I suppose I’ve always assumed that we’ll come back to Britain one day. But when?
“You’re not planning to stay there for good, surely?” she adds, and gives a little laugh.
“I don’t know,” I say confusedly. “I don’t know what we want to do.”
“You couldn’t bring up a family in that poky flat! You’ll want to come home! You’ll want a nice house with a garden! Especially now.”
“Now what?”
“Now…” She makes a euphemistic circling gesture.
“What?”
“Oh, Becky.” Mum sighs. “I can understand if you’re a little… shy about telling people. But it’s all right, darling! These days, it’s perfectly acceptable. There’s no stigma!”
“Stigma? What are you—”
“The only thing we’ll need to know”—she pauses delicately—“is how much to let the dress out by? For the day?”
Let out the dress? What on…
Hang on.
“Mum! You haven’t got the idea that I’m… I’m…” I make the same euphemistic gesture that she made.
“You’re not?” Mum’s face falls in disappointment.
“No! Of course I’m not! Why on earth would you think that?”
“You said you had something important to discuss with us!” says Mum, defensively taking a sip of coffee. “It wasn’t Luke, it wasn’t your job, and it wasn’t your bank manager. And Suzie’s having a baby, and you two girls always do things together, so we assumed…”
“Well, I’m not, OK? And I’m not on drugs either, before you ask.”
“So, then, what did you want to tell us?” She puts her coffee down and looks at me anxiously. “What was so important that you had to come home?”
There’s silence in the bedroom. My fingers tighten around my mug.
This is it. This is my lead-in moment. This is my opportunity to confess everything. If I’m going to do it, I have to do it right now. Before they go any further. Before they spend any more money.
“Well, it’s…” I clear my throat. “It’s just that…”
I stop, and take a sip of coffee. My throat is tight and I feel slightly sick. How can I possibly do this?
I close my eyes and allow the glitter of the Plaza to flash before my eyes, trying to summon up all the excitement and glamour again. The gilded rooms, the plushiness everywhere. Images of myself sweeping around that huge shiny dance floor before an admiring crowd.
But somehow… it doesn’t seem quite as overpowering as it did before. Somehow it doesn’t seem as convincing.
Oh God. What do I want? What do I really want?
“I knew it!”
I look up to see Mum gazing at me in dismay. “I knew it! You and Luke have fallen out, haven’t you?”
“Mum—”
“I just knew it! I said to your father several times, ‘I can feel it in my bones, Becky’s coming home to call off the wedding.’ He said nonsense, but I could just feel it, here.” Mum clasps her chest. “A mother knows these things. And I was right, wasn’t I? You do want to cancel the wedding, don’t you?”
I stare at her dumbly. She knows I came home to cancel the wedding. How does she know that?
“Becky? Are you all right?” Mum puts an arm round my shoulders. “Darling, listen. We won’t mind. All Dad and I want is the best for you. And if that means calling off the wedding, then that’s what we’ll do. Love, you mustn’t go ahead with it unless you’re 100 percent sure—110 percent!”
“But… but you’ve made so much effort…” I mumble. “You’ve spent all this money…”
“That doesn’t matter! Money doesn’t matter!” She squeezes me tight. “Becky, if you have any doubts at all, we’ll cancel straight away. We just want you to be happy. That’s all we want.”
Mum sounds so sympathetic and understanding, for a few instants I can’t speak. Here she is, offering me the very thing I came home to ask for. Without any questions, without any recriminations. Without anything but love and support.
As I look at her kind, cozy, familiar face, I know, beyond any doubt, that it’s impossible.
“It’s all right,” I manage at last. “Mum, Luke and I haven’t fallen out. The… the wedding’s still on.” I rub my face. “You know, I think I’ll just go outside and… and get some air.”
As I step out into the garden, a couple of of the hired gardeners look up and say hello, and I smile weakly back. I feel completely paranoid, as though my secret is so huge, I must somehow be giving it away. As though people must be able to see it, bulging out of me, or floating above my head in bubble captions. I have another wedding planned.For the same day as this one.My parents have no idea.Yes, I know I’m in trouble.Yes, I know I’ve been stupid.Oh, just piss off and leave me alone, can’t you see how completely stressed out I am?
“Hello, Becky.”
I give a start of surprise and turn round. Standing at the garden fence in the next-door garden, looking mournfully at me, is Tom.
“Tom! Hi!” I say, trying not to give away my shock at his appearance.
But… blimey. He looks awful, all pale and miserable and wearing absolutely terrible clothes. Not that Tom’s ever been a style king — but while he was with Lucy, he did acquire a veneer of OK-ness. In fact, his hair went through quite a groovy stage. But now it’s back to greasy hair and the maroon jumper Janice gave him five Christmases ago.