Sophie's Run (16 page)

I was reasonably certain that was what had happened the previous night, along with a few too many strawberry margaritas, of course.

What I wasn’t certain about still was
The Song
.

I opened my eyes and stared out of the window. There was nothing to see except cloud cover, so I closed them again and imagined a wide-open sky with fluffy clouds above a calm ocean… What on earth would Mum and Dad think?

And Rachel?

And Steve? Would he realize? Would it give him the wrong idea about me?

The ibuprofen finally kicked in, and I fell asleep before I could finish the thought.

I went home straight from the airport.
Home
home, that was, to my very own flat. I was still feeling a little raw and hung-over, and now anxiety crept into the mix as the cab pulled up in front of my house. What would it be like?

The smell of fresh paint and new carpets greeted me as I unlocked the front door.
Oh, lovely
. It reeked of newness and a fresh start, and I knew that everything was all right.

Up the stairs I trudged, dragging my pink carry-on case, and stopped at the top of the landing to survey all that was mine.

Oh yes, I had come home.

You wouldn’t have known all of this had been black with soot and damp with water just a few short weeks back. The cream carpets made the place look bright, and the walls were all pristine white.

Into the lounge, and yes! The sofas and the new bookshelves were there, the curtain poles were up and my lovely dusky-pink and cream patterned tab-top double-lined curtains were hanging neatly either side of the three sash windows.

The overall effect was overwhelming. I pushed all thoughts of lost belongings firmly out of my mind as I took in my restyled surroundings. The cushions I had picked on that fateful Saturday afternoon on the King’s Road were doing a great job of making the place feel like home, and the ornaments and knick-knacks I had acquired were stacked tidily on the shelves, waiting to be liberated from their packaging. With only a few short hours of work, the place would be
mine
again. I let out a deep breath and sat down on the sofa.

Home.

While it had been undeniably lovely to live at Dan’s house with all the perks that had brought, I hadn’t realized how much I missed my own space. And even though there was the tiniest sense of feeling a little lonely in there, I knew I would soon fill the void with someone else’s presence. I just knew. This absolute certainty came to me as I was sitting on my brand new sofa contemplating my future. I could almost see Steve sitting there with me, drinking a glass of wine or a cup of tea, idly flicking the remote.

The vision was so real, so vivid, I had to blink a few times to ensure that I was imagining it, that he wasn’t actually there already.

It was like a strong premonition, but a good one.

I busied myself unpacking my suitcase and loading the washing machine before unwrapping new ornaments and furniture. I also, very carefully and quite reverently, hung my perfect little dress in the wardrobe, squashing my other dresses to the far side to give this one plenty of space.

At some point, I got hungry and did a mercy-dash to the supermarket by the Tube station, stocking up only on essentials for now. Milk, bread, butter, honey, chocolate, crisps, wine, a bottle of cava, pizzas, prawns, pasta…

At least I was ready. I picked up the phone to ring Rachel, still at her parents’ house in Cardiff. It was a good call.

“Sophie!
” she exclaimed with glee. “Were you good? Or were you…really good?”

I smiled. “We were both good. It was brilliant. But it was all innocent. I swear.” I gave her a detailed rundown of events in Berlin. She grew very animated when I told her about
The Song.

“I heard it a few times,” she gushed. “I nearly called you because I was sure that was you, but I didn’t know whether it was public knowledge.”

It occurred to me that Rachel probably felt a little out of the loop on this matter.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you,” I offered quickly. “This happened just before…” I faltered. “Um…well, it happened a few weeks ago,” I continued evasively, not pinning down the dates. “We were alone in the house—
no
, not like you think, I can see you smirking right through the phone line.”

“Sorry,” Rachel admitted, not sounding contrite at all. “Go on.”

I huffed. “Okay, right. Well, Dan had cooked me dinner and I got this invitation for Tim and Dina’s wedding—”

Loud screeching interrupted my explanation. “What? You’re invited to Tim and Dina’s wedding?” Rachel sounded beside herself with shock. “When did this happen? Why haven’t you told me? I can’t believe this is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“Err, I got it in the post, on a Friday. I tried to ring you but I couldn’t get hold of you.”

“Why not? Where was I?” Rachel demanded to know.

“I don’t know,” I tried to evade. “Anyway, I couldn’t reach you and—”

“When was this?” Rachel asked impatiently, sounding cross, angry, and riled at being left out of a vital gossip loop.

“Um. About, well, about three or four weeks ago, I guess.”

There was a pause while Rachel digested this information. “Was it more like…four weeks, or more like…three?” she eventually asked in a small voice.

I swallowed. Demons had to be braved.

“More like three,” I replied gently. “This happened the night before Jordan hurt you so bad.”

Another little pause.

“So I guess we never got a chance to talk about all that.” Rachel finally reflected. “The wedding invite, and the song.”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me.

“No, we never got a chance to talk about all that,” I repeated her words. “It didn’t seem important. To be honest, it didn’t even occur to me.”

“Okay, I can see that. Well, fill me in now,” Rachel encouraged briskly.

Next it was her turn to catch me up on her life. As it turned out, she had mended quite quickly. Probably not completely—that would take a long, long time—but certainly superficially, she was functioning and projecting her old, buoyant, funny self with the trademark abrasive humor.

“I swim a lot, for obvious reasons… And I cook, for ditto, because I’ve got to learn
sometime
… Oh, and!” Her voice lifted with excitement. “Rick’s asked me to write some features about life out Cardiff way for the
Read London
blog and I’m loving it.”

She was positively brimming with enthusiasm about writing, but abruptly she returned to more urgent business.

“So, this wedding,” she prompted in classic Rachel let’s-resume-our-chat-from-ten-minutes-ago fashion. “When is it?”

“On Saturday,” I whispered. She heard me anyway. “On
Saturday
?
This
Saturday?”

As she drove home to me how close the wedding really was, I experienced a sudden and quite unexpected pang of—what, exactly, I wasn’t quite sure. Nostalgia? Dread? Disquiet?

But with Rachel prattling on, the moment passed before I could get a hold on the fleeting emotion.

“Please tell me you’re wearing the perfect little dress?” she implored.

“Of course,” I reassured her. “Dan wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You go, girl!” Rachel approved.

“I’m still not so sure,” I confessed. “I’m a little uneasy about going. I wouldn’t want to spoil the day or be in the way…”

My heart sank to my feet in a sudden fit of panic. “What if all goes horribly wrong?”

Memories of my nightmare came flooding back.

“It’ll be fine,” Rachel soothed. “We’re British, remember? We keep the party going against all odds. And anyway,” she delivered her imperious parting shot. “I command you to go. To close that chapter of your life, and his. And to give me a detailed gossip afterwards. I want to know everything.
Everything
.”

The Saturday morning of Dina and Tim’s wedding dawned bright and clear. I had lain awake most of the night with a dull ache in my tummy that I put down to nerves. Heaving myself out of bed required a super-human effort.

I had some breakfast and threw on some jeans and an old T-shirt. Dan would be picking me up at ten a.m. to drive up to Portreath. We would stop somewhere nearer the place to change into our party gear—there was no point creasing our couture by sitting in a car for three hours. I placed my perfect little Sophie dress into a clear garment carrier and put all the other necessary accoutrements into a handbag.

Dan turned up right on time with the big limo and a driver. I was a bit embarrassed, but Dan insisted on traveling in style. Complete with food and bar and everything.

“Okay, okay,” I surrendered to the inevitable, stroking the leather banquette fondly. “I might just grab some more sleep on the way.”

Dan eyed me carefully. “Are you all right?” he inquired gently, dropping the jokes and the buck-up demeanor. “You look a bit pale.”

“I didn’t sleep too well,” I explained. “Probably a bit worried.”

“If it’s that big a deal, let’s not go. We can be the rude no-shows,” Dan suddenly relented.

“No,” I waved his suggestion away. “Let’s not. We’ve got the car, and the dress, and the morning suit. Let’s do this. I bet Rach is right. It’s a good idea to close this chapter of my life properly, once and for all.”

Dan grinned. “Atta girl.”

I snuggled down on the seat and let myself look at the clouds through the big skylight. Soon, the gentle purring and rocking of the limo sent me fast asleep, and I woke up a couple of hours later feeling much refreshed.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Dan greeted me from across the limo. “You look better now. Had a nice rest?”

I nodded my assent, sat up and yawned.

“We’re nearly there, it’s time to get changed.” Dan signaled to the driver and we pulled into a little service area for a pit-stop. It was twenty to one when we got back in the car, and we arrived at the wedding venue comfortably on time.

The castle was imposing. As we walked toward it on the gravelly pathway from the car park, the grounds opened up before us, offering a stunning view of the gardens, the headland, the beach far below, and, of course, the sea.

It was breathtaking. It was beautiful.

On the central lawn reaching up onto the headland, the happy couple had a big marquee. The tables were laid with pretty white and burgundy flowers with gypsophila tucked in between. Tall chandeliers with long white candles stood ready to provide illumination by night, and I suspected that they would later be backed up by scores of fairy lights that would be discreetly hidden for now.

It was amazing, and tasteful.

While I was busy admiring the setting, Dan had observed the comings and goings of the other wedding guests. “Come on, let’s go in the Chapel,” he encouraged, taking my arm and guiding me to join the stream of people entering the church.

Dignity and grace
, I told myself, taking a deep, steadying breath.
You can do this
.

There he was, Tim. Waiting for his bride right by the altar while the guests filed in. My steps faltered, but only for a second. Dan guided me swiftly toward a pew at the back, and I sat down gratefully. For one moment, I was distracted from the glorious surroundings by a sharp, painful stabbing sensation low down in my abdomen. My head swam as nausea rose in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, clutching Dan’s hand hard for reassurance.

He mistook my iron grip for anxiousness and made soothing noises. “It’ll be fine,” he said for the hundredth time.

I didn’t have time to explain the nature of my discomfort because the bride made her entrance and the music swelled, drowning the chatter of the wedding guests. We stood.

Dina looked resplendent in an elegant white gown made of satin and covered with delicate lace. Tim looked suitably relieved at the arrival of his bride, yet he seemed very nervous, and very keen. I had never seen him thus affected while we were together, and I was deeply moved by his apparent joy.

At last, the vicar geared up for the long-winded marriage wows, uttering the first line, “Do you, Timothy Renfrew, take this woman, Dina Erin Belling, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

He paused to honor the measured rhythm of this ancient phrase, preparing to go on with the customary “to have and to hold,” but—

“I do,” Tim burst out.

Oops.

There was a moment of stunned silence as everybody held their breath. The vicar looked flustered, then gave a little smile.

“That’s admirable, young man, but we’re not quite ready for that yet,” he announced in his most fatherly voice. The tension broken, a good-natured tinkle of laughter rippled through the church and Tim blushed deeply.

Dina reached out and briefly held his hand. The vicar calmed the couple down with much muted whispering, and the three of them tried again. This time, vows were said and exchanged without a hitch, and the deed was done. Everybody clapped wildly at the first kiss, and I found myself smiling like the Cheshire cat.