Люси Фоли - The Guest List

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Great idea!’

I hadn’t meant him to come with me. I feel all of a sudden as though I need a bit of space, but at the same time I don’t have the energy to explain. So we head to the bar tent together.

‘How do you know Will?’ I shout, over the music.

‘What?’ He moves closer to hear, his ear brushing my lips.

I repeat the question. ‘Are you from Trevellyan’s too?’ I ask.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘You mean the school? Nah, we went to the same uni in Edinburgh. We were on the rugby team together.’

‘Hey, Luis.’ A guy standing at the bar raises a hand and envelops him in a hug as we draw near. ‘Come join a lonely bloke in a drink, won’t you? I’ve lost Iona to the dance floor. Won’t be seeing her till the bitter end now.’ He catches sight of me. ‘Oh, hello . Pleased to meet you. Been keeping my boy company, have you? He spotted you in the chapel, you know—’

‘Shut up,’ Luis says, flushing. ‘But yeah, we’ve had a dance, haven’t we?’

‘I’m Hannah,’ I say. My voice comes out a little strangled. I’m wondering what I’m doing here.

‘Jethro,’ Luis’s friend says. ‘So, Hannah, what you fancy drinking?’

‘Er—’ I waver, thinking I should be sensible. I’ve already had so much to drink today. Then I think of Charlie, and what he told me about him and Jules. I want to regain that sense of freedom I felt, briefly, on the dance floor. I want to be a lot less sober. ‘A shot,’ I say, turning to the barman: it’s Eoin, from earlier. ‘Of … er – tequila.’ I don’t want to mess around.

Jethro raises his eyebrows. ‘Okaaay. I’m in. Luis?’

Eoin pours us three tequilas. We down our shots. ‘Christ,’ Luis says, slamming his down, his eyes tearing up. But I feel like mine hasn’t done anything. It might as well have been water.

‘Another,’ I say.

‘I like her,’ Jethro says to Luis. ‘But I’m not sure my liver does.’

‘I think it’s fucking sexy,’ Luis says, beaming at me.

We do another shot.

‘You weren’t at Edinburgh,’ Jethro says, squinting at me. ‘Were you? Know I’d remember you if you had been. Party girl like you.’

‘No,’ I say. That place again. The mere mention of it makes me feel a whole lot more sober. ‘I—’

‘We were,’ Jethro says, slinging an arm around Luis’ neck. ‘Time of our lives right, Lu? Still miss it. Miss playing rugby too. Though it’s probably good for my own safety that I don’t.’ He points at the bridge of his nose, which is flattened, clearly an old break.

‘I lost a tooth,’ Luis says.

‘I remember!’ Jethro laughs. He turns to me. ‘Course, Will never got a scratch on him. Played winger, the bastard. Pretty boy position. That’s why he’s so disgustingly handsome.’

‘He was the worst blocker,’ Luis says, ‘when we went out after a match. You’d be there trying to chat up some girl and then Will would trundle over to ask if you wanted a round and they’d only have eyes for him.’

‘His hit rate was insane,’ Jethro says, nodding. ‘Only reason he joined the Reeling Society, because of the totty.Let’s not forget he wasn’t always such a player though. Remember the one who got away?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Luis says. ‘I’d forgotten about that. The Northern girl, you mean? The clever one?’

Oh God. It feels as though horrible is coming into focus. And I can only stand here and watch it.

‘Yeah,’ Jethro says. ‘Like you.’ He winks at me. ‘He got his own back though when she dumped him. Remember, Luis?’

Luis squints. ‘Not really. I mean … I remember she left uni. Didn’t she? I remember him being pretty cut up when she broke it off. Always thought she was a bit too smart for him.’

The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach grows.

‘That video that did the rounds, remember?’ Jethro says.

‘Shiiiiit,’ Luis says, eyes widening. ‘Yeah, of course. That was … savage.’

‘It’s probably found its way on to PornHub now,’ Jethro says. ‘Vintage section, obviously. Wonder what she’s doing now. Knowing it’s out there somewhere.’

‘Hey,’ Luis says suddenly, looking at me. ‘You all right? Jesus—’ he puts a hand on my arm. ‘You’ve actually gone white.’ He grimaces, sympathetically. ‘That last shot go down the wrong way?’

I shove him away and stumble away from them. I need to get outside. I barely make it out in time before I fall on to my hands and knees and vomit on to the ground. My whole body is trembling as though I am running a fever. I’m dimly aware of a couple of guests, standing inside the entrance, murmuring their shock and disgust, the tinkle of a laugh. I vaguely register that the weather out here has become so much wilder, whipping my hair away from my head, stinging the tears from my eyes.

I vomit again. But unlike with my seasickness on the boat I don’t feel any better. This sickness cannot be alleviated. It has gone down deep inside me, the poison of this new knowledge. It has found its way to my very core.

NOW

The wedding night

‘Who was wearing this?’ Angus holds the shoe up. His hand shakes.

‘I know I’ve seen it before,’ Femi replies. ‘But I can’t think where – it all seems so long ago.’ It is the day that feels surreal now. This: the night, the storm, their fear, has become all that exists for them.

‘Should we take it with us?’ Angus asks. ‘It might – it might be some sort of clue as to what happened.’

‘No. We should leave it where it is,’ Femi says. ‘We shouldn’t have even touched it. Or the crown, to be honest.’

‘Why?’ Angus asks.

‘Because, you idiot,’ Duncan snaps, ‘it could be evidence.’

‘Hey,’ Angus says, as they leave the shoe and carry on. ‘The wind – it’s stopped.’

He’s right. Somehow, without their noticing it, the storm has worn itself out. In its wake it leaves an eerie stillness that makes them long for its return. This quiet feels like a held breath, a false calm. And they can hear their own frightened breathing now, hoarse and shallow.

It has been difficult to make much progress when they’re checking in all directions – anxiously scanning the velvet darkness for any threat, any sign of movement. But now, finally, the Folly looms into view in the distance, its windows reflecting a black glitter.

‘There.’ Femi stops short. The others behind him freeze.

‘I think—’ he says, ‘I think there’s something there.’

‘Not another fucking shoe,’ Duncan shouts. ‘What is this? Cinderella? Hansel and bloody Gretel?’ None of them are convinced by this attempt at a joke. All of them hear the rattle of fear in his voice.

‘No,’ Femi says. ‘It’s not a shoe.’

All of them have heard the edge to his voice. It makes them want very much not to look, to cringe away from whatever it is. Instead they force themselves to stand and watch as he moves his torch in a slow arc, the light travelling weakly across the ground.

There is something there. Though it’s not a something, this time. It’s someone. They look on in growing horror as a long shape appears in the light upon the earth. Prone, terrible, definitely human. It lies fairly close to the Folly, on the edge of where the peat bog takes over from the more solid ground. In the wind the edges of the body’s clothing fidget and snicker, and this, along with the wavering light from the phone’s torch, gives an unnerving impression of movement. A macabre trick, a sleight of hand.

To the ushers it doesn’t seem likely that there can really be a human being inside those clothes. A human who was, until recently, talking and laughing. Who was among them all, celebrating a wedding.