The Guest List(65)

This time rescue was possible. I think of the groom walking out of the water with her, saviour of the day. But maybe I could have prevented it from happening at all, if I had paid more attention at the right time. I am angry with myself for having been so lax. I managed to keep a veneer of cool professionalism in front of the guests, for the time it took to marshal them all into the marquee for the wedding breakfast. Even if I hadn’t kept such a firm hold of myself, I doubt anyone would have noticed anything was amiss. After all, it is my job to be invisible.

I need Freddy. Freddy always makes me feel better.

I find him out of sight of the guests, in the catering area of the back of the marquee: plating up with a small army of helpers. I get him to step outside with me, away from the curious gaze of his kitchen aides.

‘The girl could have drowned, out there,’ I say. When I think about it, I can hardly breathe. I’m seeing it all, how it could have happened, playing out before my eyes. It is as though I’ve been transported back to a different day, when there was no happy ending. ‘Oh God – Freddy, she could have drowned. I wasn’t paying enough attention.’ It is the past, all over again. All my fault.

‘Aoife,’ he says. He takes a firm hold of my shoulders. ‘She didn’t drown. It’s all OK.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘He saved her. But what if—’

‘No what ifs. The guests are in the marquee, now. Everything is going to go perfectly, trust me. Go back out there and do what you do best.’ Freddy has always been good at soothing me. ‘It’s a minor blip. Otherwise everything is going beautifully.’

‘But it’s all different to how I imagined,’ I say. ‘Harder, having them all here, wandering about all over the place. Those men, with their horrible games last night. And now this – bringing it all back …’

‘It’s nearly done,’ Freddy says, firmly. ‘All you have to do is get through the next few hours.’

I nod. He’s right. And I know I need to get a grip of myself. I can’t afford to fall apart, not today.





NOW


The wedding night


Now they can make him out, the man, Freddy, hurrying toward them as quickly as he is able. He holds a torch in his hand: nothing more sinister than that. The light of their own torches picks out the sheen of sweat on his pale forehead as he draws near. ‘You should come back to the marquee,’ he shouts, between gasps of breath. ‘We’ve called the Gardaí.’

‘What? Why?’

‘The waitress has come round a little. She says she thinks she saw someone else out there, in the dark.’

‘We should listen to him,’ Angus shouts to the others, once Freddy has left them. ‘Wait for the police. It’s not safe.’

‘Nah,’ Femi shouts. ‘We’ve come too far.’

‘You really think they’re going to be here soon do you, Angus?’ Duncan asks. ‘The police? In this weather? No fucking way, mate. We’re all alone out here.’

‘Well, all the more reason. It’s not safe—’

‘Aren’t we jumping to conclusions?’ Femi shouts.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He only said she might have seen someone.’

‘But if she did,’ Angus calls, ‘that means—’

‘What?’

‘Well, if someone else was involved. It means it might not – it might not have been an accident.’

He doesn’t go so far as to spell it out but they hear it, all the same, behind his words. Murder.

They grip their torches a little tighter. ‘These would make good weapons,’ Duncan shouts. ‘If it comes down to it.’

‘Yeah,’ Femi shouts, straightening his shoulders a little. ‘It’s us against them. Four of us, one of them.’

‘Wait, has anyone seen Pete?’ Angus says, suddenly.

‘What? Shit— no.’

‘Maybe he went with that Freddy bloke?’

‘He didn’t, Fem,’ Angus replies. ‘And he was really out of it. Shit—’

They call for him: ‘Pete!’

‘Pete, mate – you out there?’ There is no answer.

‘Christ … well, I’m not going to wander around looking for him, too,’ Duncan shouts, a faint but telling tremor in his voice. ‘It’s not the first time he’s been in that state, is it? He can look after himself. He’ll be fine.’ The others suspect he’s made an effort to sound more certain than he really is. But they aren’t going to question it. They want to believe it too.





Earlier that day


JULES


The Bride


Inside the marquee, Aoife has conjured something magical. It’s warm in here, a respite from the increasingly cool wind outside. Through the entrance I can see the lighted torches flicker and dip and every so often the roof of the marquee billows and deflates gently, flexing against the wind outside. But in a way it only adds to the sense of cosiness inside. The whole place is scented by the candles and the faces clustered about the candlelight appear rosy, flushed with health and youth – even if the true cause is an afternoon of drinking in the penetrating Irish wind. It’s everything I could have wanted. I look around at the guests and see it in their faces: the awe at their surroundings. And yet … why am I left feeling so hollow?