I feel so helpless. Nothing I do seems to work. I’ve tried making him bowls of nourishing, homemade soup. (At least, it says they’re nourishing and homemade on the can.) I’ve tried making warm, tender love to him. Which was great as far as it went. (And that was pretty far, as it happens.) He seemed better for a little while — but in the end it didn’t change anything. Afterward, he was just the same, all moody and staring into space.
The thing I’ve tried the most is just sitting down and talking to him. Sometimes I really think I’m getting somewhere. But then he either just reverts back into depression, or says, “What’s the use?” and goes out again. The real trouble is, nothing he says seems to be making any sense. One minute he says he wants to quit his company and go into politics, that’s where his heart lies and he should never have sold out. (Politics? He’s never mentioned politics before.) The next moment he’s saying fatherhood is all he’s ever wanted, let’s have six children and he’ll stay at home and be a house-husband.
Meanwhile his assistant keeps phoning every day to see if Luke’s better, and I’m having to invent more and more lurid details. He’s practically got the plague by now.
I’m so desperate, I phoned Michael this morning and he’s promised to come over and see if he can do anything. If anyone can help, Michael can.
And as for the wedding…
I feel ill every time I think about it. It’s three weeks away. I still haven’t come up with a solution.
Mum calls me every morning and somehow I speak perfectly normally to her. Robyn calls me every afternoon and somehow I also speak perfectly normally to her. I even made a joke recently about not turning up on the day. We laughed, and Robyn quipped, “I’ll sue you!” and I managed not to sob hysterically.
I feel like I’m in free fall. Plummeting toward the ground without a parachute.
I don’t know how I’m doing it. I’ve slipped into a whole new zone, beyond normal panic, beyond normal solutions. It’s going to take a miracle to save me.
Which is basically what I’m pinning my hopes on now. I’ve lit fifty candles at St. Thomas’s, and fifty more at St. Patrick’s, and I’ve put up a petition on the prayer board at the synagogue on Sixty-fifth, and given flowers to the Hindu god Ganesh. Plus a group of people in Ohio who I found on the Internet are all praying hard for me.
At least, they’re praying that I find happiness following my struggle with alcoholism. I couldn’t quite bring myself to explain the full two-weddings story to Father Gilbert, especially after I read his sermon on how deceit is as painful to the Lord as is the Devil gouging out the eyes of the righteous. So I went with alcoholism, because they already had a page on that.
There’s no respite. I can’t even relax at home. The apartment feels like it’s closing in on me. There are wedding presents in huge cardboard boxes lining every room. Mum sends about fifty faxes a day, Robyn’s taken to popping in whenever she feels like it, and there’s a selection of veils and headdresses in the sitting room that Dream Dress sent to me without even asking.
“Becky?” I look up from my breakfast coffee to see Danny wandering into the kitchen. “The door was open. Not at work?”
“I’ve taken the day off.”
“I see.” He reaches for a piece of cinnamon toast and takes a bite. “So, how’s the patient?”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously.” For a moment Danny looks genuinely concerned, and I feel myself unbend a little. “Has Luke snapped out of it yet?”
“Not really,” I admit, and his eyes brighten.
“So are there any more items of clothing going?”
“No!” I say indignantly. “There aren’t. And don’t think you can keep those shoes!”
“Brand-new Pradas? You must be kidding! They’re mine. Luke gave them to me. If he doesn’t want them anymore—”
“He does. He will. He’s just… a bit stressed at the moment. Everyone gets stressed! It doesn’t mean you can take their shoes!”
“Everybody gets stressed. Everybody doesn’t give away hundred-dollar bills to total strangers.”
“Really?” I look up anxiously. “He did that?”
“I saw him at the subway. There was a guy there with long hair, carrying a guitar… Luke just went up to him and handed him a wad of money. The guy wasn’t even begging. In fact, he looked pretty offended.”
“Oh God—”
“You know my theory? He needs a nice, long, relaxing honeymoon. Where are you going?”
Oh no. Into free fall again. The honeymoon. I haven’t even booked one yet. How can I? I don’t know which bloody airport we’ll be flying out of.
“We’re… it’s a surprise,” I say at last. “We’ll announce it on the day.”
“So what are you cooking?” Danny looks at the stove, where a pot is bubbling away. “Twigs? Mm, tasty.”
“They’re Chinese herbs. For stress. You boil them up and then drink the liquid.”
“You think you’ll get Luke to drink this?” Danny prods the mixture.
“They’re not for Luke. They’re for me!”
“For you? What have you got to be stressed about?” The buzzer sounds and Danny reaches over and presses the entry button without even asking who it is.
“Danny!”
“Expecting anyone?” he says as he replaces the receiver.
“Oh, just that mass murderer who’s been stalking me,” I say sarcastically.