Before I Do(6)

The rest of the wedding party soon arrived from the church. There wasn’t space for people to stand around and chat, so everyone promptly took their seats. They were to be twelve in total, everyone from the church, plus Josh’s sister, Miranda, and her date, whom Josh was collecting from the station.

“The London train was delayed,” Debbie announced to the room as she passed around the bread basket. “Josh is on his way but said to go ahead and order or we’ll miss our window with the kitchen. We must get our order in before that big group who’ve just arrived in the bar area. Does everyone know what they’re having?”

No one knew what they were having. Everyone was too busy listening to Hillary tell an amusing story about the time he accidentally stole Michael Gambon’s shoes. Audrey had heard this particular story numerous times before and noted it had gained several embellishments. Michael Gambon had not gone so far as to chase Hillary down Shaftesbury Avenue wearing only a towel last time.

“Sean Bean is from Yorkshire, you know,” Granny Parker announced to the table.

“I think the story was about Michael Gambon, Mum,” Josh’s father said, patting his mother’s arm.

“I know, and my story was about Sean Bean,” Granny Parker said crossly, removing her arm from beneath his.

By the time everyone had gotten around to consulting the menus, of which there were only one between every two people, much to Vivien’s chagrin, in walked Josh with the party from the train. At the exact moment they arrived, Audrey was coming back from the bathroom, and from the corridor, she was able to see the new arrivals standing by the door before they noticed her. The brass-rimmed clock on the wall told her it was eight minutes past eight when she felt her heart jump into her throat and her legs go soft beneath her. For there, standing beside Josh’s sister, was a face she recognized. It was a face she had not seen in six years, and one she had thought she would never see again.





3


Seven Years Before I Do



Audrey, waiting at the main exit of Baker Street tube station, checked her watch. Hillary was twenty minutes late. He had just started rehearsals on a new production, and Audrey suspected that if there was an opportunity to loiter and impress his new castmates, then loiter he would.

If he didn’t show, she would spend the afternoon in the British Library. If she was serious about this new plan of hers, then she would need to study every chance she got. She didn’t relish the prospect of changing university courses again, of what people would say, but the truth was, she had always wanted to study astronomy, she’d just never had the confidence to apply before.

The tube exit was getting busy, so she moved further inside the station to escape the throng of people. A photo booth stood in an overlooked corner of the tube station. The vintage-style machine had popped up a few weeks earlier. It had softly illuminated white walls, a mirror, and a single red panel with the words “4 photos, 3 minutes, 2 pounds” printed in a stylish square font. On the opposite side, an advert detailed how you could hire an old-fashioned analog booth like this for private events.

Away from the tide of people streaming from the ticket gates, Audrey paused to look at her reflection in the booth’s paneled mirror. She was wearing black tights beneath denim cutoffs and a white tank top under an open lumberjack shirt. She smiled at her reflection, pleased with her new fringe. Did she look like someone who could be an astronomy student? What did an astronomy student look like? Mind wandering, Audrey noticed a strip of color photos sitting in the photo booth dispenser. She looked around, expecting to see someone waiting, but there was no one. She glanced beneath the blue curtain of the booth—it was empty.

After one more look around the station, she picked up the photos. The strip of four images showed a man, perhaps close to her age, twenty-one. He was blond, attractive, with an angular face and a slightly crooked smile. In the first photo, he was pointing to himself; in the next, he had pulled open his shirt and the word “WILL” was written on his bare chest in black ink. In the third picture, he held a heavy-handled magnifying glass up to one eye, miming searching for something. In the final picture, he pointed a finger directly at the lens; his face had been captured in an enormous smile. “I will find you,” Audrey muttered.

Audrey stared at the photos; she was intrigued by both the message and the man. His fair hair was styled into a messy quiff on one side, his face was narrow, his jawline and cheekbones sharp. He had a light smattering of freckles across his nose and a small, straight scar at the top of his left cheek. His eyes were piercing green and looked directly at the lens in all but one of the photographs. Though logic told her otherwise, Audrey felt that the message in the photos was meant for her.

She scanned the station again. Surely, he must be nearby. Effort had gone into these, getting the timing right for each pose, to convey the message in four unstoppable flashes of light. They were not something to be left behind, discarded. She felt an illogical stab of desperation—she wanted to see this man in real life, to see if his eyes were really that extraordinary shade of green, or if it was simply a trick of the light, or a fault in the outdated inking process. Her curiosity felt so intensely piqued that she couldn’t make herself walk away from the booth.

“Audrey!” A familiar voice cut across the station, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She looked up to see Hillary stepping off the escalator coming up from the Bakerloo line. He was dressed in a boxy white suit, a yellow cravat, and a black beret, an outfit that was garnering him looks of both approval and bewilderment from people he passed.