Forget Her Name(28)

‘Not if it means we lose . . . this.’ I look around at the untidy bedroom, my eyes misty. ‘This is our place, Dom. We’ve been happy here. So happy.’

‘And we’ll get our own place again in the future, and be happy there too. Even happier, because we’ll be owners, not tenants. Don’t you want that?’

He’s so persuasive, it’s hard to argue with him. And deep down, I know Dominic’s probably right. With everything that’s been happening lately, maybe the best option is for us to move into my parents’ home.

Like he says, it wouldn’t be forever.

I rub a hand across my face, suddenly exhausted. It’s been such a long day. ‘Yes, I suppose so. When you put it like that.’

‘That’s settled then.’

He turns off the light without any further discussion. We climb back into bed and lie together in the darkness, listening to the wind blowing and the muted sounds of traffic below.

Eventually his breathing slows, and I realise he’s asleep.

I lie there, turning events over in my mind, unable to sleep, and can see how Dad sending me the snow globe doesn’t make sense. Not after finding my wedding dress cut up tonight. I can’t imagine my father doing something that vile and creepy. And I’m not sure he’s capable of scaling our rusty old fire escape and climbing in through a bathroom window, and then rushing home to meet me for dinner. Not at his age. The same goes for Mum. And I can’t imagine that Kasia had anything to do with it.

Which means there’s only one person who could have destroyed my wedding dress.

And she’s dead.





Chapter Sixteen ‘You look beautiful,’ Dad says, patting my hand.

We are sitting in the back of the sleek white limousine as it pulls up in front of the Parish Church of Christ the Saviour in Ealing. I can see people waiting by the main entrance, the high steeple soaring above them into a grey, wintry sky. My two bridesmaids, sheltering in the arched stone porch, peek out and wave cheerily at the car. Their limo has parked further up the lane that runs beside the church. I can see the chauffeur leaning against the bonnet, having a cigarette.

My head still hurts from too many drinks last night. I hadn’t meant to go out at all. But Louise turned up at my parents’ house, where I’ve been staying alone for the past few days, with a bottle of wine and some chocolates. And then my cousin Jasmine arrived and all my careful plans for an early night were blown out of the water. An hour later, we were in the pub at the end of the road, playing a drinking game.

I glance up at the sky through the back window of the limousine. It looks cloudy, but no sign of rain yet. It’s forecast for later today though, and everyone outside looks cold. The women are holding on to their hats in the stiff breeze. In top hats and with tails flapping, Dominic’s ushers peer down the path to check I’ve arrived safely, then one nips back inside the church. To tell the organist I’ve arrived, presumably, and give Dominic’s best man the nod.

We went through it all at the wedding rehearsal. Twice. It should go like clockwork, the vicar said, assuming no last-minute problems.

So far, so good.

I’m nervous, all the same. Not sick-nervous, thankfully. But my knees are a little shaky, and the distance between the limousine and the church door suddenly looks like a long way.

Dad studies my face. ‘You okay, darling?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Sure?’

‘It’s my wedding day, Dad. Of course I’m fine.’ I manage a tremulous smile. ‘Better than fine, in fact.’

My lips are numb though, and it feels as if all the colour has drained from my face. Probably last night’s excesses still having an effect, even after several large glasses of water and some pick-me-up Alka-Seltzer. Or the chilly weather. This new wedding dress, while not as elegant or clinging as the mermaid style, is almost as flimsy. And mid-December is not exactly the right weather for short puff sleeves and a low-cut bodice.

‘I can ask the driver to take us back home, if you’ve changed your mind,’ he tells me, his voice low and earnest. ‘It’s not too late. We wouldn’t be cross.’

I stare at him. ‘Changed my mind?’

‘You look so pale . . .’

‘I told you, there’s nothing wrong.’ The chauffeur has come round and opened the door next to me. I gather my flouncy white skirt in one hand, my bridal bouquet in the other. The delicate white roses smell amazing. Wind tears at my hair arrangement and I fear for my silk rosebud tiara, carefully pinned in place by the hairdresser less than an hour ago. ‘Come on, let’s get inside before we get blown away.’

I climb out and the smartly liveried chauffeur gives me a helping hand, his smile admiring.

‘Lovely dress,’ he says.

‘Thank you.’

My father appears from the other side of the car, still looking uncertain, and takes my arm, guiding me towards the entrance porch. The wind drags on my skirt, but I just laugh. My nerves are still there, my legs trembling, but I’m excited now, too. ‘You look gorgeous, love!’ somebody shouts from the street, and I turn but can’t see who it is.

One of the ushers is talking to my father, but in such a low voice I can’t hear what’s being said.

‘Problem?’ I ask nervously.