Wedding Night

next charging, head down.
    “I wasn’t exactly
reading
it.” I try to stay poised. “I was just doing a little research about this Ben.”
    Richard’s eyes focus on me alertly. “What did you find out?”
    “Nothing much. I’ve only just got to the bit where they met on Ikonos—” He makes a sudden grab for the diary. With a lightning reaction, I reach for it too and seize a corner. We’re both gripping it, trying to pull it out of the other’s grasp. He’s far stronger than I am, but I’m
not
letting him have her diary. There are limits.
    “I can’t
believe
you’d read your sister’s diary,” says Richard, trying to wrench it out of my fingers.
    “I can’t believe you’d read your girlfriend’s diary,” I retort breathlessly. “Give.
Give
.”
    At last I manage to yank it away from him and cradle it protectively in my arms.
    “I deserve to know.” Richard is glowering at me. “If Lottie’s chosen this guy over me, I deserve to know who he is.”
    “OK,” I snap. “I’ll read you out a bit. Be patient.”
    I flip through the pages again, fast-forwarding through France and Italy to Ikonos. OK. Here we are. Pages and pages full of the word “Ben.” Ben this. Ben that. Ben, Ben, Ben.
    “She met him at this guest house they were all staying in.”
    “The guest house on Ikonos?” Richard’s face jerks in recognition. “But she’s told me about that place a million times. The place with the steps? Where they had the fire and she saved everyone? I mean, that place changed her life. She always says it’s the place where she became the person she is today. She has a photo of it somewhere.…” He looks around the room, then jabs a finger. “Here.”
    We both survey the framed picture of Lottie in a swing seat, dressed in a tiny frilly white skirt and a bikini top, with a flower behind her ear. She looks thin and young and radiant.
    “She’s never said anything about a guy called Ben,” says Richard slowly. “Not once.”
    “Ah.” I bite my lip. “Well, perhaps she was being selective.”
    “I see.” He falls into her desk chair, his face moody. “Go on, then.”
    I survey Lottie’s handwriting again. “Basically, they checked each other out on the beach … then there was a party and they got it together—”
    “Read it,” he interrupts. “Don’t summarize.”
    “Are you sure?” I raise my eyebrows at Richard. “You’re sure you want to hear this?”
    “Read it.”
    “OK. Here goes.” I draw a breath and choose a paragraph at random.
    Watched Ben waterskiing this morning. God, he’s cool. He plays the harmonica and he’s so brown. Had sex all afternoon on the boat, no tan lines, ha-ha. Bought more scented candles and massage oil for tonight. All I want is to be with Ben and have sex with Ben forever. I will never love anyone else like this. NEVER
.
    I fall into silence, feeling uncomfortable. “She’d kill me if she knew I’d read you that.”
    Richard doesn’t reply. He looks stricken.
    “It was fifteen years ago,” I say awkwardly. “She was eighteen. That’s what you write in your diary when you’re eighteen.”
    “D’you think …” He pauses. “D’you think she’s ever written anything like that about me?”
    Alarm bells start clanging in my head. Uh-oh. No way. Not going there.
    “I have no idea!” I clap the book shut briskly. “It’s different. Everything’s different when you grow up. Sex is different, love is different, cellulite is
very
different.” I’m trying to lighten the atmosphere, but Richard doesn’t even seem to hear. He’s staring at the photo of Lottie, his brow furrowed so deeply I think it might cave in. The sudden sound of the doorbell makes us both start, and as we meet eyes I can tell we’ve both had the same crazy thought:
Lottie?
    Richard strides into the narrow hall, and I follow, my heart pounding. He throws open the door and I peer in disappointment at a thin, elderly man.
    “Ah, Mr. Finch,” he says in querulous tones. “Is Charlotte at home? Because, despite her promises, she has done no work on the roof terrace at all. It’s still an absolute mess.”
    The roof terrace. Even I know about the roof terrace. Lottie rang me up to tell me she was totally getting into gardening and had ordered loads of cute gardening accessories, and she was going to design an urban potager.
    “Now, I’m a reasonable man,” the man is saying, “but a promise is a promise, and we
have
all contributed to the