Page 50 of Broken Country

I’m startled by the sight of Gabriel, clean-shaven in a dark suit. Even as a teenager, I loved how he looked in a suit. Perhaps because he wears one so often, he looks as relaxed in it as he does a pair of jeans, or because Gabriel’s suits, with their fine wool and elegant, narrow fit, are clearly handmade.

I force myself to turn away and find Frank standing a yard or so away, watching. He is holding two glasses of wine in his hands.

“You could have said hello to them,” I say, walking over and taking a glass from him.

Frank looks at me, expressionless, and says only: “Speeches are about to start, are you ready?”

I’ve heard most of Frank’s best man’s speech already but it’s a different thing seeing him stand up in front of a whole village. These people are his friends, his extended family, he has known them all his life. Frank hits all the right notes, the funny stories from boyhood, the challenging teenageyears, the sudden transformation when an exquisite blonde flagged down Jimmy in his tractor. Overnight, he shaved off his beard and requested money for aftershave.

“That was five years ago and since then, as you all know, this family has been through difficult times. Nina has walked every step of the way with Jimmy. She is his rock, his soulmate. He would be lost without her and so would we.”

Jimmy and Nina have chosen “Can’t Help Falling in Love” for their first dance. Nina asked if we’d rather they didn’t play Elvis, but Frank and I felt the same: It was what Bobby would have wanted. They dance the first bars of the song alone, then Nina stretches out an arm toward me and Frank, beckoning with one finger. Frank takes me into his arms and we turn a slow circle, the two brothers and their wives on the dance floor with the village watching.

“You’re crying,” Frank says.

“The song. You. Me. Him.”

ThehimI mean is Bobby. But that’s not how Frank takes it, his mind is somewhere else. “I suppose it was a mistake having him here.”

For a second, I don’t understand what he means. And then I do. “I wasn’t talking about Gabriel.”

“Beth—” Frank says, then he stops himself. “Let’s not do this now. It’s their day. I won’t ruin it.”

Instead, I bury my face in Frank’s chest for the remainder of the song. To everyone else we must look like the thing we used to be, a couple who were devoted to one another, who once had everything and lost it, foolishly, devastatingly, but still managed to cling together.

The dance floor floods with other couples and for the next hour or so Frank and I are in demand. I dance with Helen’s husband, Martin; with David’s best friend, Brian; with Jimmy; with a whole sequence of village men whom I have known since they were little boys beginning primaryschool. People I have known my entire life. We dance to the Beatles, the Byrds, the Supremes. When Frankie Valli starts crooning “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” Nina and Jimmy happen to be dancing together and the crowd forms a spontaneous circle around them. Nina dances with her train swept up over one arm, hips keeping perfect time with the beat, shimmying her shoulders back and forth at Jimmy while he mimes the words of the song to her. I think, looking at Nina, she’s always been a performer, she knows what people want and how to give it to them, it’s why she is so good at her job. There could be no better bride.

Nina and I dance with Leo after that. We teach him how to twist, and he spirals up and down like a corkscrew, his cheeks flushed, eyes glowing. For a second or two, it’s like being with Bobby, my son who loved to dance, particularly with Nina. I can’t allow myself to go there. He’d be twelve now, a different proposition altogether. Who knows if he would have even liked dancing anymore?

Across the marquee Gabriel is watching. I’ve known where he’s been, of course, but this time when I catch his gaze, our eyes linger on each other for a beat too long. He tilts his head, almost imperceptibly, and walks out of the tent. My heart begins to thump painfully in my chest. I glance at Frank and see him talking to Helen and Martin in a corner; I have a moment, but that is all.

Gabriel is waiting for me outside.

“We can’t talk here,” I say, and he follows me to the elm trees at the edge of the field.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Gabriel says.

But for a moment or two he says nothing, we just watch each other in the shadows.

“You were wrong all those years ago about me and Louisa.”

“Let’s not do this. It was all such a long time ago.”

“I need you to know the truth. I didn’t sleep with Louisa while you and I were together. She stayed in my room, it’s true, and I felt guilty because I knew it would hurt you if you found out. But nothing happened between us.”

“Gabriel.” My voice is a wail, too loud, a little demented. The alcohol I have drunk is rushing through my veins. I’m drunk on wine, cider, on him, on the terrifying possibility of truth. “Why are you doing this?”

“You must know why. Tell me you know. Tell me you feel it too.”

I can’t look at him, to look will be fatal. Instead, I stare at the ground. “You told Louisa you had doubts about me. You can’t deny that.”

“Not you, Oxford. I was thinking of dropping out to become a full-time writer. Louisa talked me out of it.”

“It’s too late for this,” I say, desperately.

“Is it?” His voice is soft, tempting me to look at him.

“Why wouldn’t you have told me the truth? You knew I thought you’d been unfaithful to me.”

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