Girl A(101)

All up to the church there was a queue of cars. There had been a series of printed signs on the way – Two miles to the wedding! One mile to the celebrations! – so that Olivia had turned to me, deadpan, and asked if I was sure we were going the right way. Now we joined the procession, caught between a Bugatti and a dusty cab, crawling towards the square.

From the road to the church was a canopy of flowers, and beneath it a purple carpet across the cobbles. I surveyed the guests, waiting in bright, beautiful huddles, taking photographs of one another. There was nobody I knew; that was to be expected. ‘I’ll wait up for you,’ Olivia said, and I clambered from the car, before I could change my mind.

I had been considering how I would greet Ethan. At the church doors, the light dipped, and he was the first thing I saw in the shade, tuxedo and sincerity, with a queue for his attention. He didn’t look nervous. The man he spoke to was nodding; laughing; nodding again. I stepped past them, slid into an empty pew, and arranged a benign smile. At the front of the church, Christ surveyed me with his hands spread, unconvinced. Like: Oh, please.

Dr K and I had talked of religion, at times. ‘How do you feel about it?’ she asked. It was the same question she asked about everything else.

‘About what?’

‘God,’ she said. ‘For example.’

I laughed. ‘Sceptical,’ I said.

‘Not angry?’

‘What’s the point?’

We waited.

‘It wasn’t exactly his fault,’ I said. ‘Was it?’

‘That might depend whom you ask.’

‘No. It wouldn’t.’

The doors of the church were closed. Ethan took his place at the end of the aisle, alone. The priest was here.

I set my hands together. It’s OK, I thought. My usual prayer: I don’t blame you. In the silence before the priest began to speak, I glanced up. Over the bowed heads and hats, Ethan was watching me.

Once the confetti was thrown, we thronged the streets of the town, all the way to the hotel. A tangle of cables and ivy above us. Strangers waving from precarious balconies. The sun flashed between the buildings, and the shadows were starting to lengthen.

I found Delilah in the hotel gardens. The land was staggered: first a terrace, where the tables were set for dinner; then a grassy verge, with a swimming pool and a set of tepees, down to the town walls. Delilah sat at the edge of the earth with a glass of water and a cigarette, in a black dress which exposed the dimples of her spine.

‘Wasn’t it beautiful?’ she said.

‘I was very moved,’ I said, and sat beside her.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘I think they might actually have married for love.’

‘As opposed to what?’

‘Oh, all sorts of things. Do you think it’ll last?’

‘For so long as it’s useful to Ethan, I suppose. Have you seen the drinks?’

‘They’re hiding them in the room next to the toilets. Get me one, will you?’

On the way, I passed Peggy and Tony Granger. They were sitting at a table in the shade, with sunscreen and their anonymous sons. Peggy fanned herself with the order of service. I suspected that Ethan had invited them not for their company – they weren’t nearly important enough for that – but to display the splendour of his life. As I passed, Peggy glanced at me, and when I smiled, pointedly, she looked away. I collected four glasses of champagne and returned to Delilah.

‘Have you seen that Aunt Peggy’s here?’ I said, and Delilah rolled her eyes.

‘Did you read her book?’ I asked.

‘Oh, Lex. You know that I’m not a reader. But put it this way. It wouldn’t be the first book I would try.’

‘She did everything that she could to save us.’

Delilah laughed. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Fuck me.’

‘How’s Gabriel?’

‘He hasn’t killed himself yet.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it is.’

She rested her drink on the ledge, the alcohol slanting right to the brim, and peered over the wall.

‘You must have thought about it,’ she said.

‘All of the time.’

‘You know,’ she said, ‘I spent so long looking through the Bible for something which forbade it. Something he could hang onto, I suppose. And what is there? Fuck all.’

We drank for a while, in quiet.

‘Delilah?’

‘Yes?’

‘Seeing what you’ve done for Gabe – I’m sorry about what I said. At the last of our get-togethers. It was a terrible thing to say.’

‘It was rather dramatic,’ Delilah said, ‘I admit. But you never liked me very much, Lex. You don’t need to start now.’

I waited, with nothing left to drink.

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘In fact – looking at it cynically – it’s in my interests to believe in forgiveness.’

‘I’m sorry?’

She started another glass and another cigarette, all hands and vices.

‘You asked me before,’ she said, ‘about whether we tried to escape. Me and Gabe.’

‘I heard you. One night – near to the end—’