Wedding Night
Page 127
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At least I’ve rattled them. They leap apart, and Ben bangs his ankle on the bench and curses.
“Ben, we need to talk,” I say shortly.
“Yes.” He glowers at me as though this is my fault, and I bridle. Sarah tactfully disappears into the guest house, and I join Ben on the veranda.
“So. This isn’t working.” I stare away from him, out toward the sea, my whole body tensed miserably. “And now I see you prefer someone else, anyway.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he says irritably. “One kiss—”
“It’s our honeymoon!”
“Exactly!” he says furiously. “You just turned me down! What’s a guy supposed to do?”
“I didn’t turn you down,” I retort, immediately realizing that, yes, I did turn him down. “OK.” I backtrack. “Well, I’m sorry. I just …”
I just didn’t want to do it with you. I wanted to do it with Richard. Because he’s the man I love. Richard, my beloved Richard. But I’ll never see him again. And now I’m going to cry again.…
“It’s difficult to say this,” I manage at last, and blink back fresh tears. “But I think our marriage was too quick. I think we rushed. I think …” I exhale a shuddery breath. “I think it was … wrong. And I blame myself. I’d only recently come out of a relationship. It was too soon.” I spread my hands. “My bad. Sorry.”
“No,” says Ben at once. “My bad.”
There’s silence as I take his words in. So we both think it was a mistake. A massive sense of failure is heaving in my chest. Combined with relief. Fliss was right shoots through my brain, and I flinch. That thought is too painful to deal with right now.
“I don’t want to move to France,” says Ben abruptly. “I hate fucking France. I shouldn’t have let you think I was serious.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have pressed you on it,” I say, wanting to be fair. “And I shouldn’t have made you go in for Couples’ Quiz.”
“I shouldn’t have got drunk the first night.”
“I should have had sex with you in the guest house,” I say remorsefully. “That was rude. Sorry.”
“No worries.” Ben shrugs. “Those beds squeak, anyway.”
“So … we’re done?” I can barely say the words. “Call it quits, no hard feelings?”
“We could go for quickest divorce,” says Ben, deadpan. “We might get a world record.”
“Shall we tell Georgios to cancel the honeymoon album, then?” I give a snort of almost painful laughter.
“What about the honeymooners’ karaoke evening? Shall we still do that?”
“We won Couples’ Quiz,” I remind him. “Maybe we could announce our divorce at the gala prize-giving.” I catch his eye, and suddenly the pair of us are in fits of uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.
You have to laugh. Because what’s the alternative?
When we’ve both calmed down a bit, I hug my knees and look at him properly. “Was this marriage ever real to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He winces as though I’ve touched a sore spot. “Nothing’s felt real to me these last few years. My dad dying, the company, giving up on comedy … I think I need to sort this out.” He bangs his head with his fist.
“It wasn’t real for me either,” I say honestly. “It was like a fantasy. I was in such a bad place, and you pitched up and you looked so hot.…”
He still looks hot. He’s lithe and tanned and taut. But to my eye he’s lost something. He has a synthetic quality, like orange soda instead of freshly squeezed juice. It’s orangey and bubbly and it quenches your thirst, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste. And it’s not good for you.
“What shall we do?” All my laughter has abated, and all my anger too. I feel strangely detached. This is surreal. My marriage is over before it’s begun.
And we haven’t even had sex. I mean, how laughable is that? What kind of cruel, twisted games has fate been playing with us? Our honeymoon has been such an unbelievable disaster, it’s like someone Up There didn’t want us to stay together.
“I dunno. See out the holiday? Take it from there?” Ben looks at his phone. “I have this meeting with Yuri Zhernakov. You know he’s sailed here especially to see me?”
“Wow!” I stare at him, impressed.
“I know.” He puffs himself out a bit. “I want to sell. It makes sense. Lorcan thinks I shouldn’t,” he adds, “which makes it an even better reason to do it.”
“Ben, we need to talk,” I say shortly.
“Yes.” He glowers at me as though this is my fault, and I bridle. Sarah tactfully disappears into the guest house, and I join Ben on the veranda.
“So. This isn’t working.” I stare away from him, out toward the sea, my whole body tensed miserably. “And now I see you prefer someone else, anyway.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he says irritably. “One kiss—”
“It’s our honeymoon!”
“Exactly!” he says furiously. “You just turned me down! What’s a guy supposed to do?”
“I didn’t turn you down,” I retort, immediately realizing that, yes, I did turn him down. “OK.” I backtrack. “Well, I’m sorry. I just …”
I just didn’t want to do it with you. I wanted to do it with Richard. Because he’s the man I love. Richard, my beloved Richard. But I’ll never see him again. And now I’m going to cry again.…
“It’s difficult to say this,” I manage at last, and blink back fresh tears. “But I think our marriage was too quick. I think we rushed. I think …” I exhale a shuddery breath. “I think it was … wrong. And I blame myself. I’d only recently come out of a relationship. It was too soon.” I spread my hands. “My bad. Sorry.”
“No,” says Ben at once. “My bad.”
There’s silence as I take his words in. So we both think it was a mistake. A massive sense of failure is heaving in my chest. Combined with relief. Fliss was right shoots through my brain, and I flinch. That thought is too painful to deal with right now.
“I don’t want to move to France,” says Ben abruptly. “I hate fucking France. I shouldn’t have let you think I was serious.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have pressed you on it,” I say, wanting to be fair. “And I shouldn’t have made you go in for Couples’ Quiz.”
“I shouldn’t have got drunk the first night.”
“I should have had sex with you in the guest house,” I say remorsefully. “That was rude. Sorry.”
“No worries.” Ben shrugs. “Those beds squeak, anyway.”
“So … we’re done?” I can barely say the words. “Call it quits, no hard feelings?”
“We could go for quickest divorce,” says Ben, deadpan. “We might get a world record.”
“Shall we tell Georgios to cancel the honeymoon album, then?” I give a snort of almost painful laughter.
“What about the honeymooners’ karaoke evening? Shall we still do that?”
“We won Couples’ Quiz,” I remind him. “Maybe we could announce our divorce at the gala prize-giving.” I catch his eye, and suddenly the pair of us are in fits of uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.
You have to laugh. Because what’s the alternative?
When we’ve both calmed down a bit, I hug my knees and look at him properly. “Was this marriage ever real to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He winces as though I’ve touched a sore spot. “Nothing’s felt real to me these last few years. My dad dying, the company, giving up on comedy … I think I need to sort this out.” He bangs his head with his fist.
“It wasn’t real for me either,” I say honestly. “It was like a fantasy. I was in such a bad place, and you pitched up and you looked so hot.…”
He still looks hot. He’s lithe and tanned and taut. But to my eye he’s lost something. He has a synthetic quality, like orange soda instead of freshly squeezed juice. It’s orangey and bubbly and it quenches your thirst, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste. And it’s not good for you.
“What shall we do?” All my laughter has abated, and all my anger too. I feel strangely detached. This is surreal. My marriage is over before it’s begun.
And we haven’t even had sex. I mean, how laughable is that? What kind of cruel, twisted games has fate been playing with us? Our honeymoon has been such an unbelievable disaster, it’s like someone Up There didn’t want us to stay together.
“I dunno. See out the holiday? Take it from there?” Ben looks at his phone. “I have this meeting with Yuri Zhernakov. You know he’s sailed here especially to see me?”
“Wow!” I stare at him, impressed.
“I know.” He puffs himself out a bit. “I want to sell. It makes sense. Lorcan thinks I shouldn’t,” he adds, “which makes it an even better reason to do it.”
