After Matt proposed, I’d wanted to get married on a faraway beach, imagining Jess and I barefoot in dusky dresses, our hair windswept by a tropical breeze. I’d provisionally booked a place in the Caribbean, a small bougainvillea-clad hotel, looking onto white sand shaded by palm trees, beyond which clear turquoise water stretched. But in the end, we decided on an intimate wedding at home, Jess my only bridesmaid, trading the Caribbean sun for candlelight, winter flowers and wood smoke.
It would be no less the fairy tale. And it was the wedding itself that mattered. When Matt reminded me of the obvious impracticalities of having our wedding so far away, I had to concede he had a point. Both of us wanted our closest friends and family to be there. I’ve tried to explain to Jess how relationships are about compromise. That not all battles are worth fighting, because it’s what I believe. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust my instincts, listen to my inner voice. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, it serves me well. But when I think about the stranger in Brighton this morning, it’s oddly absent.
I have no reason to believe anyone wishes me harm. No reason not to trust Matt. But it’s the way he sounded earlier when he called me – not just what he said, but the way he said it. I need to talk to you later. Then, take care, babe …
None of it was in any way normal, I tell the police much later on. It was the way his voice changed, as though he knew someone would overhear him. I know the way Matt thinks, how he speaks. When he called me earlier today, something was wrong.
The silence is broken by the ping of an email into my inbox, from our wedding planner, Lara. An old friend of Matt’s, when she heard we were getting married, she offered to help us, saving us the hours it would take to find suppliers. Her email’s about finalising the seating plan that Matt and I had planned to look at tonight. Reading through the document she’s attached, making one or two changes, I keep it to run past him before replying. Then I click on my vows, re-reading the words I know so well for the hundredth time.
I promise to always be there for you. To be the moon in your darkness, your wildflowers in the shade of the forest, your brightest star lighting the night sky. My heart is yours, Matt; my love a forever love. I am yours for the rest of my life. Words I’ve deliberated over for hours, that are mine and no-one else’s; that on our wedding day will be my gift to Matt.
Seeing the piece of paper with Matt’s vows, I fold it and put it out of sight, already regretting reading them this morning. When we’d agreed not to share them until our wedding day, it feels like a betrayal of trust.
It’s nearly ten by the time I finish going through my emails, replying to a WhatsApp from Jess about when she’s next coming back from Falmouth. Switching on another light, I pour myself a glass of wine before calling Cath, my closest friend.
‘Hey! How’s it going?’
In need of a fresh start, she’s packing up her flat. She moves next week – to Bristol.
‘Since you ask, horrible. I’ve had to throw so much out, but at least it’s a distraction. To be honest, I’m trying not to think about it.’
‘This move is what you need,’ I tell her. ‘A change of scene, your new job … Who knows what might happen – in time.’
‘As long as it doesn’t involve men,’ she says shortly. ‘Honestly, I’m relishing being single again.’
I’m silent for a moment. Cath’s suffered.
‘How are you?’ Her voice rallies. ‘I keep meaning to call round.’
‘So come tomorrow. We’ll have lunch. I need to tell you about something weird that happened today – when I was in Brighton.’
‘I’m intrigued.’ She sounds curious. ‘Can’t you tell me now?’
Hearing a car outside, I’m guessing it’s Matt. ‘I think Matt’s just come back. It’ll wait.’
‘OK.’ Cath hesitates. ‘How is Matt?’
‘He’s good. We’re just putting the final touches together for the big day. You wouldn’t believe how long everything takes.’
‘I’m happy never to find out.’ Cath’s voice is cynical, then she sounds apologetic. ‘Look, I didn’t mean that. I’m sure it will be a great day.’
After her abusive ex-boyfriend, Oliver, reduced her emotionally to the shadow of the woman I know so well, she’s trying to rebuild her life – alone. If I hadn’t seen it happen, I wouldn’t have believed it possible, because I’ve always thought of her as strong, but Oliver’s manipulation was masterful.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I tell her. ‘I’m just glad you’ve got away from Oliver. I know it’s hard right now, but it will get easier.’
‘I hope so.’ She’s quiet for a moment. ‘But you’re happy? You and Matt?’
There’s no hesitation as I answer. ‘Blissfully.’
*
But the car I hear isn’t Matt’s. By eleven, when he still isn’t home, I’m only mildly surprised, but it’s happened before, a business dinner morphing into a late session in a bar. I frown, wondering what it is he wanted to talk to me about, but it will have to wait. With an early start ahead of me, I text him briefly as I go to bed. When he doesn’t reply, I imagine him deep in conversation over yet another scotch. I’ve no reason to worry. Not yet.
When I stir in the night and realise the bed is empty beside me, it vaguely registers as odd. Thinking of our wedding, imagining us side by side as we become husband and wife,
