The Younger Wife(81)

60


TULLY


Tully liked to think she’d become pretty zen since she’d started therapy, but she had to admit this whole affair was pushing it. It was supposed to be a wedding, for heaven’s sake! Instead she felt like she was herding cats.

Dad had insisted on having Locky and Miles as his ‘best men’ – which was all glory and cuteness for him, all pain-in-the-arse for her. She was the one who’d had to strongarm them into tiny little dinner suits and then forbid them to play on the grass. She was the one who had their little fingers poking her in the butt during the service, accompanied by their constant asking to go outside and play and, also, were there any snacks? And, as if this circus wasn’t enough, now Mum was wandering around the altar while the entire congregation ignored Dad and Heather’s exchange of vows and watched her with bated breath, waiting for her to do something.

It wasn’t civilised, Tully thought. This was why people liked civilised things.

Mum was standing at the altar now, holding Heather’s posy. What are you thinking, Mum? Tully wondered. Do you know what is happening? Are you aware that you are being usurped before your very eyes? Tully wasn’t sure. Mum had seemed perfectly happy at first, but she was definitely getting a little restless now. She placed her posy on the altar table, and picked up a large candlestick. The celebrant looked a little nervous about it, but it appeared everyone had decided to pretend nothing unusual was happening. How very middle class of them.

‘I now pronounce you husband and wife,’ the celebrant said finally. ‘You may kiss the bride.’

There was an outburst of cheers as Dad and Heather shared a (thankfully chaste) kiss. It startled Mum, who looked around worriedly, wielding her candlestick. Dad and Heather beamed and waved at the crowd, until the celebrant invited them into the sacristy to sign the register. They were followed by the little boys, who took off at a run. Rachel and Tully went after them, collecting Mum along the way and taking her with them, for her own safety as well as everyone else’s.

‘Congratulations,’ Tully said to Dad in the sacristy. Heather was already signing the register. It was a small room and the boys were all but bouncing off the walls.

‘Thanks, sweetie,’ Dad said. He seemed pleased but also a little distracted by all the commotion. ‘Can you –’

‘I’ll deal with the boys,’ Tully said, but unfortunately it was easier said than done. She looked to Rachel for help, but her sister was trying – and failing – to prise the candlestick from Mum’s grip. Each time Rachel reached for it, Mum swung it this way and that, as if it were a game. The boys thought this was wonderful and tried to join in, ducking and weaving around her. Tully wondered if Dad was finally rethinking his ‘family is everything’ stance. Locky took a flying leap, his elbow narrowly missing his grandfather’s groin.

‘Tully,’ Dad said, the first hints of impatience starting to show.

She nodded, although in the back of her mind she was thinking, You’re the one who wanted them here.

Rachel reached for the candlestick again, but this time Mum lifted it high in the air.

Dad sighed audibly. It was getting quite raucous now and the celebrant was looking nervous as she bent to sign her portion of the register. Miles stayed by Mum’s side, leaping uselessly at the candlestick, while Locky strategically climbed onto a chair and jumped. Mum, perhaps anticipating another grab at her treasure, jerked it away – straight towards Locky’s head. Tully let out a squeal. Fortunately, Dad managed to get there first.

For a moment it was calm. Tully exhaled with relief. Locky, unaware of his near miss, rolled around on the floor with his brother. Dad held out the candlestick to Rachel, and that’s when Tully noticed Rachel had an odd look on her face.

Tully looked at Dad. He stood behind Mum, holding the candlestick in one hand and restraining her with the other. But there was something not quite right about it. It was the way a guard would detain an escaped prisoner, or a policeman would seize a dangerous criminal – not the way a man would hold his confused, middle-aged ex-wife. His arm was wrapped around her neck, pulling her up so her chin rested on his elbow. In wrestling, it would have been called a chokehold.

Horror spread through Tully. Dad was rigid with the effort of holding Mum, even though she was not even trying to pull away from him. And his face – it looked almost as if he were . . . enjoying it.

‘Dad,’ Tully started, but she didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence because Rachel chose that moment to seize the candlestick and lift it high above Dad’s head.





61


RACHEL


The grotesque thud of the candlestick connecting with Dad’s head was unlike anything Rachel had ever heard. But even worse was the feeling of his skull crumpling. He hadn’t blocked, he hadn’t braced; his body went limp the moment Rachel released the candlestick. Mum, free of his grasp, walked away from him with incongruent casualness. Perhaps it resembled the way she’d wanted to walk away from him for years.

Rachel had known, the moment Dad grabbed her. The way he held her – it wasn’t the way someone should hold another human being; certainly not someone they loved. It was what she’d been waiting for: confirmation that’d she’d been right about him all along.

The celebrant, who’d been signing the register, jerked upright and, seeing Dad lying in a pool of blood, let out a cry. ‘What happened?’