togetherness he might have achieved would be blown to buggery. He kicked off his shoes and flopped down on one of the twin beds; the one nearest the window. He didn’t even bother looking out at the incredible harbour view. He shivered, although it wasn’t cold in the room.
He thought about Sophie. She would be on her way to Brighton. She and five of her girlfriends, booked into a hotel for a weekend of hen hedonism.
‘I know it’s really naff,’ she’d told him. ‘But the shops are great, and I’ve found a fantastic hotel. And we won’t get up to anything too wild! Just cocktails and dancing and shopping and spa treatments.’
Sophie. The girl who was going to walk down the aisle and join him at the altar next Saturday, in St Mary’s Church in Mimsbury, with the reception afterwards at his father’s house, because although it defied convention, they had both agreed that a marquee on the lawn by the river at the Mill House was the ideal spot. Why pay for a swanky hotel when they had perfection on the doorstep? A hundred and forty guests, canapés, a string quartet, an exquisite buffet – neither of them could face the horror of a seating plan – and then dancing barefoot till midnight at the water’s edge. They’d been planning it for months. This weekend was a much-needed break for both of them. Nick had been really looking forward to chilling with his mates, taking a boat out on the water, having a few beers, chewing the fat . . .
If he had any sense, he thought, lacing his hands behind his head as it sank into the pillow, he would walk now. Phone the others, plead a stomach bug. Go back to his father’s, bury himself in work, or mowing the lawn, and try and forget that she had walked back into his life at the most inopportune moment possible.
He jumped off the bed and walked to the window. In the harbour, boats were riding the wavelets, tugging against their buoys like unbroken horses. A tiny ferry chugged across the water, taking passengers to the far shore, where another village, the mirror of Pennfleet, nestled amongst the trees. The sun threw its rays down on to the water, casting a fine coating of gold on to the blue. He should be filled with excitement and exhilaration, longing to get out on the water, to breathe in the ozone, luxuriate in the warmth. Instead he felt filled with fear.
Leave now, he told himself. You have nothing to gain from staying. You’re just going to rake up pain and misery and regret. And ghosts. He felt for the car keys in his pocket, pulled his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket, scrolled through to find Gus’s number. Gus would understand that something was wrong; he wouldn’t give him a hard time. And the others could carry on as normal. Just because the groom wasn’t there didn’t mean they couldn’t make a weekend of it.
His finger hovered over the number, pressed it. The phone rang for a while. Gus must be driving. He would have to leave a message. Maybe that would be easier.
‘Hey, Nick.’ His friend’s voice came down the line. ‘How’s it going?’
Nick didn’t reply immediately. He looked up at the ceiling, as if the answer might be written there. But it wasn’t.
‘Buddy?’ Gus sounded concerned.
‘Hey,’ replied Nick. ‘I just wondered what time you guys were going to arrive. This place is incredible. Get yourselves down here as quickly as you can.’
Angelica hung up the phone and came back into the bar.
‘Just a booking for the restaurant tonight,’ she told Claire, surprised to see that she had nearly finished her glass of wine. Even more when she reached out to top herself up.
‘Don’t worry,’ Claire replied as she noticed Angelica’s frown. ‘I’m not on a mission. Just taking the edge off the shock.’ She poured herself a more restrained inch and a half and cocked the bottle towards Angelica, who shook her head.
‘One of us better stay sober.’ She grinned as she sat down again. She wondered how to get back
He thought about Sophie. She would be on her way to Brighton. She and five of her girlfriends, booked into a hotel for a weekend of hen hedonism.
‘I know it’s really naff,’ she’d told him. ‘But the shops are great, and I’ve found a fantastic hotel. And we won’t get up to anything too wild! Just cocktails and dancing and shopping and spa treatments.’
Sophie. The girl who was going to walk down the aisle and join him at the altar next Saturday, in St Mary’s Church in Mimsbury, with the reception afterwards at his father’s house, because although it defied convention, they had both agreed that a marquee on the lawn by the river at the Mill House was the ideal spot. Why pay for a swanky hotel when they had perfection on the doorstep? A hundred and forty guests, canapés, a string quartet, an exquisite buffet – neither of them could face the horror of a seating plan – and then dancing barefoot till midnight at the water’s edge. They’d been planning it for months. This weekend was a much-needed break for both of them. Nick had been really looking forward to chilling with his mates, taking a boat out on the water, having a few beers, chewing the fat . . .
If he had any sense, he thought, lacing his hands behind his head as it sank into the pillow, he would walk now. Phone the others, plead a stomach bug. Go back to his father’s, bury himself in work, or mowing the lawn, and try and forget that she had walked back into his life at the most inopportune moment possible.
He jumped off the bed and walked to the window. In the harbour, boats were riding the wavelets, tugging against their buoys like unbroken horses. A tiny ferry chugged across the water, taking passengers to the far shore, where another village, the mirror of Pennfleet, nestled amongst the trees. The sun threw its rays down on to the water, casting a fine coating of gold on to the blue. He should be filled with excitement and exhilaration, longing to get out on the water, to breathe in the ozone, luxuriate in the warmth. Instead he felt filled with fear.
Leave now, he told himself. You have nothing to gain from staying. You’re just going to rake up pain and misery and regret. And ghosts. He felt for the car keys in his pocket, pulled his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket, scrolled through to find Gus’s number. Gus would understand that something was wrong; he wouldn’t give him a hard time. And the others could carry on as normal. Just because the groom wasn’t there didn’t mean they couldn’t make a weekend of it.
His finger hovered over the number, pressed it. The phone rang for a while. Gus must be driving. He would have to leave a message. Maybe that would be easier.
‘Hey, Nick.’ His friend’s voice came down the line. ‘How’s it going?’
Nick didn’t reply immediately. He looked up at the ceiling, as if the answer might be written there. But it wasn’t.
‘Buddy?’ Gus sounded concerned.
‘Hey,’ replied Nick. ‘I just wondered what time you guys were going to arrive. This place is incredible. Get yourselves down here as quickly as you can.’
Angelica hung up the phone and came back into the bar.
‘Just a booking for the restaurant tonight,’ she told Claire, surprised to see that she had nearly finished her glass of wine. Even more when she reached out to top herself up.
‘Don’t worry,’ Claire replied as she noticed Angelica’s frown. ‘I’m not on a mission. Just taking the edge off the shock.’ She poured herself a more restrained inch and a half and cocked the bottle towards Angelica, who shook her head.
‘One of us better stay sober.’ She grinned as she sat down again. She wondered how to get back
Similar Books
