Wedding Night

inspiration. “Lottie wanted me there as a witness.”
    “Oh, please.” Lorcan scowls. “What kind of shit idea is that?”
    His tone is so dismissive, I find myself getting irritated.
    “I think it’s rather a nice idea,” I contradict him. “Lottie’s always wanted a ceremony by the sea. She’s quite a romantic.”
    “I’m sure.” Lorcan nods as though digesting this, then looks up, deadpan. “What about the ponies? Is she having those?”
    Ponies? I peer at him blankly. What on earth—
    Matching ponies
. Great. So he
did
hear me yesterday morning. My face fills with blood, and just for an instant I feel myself losing my cool.
    The way to deal with this, I swiftly decide, is to be direct. We’re grown-ups. We can acknowledge an embarrassing situation and move on. Exactly.
    “So. Um.” I clear my throat. “Yesterday morning.”
    “Yes?” He leans forward, with mock interest. He’s not going to make this easy for me, is he?
    “I don’t know exactly what you …” I try again. “Obviously I was talking on the phone to my sister when you came into the room. And what you heard was totally out of context. I mean, you’ve probably forgotten what I said. But
just
in case you haven’t, I wouldn’t want you to … misinterpret anything.…”
    He’s not paying me any attention. He’s taken out a notepad and is writing on it. So rude. Still, at least that means I’m off the hook. I offer the water bottle to Noah, who sips absentmindedly,his attention fixed on his newspaper hat. Then I look up as Lorcan taps me on the shoulder. He hands me his notepad, on which are lines of writing.
    “I believe I have a good memory for words,” he says politely. “But please correct me if any of it is wrong.”
    As I read the lines, my jaw drops in dismay.
    Small. Seriously, tiny. The whole night was such an ordeal. I had to pretend I was having a good time, and all along … No. Terrible. And afterward wasn’t much better. I feel ill at the very thought. In fact, I might throw up. And then Lorcan will
never
love me, and we’ll
never
get married in a double wedding on matching ponies
.
    “Look,” I manage at last, my face puce. “I didn’t mean … that.”
    “Which bit?” He raises his eyebrows.
    Bastard. Does he think this is funny?
    “You know as well as I do,” I begin icily, “that those words were taken out of context. They didn’t refer to …” I trail off as a growing hubbub attracts my attention. It’s coming from the desk. Two air hostesses are remonstrating with a man in a linen shirt and chinos, who’s trying to squash a suitcase into the hand-baggage measuring stand. As he raises his voice angrily to answer, I realize it’s familiar.
    He turns, and I quell a gasp of shock. I thought so: it’s Richard!
    “Sir, I’m afraid the case is clearly too big for the cabin.” A woman from the airline is addressing him. “And it’s too late to check it in now. Might I suggest that you wait and catch a later flight?”
    “A later flight?” Richard’s voice erupts from him like the sound of a tormented animal. “There aren’t any other flights to this godforsaken place! One a day! What kind of service is that?”
    “Sir—”
    “I need to get on this flight.”
    “But, sir—”
    To my astonishment, Richard vaults up so that he’s resting on the high desk, his eyes level with the airline woman’s.
    “The girl I love has tethered herself to another man,” he says intensely. “I was too slow off the mark, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But if I can do nothing else, I can tell her how I really feel. Because I never showed her. Not properly. I’m not even sure I knew myself.”
    I gape at him, absolutely astonished. Is this Richard? Making declarations of love in public? If only Lottie could see this! She’d be bowled over! The airline woman, on the other hand, looks supremely unmoved. She has black dyed hair pulled into a harsh bun and a doughy face with mean little eyes.
    “Be that as it may, sir,” she says, “your case is too big for the cabin. Could you step aside from the desk?”
    What a bitch. I’ve seen plenty of people take luggage that size onto planes. I know I should step forward and tell Richard I’m here, but something inside me needs to see what will happen next.
    “Fine. I won’t bring the bag.” Glowering at her, Richard jumps back down to the floor and snaps open the clasps of his case. He grabs a couple of T-shirts, a wash bag, a