beautifully fleshy and expressive face morphing expertly from shock into delight as she steps forward, and with the sleeves of her bright kaftan fanning out, she opens her arms wide to me like an ebullient butterfly.
‘Bea, darling! It’s such a JOY to see you up and about.’ Her arms close around me and I shut my eyes. She smells reassuringly familiar, a scent of patchouli and sweet orange wafts under my nose. Her hair is tied into a messy mermaid’s plait and hangs over her shoulder like wisteria, her plump face is free of make-up and glowing with vitality. Under her kaftan she’s wearing a pair of bright silk patterned trousers. On her feet are gladiator sandals and gigantic bead earrings dangle noisily from her ears. ‘We were just saying, weren’t we, Cal, that you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. No need to hibernate in your room!’ This line is delivered in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. She knows better than anyone how capable I am of hiding myself away. ‘What you did was very brave, Bea, very brave indeed. It’s much better to make a decision like that now rather than six months into the marriage. You can walk with your head held high, darling. After all, if there’s one thing that Buddhism has taught me it’s that the secret of life is to have no fear. There’s this saying—’
‘Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed!’ Cal and Lucy chorus. I don’t join in. It is Loni’s motto. One she delivered for months after Dad left. My motto is: Not the bloody Buddha quotes again.
‘Well, I’m definitely free now . . .’ I blink up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears.
‘Oh Bea . . .’ Lucy instantly darts around the table and gives me a cuddle.
I wriggle out of her embrace and go and stand in front of the Aga. I don’t deserve comfort.
‘H-have you heard from anyone? Milly maybe?’ I ask. I want to see her but at the same time I’m petrified of what she is going to say. I know that she more than anyone won’t hold back. I don’t think she saw Kieran at the wedding – if she had she’d probably have disowned me – but she’s been waiting for Adam and me to get married for years. I can’t bear the thought of letting her down, and though I want to believe she’ll support me, I know that Adam is as much her friend as I am. I can’t rely on her support. And besides, I don’t deserve it.
Loni shakes her head. Even though I can’t face Milly, I can’t help feeling hurt that she hasn’t come round, or at least phoned. She’d know her’s is the first place I’d run to. ‘Marion?’ This comes out as a mousy squeak, displaying more fear than I’d intended. Cal shrugs and nods. I groan. I can’t bear to think about what Adam’s family and friends think of me. I’m sure I heard the phone ringing in my dreams last night. Part of me wants to know. The other just wants to get back in bed and pull the duvet over my head. Maybe it’s a blessing that Loni’s house is in the middle of nowhere and has such shockingly bad Wifi and no phone signal so I don’t have to find out. I pick up my phone again nonetheless. I need to know what everyone is saying. Or maybe even tell them how terrible I’m feeling. Surely that’s the right thing to do in this situation?
I open up Facebook. I see my profile says ‘In a relationship with Adam Hudson’ and I wonder if I should change it. I start manically tapping out a status update in the vain but optimistic hope that I will get one magical, fated spark of a signal.
Bea Bishop has made a terrible mistake.
My thumb hovers over the post button but even as I’m writing, I know that what I’m saying isn’t true. I delete the message and tap out a different status.
Bea Bishop is so so sad.
This is true but I frown as I stare at it. It looks too self-indulgent written in black and white like that. I delete it, biting the inside of my lip, rolling the
‘Bea, darling! It’s such a JOY to see you up and about.’ Her arms close around me and I shut my eyes. She smells reassuringly familiar, a scent of patchouli and sweet orange wafts under my nose. Her hair is tied into a messy mermaid’s plait and hangs over her shoulder like wisteria, her plump face is free of make-up and glowing with vitality. Under her kaftan she’s wearing a pair of bright silk patterned trousers. On her feet are gladiator sandals and gigantic bead earrings dangle noisily from her ears. ‘We were just saying, weren’t we, Cal, that you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. No need to hibernate in your room!’ This line is delivered in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. She knows better than anyone how capable I am of hiding myself away. ‘What you did was very brave, Bea, very brave indeed. It’s much better to make a decision like that now rather than six months into the marriage. You can walk with your head held high, darling. After all, if there’s one thing that Buddhism has taught me it’s that the secret of life is to have no fear. There’s this saying—’
‘Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed!’ Cal and Lucy chorus. I don’t join in. It is Loni’s motto. One she delivered for months after Dad left. My motto is: Not the bloody Buddha quotes again.
‘Well, I’m definitely free now . . .’ I blink up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears.
‘Oh Bea . . .’ Lucy instantly darts around the table and gives me a cuddle.
I wriggle out of her embrace and go and stand in front of the Aga. I don’t deserve comfort.
‘H-have you heard from anyone? Milly maybe?’ I ask. I want to see her but at the same time I’m petrified of what she is going to say. I know that she more than anyone won’t hold back. I don’t think she saw Kieran at the wedding – if she had she’d probably have disowned me – but she’s been waiting for Adam and me to get married for years. I can’t bear the thought of letting her down, and though I want to believe she’ll support me, I know that Adam is as much her friend as I am. I can’t rely on her support. And besides, I don’t deserve it.
Loni shakes her head. Even though I can’t face Milly, I can’t help feeling hurt that she hasn’t come round, or at least phoned. She’d know her’s is the first place I’d run to. ‘Marion?’ This comes out as a mousy squeak, displaying more fear than I’d intended. Cal shrugs and nods. I groan. I can’t bear to think about what Adam’s family and friends think of me. I’m sure I heard the phone ringing in my dreams last night. Part of me wants to know. The other just wants to get back in bed and pull the duvet over my head. Maybe it’s a blessing that Loni’s house is in the middle of nowhere and has such shockingly bad Wifi and no phone signal so I don’t have to find out. I pick up my phone again nonetheless. I need to know what everyone is saying. Or maybe even tell them how terrible I’m feeling. Surely that’s the right thing to do in this situation?
I open up Facebook. I see my profile says ‘In a relationship with Adam Hudson’ and I wonder if I should change it. I start manically tapping out a status update in the vain but optimistic hope that I will get one magical, fated spark of a signal.
Bea Bishop has made a terrible mistake.
My thumb hovers over the post button but even as I’m writing, I know that what I’m saying isn’t true. I delete the message and tap out a different status.
Bea Bishop is so so sad.
This is true but I frown as I stare at it. It looks too self-indulgent written in black and white like that. I delete it, biting the inside of my lip, rolling the
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