The Name I Call Myself (7 page)

James arrived shortly afterwards. He carried a bag containing a knee-length black dress, plucked from among the jeans and T-shirts taking up ninety per cent of my meagre wardrobe. To give him credit, he also remembered to bring some matching shoes. I dove behind a bush, Marilyn whispering me instructions while she kept guard.

“You've fifteen minutes until it's time to clear the first lot of plates, according to the head waiter. Get in there and start schmoozing. And here…” She grabbed my ponytail, yanking out the elastic before fluffing the locks about my face. “If you keep your hair forwards and keep smiling none of the staff will recognize you.”

I took a deep breath. “Do I have to go in there?”

My friend began pushing me over to the marquee.

“Your shirt is in the bag behind the holly tree. You can slip it on over the dress when it's time. Go, go, go!”

Together we entered the tent. Breathless, I wove my way between the tables up to the empty seat of honour. Perry spotted me a few
steps in, his face breaking out into relief as he rose to greet me with a kiss.

“You made it! What a mix-up!”

“I am so, so sorry.” I turned slightly to address the rest of the table, including Larissa and Milton. “I had no idea – and my phone ran out of battery. I hope you haven't been waiting too long.”

Larissa humphed, and opened her mouth to say something, but her husband interjected. “Not at all. Perry should have warned you – at least checked if you would be available. Imagine if you had been away for the weekend, or out of the country?” He shook his head. “The whole thing could have been a complete fiasco.”

Perry's hand turned rigid in mine.

“No, really. Perry called me hours ago but I didn't get his message. I don't think anyone's to blame. And I'm here now, so no harm done. Is this my seat? Oh, and you've saved me some salmon. Wonderful. It looks delicious.”

I sat down and took an enthusiastic bite, trying to smile simultaneously. At the far end of the tent I spied two waiting staff beginning to clear some of the plates. I chewed harder, gratefully accepting the glass of water handed to me by the woman to my right.

Perry slid into the spare seat on my other side, gesturing politely at the woman. “Faith, may I introduce Eleanor Upperton, my aunt and our generous hostess.”

I choked, grabbing my napkin in time to prevent crumbs spraying out of my mouth, at the same time using it as an excuse to both duck my head and hide behind the linen. Eleanor had spoken to me twice already that evening.

She stared at me, nose slightly wrinkled. “I think you need a moment to compose yourself, dear. You can introduce yourself properly later.”

I nodded gratefully, and wiped my mouth, leaving the remaining salmon on the plate. “I'm so sorry, if you'd excuse me for a minute. I arrived here in rather a hurry and didn't get a chance to tidy myself up.”

“You can say that again!” Larissa muttered, as I pushed back my chair. “And let's be honest, it might take more than a minute.”

I bolted back into the open air, straight over to the bush, where I donned my shirt, tucked it into my belt to give the appearance of wearing a skirt, and shoved my hair back into a ponytail. Scooting over to the door of the marquee, I snagged one of the other waitresses.

“The top table's finished – you need to clear them first.”

“Feel free. I'm not going back there if I can help it.” She began to move away.

“I can't – I've been asked to fetch some more bread. If you don't, and she complains, I'll remember we had this conversation.”

“Whatever!”

I waited long enough to see her stomp up to the top table before re-entering, keeping my back to Perry and his parents as much as possible as I cleared the remaining plates at the furthest end of the tent. Three trips back and forth to the kitchen, a swipe of Marilyn's lipstick to feign some “tidying up” and I was back as Faith. And so it went on… My phone conveniently rang when it was time to serve the mains, thanks to Mission Commander, and I left to mop up the accidentally spilled wine on my dress when it was time to clear them away. I simply skived serving dessert, dropping a fork under the table so I could duck down to avoid the waiter, and Marilyn dragged me off in the guise of introducing me to some friends as we finished our chocolate parfait.

I was exhausted, fraught, and coming across as an idiot, embarrassing Perry and irking his mother. This was preposterous.

But the worst was yet to come.

As I carefully poured out coffee for table eight, shielding myself behind a large bunch of flowers on a plinth, the tinkling sound of a fork on crystal caused the chattering to fade into silence.

Oh, no.

Perry stood to his feet, glass in hand. He was going to make a toast.

“Right, where's my beautiful fiancée?” He peered around the tent, where I stood, immobile, behind the flowers.

“Excuse me, miss!” An old man resembling a turtle smiled at me across the table. “May I please have a cup of coffee?”

Everyone, at that moment looking around and waiting for the missing fiancée, turned to stare at the man.

Marilyn called out, “I think she went outside for some fresh air. I'll go and find her. Hang on.”

She caused a bit of a distraction, pushing and shoving needlessly through the tables, elbowing people in the head, and knocking over a water glass as she went, but it wasn't enough.

I glanced at the turtle man, still smiling as he pointed to his cup. Then back to Perry, watching us while he waited for Marilyn, no doubt wondering why the waitress hadn't moved.

I straightened my shoulders, desperately tried to clutch on to some perspective, and stepped out from behind the bouquet. Pouring the man his coffee, I quietly leaned over and asked the table if there was anything else I could help them with. There wasn't. I declined from enquiring if anyone happened to have a teleporter. Standing back up again, I turned to catch Perry's eye. He coughed, and tapped his glass again.

“Well, while we're waiting – and please, do excuse Faith for needing a moment, she's had a very tiring day – I would like to thank Aunt Eleanor for hosting such a fabulous party, and my parents, Larissa and Milton, for all their help with the wedding plans so far. And, if any of you happen to have August fifteenth free, we might have another little do to invite you to.”

His voice faded away as I rushed out of the tent and into the bushes for the last time. Trying to yank myself together, I ran my fingers through my hair, slipped into the dressy shoes, and went back to the tent. Marilyn caught up with me at the entrance.

“Deep breaths.”

“No time.”

“Yes, time. Three deep breaths. Think about choir rehearsal.
Breathe out the panic and breathe in the cool, calm, courageous Faith who is loving her engagement party.”

“He saw me.”

“And covered for you. Breathe.”

I took a couple of trembly breaths.

“Better. Now, go knock 'em dead.”

The marquee burst into applause as I stepped back in, again apologizing with a smile as I made my way to join Perry.

“Morning sickness,” one of the Woodbridge witches hissed as I passed. “That would explain a lot.”

Larissa pursed her lips, her eyes glittering stones. “If your girlfriend has quite finished serving our guests their coffee, Peregrine, could you please get on with it and make a toast.”

Perry's eyes darted back and forth between his parents and me, as the guests collectively held their breath.

“Um, right. Yes. Of course. So, Faith is, well, a very… I mean, I'm very happy to say that, um…”

Peregrine Upperton, millionaire businessman extraordinaire, floored by the steely gaze of his mother. “Well, Peregrine, what precisely
are
you happy about?” she asked, with a voice that could crack a walnut.

“Hold on a minute.” Eleanor stood up, brandishing her glass at me like a weapon. “You're not Faith. You're the staff.”

My brain tried to scrabble for something to say, but the words were like leaves being tossed along the pavement, always a gust in front of me.

“She's an imposter!” Eleanor tried to push her way around the table to where I stood, frozen, my back to the room. Her chair went flying as two hundred guests gasped as one.

Milton began squeezing round the table to intercept. His wife remained firmly seated.

“Where is Peregrine's real fiancée and what have you done with her?” Eleanor ducked her head around Perry, attempting to shake off his restraining hands.

“Good question,” Larissa muttered, smirking at nobody in particular.

“No, Aunt,” Perry implored. “This is Faith, my fiancée. She sat and ate with us, remember?”

“Yes! All part of the scam, no doubt! Look at her, Peregrine. She's clearly nothing more than a common desperado. Masquerading as a waitress, masquerading as a fiancée!”

“Hear, hear!” Larissa made her own personal toast, chugging down the rest of her wine.

“She's after the family fortune! Somebody call the police!” Eleanor cried. “What have you done with poor Faith, you evil trickster?”

“Stop it!” Milton, reaching his sister, took hold of both her shoulders and gave her a shake. “This is Faith. Who happens to work as an… in… as a, erm…”

“Events manager,” Perry said.

“Waitress,” I corrected him. “I'm a waitress,” I repeated, to the room at large. “And an excellent one. Usually.” Despite gritting my teeth together so hard I thought they'd snap, it was only the friendly face of Marilyn as she stood up, yanking James with her, that gave me the gumption to hold back the tears.

“An excellent fiancée, too, isn't she, Perry?” Marilyn called. “And she'll throw the best parties.” She raised her glass. “To Perry and Faith. Proving the law that opposites do indeed attract, and adding some much-needed class, beauty, and brains to the Upperton clique. I mean
clan
. Woohoo!”

Amidst many murmurings, knowing looks, and Milton's repeated attempts to reassure Eleanor I wasn't a con artist hoodwinking them all, the crowd stood to return the toast. I slid into my seat, eyes on the table, and braced myself for Larissa's onslaught. Perry sat down next to me, taking hold of my hand as he leaned to whisper in my ear. “Do you want to get out of here?”

I nodded, whispering, “I'm sorry.”

I saw his smile out of the corner of my eye. “Don't be. I take full
responsibility. And I can't begin to imagine what you've been up to this evening, but I'm very impressed. Come on.” He started to rise to his feet.

“One moment, Peregrine.” A voice like a glacier pushed him back down again. “I think the guest of honour has some explaining to do.”

Yep. Mission failed.

Sam called me at least twice a day. I usually dropped by his flat three or four times a week, but had left it longer than usual this time due to work shifts, an HCC committee meeting, and a need to summon up enough strength to face the beast of his illness again.

I found him up, which was surprising, and dressed, which was near miraculous. Sprawled on the sofa, yes, but the flat wasn't quite as messy as it had been, and he held a cup of tea.

“How are you, Sam?”

He lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I'm losing it, Sis. Waving goodbye to all the lovely money your billionaire boyfriend spent on my rehab. Poof, gone.”

“Have you taken your meds?”

“Yes.”

“Well that's something.” We sat there in silence. I reached out and took hold of my brother's hand, the spectre of Kane leering over our shoulders.

“April's still here, then?”

He nodded. “She's driving me crazy. Nagging all the time. Fussing.”

“Does she drink?”

He shrugged. “Not much. Not any more.” He sighed. “I don't want to be saved, Faith. I wish she'd leave me alone. I've told her to go and find a man who wants looking after.”

“But she stays.”

“She's a fool.”

“Where is she now?” I glanced around, but could see no sign of her.

“I don't know. Jobcentre.”

I took the mug from his hand, pushing aside some old food cartons to place it on the stained coffee table. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

He closed his eyes. “No. The nurse is coming later on.”

“Try and help yourself, Sam. Don't let him do this to you.”

He laughed. An ugly, hollow sound. “He already did.”

The following Thursday, I took Perry to look around Grace Chapel. A couple of nights earlier we had managed a serious – well, serious-ish – conversation over dinner.

“I don't understand why you need to do that work.”

“What do you want me to do? Live off benefits? I need a job, Perry.”

“I want you to marry me and let me take care of you. If we're going to be legally joined anyway, why not set up a joint bank account now? You've got enough to worry about with the wedding and Sam. Let me take care of the finances.”

“I need to be earning my own money. I know it's hardly anything, and the work is a slog and embarrasses your family, but I need some independence. That is non-negotiable. Plus, if I don't work I'm going to end up bored out of my mind. Planning a wedding and being on the HCC committee isn't a full-time occupation. I'm not about to spend my life having manicures, planning centrepieces, and shopping. It's not me.”

“Couldn't you find something better, though? You used to manage the whole events team at the club. Why go back to being just a waitress?”

“Okay. Firstly, there is no such thing as
just a waitress
. Being a
waitress saved my life. Secondly, I can't manage the responsibility of a full-time job with Sam. This works. I choose this. Please respect my choice.”

I hadn't told Perry I had no qualifications, or that HCC had told me to resign or be sacked, with the promise of no references. I felt ashamed of both those things, and to begin to explain the reasons why would open a truckload of worms I didn't want to go near.

“You're right. I'm sorry. It just seems pathetic for you to have to work a double shift to earn what I can make in less than an hour.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You are an amazing, intelligent, talented woman and I hate thinking about how that catering manager treats you like a skivvy. What can I do to make it up to you and demonstrate how much I respect your choices?”

I considered that. Ghost Web. Wedding service. Reception.

“Anything?”

“Well… within reason.”

Right, then scrap the possibility of the Ghost Web and HCC being booted out of our wedding.

“There's a church I want you to look at. It's really important to me. My mum used to go there.”

So, here we were, looking almost like a normal, happy couple choosing a church for their wedding.

Dylan met us at the door, his jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt a striking contrast to Perry's tailored suit. As we wandered through to the main hall where the service would be held, I couldn't help seeing the building through Upperton eyes. Even with Marilyn's decorations, it would appear too drab, too simple, too small.

“I'll give you a few minutes to look around. Come through to my office when you're ready,” Dylan said, smiling as he left us to it.

Perry was not smiling.

“Faith, what…? I mean, I know your mum used to come here, but, well… It's horrendous.”

“Excuse me?”

“We can't possibly get married here, darling. You must see that.” He went to take hold of my hand, but I pretended not to notice, pressing the hand to my flushed neck.

“Why not?”

“It's tiny, for one thing.” He shook his head in frustration.

“So we invite fewer people to
our
wedding. What are the other things?”

“The other things don't matter because we can't invite fewer people. I don't want to invite fewer people. I'm not going to cull the list, or offend anybody, or make it look as though we have a reason not to have as many people as possible see you become my wife.”

“What does that mean?”

He sighed. “Nothing. It means nothing. It means this church is too small.”

“I'm not picking a wedding venue on the basis of you having a point to prove about not being ashamed of me,” I said.

“Faith!” He glanced over at the door to the office before lowering his voice. “It is not about that. This is the twenty-first century. Nobody thinks like that any more. But this room can't seat more than a hundred. I have thirty-eight relatives I want to celebrate my wedding with, and that doesn't begin to cover friends, or guys from the office. How is that going to work if we only have room for fifty guests each?”

“I don't need room for fifty guests. You take ninety and I'll have ten,” I said, wrapping my arms around me.

“That's ridiculous. You can't have ten guests. And I'm sorry, but this place just isn't what we want,” he snapped, like a managing director instructing his underling.

“What who wants?
I
want this place! And I'll invite however many guests I like.”

Perry looked around again at the bare walls, the scuffed floor, the sagging banner hanging next to the window. “No. I'm prepared to compromise on the wedding, but not this.”

“
Compromise?
How have you compromised? I don't even get to pick my own wedding dress!”

“Well buy your own dress then! Or perhaps you should just get married in your jeans and that ratty T-shirt? My mother has made an incredibly kind gesture. Don't throw it back in her face. I'm giving you the kind of wedding every woman dreams of – no limits, or budget. Most brides would be thrilled. Or at least grateful. And all you can do is make impossible demands that mean half my family can't even come. I'm not having it, Faith. The answer's no.”

I closed my eyes for a long moment. “I'm sorry. I am grateful. And I understand. But this is a really big deal to me. You can pick everything else – do it all how you want. Have the hugest, most ostentatious reception with five hundred guests and a nightmare wedding planner. I don't care. But I'm getting married without my mother, and I can't tell you what that feels like. I'm asking you, please, give me this.”

Perry looked at me. He knew how hard I found it to ask him for anything. Sticking one hand in his pocket, he held out the other to me again.

“Come on then, let's have a proper look round. But we'll have to think up a way to sell this to Mum without her disowning us.”

Disowning us? A potential unexpected bonus.

We agreed on a simple wedding service, with immediate family and close friends, followed by a massive party during which we would repeat our vows at HCC. I weighed this compromise on one hand, the Ghost Web heavy on the other, and my heart sank a little. Then I remembered again who I was and where I had come from and mentally gave myself a big slap. It was one day, one dress.

Get over yourself, Faith.

I was trying. Boy, was I trying. And, yes – I was so, so grateful. We spent twenty minutes in Dylan's office, sitting on comfy
sofas rather than at his desk. He went through various practical details, most of the answers to which were, “We're not sure yet.”

Then he moved on to a whole other type of questioning.

“So, why do you want to get married in Grace Chapel?”

I shifted on my seat, guard automatically clanging up.

“My mum used to come here. I grew up in the village.”

“Oh, great.” Dylan smiled at me. “Did you come here with her?”

“No. She left Nottinghamshire before I was born. And died before I came back.”

“I'm sorry. I can understand why you chose here, then. But how about you, Perry?”

Perry had slipped out his phone and was scrolling through messages. “Excuse me? What?”

“Why do you want to get married in a church? What does it mean to you personally?”

Perry briskly put his phone back in his jacket pocket. “It means Faith is happy. And that's the most important thing.”

“Okay. Well, one of our requirements for getting married in Grace Chapel is that you attend a marriage preparation course. Marriage is a serious thing. I take the responsibility of marrying you in this church seriously. I won't do that unless I know you've done the same. No offence – as I said, it's standard practice.”

Perry smiled his businessman smile. The one that failed to reach his eyes. “Of course. Pass the dates on to Faith and we'll sort something out.”

“Excellent.” Dylan stood up. “Well, that's it for now. Let me know your plans as you make them. We'll do everything we can to make it your day, but it helps if we have as much notice as possible.” He held out his hand to shake ours, but found Perry busy reaching into his pocket again.

Before I could either stop him, or die of shame, Perry scrawled out a cheque and held it out. “We really appreciate this. I want to give Faith the wedding she deserves. Maybe buy a few tins of paint, couple of new pictures for the walls, or something, yeah?”

Dylan accepted the cheque, and to his credit, there was only the tiniest flicker on his face when he read the obscene amount. “Thanks. That's very generous of you.” He glanced back up, blue eyes sparking. “We've actually just opened up a food bank. This could feed a lot of hungry families.”

Sorry, mate, you can waltz in here and wave your fat chequebook around, but neither I – nor my church – can be bought.

Perry paused, one hand on the door handle. It felt like a wrestling match without any actual wrestling. “Well, it's your church, vicar. Whatever you think is best.”

Spend it on what you like – there's plenty more where that came from.

“Thanks, Dylan. I'll see you Wednesday.” I barrelled Perry outside before his testosterone levels rose any further, pulling the door closed behind me.