The Guilt Trip(60)
Will suddenly whacks Jack with his arm and hurriedly turns to face the ocean, implying that Rachel’s wish has been denied: Ali is here. A lone singer, whom she hadn’t even noticed before now, launches into a cover of Norah Jones’s “Come Away With Me.”
“I cannot wait to see what she’s wearing,” hisses Paige next to her. “Although perhaps I should rephrase that to what she isn’t wearing, because that is bound to be the order of the day.”
Rachel stays focused on the waves as they edge ever closer to the gazebo, and wonders if it might save her the trouble if a tsunami came and washed them all away. She immediately hates herself for allowing the abominable thought to even enter her head.
She watches Jack’s shoulders, so rigid in his fitted jacket, as if he’s forcing himself to stay facing forward. His hands are clasped in front of him and a vein throbs in the side of his neck. If anyone were looking on, they’d think he was the groom. Rachel can’t stop herself from wondering what he must be thinking. Has he begged Ali not to go through with it? Promised her that they could be together if she doesn’t? Or was this turning him on? Knowing that once today is over, he’ll be able to shag his brother’s wife.
She thinks back to last night, in their room, when he’d wanted to have sex, and a tiny glimmer of hope ripples through her that she might have gotten this all wrong. If he was so hung up on Ali, why would he want to make love to her? She almost laughs out loud at her naivety when it dawns on her that that was precisely why he was desperate: he’d been watching his mistress strut around all night, in a dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and no doubt Ali had teased him mercilessly whenever she could get away with it too, showing him what he was missing out on. Who knows? Maybe they even managed a quick fumble when no one was looking. Which would all go to prove why Jack would have been climbing the walls by the time they got home. It wouldn’t have mattered who it was; he’d probably have just closed his eyes and pictured Ali anyway.
The thought makes her feel sick and if she had a knife right now, she’d fancy shoving it right between his twitching shoulder blades.
As the singer reaches the end of the second chorus, Ali appears at Rachel’s side, just as Will—and Jack—turn around to see her for the first time.
Rachel can’t decide who is going to give the most away with that initial glance; she doesn’t suppose Ali would be stupid enough to look at Jack before Will, so Rachel concentrates on every flicker of emotion that crosses her husband’s face. His eyes drink her in, his gaze so intense that it could set a person alight. Ali must be able to see it, feel it … the whole goddamn congregation must be able to feel it.
But if they do, they pretend not to. There are ah’s and aw’s as Will smiles proudly and takes Ali’s hand in his. Her mum bursts into noisy sobs the moment she sets eyes on her daughter, theatrically throwing kisses for Ali to catch. “Look at my baby,” Rachel overhears her saying to the row behind her.
Jack pulls at his restrictive collar as the ceremony gets underway, the heat of the occasion seemingly getting to him. He breathes heavily and clenches and unclenches his fists, as he no doubt questions why Ali’s putting him through this arduous torture.
When the registrar asks if there is anyone present who knows of any reason why Ali and Will should not be married, Paige digs Rachel in the ribs. She daren’t look at her, as she honestly doesn’t know whether she’s referring to today’s proceedings or harping back to her own wedding day when she was clearly expecting Rachel to stand up and object. She can’t think about either right now as she’s concentrating solely on the twitch that has appeared, involuntarily she presumes, in Jack’s jaw. She silently begs him to throw his hand in the air, to put her out of her misery and to negate the responsibility from being firmly on her shoulders.
But it’s too late.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” says the registrar, as Stevie Wonder starts blaring out “Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours).”
“Great,” says Jack, as he and Rachel follow the happy couple back down the aisle. “Now I need a fucking beer.”
“Don’t we all,” pipes up Paige from behind them.
“What can I get you?” Jack asks as he strides purposefully toward a pop-up bar set up at the back of the beach.
“If they’re doing gin and tonics, I’ll have one,” says Paige. “But otherwise, wine or beer, whatever’s on offer—I’m not fussy, as long as it’s cold.”
“Rach?” asks Jack.
“Rosé, if they’ve got any,” says Rachel tersely.
“I’ll come with you,” says Noah.
“You know you’re not going to be able to keep this up all day,” says Paige, as the men drop out of earshot.
“Can’t I?” challenges Rachel.
“So, I’m assuming things haven’t improved any?”
Rachel snorts derisorily. “They’ve gotten worse.”
Paige looks at her wide-eyed. “Have you spoken to him?” she asks.
“I don’t need to,” says Rachel. “I found—”
“Wasn’t that a lovely service?” comes a voice, next to them.
Perturbed by the interruption, Rachel turns to see Ali’s friend—the one who was wearing the red dress the previous night. Her smile is twitching with nerves and her eyes flit around anxiously.