Katie Fforde - Wedding Season

‘What's this?' asked Sarah when the glasses arrived. 'Strega, signorina,' said the waiter.

‘What's it like?'

‘Fuel oil,' said Elsa. 'I had it with my parents once.’

‘That doesn't sound very nice,' said Sarah, looking at her glass anxiously.

‘It is, sort of,' explained Elsa. 'Not sure why.'

‘OK,' said Sarah. She took a sip and coughed. 'Mm. I see what you mean.'

‘And desserts?' broke in the waiter, happy now his offerings had been accepted.

‘We might as well,' said Bron. 'After all, we none of us have wedding dresses to get into.'

‘I have got a ball gown to make though,' said Elsa, after the waiter had taken both the menus and their orders. `Ooh, tell us!' said the others.

When it was time to go home, Bron took her shoes off and walked barefoot back to the hotel, supported by the others who had more sensible shoes.

‘That was the best evening out I've had in a long time,' said Sarah. 'Who needs men?’

The other two didn't reply.

The prospect of living on her own when she'd never done it before was daunting, but now she'd made the decision Bron was determined not to slip back into the inertia that had kept her with Roger for so long.

She telephoned Mrs Lennox-Featherstone during her lunch hour the next day, not wanting to lose a moment longer. Much to Bron's relief, she was very quick on the uptake.

‘Bron? The hairdresser? Lovely to hear from you. What can I do for you?'

‘Well, Elsa, the dressmaker?'

‘Charming girl, lives in black. Yes?'

‘She said you had a cottage you might like to rent.'

‘Absolutely, I have! Can't get it insured as an empty property and I wasn't planning on doing anything to it until the autumn. It's far too soon after the wedding for me to get my head round all that. So if you wanted it for a while I'd be only too delighted.' She had paused. 'It might be rather wonderful having a top-rate hairdresser so close.’

Bron had laughed and assured Vanessa that she could summon her at any time, day or night, to do her hair. The rent was really low and she felt it was the least she could do.

‘But I can't actually show it to you until the weekend. You're not in too much of a hurry, are you?’

In fact, Bron had been hoping to see – possibly begin to move into it – a lot sooner than that. 'Well…' she began. 'I'm doing a course every night this week, including Saturday, now that I think of it. But if you wanted to pick the key up after eight on Saturday, that would be fine.’

'So I had to be satisfied with that,' she had told Elsa on the phone when she'd finished thanking Mrs Lennox-Featherstone and convincing her she'd be the perfect tenant.

‘But you'll be able to pack and stuff, won't you? If you want to leave anything round here, just let me know.'

‘That's kind of you, Elsa. I'll try and fit it all in my car but if I need somewhere to put stuff, I'll be on to you. I don't want to tell Roger until I'm certain… It might be uninhabitable.'

‘Well, I think you're being really brave about all this,' said Elsa. 'And you know Sarah and I are here for you if you need us.’

Bron felt touched yet again by how supportive they were both being. 'Thank you. I don't feel very brave, just hideously guilty. He hates change. Even though I don't think he really loves me, he won't want me to leave.’

She spent the rest of the week planning her escape. She put a lot of clothes into bags, telling Roger she was having a clear-out. There was an awful lot of stuff that she'd paid for and was intending to take – things that he wouldn't need personally – but couldn't until she'd at least told him she was going. He may not have been the most noticing man on the planet, but even he would think something was up if she started unscrewing mirrors and shelving units from the walls.

On Saturday morning she felt distinctly nervous and slightly less confident in her decision. Roger had been very nice all week, and she almost wanted to change her mind. But she wouldn't let herself. She had Elsa and Sarah to give her moral support and she knew that even if she and Roger didn't hate each other, they didn't really make each other happy.

‘I'm going to see a friend,' she said, perched on the bed while he ate the breakfast she'd brought him. 'It means I'll miss cricket but I'll be back in time to cook you a lovely supper. I thought I'd get a couple of steaks and make real chips.'

‘Great,' said Roger, tucking into eggs and bacon. 'I need a big meal after all that running around.’

Bron smiled, patted his foot under the duvet and left.

She hadn't really lied, she realised, just not told all the truth. For while Roger was at cricket, she was going to be packing her stuff. Only after the dinner, the bottle of wine and the ice cream and hot chocolate sauce, would she tell him she wouldn't be having Sunday lunch with his parents but would be leaving home instead.

She felt bad about his mother. She'd have to go and visit her later, when Pat'd got over the shock.

Having done her shopping, buying supplies for her own first days in her new home as well as Roger's farewell meal, she drove home. She'd allowed plenty of time for him to leave for cricket but, strangely, his car was in the drive when she got back.

Had cricket been cancelled for some reason? She couldn't think why. It was a lovely day, perfect for it: sunny, but not too hot.

Planning to tell him she'd wanted to put the steaks in the fridge before meeting her friend, she put her key in the lock and instantly knew something was wrong. There was perfume in the air that wasn't hers, but was familiar. Then she heard laughter coming from upstairs. She knew instinctively what she'd find, but her feet carried her upstairs anyway.

She found Roger and Sasha in bed together. Sasha was sitting on top of Roger. She was wearing the ghastly underwear that did so much for his libido and so little for Bron's.

She felt sick. She thought she might indeed vomit, but actually, she almost felt more sorry for Roger and Sasha as they looked at her in horror and then Sasha let out a small scream and fell off Roger.

‘Oh God, Bron! I thought you were out all day!' he said, fighting to get out from under Sasha's controlling thighs.

Sweat broke out over Bron's face as the reality of the scene threatened to overwhelm her. Even though she no longer wanted to be with Roger she felt horribly betrayed. It was their bedroom he was having sex in, on her sheets, with her boss. She took a deep breath and went to the wardrobe, took out a large carrier bag and then started unloading the top of her dressing table into it.

‘Well, I came back,' she said, slightly calmer now. After all, she kept repeating to herself, she'd been leaving him anyway.

Roger just lay there, blinking at her.

‘Oh, Bron,' said Sasha, sitting up now, the sheet barely covering her ample bosom, 'this is only a bit of fun. No need to take it too seriously. It doesn't need to change anything.’

Bron stopped putting nail varnish into its box. 'You're wearing my underwear – you must have changed out of yours! But don't worry,' she went on quickly. 'The last thing I want is for you to give it back to me.'

‘You're not going to say anything to anyone, are you?' asked Sasha.

Typical of her boss to worry about her reputation. Looking, albeit rather reluctantly, at her now Bron realised Sasha suddenly seemed older and less glossy and groomed than she usually did. She was several years older than both of them and an unexpected spark of compassion rose in Bron. 'At the salon? Probably not. I don't want Roger any more anyway. You can have him as your young stud if you like.'

‘Hang on!' Roger sat up, suddenly full of righteous indignation. 'What do you mean you don't want me any more! I was going to marry you, Bron!’