The Guest List(54)

‘Hello,’ she says, and looks at her feet.

‘You must be very proud,’ I say.

‘Proud?’ He frowns at me, enquiringly. He’s tall, with no stoop, so I find myself having to crane my neck slightly to look up at him. And maybe it’s the long, hooked shape of it, but I feel that he is looking down his nose at me. I’m aware of a slight tightness in my stomach which most reminds me of being told off by a teacher at school.

‘Well, yes,’ I say, flustered. I didn’t think I’d have to explain myself. ‘Mainly because of the wedding, I suppose, but also because of Survive the Night.’

‘Mm.’ He seems to be considering this. ‘But it’s not a profession, is it?’

‘Well, um – I suppose not in the traditional sense—’

‘He wasn’t always the best student. Got himself into a few scrapes, you know – but he’s a bright enough boy, all told. He managed to get into a fairly good university. Could have gone into politics or law. Perhaps not of the first rank in those, but respectable.’

Jesus Christ. I’ve remembered that Will’s dad is a headmaster. Right now it sounds as though he could be talking about any random boy, not his own son. I’d never have thought I’d feel pity for Will, who seems to have everything going for him – but right now I think I do.

‘Do you have children?’ he asks me. ‘Any sons?’

‘Yes, Ben, he’s—’

‘You could do worse than to think of Trevellyan’s. I know our methods may be considered a little … severe by some, but they have made great men out of some unpromising raw materials.’

The idea of handing Ben into the clutches of this profoundly cold man fills me with horror. I want to tell him that even could I afford it and even if Ben was anywhere near senior school age there’d be no way I’d send my son to a place run by him. But I smile politely and excuse myself. If Will’s parents are here, the bridal party must have returned from having their photos taken. And if so, why hasn’t Charlie come to find me? I search the crowd, finally spotting him in a big group with the rest of the ushers and several other men. I feel a little dart of anger and move towards him as quickly as my heels will let me.

‘Charlie,’ I say, trying not to sound hectoring. ‘God, it feels like you’ve been gone hours. I had the weirdest conversation—’

‘Hey, Han,’ he says, a bit absently. By the slight squint he gives me, and perhaps some other subtle change in his features, I’m certain he’s already had a bit to drink. There’s a full glass of champagne in one of his hands, but I don’t think it’s his first. I remind myself that he’s always in control, that he knows what his limit is. He’s a grown-up. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘By the way. You can probably take that thing off your head now.’

He means the fascinator. I feel my cheeks grow hot as I lift it off. Is he ashamed of me?

One of the men Charlie has been talking to walks over and claps Charlie on the shoulder. ‘This your old lady, Charlie?’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie says. ‘Rory this is my wife, Hannah. Hannah, this is Rory. He was on the stag.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Hannah,’ Rory says, with a flash of teeth. So much charm, all these public schoolboys. I think of the ushers outside the chapel: Can I offer you a programme? Would you like some dried rose petals? Butter wouldn’t melt. But I saw how they got last night. I wouldn’t trust any of them further than I could throw them.

‘Hannah,’ Rory says, ‘I think I should apologise for the state we sent your boy back in after the stag do. But it was all fun and games, wasn’t it, Charlie, mate? Last one in and all that.’

I don’t know what that means, exactly. I’m watching Charlie. And I see it as it happens, the transformation of my husband’s face. The tightening of the features, lips disappearing into a taut line, until he wears the very same expression he did when I collected him from the airport after that weekend.

‘What on earth did you all get up to?’ I ask Rory, keeping my tone playful. ‘Charlie definitely won’t tell me.’

Rory seems relieved. ‘Good man,’ he says, clapping Charlie on the shoulder again. ‘What happens on the stag stays on the stag and all that.’ He winks at me. ‘All good fun, anyhow. Boys will be boys.’

‘Charlie?’ I ask, as Rory peels away and we have a moment alone together. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Only a sip,’ he says. I don’t think he’s slurring. ‘You know, to lubricate things.’

‘Charlie—’

‘Han,’ he says, firmly. ‘A couple of glasses aren’t going to derail me.’

‘And—’ I think of him emerging from Stansted airport, looking hollow-eyed and shell-shocked. ‘What happened on the stag do? What was he talking about?’

‘Ah, God.’ Charlie runs a hand through his hair, screws up his face. ‘I don’t know why it got to me so much. It’s – well it’s because I’m not one of them, I suppose. But it was pretty horrible at the same time.’

‘Charlie,’ I say, feeling disquiet curl through my stomach. ‘What did they do?’

And then my husband turns to me and hisses, between his teeth, that nasty little trace of something – someone – else creeping into his words. ‘I don’t want to fucking talk about it, Hannah.’