“Can you believe it?” says Paige as soon as they’re out of earshot of Chrissy.
The photo had shown her and Ali, as early twenty-somethings, sitting in a back garden on a sunny day. At first, it was impossible to tell who was who, as they were both so far removed from the women they are today. But slowly, Ali’s sunburned features had presented themselves from under a mane of frizzy red hair.
“I mean, she was huge,” Paige goes on, as they go in search of Jack and Noah and a much-needed drink.
“It doesn’t matter how overweight she was,” says Rachel impatiently. “It’s why she lies about it. That’s the bit I don’t get.”
“She can’t stop herself,” says Paige. “She lies about everything. That’s why we have to take her denial that anything’s going on with Jack with a pinch of salt.”
Rachel grimaces at the reminder, but a part of her wonders if Ali’s propensity to lie might actually work in her favor. It would certainly cast doubt on any revelations she cared to expose about Rachel and Noah.
“Here they are!” exclaims Jack, leaning on the bar with a beer in his hand. Rachel had hoped that he might pace himself today, but if a few pints help to restore the equilibrium with Noah, she’s all for it.
“We were waiting for you to bring us a drink, remember?” Paige bites back. If Rachel knows Paige at all, she knows that it’s going to take all her resolve not to show her indignation at what Jack’s doing with Ali. Even in the best of circumstances, they had a cat-and-mouse relationship, taking turns to dangle the cheese. But with this time bomb ticking noisily underneath them all, it just feels like a matter of minutes before Paige lights the fuse.
“Oh, sorry,” says Jack playfully, knowing that’s the perfect way to rile Paige. “You don’t seem the type to wait on a man for anything.”
She looks questioningly at the glass of rosé he hands her.
“No gin and tonics, I’m afraid,” says Jack in response. “Just wine and beer.”
“Here,” says Noah, passing an identical glass to Rachel.
She knocks the warm liquid back in two hits, desperate to feel its effects, trusting that it will numb her jangling nerve endings enough to enable her to get through this afternoon and evening.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announces a loud voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Hunter would like to request that you make your way up to the restaurant for the wedding breakfast.”
“Let’s hope we’ll be able to get a decent drink,” says Paige tightly. “And let us pray that we’ll be sitting together.”
Rachel groans inwardly. She’d never been a fan of sit-down meals, where you were forced to make small talk with a total stranger for three hours, knowing you’d never see them again. She understood why it naturally fell that way whenever you got everyone from two people’s lives in the same room, but it didn’t stop the feeling of dread that consumed her as she counted down the minutes until she’d be back sat on her couch, wearing pajamas and watching an entire series on TV. Today, though, she’s thousands of miles from home, so that isn’t an option.
As she looks at the table plan at the door, she’s got her fingers crossed that Paige and Noah aren’t on her and Jack’s table. Because the atmosphere is toxic enough, at least to her, and she can do without the added tension of wondering whether Paige might divulge Jack’s secret before Rachel’s ready to share it. And she certainly doesn’t need Noah’s eyes burning into her, whenever Josh comes up in conversation. If she had her way, she’d even rather be sitting on her own without Jack, because it gives her no pleasure to watch him hang himself.
The restaurant is pitched precariously on the cliffside, supported by what look to be ill-fitting stilts. Some long, some short, others clearly retrofitted in an effort to replace those that had been ravaged by the sea salt and heat of the summer sun. Rachel wishes she’d not seen the underside of it, as not only does it make her apprehensive about sitting in it for the next few hours, but it also reminds her of the state of her marriage, which for all intents and purposes looks solid, yet is on very shaky ground below the surface.
The terrace, next to it, seems to be a newer addition, with more robust posts holding it up, out of harm’s way and the sea’s natural course. But the watermarks on the supports are evident, and Rachel shudders to think that at some point in the next few hours, the waves that are gradually claiming back the beach will be well over and above her head, creeping ever closer to where they’ll be dancing the night away.
She can’t make her way back up the rickety staircase fast enough and, as if sensing her unease, Jack puts his hand on the small of her back, in an attempt to make her feel secure. She couldn’t feel any less so if she tried, both literally and metaphorically.
“You okay?” he asks with a wide smile when they reach the terrace that has now been set up with bar tables and outdoor heaters for when the sun goes down. She gives a curt nod as she looks up the dirt track that cuts a swathe through the rocky ridges on either side of it. It’s so steep that it was no wonder the taxi had been able to cruise down, seemingly without power. She wonders what it would take to get herself back up it and into the nearest village, wherever that may be. She hopes it would be far enough away from here to make her feel less like she is being suffocated from the inside out.
Despite its shoddy undercarriage, the restaurant itself is beautiful. Three of its sides are open to the elements, and the late afternoon sun is streaking across the round tables that are adorned with crisp white tablecloths, a centerpiece of bougainvillea and a tissue-wrapped favor on each place setting.
Paige is already across the driftwood floor in search of her place and Rachel can’t help but feel relieved when she sees her disappointed face.
“Please be seated where you find yourself,” reprimands Ali’s mum, as Paige surreptitiously attempts to move her place name to where she’d rather be. She pulls a face behind Maria’s back as she’s forced to stay where she is.
“Rachel,” says Ali’s mum, with a warm smile that lights up her eyes. “You’re over at the front, at the table next to the bride and groom.”
Rachel can’t help but wonder how complex the relationship must be between Ali and her mum since the accident. How could you ever forgive yourself for causing someone you love so much pain? Taking away their ability to ever walk again? And how could Maria not spend the rest of her life blaming her daughter for what she’d done? Yet despite it all, Rachel doesn’t think she’s ever seen a pair as close as they are, though the memory of Maria’s words, “It’s all a bit of a front,” rings alarm bells loudly in her ears.
As Rachel weaves her way through the tables toward the magnificent sea view, the fragrant aromas of fish and garlic remind her that she’s hungry, and with the amount she’s intending to drink, she knows it’s only sensible to eat as much as she can now if she’s going to avoid making a scene she doesn’t want to make.
“Hello,” says the man next to her awkwardly. “I’m Neil.”
Rachel takes the hand he offers, and once again wonders about the absurdity of the intimate situation they’ve been forced into. She’s never met this man before, yet for the next few hours, he is her only outlet, as she is his, unless they want to endure a painful and unnatural silence. At least when you’re faced with this situation on an airplane, it’s commonly accepted that you either make eye contact or you don’t. But at weddings that’s not an option you can really choose.