Thirteen Weddings

  I hope with all my heart that they’ll be very happy together.

  Bridget manhandles me later when we’re back at the villa having a champagne reception around the pool. ‘What the hell happened last night?’ she mutters under her breath as she pulls me behind a hydrangea bush.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I ask wearily.

  ‘You could cut the atmosphere between you and Lachie with a knife. He disappeared and then I realised you were gone, too.’

  ‘I went to bed,’ I tell her.

  She looks away from me. I can’t see her eyes behind her dark glasses so I don’t know what she’s thinking. At a guess though, she’s hurt because I’m not confiding in her.

  I sigh. ‘Alex came to find me.’

  She looks at me sharply. I tell her everything.

  ‘Holy shit,’ she murmurs. ‘And Lachie saw you?’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ I reply.

  ‘He doesn’t know that.’

  ‘No,’ I admit. ‘But I’m sure Alex told him.’

  ‘I doubt he would have believed it anyway, if he saw Alex nearly kiss you. Fucking hell, Bronte, what if he’d been Lisa or Tim? Don’t they know Zara?’

  I blush furiously. She has every right to tell me off, but I’m still trying to come to terms with what happened myself. I think she realises. ‘Do you want me to speak to Lachie?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ll tell him if he asks. I’m sure he won’t say anything to anyone.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  We manage to get through the group shots before the wedding breakfast and then Rachel and I take the happy couple off for their private shoot. And they are happy. Blissfully. We photograph them with the mountains as a backdrop.

  Rachel and I may be working, but for once, we don’t take our break in private. We sit at tables with the other guests, although neither of us is drinking. My friends and colleagues, on the other hand, are navigating their way through their hangovers by the hair of the dog method and they’re coming out the other side laughing. I watch with relief over the course of dinner as the atmosphere between Lachie and Alex dissolves. They’re sitting on a nearby table – the food is a buffet with no seating plan – so Rachel and I are with Maria’s friends from home who had space on their table. Bridget pulled a face at me when I didn’t sit down next to her, but I think she understands it’s probably best that I keep my distance.

  The speeches take place when coffee is being served. Rachel and I get back to work. Maria’s father is the first to speak, so my focus is on Maria’s mother and her table of close relatives, while Rachel concentrates on Maria and her father. I get some lovely shots of Maria’s mother looking quite emotional as she smiles with pride. Despite the circumstances of the more pressing, er, biological issue that has sped up the proceedings, she seems genuinely delighted to see her daughter tying the knot.

  Russ speaks next, and his speech has everyone both sniffing and cracking up with laughter. I hold my breath when his best man speaks. Maria and her immediate family didn’t come clean to her more elderly relatives about the reason for her hasty nuptials, but although the best man makes insinuations about a tent in the Lake District, most of Maria’s relatives can’t speak a word of English anyway. They can count to nine though, so they might get a surprise in approximately five months’ time when a baby is born.

  The tables are cleared soon after the speeches and I watch Lachie distractedly as he sets up. He has studiously ignored me all day long, and I feel sick and sad as I see him plug in his beloved guitar to the amplifiers brought in by Maria’s DJ cousin. I’d like to speak with him, but it will have to wait until I’m officially off duty – which may not be tonight. It’s time for the first dance so I move closer to the dance floor. It’s only when I’m already in position that I realise Alex is close by. My skin’s burning all over as I pretend to fiddle with my zoom, but he sees me, and buoyed by alcohol perhaps, he comes over.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asks.

  ‘Fine,’ I reply. ‘Good. It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?’ I keep my voice sounding casual.

  ‘Great.’

  Lachie starts to play Noah & The Whale’s ‘5 Years Time’ and I smile as I click off some shots of Maria and Russ doing an impromptu but gorgeous dance on the dance floor. I zoom in on Lachie and catch him looking super-cute as he plays his guitar and smiles while he sings about drinking stupid wine, getting drunk and having fun, fun, fun. He looks into my camera lens and to my relief his smile doesn’t drop even as his lyrics change to love, love, love, but then his eyes move to my left to where Alex is standing and his gaze hardens. He returns his attention to his hands on his guitar, and my heart sinks. I step away from Alex and photograph the smiling crowd.

  When the song finishes, everyone claps and cheers and Russ and Maria kiss before turning to give Lachie a round of applause. He grins and casually tips an imaginary hat to them.

  A short while later, Rachel places a glass of champagne in my hand. ‘Cheers,’ she says with a grin, taking a sip from a matching glass.

  ‘Where did you get that from?’ I ask. I thought the champagne ran out ages ago.

  ‘Maria saved us a bottle,’ she tells me with a smile.

  ‘B!’ Bridget shouts, appearing with a glass of white wine in her hand. She’s cheered up a whole lot since this morning. Maria leaves Russ behind to join us too, and Rachel, ever the professional, snaps a shot of the three of us with our arms around each other. We stand together and watch Lachie along with pretty much every other girl in the vicinity. I think he likes the attention. He grins over at us a couple of times.

  Eventually I bow to Rachel’s insistence that she can cover the rest of the night – she really is the loveliest boss and mentor. I take my camera inside to my bedroom and freshen up a bit. I’m wearing a yellow halter-neck with a ruffle hem that falls to just above my knees. I find the length easy enough to work in, although usually I wear smart trousers when I’m running around with my camera. Not today though, because I’m a guest as much as I’m a photographer. I tidy my hair, reapply a little make-up and return outside.

  The sun is setting and ribbons of colour streak across the sky: mauve, grey, orange, yellow, white, and high above my head, light blue. I pause on the steps and take a moment to stare at the view. I shouldn’t have put my camera away quite so quickly, but the colours will have faded by the time I go back inside to get it.

  I walk down the steps and falter when I see Alex standing with his camera by the pool. I hear his shutter going off as he photographs the sunset. He turns around and sees me.

  ‘Hey,’ he says quietly, putting his camera down on the mosaic-tiled table. ‘I was coming to look for you. Can we talk?’

  I cautiously agree, wondering what he’s got to say to me now after practically ignoring me all day.

  He glances towards the marquee to check we’re alone before nodding towards the pool shed. I follow him around the corner of the small building and into the darkness of the leafy green trees. He thrusts his hands into his pockets and turns to face me.

  ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he says seriously. ‘I was drunk.’

  I flinch slightly, hating hearing him use that as an excuse.

  ‘Forget about it,’ I say. ‘I was, too. Let’s just move on.’ I go to turn away from him, but he grabs my wrist and stops me. I look up at him, startled.

  ‘Bronte...’ He shakes his head, looking anguished. ‘I’m pretty fucking confused right now.’

  The look on his face makes my heart melt. But I don’t want it to melt. I want it to toughen the hell up and let me walk away from him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says sincerely, letting go of my wrist and touching his fingers to my face. ‘I...’ He swallows and I can see he’s finding this difficult. ‘I care about you.’

  I regard him with uncertainty. ‘Why do you want to marry her?’

  From the look of surprise on his face, he wasn’t expecting me to ask that.


  ‘I... Zara and I have been together for years. I always wanted to settle down, have kids. It’s how I was brought up. I know you don’t believe in marriage—’

  ‘It doesn’t mean I don’t want those things, too,’ I cut him off.

  ‘But you’re going back to Australia.’

  ‘At the moment I’m planning on staying.’

  He shakes his head with frustration and begins to pace the start of the forest floor here behind the pool shed. ‘Who knows what would have happened if we’d had more time together when we met. I’m not sure I would have gone back to Zara.’ I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue. ‘But we didn’t have more time,’ he says finally.

  ‘She texted and you had to go home.’

  He looks utterly lost. ‘I really liked you.’ He shakes his head. ‘I still really like you.’

  I close my eyes briefly in resignation. ‘I really like you too,’ I say.

  No. I love him.

  He stops pacing and stares at me intently. It’s so dark under here. Only the twilight sky peeks through the leaves above our heads.

  I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as for him to kiss me right here and right now. The realisation makes my eyes sting.

  ‘Bronte,’ he says sadly, seeing my expression. He steps towards me and takes me in his arms. I’m so tense. He pulls away and looks down at me. I’m almost too scared to meet his eyes. He cups my face with his hand and rests his forehead against mine. His breathing has quickened. His lips are only inches away and oh, I remember what an incredible kisser he was. I put my hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin searing my palm. He breathes in sharply and very slowly drags his nose down across my cheek until his lips are resting against my neck. I feel like my heart is going to peter out.

  ‘Alex,’ I murmur, knowing he has to stop but wanting him to do anything but. I feel the heat from his mouth against my skin as he takes ragged breaths. I can’t do this. I can’t stop. I turn my face towards him and then jolt violently as his lips find mine. He kisses me like there’s no tomorrow and at this moment, I almost wish there weren’t. I clutch the fabric of his shirt with my fingers as his tongue delves into my mouth. My hands fly to his face and feel his five o’clock shadow beneath my fingertips as he slams me back up against the pool shed. I want him so much. I want to feel his naked skin against mine again. We were as close as it’s possible for two people to get – no barriers, nothing. I want to be that close to him again. But oh... It’s not going to happen.

  He wrenches himself away from me and looks absolutely horrified. His expression changes into one of disgust, even though I know it’s directed at himself, not me.

  ‘Oh Christ, Bronte,’ he exhales in a rush of air. ‘I’m so sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry.’ He’s mortified as he shoves his hands through his hair and clasps his head in disbelief at what just happened. ‘Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,’ he mutters over and over.

  I watch him with distress as he paces the ground. I slowly drag the back of my hand across my mouth to wipe away the feeling of his lips on mine. I feel numb.

  ‘Go,’ I say. He looks wretched as he stares back at me. ‘Go!’ I say louder. I want to be alone. Grief is etched across his features. ‘Please just go,’ I whisper. He nods abruptly and stalks quickly away.

  My head is spinning as I watch him leave. He can’t marry her. He can’t. I’m in love with him and I know he feels something profound for me too. With severe effort I gather myself together and go back to the party. I can hear Lachie singing a heartfelt acoustic rendition of ‘Love is Blindness’ as I walk towards the marquee. It doesn’t seem like the most appropriate wedding song, but everyone is in high spirits, anyway. Alex is nowhere to be seen. I join Bridget and a couple of Maria’s friends who are fixedly staring at Lachie. I shakily pull up a chair and sit down.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Bridget asks me.

  ‘Just taking a breather,’ I say blandly. I’ve never been a very good actress, but I really don’t want to face an aptly named Spanish Inquisition tonight. ‘I think last night might have caught up with me.’

  ‘Ouch. I told Lachie, by the way.’

  ‘Told him what?’ I glance at her, confused.

  ‘That nothing happened between you and Alex. That you were just talking.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her information is a little outdated, I think in a daze. ‘Thanks.’

  Lachie finishes his song and tells everyone that he’s taking a quick break. Music starts to play out of the speakers, courtesy of Maria’s DJ cousin. I notice Lachie go to the bar and get himself a bottle of beer before scanning the crowd. Spying us, he comes over.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ he drawls, glancing down at me. He still has a hard look to his demeanour. I’m not sure he believes what Bridget said, and I’m not about to try to persuade him. Not now that it’s a lie.

  ‘Of course not,’ I reply, forcing a smile as I move to make room. He drags a chair over from a nearby table. ‘That was great,’ I tell him as he sits down.

  ‘Yeah? You missed most of it.’

  ‘I went to put my camera back inside.’

  ‘Did you.’ He takes a swig of his beer, and I answer his question even though it came without a question mark.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s Alex?’ he asks, his eyes flicking to meet mine.

  ‘Urgh, give her a break, Lachie,’ Bridget snaps, getting to her feet. ‘I told you nothing happened. I’m going to the loo.’ She pats him slightly condescendingly on his shoulder and sets off through the crowd.

  ‘Yeah, she told me nothing happened,’ he says.

  ‘Did she? Good.’

  ‘I don’t buy it.’ He fixes me with a hard stare. ‘And I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ he starts in a reasonably calm tone before it transitions to anger, ‘but what the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘He’s getting married in three months.’

  His cold blue eyes are making my insides feel like ice.

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ To my horror, my eyes well up with tears, and because I can’t sit here blubbing, I get up and walk out of the marquee.

  Unfortunately, he follows me.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ I say hopelessly as I head behind the marquee where I hope it will be private.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replies gruffly. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry.’

  I bite my lip and turn to face the mountains. ‘You’re not making me cry.’ No, he isn’t. Alex is.

  ‘What are you doing, Bron?’ he asks again, deeply perplexed. ‘You seem pretty smart. I don’t get why you’d go for a guy who’s about to get married to another chick.’

  ‘You think I have a choice?’ I ask him tearfully. ‘Do you think I wanted to fall in love with him?’

  He recoils. It’s a moment before he speaks and when he does his expression is a mixture of shock and horror. ‘You’re in love with him?’

  ‘Surely that’s obvious?’

  He turns away from me, resting his hands on the wooden fence surrounding the property. He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘In that case, I really can’t help you, can I?’

  ‘Lachie...’

  ‘I knew you liked him, but I didn’t think... Fuck.’

  My heart goes out to him and I suddenly think that Bridget might be right: his feelings for me go deeper than just the surface. Instinctively, I reach out and put my hand on his arm, wanting to comfort him.

  ‘Do you want a man who cheats?’ he asks me with disbelief.

  I slowly let my hand slip to my side. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘If he does this to his fiancée, how could you ever trust him?’

  I shake my head. Alex isn’t a cheater, not really.

  ‘Once a cheat, always a cheat,’ he adds bitterly.

  ‘That’s not true.’ I raise my voice. ‘This is... different.’ I look at him defiantly. ‘He’s confused. He doesn’t want to feel like this. If he could stop it, he would.’

&n
bsp; My words bring with them a horrible sense of déjà vu. I jerk violently as a memory filters through to me.

  ‘I’m confused. Bronte, darling, please. I’m so confused. I can’t help it. I can’t help myself. If I could stop it, I would. Please don’t tell your mother... Please. Come. Come here, darling... I can’t help how I feel. Please don’t tell your mother.’

  I stare at Lachie with wide-open eyes as my stomach clenches with nausea. He gives me an odd look, sensing something is very wrong. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I try to say the word but no sound comes out.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ he says with concern.

  He’s right. I’m shaking all over. A cold sweat passes over my body, and then I’m reliving the last conversation I had with my mother. She told me I needed to come home, that it was important. She wanted me home for Christmas. ‘It could be your last chance,’ she said. ‘March might be too late.’

  ‘I’m not coming home in March,’ I told her. ‘I’ve got a promotion. I’m staying.’

  She said she’d book me a flight home, ignoring my protests about having to work. ‘You’ll have time off at Christmas. Everyone has time off at Christmas,’ she said. ‘You need to do this. I need to see you. He needs to see you. It might already be too late.’

  Calm settles over me as I stare ahead in a daze. ‘I have to go home,’ I murmur to Lachie.

  ‘It’s only one more day.’

  ‘Not to the UK. I have to go home to Australia.’

  He gently rubs my shoulder. ‘It might be for the best.’

  I turn sharply to look at him. ‘This is not to do with Alex. I’m coming back. I just need to go home for Christmas.’

  He looks baffled. ‘What are you going on about? That’s almost four months away.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Fuck, you’re so confusing, Bronte.’ He buries his face in his hands, then makes a frustrated noise deep in his throat before literally shaking himself out of it. ‘You’re all over the fucking place,’ he mutters, unable to meet my eyes. He turns away from me. ‘I’ve gotta get back to work.’