Page 59 of Last Night

‘What she’dwant?What she’d want is to not be a pile of fireplace sweepings in an industrial furnace in Wilford right now.’

‘Sshhhh, Christ, Eve,’ Hester looks around, eyes like saucers at my tastelessness. ‘It’s not the time for your … unique turn of phrase.’

‘Not the time? You’re the one talking about bridesmaids fittings for her replacement.’

‘Hang on, it’s fine for you guys to crack jokes, but the moment I talk about something else, I’m in bad taste? Is that it?’

‘What I mind is you using Susie’s imaginary wishes as your excuse. She’d not care less about whether your wedding went ahead. Leave her out of it.’

‘Wow, “excuse”?’ Hester says, face twisting. ‘Alright. Thanks. I don’t see why you’ve attacked me. So you think out of respect we should cancel, and lose two grand …’

‘I don’t care,’ I say, with sufficient force she looks genuinely startled. ‘No one gives a shit about your wedding tonight, Hester. Sorry to be the bearer. In terms of hitting the right tone, you might as well walk round playing a tuba.’

I find I’m not scared of her. I feel like Bette Davis, gene-spliced with a cobra.

Hester’s unused to being called on her behaviour and it shows. Like an unfit person suddenly asked to run a mile, she’s out of shape when it comes to taking negative feedback, huffing and puffing. Whereas I feel like I’ve been in training for this moment for years.

‘Talking about my wedding – our wedding –’ she shoots a look at Ed, who she suddenly realises should be backing her up – ‘is about “life goes on”. You agreed we should still go ahead with it, I don’t hear you agreeing now though?’ She looks at Ed again.

There’s a painful pause.

‘I did agree. But you didn’t need to bring it up now. Eve’s right,’ Ed says, and I swear I feel Hester lift two inches off the ground in fury. ‘Leave it.’

‘You’re taking her side, after the way she’s spoken to me?’ Hester says, pointing at me, to identify the culprit for the jury.

Ed doesn’t answer.

Her eyes narrow. ‘I am so, fucking, sick, of the way you lot are with each other, your cliquey little gang and your …superiority. Don’t twist my words and take this out on me, because you’re sad and bitter,’ she says to me.

She wipes at her suddenly streaming eyes and stalks off back into the hotel. She might as well have said ‘Heel!’ to Ed, for the obviousness of the expectation that he follows.

I don’t feel regret, or triumph, or worry at the repercussionsfrom that spat. I don’t feel anything. I’m numb.

‘Sorry,’ Ed says, turning to me, looking like a man who’s aged a year in minutes.

‘What for?’ I say. Usually that is a response to an apology that exculpates someone, but here it’s accusatory.

‘Hah,’ he rubs his temple. ‘I’ll call you,’ he says, in a low voice, and heads indoors to find Hester.

As my eyes follow him I see Finlay Hart, leaning against the wall in the shadows, a glowing ember of a fag in one of his hands. I near-physically twitch at recognising him in the gloom, plenty near enough to have caught every word of the altercation.

How long has he been there?

He smiles at me, drops his cigarette butt and grinds it under his heel. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him smile. Might’ve known he only enjoys malign triumph. And Marlboro Gold.

‘Can I help you?’ I say.

‘Take the positive from that,’ he says.

Ugh.

‘… Which is?’

‘Doesn’t sound like you’ll have to be a bridesmaid any more.’

21

Three weeks later

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