The reception. All that catering going to waste, a decadent Christmas feast with all the trimmings. And all those staff hired for the day. Not to mention the effort our guests have made to be here, a few even coming from abroad. ‘Yes, yes, they should have lunch. We’ve paid for it. I’m sure there’s no refunds on the day of.’ I clench my jaw as I call Miles again. Nothing.
The front door opens with a blustery bang, making me jump in fright. Rox appears as the wind whips her black locks around her face. With her mussed hair and wild eyes, she looks like something out of a horror movie.
‘Ah… is everything OK, Rox?’ I ask. ‘You didn’t catch up with Miles, did you?’
I surreptitiously survey her for blood spatter and am relieved when I find none.
Rox gives me an evil grin that can only mean a form of retribution has been meted out.
‘What have you done?’ Freya whispers, holding a protective hand over her belly. Let’s hope her unborn baby isn’t about to hear its first murder confession.
Rox shuts the door and throws herself next to me on the sofa. ‘Nothing drastic. But let’s just say, Miles won’t be enjoying his wedding night safely tucked up in bed.’
My stomach flips as I debate whether to pry any further. If I don’t know, I can’t tell, right? But dammit, I care about the man. ‘Erm, where will he be enjoying it?’
The bottom of the river? Six-foot underground? In a vat of chemicals that will dissolve…
‘He’ll be praying to the porcelain gods.’
I exhale a thankful breath. He’s still alive. While I’m mad at him too, I don’t want the guy dead and I especially don’t want to spend my aborted wedding day at the police station protesting Rox’s innocence, an innocence, I might add, that precisely no police officer around here will believe.
‘Praying to the porcelain gods – what on earth does that mean?’ Freya carefully asks, her face pinched, probably because even hearing these admissions makes her an accessory. And no eight-month pregnant woman wants to be pulled into a drama like this, not when she’s already battling swollen ankles and the constant need to pee. But this is Rox’s love language, balancing the scales. And she only does these acts of love for the ones she holds dear, so really, I should be grateful. It’s just I’m not really the revenge type, but that’s subject to change.
‘It means I snuck in and filled up his beloved protein drinks with horse laxatives. It’s the least he deserves. More fool him for leaving his back door unlocked – he was asking for trouble. He didn’t commit to the “’til death do you part” bit, so this will help excise the demons from his system.’ She flashes me a triumphant smile.
I’m no pharmacist but a quick mental calculation about potential outcomes equals trouble. Big trouble. ‘Rox, wouldn’t horse laxatives be way too strong for a human? His – his insides might become his outsides!’ I pale as I imagine him suffering a violent digestive upset with medication meant for an animal that weighs four times what he does.
‘One can only hope!’
I’m struck by a sudden onset of giggles. Could this day get any crazier? When I compose myself, I ask, ‘Where did you get such a thing?’
‘I took a slight detour on the way to his place and got them from… actually, never you mind. The less you know, the better, Aubrey. That goes for you too, Freya.’
There’s no question that he won’t ingest the drinks. Miles is obsessed with his protein intake and consuming exactly 130 grams per day. He does this by mainlining pre-mixed protein drinks 365 days of the year, no exceptions, and records it all on an app. His body is his temple, and why oh why didn’t I see that as problematic?
I need to warn Miles, but then I run the risk of getting Rox in trouble. This will have to be handled delicately…
Freya turns to me, rubbing my arm, trying to mask the alarm on her features. ‘Shall I make those calls and tell the guests to make their way to the reception?’
‘Can you call my parents? Ask them to sort all of it?’ I send her a pleading look that I hope translates to: Tell them to fix this! Today, the disaster of all days, a bit of delegation is acceptable.
Freya picks up her handbag, suddenly all business. I’m so glad she’s here to help with the practicalities and Rox’s revenge plot. My mind is scattered, like all my hopes and dreams. ‘I’ll go back to the church and chat with them,’ she says, giving me a look that implies she understands the assignment. ‘Oh, and the London hotel? The honeymoon? Is there any chance you can defer? I know how excited you are about the Winter Wonderland Express but I can call them, explain the situation?’
We were supposed to stay in a ritzy hotel in London this evening and catch the Eurostar tomorrow to Calais for our… Scratch that –mydream honeymoon.
‘Can you please cancel the hotel for this evening? I’m not keen to stay in London alone on what would have been my wedding night.’
‘Of course.’
‘But… the honeymoon.’ I hold in another sob. ‘They won’t accept a last-minute cancellation and the tickets were so expensive, a splurge, even with my travel agent discount.’ A Christmas train ride to remember, full of festive activities at every stop. My lip quivers at the thought of missing out. It’s the first time they’ve offered this particular festive-themed journey. Usually they run shorter snow trips, without all the Christmas activities on and off board.
‘You’ll go and you’ll enjoy every damn minute,’ Rox pipes up, eyes blazing.
‘I could go with you?’ Freya says, then glances at her belly.
‘At eight months pregnant? And who’ll look after the brood you already have?’ Rox scoffs. ‘And I can’t go, because I’ve got brides galore marrying in Christmas wedd— Sorry. Half of those marriages will end in divorce, so don’t feel bad, Aubs. Really, you’ve dodged a bullet. There’s a lot to be said for being free. Untethered. Single. Alone. Unmoored.’
I hold up a hand. ‘I get it, Rox. Thanks.’
