The image of you, p.23
The Image of You, page 23
They left the shop together but were heading in different directions. Anna suggested they go for a coffee however Zoe said she didn’t have time, even though she was vague about what it was exactly that so urgently demanded her attention. Before they went their separate ways Zoe grabbed hold of Anna’s arm. She held on a little too tightly and with something that Anna might identify as a touch of mania.
‘Are you sure about this, Anna?’ she demanded.
‘The dress? Yes, it’s beautiful.’
‘No, not the dress. The marriage. The man.’
‘Of course I am. What a thing to ask!’
‘Because as much as it pains me to say it, Mum and Dad are right. It’s been very fast. From winking to walking down the aisle, just six months.’
‘I love him.’
‘You don’t have the best track record in judging men. Do you even know him? I mean really know him?’
‘I do. Yes.’
Zoe stared at Anna for a long time. Anna thought perhaps she was going to say something more, and for some unaccountable reason Anna wanted to put her hands over her ears and shout la, la, la, like she did when she was a child and wanted to avoid hearing something.
But Zoe didn’t say much more, she just shrugged and muttered, ‘I guess you do.’
Thirty-Two
Nick
Nick didn’t understand why he’d asked her to stay. Without question, what was needed was for her to leave. Asap. That was the most rational and reasonable thing. Actually, what he needed was for her never to have arrived in the UK in the first place, but he found that what he needed and what he wanted didn’t marry at all. He couldn’t stand the idea of her getting on the plane. Leaving England behind. Leaving him behind. How could she say that? So casually, as though it would cost her nothing to walk away. No sacrifice at all. He didn’t feel the same. He didn’t know what he felt exactly, couldn’t bring himself to examine it, but he knew he had to keep her close for a little longer.
When he was with her he found he simultaneously and profoundly experienced two conflicting things. Firstly, with an urgency that was almost fierce, he wanted to get close to her. He wanted to reach her, hold her, gobble her up. He did his best. They had the sort of sex that made him sweat and ache. He got to know every fold and crease of her body. He put his tongue in her mouth, her ears, every hole. His fingers too. He had a need to consume her. Indeed, he felt helpless and frustrated because, even when he was inside her, she held him at arm’s length. Somehow separate. Unknown and unknowable.
The equally violent emotion that he entertained at the same time was that he wanted to run away from her. Escape. He didn’t trust her. He sometimes didn’t even like her. However, he was fascinated by her. Ensnared. He was not in love with her. He knew he was not because he kept telling himself so. Besides, he was in love with Anna.
But.
It was an affair now. Not a terrible, drunken one-off mistake. It was something that demanded ongoing and elaborate deceit. Lies, plans, excuses, complex arrangements that were awful. And exciting. He told Anna that he was working on a vast, inconceivably important deal and that he had to do many more hours in the office—that old chestnut. She sweetly nodded, murmured endearments and got him to promise not to work too hard, not to stress himself out. She said he wasn’t to worry about her, that she had the wedding to plan and plenty, plenty, plenty to fill her days. Besides, Zoe had decided to stay in London for a while, something about the chance of more work—wasn’t that exciting? Great news! She beamed as she explained as much, eyes bright and wide. Delightful but somehow a little too accepting. A bit needy.
Zoe stayed in the hotel. Horrifyingly, Anna had giddily offered to share her flat, obviouslyZoe had insisted she needed to stay somewhere more central. It was appalling, if you thought about it. Best not to. Three weeks had passed since he first met her. Time had flown and yet dragged at the same time. He’d told the hotel he needed the room indefinitely. Hang the expense. She hadn’t said anything more about when she might leave. It was an unacknowledged agreement that she’d now stay until. Until the wedding? Or something. Just until. She made herself available on most of the occasions that he asked her to. The main complication being that when he was at ‘work’ Anna often called upon Zoe to fill her time, so Zoe often had to make excuses to her sister. Sometimes in front of him.
‘I’m so sorry, darling, I’d love to see you,’ she purred down the phone to Anna, ‘The thing is, I’m somewhat tied up at the moment. Quite literally.’ Zoe caught Nick’s eye as he tightened the silk scarves, as she’d requested. She liked being tied down, it was almost as if she feared she might float away. He blushed; ashamed at the lies or excited by the sight of her slim ankles, tethered? Both, he supposed.
There was a glorious and dreadful passion to their bond, one that was so obviously beyond logic or comprehension, rooted in some silent impulse. When he saw her—or better yet, touched her—he felt a punch of pleasure so strong and vivid that he felt sick.
She was dangerous. He knew as much. She was not only aloof, she was insincere. He had the feeling she was always acting when she was with him. There was something unnaturally performative in her manner. He told himself this attitude was because she was a model-slash-actress, not because she was deceptive and untrustworthy, although he knew for a fact she was both things. He had witnessed her easily and casually lie to her nearest and dearest, of course she could—and would—lie to him, if she ever needed to, or even just wanted to. He chose to overlook that. He was deceptive too, he supposed. He ignored that as well. He sometimes felt he was nothing more than her audience. Oddly, he didn’t object as much as he should. He found he just wanted to be around her. That more than anything. That obliterated everything else—like the promises he had made to Anna, or the clock ticking down towards his wedding day.
It had been impossible not to confide in Hal. For a start Hal wasn’t an idiot. He sat at the workstation next to his own and saw Nick’s private phone frequently buzz with texts. Vibrating, insistently, Nick reaching for it immediately, no longer entirely focused on work. Nick had expected his confession to be greeted with laddish whoops and dirty innuendo. A slap on the back, a shake of the hand. Instead, he was greeted by Hal’s bewilderment and confusion.
‘Why are you doing this, mate? From everything you’ve said it seems like Anna is a lovely girl.’
The fact that they hadn’t actually met was a testament to the speed with which the relationship and engagement had powered through; what did it say that Nick hadn’t found the time to introduce Anna to one of his best mates? Now, he had no inclination to do so. His spare time was eaten up by Zoe. Which woman would he introduce to Hal first?
‘I thought you were in love with Anna. That’s why you were in such a hurry to pop the question. You said it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.’
‘I was. I am.’ Nick stumbled. He felt somewhat thwarted by Hal’s obvious disdain; he hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to an endorsement. She had been different, until Zoe came along, and Zoe was different again. ‘My mother’s accident. It was such a peculiar time. Very intense. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly.’
‘So you’re in love with Zoe now?’
He tried to explain. ‘It’s weird. It’s as if I’ve split myself in half and I’m two people. I’m totally content and happy when I’m with Anna—you know, comfortable.’
Hal pulled an expression that said, So why then?
‘I’m something different with Zoe.’ He paused, then took a risk, ‘I’m exhilarated.’ He’d have been wise to leave it at that, but Nick wasn’t acting like a wise man. Besotted, he stumbled on. ‘It’s like flying through the air. Not comfortable at all, just amazing. Yet, I have to admit, I’m also sort of terrified.’
‘Of the crash-landing?’
‘I suppose, maybe.’ He suddenly felt helpless.
‘Then why do it?’
‘I can’t not.’
Hal picked up his Montblanc ink pen and began to twizzle it, expertly threading it through his fingers; Nick knew this was a subconscious habit that Hal always resorted to when he was wrestling with a problem.
‘Did it have to be her sister?’
‘I didn’t plan it.’
Hal rolled his eyes at the tired cliché.
Nick pressed on with his explanation, hoping to find ratification for actions he knew couldn’t be sanctioned. ‘I’m very much OK in both separate worlds.’
‘They’re not separate, though, are they?’ said Hal with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.
‘I’m not doing anything to Anna.’
‘Yeah, you are.’
‘She doesn’t have a clue.’
‘She’ll find out. They always do.’
‘No, no, she won’t.’
‘Yeah, she will,’ Hal said firmly.
In the deepest crevice of his brain Nick thought that this was quite possible, almost probable; he chose to blank that awful eventuality.
Because they were mates, and there was lad-loyalty, Hal made an effort to be understanding and helpful. ‘If you no longer love Anna, then you should call it off, mate. Before the wedding. Do yourself and her a favour.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve tried to explain. I need her too. I need them both. They give me different things.’
Nick was exasperated with Hal. The truth was that, recently, everyone irritated him to some degree or other. The security guy at reception who always insisted on seeing his pass, even though they knew each other well enough to forgo the formality; the lethargic young woman who worked behind the counter at the local Starbucks and seemed eternally oblivious to her customers’ need for speed; his mother, who started every conversation with an inquiry about the wedding, as though there had never been any other subject between them for the past thirty years; Anna who unquestioningly, trustingly accepted every one of his flimsy excuses for his absence.
Everyone, other than Zoe, seemed lacking.
He could explain that being with her was like climbing on to a Ferris wheel and being picked up, taken higher and higher. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the moment he reached the pinnacle, he’d descend. He’d possibly crash. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough. He was so locked in the moment that the future was inconceivable, irrelevant. Everything after her was somehow less. Everything before her was just before. When he was with her it was as though his life was paused. Yet at the same time, only then was it happening.
‘It can’t last,’ pointed out Hal, matter-of-fact.
‘No, it probably can’t.’
‘You have to choose.’
‘I don’t know how to.’
Hal looked despairing.
Nick blurted, somewhat inevitably, somewhat pathetically, ‘I do love Anna.’
‘You’re screwing her twin sister,’ pointed out Hal flatly. ‘That doesn’t sound like love to me.’
He loved her in a way. Not in the pure and clear sense he had before. His affair with Zoe had tainted, ruined all that. He grieved for that, but what he felt for Zoe—or rather, what he felt when he was with her—was, he found, compensatory.
‘Mate, break it off. It’s the only decent thing to do.’
Hal’s heavy-handed, pedestrian solution disappointed Nick. He’d hoped his friend would understand the nuances, the difficulties.
‘How would that help? Do you think I could ride off into the sunset with Zoe?’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘Maybe.’
He wanted it more than he didn’t want it. Although he couldn’t imagine it. Not really, not absolutely. Zoe was not the happily-ever-after, settling-down type and, even if she was, he could hardly swap one twin for the other. What would their family make of that? That wasn’t the solution. There was no solution.
When he was with her, he tried to think rationally, logically, critically. He looked for a reason to end it. Not a reason, exactly; there were plenty of those. An excuse. A way? An opportunity? But then he would find some new area of her skin that had never been touched, uncharted—around the back of her neck, between her toes, in the crook of her elbow—and then he’d forget to think. He’d just feel. Feel wonderful. More often than not they couldn’t afford the luxury of a night or even an afternoon. Then they’d meet up for twenty minutes in his lunch break. They’d bang out their needs in underground car parks, in the toilets in bars, or in back alleys behind theatres and restaurants. Skirt up, knickers pulled aside, zip down, cock out, then in. Then out again. Barely stopping to swap pleasantries.
He just couldn’t walk away from her.
Thirty-Three
Anna
The moment Anna walked into the bridal shop she could sense a change in the atmosphere. She was pretty attuned to such things, having spent a lifetime watching the nuances of Zoe’s moods which, more often than not, impacted all those around them. However, you didn’t have to be Sherlock in this case; the atmosphere was akin to a particularly frosty morgue. The tring of the bell heralding her entrance was the same, the thick plush carpet, the rows of fluttering silks and satins were just as they had been that morning, but Isobel’s smile and ingratiating manner had completely vanished. There was a second woman sitting on the blush-pink chaise longue. She wasn’t as groomed as Isobel; she had an earnest, hardworking, hard-done-by look about her., As she wore a tape measure around her neck., Anna guessed she was the seamstress. Anna’s wedding gown lay between them. Isobel jumped to her feet the moment Anna set foot in the shop.
‘Good evening, Miss Turner.’
Anna wondered what had happened to thrust them back into such formal territory.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that we will not be able to make the alterations to the lace gown after all. Although, I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.’
It did come as a great surprise, and Anna’s transparent face must have conveyed as much.
‘It’s damaged,’ Isobel added, failing to hide her outrage. ‘Ruined, actually.’
Isobel stared at Anna with a blatantly accusatory expression. The seamstress woefully turned the dress over. There was a sizeable piece of fabric, maybe ten centimetres square, missing from one of the back panels of the skirt. Anna couldn’t think how the dress could have been accidentally damaged in such a way. It looked as though a piece had been deliberately cut out.
‘You must have noticed when you tried it on,’ Isobel insisted.
‘No, I didn’t. It wasn’t damaged then,’ mumbled Anna.
‘Wasn’t it? No, I thought as much.’
Anna turned scarlet as she understood what was being insinuated. ‘Someone must have tried it on after me,’ she offered, searching around for a rational explanation.
The dress had been perfect. Just perfect.
‘No one has, I put it in the stockroom right after you left,’ said Isobel emphatically.
Anna had no reason to doubt her.
‘But—’ Anna couldn’t think how to finish the sentence. She stood in a pool of frustration and embarrassment. Disappointment and fear ran through her body.
‘I thought perhaps you had split it, accidentally of course, when you were taking it off,’ offered the seamstress, kindly.
She turned her big brown eyes towards Anna, and Anna knew that whilst the seamstress wished this was the case, she didn’t believe it to be true. Anna sometimes looked at those who dropped in at the centre in a similar way when they lied to her about taking their medication, paying their bills or when they’d last got drunk.
The seamstress allowed her gaze to drop back to the ruined gown. ‘But...’
The damage was obviously not the result of a careless and unfortunate rip in a seam. The missing section was an almost perfect square; it looked as though someone had taken scissors to the dress.
Anna felt sick. Zoe.
‘Perhaps it was damaged when I tried it on after all,’ she stuttered. It was impossible to say anything else.
‘We thought you might say as much,’ said Isobel with a disgruntled sigh. ‘We’ll never know, will we? We don’t have CCTV in the changing rooms, more’s the pity.’ She was obviously dying to accuse Anna of trashing the gown yet couldn’t quite go so far.
Anna’s face was scarlet, with difficulty she forced herself to say, ‘You can’t think I did this.’
‘Someone did,’ muttered Isobel ominously.
‘But what motive would I have for destroying the dress I loved?’
‘Maybe you were just planning on putting a small tear in the fabric and then asking for a discount. Stranger things have happened.’
‘No!’ Anna was horrified and mortified in equal measure. ‘This dress will need a new panel; why would I cause so much damage?’
‘Perhaps you got carried away.’
Anna never got carried away. Zoe, however, was rarely anything other than impetuous. Anna wondered whether she ought to just offer to buy the dress, damaged and useless as it was. They clearly thought she was responsible for ruining it and, in a way, she was because she had brought Zoe to the shop in the first place.
‘Can anything be done?’
‘No. We can’t match the lace. At least, not in time for your speedy wedding.’ Isobel said the words ‘speedy wedding’ in a tone of voice that others reserved for announcing a paedophile had been hired as the school caretaker.
Sick and lost, Anna realized she had no choice. She didn’t want to believe the only thing that could be true. Whilst continuing to tell herself that she had to be wrong, she knew she wasn’t, so she felt a moral obligation to fix what Zoe had broken. ‘Well, since it seems that the only explanation is that I accidentally ripped the fabric when I was taking the dress off—’ it was just a common-or-garden dress now, no longer a gown, ‘obviously I’ll pay for the replacement lace and the work required to make it as good as new—at least that way it can be returned to the shop floor as a sample.’
