for fifteen minutes, as was your right, I suppose. Doug made a play of having lost the ring, and we must have looked like every other wedding party in every other hotel in the country. But when you walked down the aisle there could have been no other bride as beautiful as you. Your dress was simple: a heart-shaped neckline and a skirt that skimmed your hips and fell to the floor in a shimmer of satin. You carried a spray of white roses, and your hair had been swept up on to your head in glossy curls.

We stood next to each other, and I stole glances at you as you listened to the registrar lead the ceremony. When we said our vows you looked into my eyes and I didn’t care about Jeff, or Doug, or your mother. There could have been a thousand people in the room with us: all I could see was you.

‘I now pronounce you husband and wife.’

There was a hesitant smattering of applause, and I kissed you on the lips before we turned and walked back up the aisle together. The hotel had set out drinks and canapés in an area off the bar, and I watched you move round the room taking compliments and holding out your ring hand to be admired.

‘She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?’

I hadn’t noticed Eve coming to stand next to me. ‘She is beautiful,’ I said, and Eve nodded to concede the correction.

When I turned, I realised Eve was no longer watching you, but staring at me. ‘You won’t hurt her, will you?’

I laughed. ‘What sort of thing is that to ask on a man’s wedding day?’

‘The most important thing, surely?’ Eve said. She took a sip of champagne and studied me. ‘You remind me a lot of our father.’

‘Well then, that’s probably what Jennifer sees in me,’ I replied shortly.

‘Probably,’ Eve said. ‘I just hope you don’t let her down too.’

‘I have no intention of leaving your sister,’ I said, ‘not that it is any business of yours. She’s a grown woman, not some child upset by a philandering father.’

‘My father was not a philanderer.’ She was not defending him, merely stating a fact, but I was interested. I had always assumed he had left your mother for another woman.

‘Then why did he leave?’

She ignored my question. ‘Look after Jenna – she deserves to be treated well.’

I couldn’t bear to see her smug face any longer, or listen to her ridiculous, patronising pleas. I left Eve standing at the bar, and went to slip my arm around you. My new wife.

I had promised you Venice and I couldn’t wait to show it to you. At the airport you proudly handed over your new passport and grinned as they read out your name.

‘It sounds so strange!’

‘You’ll soon get used to it,’ I said, ‘Mrs Petersen.’

When you realised I had organised an upgrade you were ecstatic, insisting on making the most of everything on offer. The flight was only two hours, but in that time you tried on the eye mask, flicked between films and drank champagne. I watched you, loving the fact that you were so happy, and that it was because of me.

Our transfer was delayed, and we didn’t get to our hotel until late. The champagne had given me a headache, and I was tired and unimpressed by the poor service. I made a mental note to insist on a refund on the transfer when we returned home.

‘Let’s leave the cases and go straight out,’ you said, when we arrived in the marble-clad lobby.

‘We’re here for a fortnight. We’ll order room service and unpack – it’ll all still be here in the morning. Besides,’ I slipped an arm around you and squeezed your bottom, ‘it’s our wedding night.’

You kissed me, your tongue darting into my mouth, but then you pulled away and held my hand instead. ‘It’s not even ten o’clock! Come on, a walk around the block, and a drink somewhere, then I promise we’ll call it a night.’

The receptionist smiled, making no attempt to hide his appreciation of our impromptu show. ‘A lover’s tiff?’ He laughed, despite the look I gave him, and I was appalled to see you laughing with him.

‘I’m trying to convince my husband ’ – you smiled as you said the word, and winked at me as though it would make a difference – ‘that we need to take a stroll around Venice before we see our room. It looks so beautiful.’ You closed your eyes for a fraction too long when you blinked, and I realised you were a little drunk.

‘It is beautiful, signora , but not as beautiful as you.’ The receptionist gave a ridiculous little bow.

I looked at you, expecting to see you roll your eyes at me, but you were blushing, and I saw that you were flattered. Flattered by this gigolo; this oily man with his manicured hands and buttonhole flower.

‘Our key, please,’ I said. I stepped in front of you and leaned forward on to the desk. There was a moment’s pause, before the receptionist handed me a cardboard wallet in which were two credit-card-sized swipe cards.

‘ Buona sera, signore .’

He wasn’t smiling now.

I refused help with our cases and let you drag your own to the lift, where I pressed the button for the third floor. I watched you in the mirror. ‘He was nice, wasn’t he?’ you said, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat. It had been so good at the airport; so much fun on the plane; and now you had ruined it. You were talking, but I wasn’t listening: I was thinking of the way you had simpered; the way you had blushed and let him flirt with you; the way you had enjoyed it.

Our room was at the end of a carpeted corridor. I pushed the key card into the reader and pulled it out, waiting impatiently for the click that told me the lock had been released. I shoved open the door and wheeled my suitcase through, not caring whether the door banged in your face. It was hot in the room – too hot – but the windows didn’t open, and I pulled at my collar to get some air. Blood pulsed in my ears but still you talked; still you chattered as if nothing were wrong; as if you hadn’t humiliated me.