Люси Фоли - The Guest List

Earlier

AOIFE

The Wedding Planner

With the help of several of the waiting staff, and infinite care, we have lifted the great cake into the centre of the marquee. Shortly the guests will be called in here to gather around it, to witness the cutting of the first slice. It feels as much of a sacrament as the ceremony in the chapel earlier.

Freddy emerges from the catering area, carrying the knife. He frowns at me. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks, looking closely at me.

‘I’m fine,’ I tell him. I suppose I must be wearing the tension of the day on my face. ‘Just feeling a little overwhelmed, I suppose.’

Freddy nods, he understands. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’ He passes me the knife, to place beside the cake. It’s a beautiful thing, finely wrought: a long blade and an elegant mother-of-pearl handle. ‘Tell them to be really careful with this. It could give you a nick from the slightest touch. The bride asked for it to be sharpened specially – madness really, as a knife like this is really meant for cutting through meat. It’ll go through that sponge like it’s butter.’

JULES

The Bride

Olivia and Will, by the cliff edge: I heard it all. Or, at least, enough to understand. Some of it was snatched away by the wind and I had to move so close to them that I was certain that they would glance in my direction and see me. But apparently each was too intent on the other – their confrontation – to notice. I couldn’t make sense of it at first.

‘I’ll tell her about us,’ Olivia shouted. At first I resisted understanding. It couldn’t be, it was too horrific to contemplate—

I thought then about Olivia, when she came out of the water. How it seemed, for a moment, like there was something she was trying to tell me.

Then I heard the way his voice changed. How he put his hand over her mouth. How he grabbed her arm. That shocked me even more than the actual substance of what he was saying. Here was my husband. Here was also a man I barely knew.

As I watched them from the shadows I noticed a kind of physical familiarity between them that spoke more eloquently than any words.

When I saw them by the cliff edge the whole hideous shape of it began to coalesce before me.

There wasn’t time for anger at first. Only for the huge, existential shock of it: the bottom dropping out of everything. Now I am beginning to feel differently.

He has humiliated me. He has played me for a fool. I feel the rage, almost comforting in its familiarity, blossoming up inside of me and obliterating everything else in its wake.

I rip off my gold crown, cast it to the ground. I stamp down until it is reduced to a mangled piece of metal. It’s not enough.

OLIVIA

The Bridesmaid

‘Will!’ It’s Jules’s voice. And then a bright bluish light – the torch on her phone. It feels like we’ve been caught in a spotlight. Both of us freeze. Will drops my arm, straight away, like my skin has burned him, and steps quickly away from me.

I couldn’t tell anything from the way she said his name. It was completely neutral – maybe a bit of impatience. I wonder how much she has seen, or, more importantly, how much she has heard. But she can’t have heard all that much, can she? As otherwise – well, I know Jules. We’d probably both be lying at the bottom of that cliff by now.

‘What on earth are you two doing out here?’ Jules asks. ‘Will, everyone’s wondering where you are. And Olivia – someone said you fell?’ She comes closer. Something’s different about her, I think. She’s missing her gold crown: that’s it. But maybe there’s another change, too, something that I can’t quite put my finger on.

‘Yes,’ Will says, all charm again. ‘I thought it best if I took her out for a bit of air.’

‘Well,’ Jules says. ‘That was kind of you. But you should come inside now. We’re going to cut the cake.’

NOW

The wedding night

The ushers move towards the body carefully.

It lies a little off the tract of drier land, where the peat takes over. Already the bog has begun to gather itself around the edges of the corpse, hemming it in diligently, lovingly – so that even if the dead one were suddenly to miraculously come to life, to stir itself and try to stand, they might find it a little more difficult than expected. Might struggle to free a hand, a foot. Might find themselves held close and tight to the wet black breast of the earth.

The bog has swallowed other bodies before, swallowed them whole, yawned them deep down into itself. This was a long time ago, though. It has been hungry for some time.

As they creep closer, disparate parts are revealed in the sweeps of light: the legs, splayed clumsily outwards, the head thrown back against the ground. The vacant, sightless eyes, gleaming in the beam. They glimpse a half-open mouth, the tongue protruding slightly, somehow obscene. And at the sternum a stain of dark red blood.

‘Oh fuck,’ Femi says. ‘Oh fuck … it’s Will.’

For the first time, the groom does not look beautiful. His features are contorted into a mask of agony: the staring clouded eyes, that lolling tongue.

‘Oh Jesus,’ someone says. Angus retches. Duncan lets out a sob: Duncan who none of them have seen moved by anything. Then he crouches and shakes the body – ‘Come on, mate. Get up! Get up!’ The movement creates a horrible pantomime of animation as the head rolls from side to side. ‘Stop it!’ Angus shouts, grabbing at Duncan. ‘Stop it!’

They stare and stare. Femi’s right. It is. But it can’t be. Not Will, the anchor of their group, the untouchable one, loved by all.

They are all so focused upon him – their fallen friend – so caught up in their shock and grief, that they have let their guard down. None of them notice the movement a few feet away: a second figure, very much alive, stepping toward them out of the darkness.

Earlier

WILL

The Groom

Jules and I walk back to the marquee together. I leave Olivia to make her own way. For one crazy moment there, realising how near we were to the cliff edge, I was tempted. It wouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise. She tried to drown herself earlier, after all – or that’s certainly how it looked, before I saved her. And with this wind – it’s really blowing a gale now – there would have been so much confusion.

But that’s not me. I’m not a killer. I’m a good guy.

It’s all somewhat out of control, though, everything getting out of hand. I’ll have to sort things out.

Obviously I could never have told Jules about Olivia. Not by the time I made the connection between them that day at her mum’s house, not when it had gone so far. What would have been the point in hurting Jules unnecessarily? The thing with Olivia – that was never going to be real, was it? It was a temporary attraction. With her it was all based on lies, hers as much as mine. In fact it was the pretence that got me going when we met on that date, trying to be someone she wasn’t. Pretending to be older, pretending to be sophisticated. That insecurity. It made me want to corrupt her, rather like a girlfriend I had at uni once, who was one of the good girls – smart, a hard worker, who came from some crummy school and didn’t think she was good enough to be there.

When I met Jules at that party, however, that was different. It was like fate. I saw how good we would be together straight away. How good we’d look together – physically, yes, but also in how well-matched we were. Me, on the brink of a promising new career, her, such a high flyer. I needed an equal, someone with self-confidence, ambition – someone like me. Together we’d be invincible. And we are.