Page 79 of The Wife
‘Like Mum said, you hit the deck.’ Toby shakes his head.
I have a vague memory of rushing out of the room with someone. But I can’t quite put my finger on it.
‘Are you sure you can’t remember anything about it?’ Toby glances at his mum before turning back to me. ‘That’s quite worrying, Zo.’
I frown and try to recall what happened, but my brain hurts. ‘Last thing I remember, I was getting ready. Celia, you were here with Lou and Becky, helping me get into my dress. That’s it. That’s the very last thing I remember.’
Nick returns and hands me a glass of water.
‘Small sips,’ Celia instructs. She tells me something about make-up and Nick borrowing a phone charger. ‘Looks like you hit the back of your head on the desk on your way down. Do you feel nauseous at all?’
‘A little. Not too much. I’ve got an evil headache though.’
My mother-in-law to be rummages in her handbag and pulls out a packet of paracetamol. ‘Take a couple of these.’
I put the pills in my mouth one at a time, knocking each one back with a slug of water.
‘Maybe we should get you checked out?’ Malcolm runs a hand through his sparse grey hair. He turns to Toby. ‘She looks decidedly peaky, son.’
‘I know, but Mum said she’ll be okay,’ Toby replies, and I back him up.
‘Well, okay. But perhaps I should let Guy know. You might be unsteady on your feet as he walks you down the aisle.’ Malcolm turns to leave.
Toby stands and puts a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘Wait…’
‘Toby’s right. Don’t tell my dad. He’ll only worry.’ I stagger to my feet and find to my dismay that I have to lean on a chair to steady myself. My legs are so shaky. What if I’m not strong enough to stand and say my vows? I think of all the people in the little chapel next to the hotel who’ve come to see us get married. All the weeks of planning. My utter joy and excitement at the thought of becoming Mrs Zoe Johnson. I can’t not get married, no matter how shaky I feel. I let go of the chair and square my shoulders. ‘Do you know what? Celia’s right, I’m absolutely fine. Honestly, I already feel so much better. I think it must have been nerves that made me faint. Or maybe hunger. Thinking about it, I did skip breakfast.’
‘Well, that’ll be it,’ Celia declares. She straightens the phone and picks up the receiver before ordering some cake for me and my two bridesmaids, but I ask her to stay too.
‘I hope I haven’t jinxed things.’ I turn to Toby. ‘It’s supposed to be bad luck for us to see one another before the wedding.’
‘You don’t really believe that.’ He smiles.
‘No, but I wanted to do things the right way. I didn’t want any drama. And I wanted to wait until I reached the chapel to see you. Now I’ve ruined it.’
‘You haven’t ruined anything.’ He puts his arms around me, and I lean into him. ‘I know you wanted everything to be just so. It’s what I love about you, Zoe. You love family. You love tradition.’
‘Even though I fainted and now have a giant egg-shaped lump on my head?’ I give him a wry look. ‘That’s not exactly traditional.’
‘Zoe, it’s all going to be perfect. You’re perfect.’
My heart lifts at his words and for a moment my head clears, and the pain disappears. ‘I’m not perfect,’ I murmur. ‘No one is.’
‘Okay, well you’re perfect for me.’
I inhale deeply and attempt to push out all thoughts of the past. I have this strange feeling that I’ve forgotten something important. It’s right there on the edge of my consciousness, but, try as I might, I can’t quite grasp it. I give myself a little shake and tell myself to focus on the day ahead. To ignore the tiny bead of worry in my chest. Today is a day for fairy tales and happy ever afters. All that matters is that I’m about to become the person I’ve always wanted to be, with the man I love. Nothing will change that.
Thirty-Four
NOW
So this is it. This is the end of my life.
I feel like I might be crying, although I can’t be too sure. I trawl my mind to come up with anything good that might distract me from the horror of what’s going on. I don’t want the last thought I have to be about Celia and Malcolm’s cold, efficient hands on my body, hoisting me up onto the chair as though I’m some inanimate thing with no thoughts or feelings or emotions. Just an inconvenience who might serve a purpose for them in death.
The noose slips over my head, brushing my eyelashes and nose on its descent towards my shoulders. I feel its weight as it lands, like a soft tickle on my neck. Maybe the paralysing drug that Celia injected me with is a blessing – it’s stopping me from squirming and struggling, from begging and pleading. From losing my dignity.
Once again, I try to direct my thoughts to something distracting, something nice. But it’s hard to ignore the tightening noose, and the nod that passes from Celia to Malcolm – their agreement that all is finally ready. I clutch at a handful of memories, each one shuttling through my mind too fast – a tranquil lake in summertime, the view from my mum’s bench over the Blackmore Vale, my children’s laughter, my dad’s gruff voice, his Welsh lilt like a comforting lullaby…
