‘What? She doesn’t respect you. She’s being downright mean.’
‘I don’t think she meant to be.’ At least, I hoped she didn’t.
‘Don’t be naïve, Faith. Everything that woman does is calculated.’ Marilyn folded her arms.
‘Is she trying to drive me away?’ I asked, all trace of laughter gone.
‘Possibly.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘But that could mean even greater public humiliation than if you stayed.’
‘Public humiliation: a fate worse than death to all true Uppertons.’
Marilyn turned round and began examining the profile of her stomach in the mirror. ‘I think wielding such wedding power unchallenged may have tipped her over the edge into megalomania.’
‘I have a suspicion she’s always been like that, and this wedding has just brought it to the surface. Perhaps they teach passive-aggression lessons at the Lady Rosalind Institute.’ I moved next to her and turned on the cold tap, splashing some water on my face.
‘If they did, I think she must have failed on the passive part. She needs to be stopped before things get even more out of hand.’
I turned the tap off and pulled out a paper towel from the super-expensive dispenser. ‘I don’t actually care about the colour of the writing on the invites. It’s not as if I’ll be needing that many.’
‘Faith. Nobody lets their mother-in-law choose their wedding ring.’ Marilyn stopped examining herself and turned to focus on me. ‘The Ghost Web is for one dreadful day. You have to wear that ring for as long as you stay married. As your friend, I’m rooting for you that it’ll be a long, long time. Please choose your own ring. And flowers. And first dance. Only you can slay the beast. She’ll thank you for it in the long run.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not being awkward? They are paying for it all.’
‘It is not awkward to want to choose what pants you wear to your own wedding! Hooten tooten, woman. You just negotiated 80 per cent off the price of a swanky banquet. Get out there and wield some personal power!’
And so I did.
Marilyn and I strode into the dining room like Thelma and Louise. I stood behind my chair, back straight, chin up and announced that I wanted giant daisies in my bouquet, would rather perform the can-can than dance to opera, and the only person who was going to choose my underwear was me. Before Larissa had time to close her gaping mouth and respond, I swung my bag over my shoulder and marched back out.
Sweeping down the corridor and through the main bar area, swinging my arms in time to theRockytheme tune playing in my head, I kept the smile on my face subtle enough to hide the fireworks popping in my ventricles. Go me!
I swished through the foyer, tossing my hair and throwing out a confident glance that said,Yes, I am an awesome woman,to the three men waiting to be seen by the receptionist. Wow. It had been too long since I’d stood up for myself. London Anna was back. No. This was new, post-London, post-HCC Faith. London Anna could stand up to sleazeballs. Post-London Faith could stand up to rich, power-mad sleazeballs. Da da duuuuh, da da duuuuh!
I winked – yes, winked – at one of the admin staff, Luke, as he spotted me from across the room, too go-getting to slow down and check out his response.
Decisively pulling open one of the grand front doors, I barrelled through, colliding with a man who had been about to enter from the other side. Caught up in my mini power trip, I failed to notice his face. Then he spoke.
‘Watch it!’
TheRockytune screeched to a stop, replaced by deafening silence.
After a horrifying moment where his red, wrinkled, menacing eyes met mine and held me there, survival instinct kicked in. I pushed past the monster that was Kane, stumbled down the entrance steps, and fled for my life.
17
Marilyn’s car caught up with me halfway down the HCC driveway, assuming my frantic state was due to having confronted Larissa. Perry called a few minutes later, as Marilyn drove me home. Struggling to be coherent, my mind spinning with thoughts of Kane, I babbled an apology, blaming pre-wedding nerves. The next few days were a plummet back into nightmares and constant nausea.
I left a rambling message for Gwynne.
She called back the next day. Kane had attended his latest parole meeting. He had no car, a minimum-wage job, no means of gallivanting about the country terrorising past victims. Could I be sure it was him? Could my fear have taken the splintered memories of a man I hadn’t seen in twenty years and superimposed them onto someone else? Could I accept the possibility I had been mistaken?
Yes. No. Maybe.
Having asked Marilyn for a lift to choir practice that Wednesday, I fumbled my way through the new songs we were learning in preparation for October’s final. Hester had asked usto pick songs that made us feel strong. That evening, they simply reminded me of how vulnerable I felt.
Songs about independent women were banned, on the basis we were ‘fools’ if we still hadn’t realised we were stronger together. Ebony shyly played us a country song: ‘This One’s for the Girls’. It was snappy and fun, and Hester could hardly refuse lyrics about being beautiful the way you are, standing your ground when everyone is giving in, and dreaming with everything you have.
There was an overwhelming vote in favour of Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’, but then an argument broke out about whether we needed a song with some spiritual context. Yasmin stole Millie’s bobble hat (red, in the shape of a strawberry), and in the ensuing scuffle, no one noticed the new arrival until she reached the front of the room and whacked the music stand with Hester’s baton.
