slowly, brushing his hands on his trousers, stopping to share a joke with his ushers. She was on her own.
‘And don’t think you’ll get a penny out of me,’ I said carefully. ‘Because you won’t. Not one penny. You’ve got a flaming nerve, Miss Harding. Or should I say, Mrs Devereux.’
I turned and walked away, towards home, towards my well-earned drink. I felt just a little taller and a little light-headed too. It isn’t often you hope to spoil a bride’s day, I thought as I crossed the road to my cottage, but I sincerely hoped I’d wrecked that one.
18
As I opened my front gate it occurred to me that I could have spoiled it further for her. I could have had a coughing fit in the choir, made myself known, so that those sharp little eyes would have sought me out, irritated, wondering who was making such a racket. I could have done it during her vows. Looked her coldly in the eye, had the satisfaction of seeing her blanch at the altar, rock back beside her new husband. Yes, that would have been sweet. But would it? Might it not have left a nasty taste in my mouth? I gave a wry smile. It seemed I could spoil her day but not entirely ruin it, even though she’d had no qualms about ruining my life.
Had she, though? Ruined my life? Apart from the claim she was making now, which was decidedly unwelcome, surely I’d have welcomed her, had I known of her existence. Surely, if I’d caught them in flagrante in their love nest, or at the office, say, when on a hunch I’d stormed to London, found them locked in a passionate embrace in a stationery cupboard, surely, after the initial shock, I’d have stood back, waved a genial hand and said, ‘How marvellous! Do carry on. Don’t mind me. Have him!’ Slammed the stationery-cupboard door shut.
I went up the cobbled path, absently deadheading a faded old rose on the way. It dawned on me that my life could have been very different if only I’d discovered them earlier, when it first started, when I was pregnant with Clemmie. I’d have been frightened, sure, to be betrayed and pregnant, but calm and still within a twinkling. So. A single mother. Just me and my baby. Yes, I could have done that. I would have gone to Dad’s for a bit, been quite happy. But then I wouldn’t have had Archie. I sighed. If if, maybe maybe, perhaps perhaps. So many imponderables. Maybe I just shouldn’t have married the wretched man in the first place?
Archie and Clemmie were clamouring for my attention when I got inside, and Peggy, who’d held the fort, was full of praise for their achievements.
‘Archie called me Piggy and then Clemmie drew me with a snout – do look.’ She flourished a wax-crayon picture. ‘Quite adorable. Don’t you love the pixie boots she’s put on my trotters? And the beads around my fat neck?’
Normally this would have had me purring with pride, but today I was distracted. I gave it the briefest of glances, flashed a weak smile and crossed to the sitting-room window.
‘What’s up?’ Peggy narrowed her eyes and sat down, lighting a cigarette, watching my back. The children had run back to their crayons in the kitchen.
I turned from staring out at the road over my little hedge. ‘You know that woman Phil was having an affair with? Emma Harding?’ Funny, I’d thought I was calm but my breathing was erratic. ‘She’s just married Simon Devereux.’
Peggy frowned. ‘Simon? Are you sure? I heard he was marrying someone terribly good-looking.’
‘Well, she is quite good-looking.’
‘But Phil was …’ She stopped.
‘Quite.’ I bit my lip. ‘God knows why women fell for him, Peggy,’ I said softly. ‘Anyway, she’s nabbed Simon now. A much better prospect.’
‘Fast work,’ she murmured. ‘In your church too. Takes some doing. How did she know she wouldn’t see you?’
‘Well, she knew I wasn’t on the guest list, so I imagine she thought there was only a slim chance I’d be bustling round the village, and even then it’s only yet another bride sweeping out of our oh-so-popular church, so why would I bother to stand and stare? And it’s all over bar the shouting by then, isn’t it? When she’s out, showered in confetti? And who cares, frankly, if a scruffy mother of two with egg down her front comes out of the village shop and does a double take?’ My words were coming rapidly, like quick fire. Peggy was watching me closely.
‘I see. She didn’t waste much time.’
‘I’ll say she didn’t; she moved like flaming greased lightning. And the thing is, Peggy, since it
