You shrugged.
‘But you’re right, focusing on what I can do, rather than what I can’t do, is the only way.’
‘Exactly. No point in dwelling. I’m sure you do all you can, Eve. Detachment is probably key.’ You refilled our glasses, to our hovering waiter’s dismay. I mouthed thank you to him.
‘At the end of the day, I’m lucky to have this opportunity. Working at the hospital, it’s not easy landing a placement. They turn away graduates weekly. It’s so tough to secure the experience required to progress. So, I feel relatively fortunate too.’
‘No such thing as luck, Eve, believe me. You made it happen. You’re obviously extremely talented, so are justly rewarded. Take the credit you clearly deserve.’ You raise your glass to me. ‘Enjoy it. Nothing happens in life by chance. We create our own luck.’
Such confidence, if only I could have a share. ‘Thank you.’ I reluctantly pocketed it. Compliments don’t always sit comfortably with me. ‘What about you? Where do you hope to go with your job?’
You sat back. ‘Job? It’s hardly a job, Eve.’ You ran a manicured hand through thick styled hair, a flicker in your eye. ‘It’s a vocation. As yours is. But in answer to your question, to the top, the very top.’ Your eyes scanned the room. ‘I have allowed myself five years to achieve senior partnership. If for some reason I’m not obliged by then, I’ll go elsewhere. I attract enough offers. I’ll not be waiting around like the rest of the duds. I mean, I do sympathise with them, of course, but, as I said, you need to make things happen in this world. There’s no hope involved either. Just belief.’
‘It must be so reassuring, flattering, to be head-hunted, wanted by others. You’re evidently very good at what you do. So ambitious and determined, I note.’
‘Why waste time? To be honest, Eve, between the two of us…’ you leant into me ‘… it will not be too difficult. The company homes far too much dead wood. It’s being stifled, lacking in enterprise. Too many jobsworths. You must appreciate where I’m coming from, what with working within the NHS. The entire partnership would benefit from a good shake-up, you must agree.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure I have the right to say. We’re NHS but we’re such a specialist unit. Though the amount of paperwork is ridiculous, that I can agree. If we spent less time on compulsory filling out tick forms, assessing targets and debriefing meetings, we’d get to meet more patient targets, for sure. Do you believe you’re the one to take your company forward, then?’
‘Absolutely. Why not?’ You gestured to the waiter to replace the emptied bottle. ‘Let’s have a toast to our future.’ You raised your glass to clink against mine. ‘And, of course, Eve, our new-found partnership.’ You winked a lying eye.
Sold on your self-assured calmness. Your refreshing direct dialogue yet sensitive tongue, eloquent in expressing all the correct words. I had never met anyone quite like you. It was so rare to meet such a competitive nature, fuelled by a robust self-esteem, yet so empathic and telekinetic. A one-off.
The following morning, a striking arrangement of blossoms, shades of white, stippled with greens, smothered my modest desk. A card surreptitiously tucked beside a silky petal informed me:
It was a delight, Eve. Forgive the haste – I believe you are all I have been looking for.
I need look no more. You are perfect!
A car will collect you at 20.00 tonight, come dressed for the occasion.
Exquisite. X
Caught in a whirlwind. Hindsight judges me now. It informs me the romantic hidden deep inside misled me. Unbelievably foolish. It doesn’t stop, the questioning of my stupidity; if it were a stick, I’d be forever black and blue. It all so quickly became sour.
Sometimes I feel nothing but self-hatred.
We were married in less than twelve months. No obvious telltale signs until then. When the big day arrived, I admit, I was struck numb. I mistook it for nerves; I was told it was, but I now comprehend it was more than that.
‘What is it, Eve?’ Sam, my childhood friend, angled her head at me. ‘You look so worried. Come on, this is your day to shine. It’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?’
‘I feel a little sick.’
‘Of course, you do, silly. It’s called nerves. You look so beautiful, by the way. Scrub up okay really, don’t you?’ She winked at me. ‘Oh, come on, smile! Everyone gets last-minute nerves. It’s a huge moment in your life – it doesn’t get much bigger than this.’ I watch her in the mirror tweaking my veil.
‘I don’t feel nervous, though, just numb. Not real, kind of strange, removed.’
‘That is nerves.’ She smiled less convincingly. I was making her nervous too; she wasn’t her usual fizzy self. ‘You should know. Affects us all differently, doesn’t it? Some people freak out and some freeze, I guess. You tell me.’
I knew what she meant but it wasn’t that.
‘It’s just…’ I began, thinking back to the previous night.
‘What? What is it?’ A worried look spread over her face.
I decided not to say anything. I wasn’t stupid. Sam didn’t need any ammunition; she hated you, it couldn’t be any more obvious.
‘Nothing, you’re right, as always. Must be nerves. Shall we join the others downstairs, have ourselves a glass of champagne, if they haven’t already guzzled it all?’
‘Sure. I’m sorry, Eve.’ Turning and reaching for the bedroom door, she looked back at me; for the first time I could recall, she was obviously struggling to find the words she needed. My incongruent mood must have put her on edge. ‘I really am sorry.’
‘Oh, Sam, for what? None of this is your doing. Don’t you dare apologise. I couldn’t love and appreciate you more than I do. I know it’s a bit sloppy, but, seriously, what would I do without you?’
I’m sure I saw her eyes sparkle with tears. ‘I’m still sorry,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For you feeling like you say.’ She shrugged, her curled tresses falling over her silvery-silk-covered shoulder. ‘Today. I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t ever want it to be like this for you.’ She blew me a heartfelt kiss before leaving the room.
I forced back the threatening tears.
I couldn’t tell Sam; she’d probably think me silly. But I couldn’t get your text out of my mind. So unusually insensitive, uncaring. Not Gregg-like. I’d tried to call you on several occasions. Left a couple of voicemails you didn’t return. Around 23.00, you texted me.
Stop calling my mobile. I’m busy. Don’t appreciate being checked on. Get some sleep. I need you to look your best tomorrow.
Then, as an afterthought, a following text with a single X. I didn’t reply. I called Sam, but it diverted to voicemail. The feeling in my stomach was new. The cold text played on my mind. Made me question other events. Late nights. Unanswered calls. Cancelled arrangements. Guarded phone calls. But it was too late, so much already invested. So many people I cared about, caught up and expecting. I was probably overreacting, an out-of-character text, nothing more. Stop overthinking things, I chastised myself. But the feeling stirred deep within my gut.
The day happened. Uneventful, lots of expense, beautiful floral displays and delectable food. Witty speeches and much jubilant conversation. Normal. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t feel relaxed, happy. I dutifully beamed but inside I was peculiarly anaesthetised. The day took place within a glass dome; I kept wishing someone would shake it up, change the scene. No amount of self-talking could lift the unsettling tizzy beneath my ribcage. It was a relief when it was all over. When the residual onlookers dwindled away, I gathered my discarded bouquet of white lilies. I hate white lilies; they remind me of death. But they’re a favourite of yours; you insisted I chose them.
I retreated for the night. Exhausted by the fa?ade. Angry with myself. Heartbroken, I had missed my big day. What was wrong with me? Everyone else was happy.
*
Two months later