Claudia Carroll - Love Me Or Leave Me

The curtains are drawn and it’s semi-darkness in here, but suddenly I’m aware of someone breathing and a big blurry silhouette perched on the bed beside me. Frank? Could that by some miracle actually be him? For one wonderful, fleeting moment, hope overrides everything my sane mind is trying to tell me. By some miracle, was today just some kind of hallucination and this is actually my wedding night? But I poke round at the slumbering figure a bit and realize that it’s not Frank at all; it’s my best friend Gemma, now out of the gakky bridesmaid’s dress, the one that I practically bullied her into wearing and back into her normal, standard issue jeans with a swingy, summery top.

Still here. Still watching over me, bless her, like the guardian angel that she really is.

‘Did I dream it all?’ I croak over to her.

She shakes her head.

‘’Fraid not, love.’

‘So where is everyone?’

‘Well, a lot of his side just buggered off when … well, when they realized that there wasn’t going to be any … emm, you know. But your parents, plus most of your family and pretty much half of your mates from work all decamped to the Cellar Bar downstairs. More private for everyone, I think they all felt, given … you know.’

‘Yeah,’ I say dully. ‘I work here. Believe me, I know.’

Doubtless still all reeling in astonishment at, well, let’s just say, how the day actually panned out. I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t think this wouldn’t be the talk of the town for years to come. Poor Mum. And after all the bother she had finding shoes to match her dress for it too.

‘So … what happened? I mean, afterwards …’

‘Now that’s absolutely nothing at all for you to worry about, sweetheart,’ Gemma says firmly. ‘That scary wedding planner one, whatshername … dealt with everything beautifully. God, you should have seen her. Worth every penny you paid her just for the massive damage limitation job she did. Your Dad made a short speech at the church and it was all very …’

‘Very what?’

She looks back at me, as though weighing up whether or not I can be trusted with the truth. But then I know she’ll tell me everything. Gemma always has and always will.

‘Well … I want to say dignified, but I do remember him using the phrase, “I’ll kick that bastard’s arse if he ever comes near my daughter again.” Oh and then, he chased Frank all the way downstairs to the underground car park, then threatened him with court action for breach of promise. I nearly thought your Dad would have to be held back by burly security men. I was only thankful he didn’t have a set of golf clubs to hand; he’d have sent Frank straight to an intensive care unit.’

I surprise myself by actually smiling. But then Dad’s a barrister; he’s always threatening people.

‘Did you talk to Frank?’ I manage to get out groggily. Jeez, what did they slip me earlier anyway? A valium sandwich? The same kind of tranquillizers you’d use to anaesthetize a rhinoceros?

‘Briefly. He was loading up suitcases into the boot of his car and told me to tell you he’d call.’

‘What?’ I say, suddenly wide-awake now. ‘You mean that was it? That was all the fecker said? The guy breaks my heart, completely humiliates me in front of the world and its sick dog, and all he can come out with is, “tell her I’ll call”?’

‘Well, in fairness, it was all he could say. I left out the bit where I was physically walloping him with the wire metal bit off my bouquet and only praying it would inflict lasting damage on the cowardly git.’

I squeeze her warmly, silently blessing her loyalty, then slump back against the deep hotel pillows. And now that I’m actually awake, here it comes. What I’ve been postponing all day. I’ve been forcing myself all this time not to relive today’s horrors, but now, like on oncoming car-crash, there’s no avoiding them.

So where did it all go wrong? What in the name of God did I miss? Then, slowly, my stomach starts to twist as it all begins to come back to me. The excruciating rehearsal dinner last night for a start, I suddenly think. That was the start of it. Definitely the first time I got that slightly sick feeling right in the pit of my solar plexus that something was slightly off-centre.

Frank has this slight poker tell, you see. Whenever he’s a bit uncomfortable, he gets twitchy and finds it difficult to make direct eye contact, particularly if you happen to be the one he’s uncomfortable around.

But at the time I thought he was just a bit nervy, nothing more. I even remember looking across the dinner table at him naïvely, lovingly even, more fool me. There’s one hundred and twenty people landing on top of us today, I figured, so who could possibly blame him? Have to admit, I was feeling a bit tetchy myself. I spent useless hours worrying about utter crap, like would the flower arrangements wilt at the reception tables, before everyone got the chance to admire them? And knowing my mates, probably try to nick them later on. But never in my wildest imaginings, did I think this would come to pass.

Suddenly, violent flashbacks start to crowd in on me. I get a pin-sharp memory from this morning of the make-up artist, a lovely girl called Zoe, hysterically screeching, ‘Mother of God, the groom! What the hell is he doing here?! Would you ever just get OUT!’ as Frank gingerly tapped at the door of my hotel room while we were all still getting ready.

‘Frank! You know right well it’s bad luck to see the bride just before the ceremony!’ I can remember my niece Emma screeching over her thin, emaciated shoulder blades, in between lashing on more bronzer than you’d normally see on a Strictly Come Dancing finalist. At that, a sudden, disconnected thought ricochets round my addled brain. Poor Emma. God love the girl, she was so looking forward to being a bridesmaid today. Even joined Weight Watchers especially, then went and lost a whopping eleven pounds. She was the envy of her whole class in school, apparently. And is now so stick-thin, I honestly don’t know whether to feed the kid, or else make soup out of her.

And yet still Frank didn’t budge. Instead, he just stood there, taking us all in with flat-fish eyes. Dead eyes, I’m now thinking.

‘Ehh … sorry to interrupt you all, but by any chance Chloe, would you have a minute?’ he said directly to me, and just in case I’d missed last night’s subtle clues, there it was yet again for all to see. That telltale twitching.

‘Oh, isn’t that sooo romantic,’ I can clearly remember Mum having to practically shout at the young one who was blow drying her hair, raising her voice so she could be heard above the blast of the hairdryer. ‘Bet Frank wants to give her a lovely wedding present before the ceremony. Bit of jewellery, probably, he’s a good lad like that. Wait till you see, our Chloe has him well trained!’

I can remember being a bit taken aback when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere like that, but nothing more. Some last minute problem with buttonholes or seating arrangements, was my ridiculous guess. Because how could I have possibly foreseen what was to come?

A sudden wave of nausea sweeps through me as the whole thing hits me square in the face again, its impact getting more and more painful each fresh time. I’m sweating now, cold and clammy, shivering and shaking weakly, wondering when my life will finally stop spinning out of control.

‘Chloe?’ says Gemma softly through the gloom of the hotel room. ‘I’m right here if you want to talk about it.’

‘Do you want to know what Frank’s last words to me were?’ I eventually manage to croak back at her.

‘Tell me.’

‘He said, “I’d better go now. My left buttock is getting numb from sitting on this tiled floor.”’