My Husband’s Lies: An unputdownable read, perfect for book group reading. Caroline England
look like an elephant. It would’ve been nice to splash out on a new outfit, but there isn’t much point until this little monster makes an appearance.’ She holds out a patent-clad foot. ‘I bought shoes to die for, though. Now, they are compulsory for a wedding! Dan loves them, don’t you, Dan?’
‘Yup, guilty as charged.’
The hum of conversation around them increases, but they lapse into silence, turning each time a blast of moist air alerts them to a new guest’s arrival.
‘He’s very dishy,’ Geri eventually comments, nodding towards Seb. ‘Your brother-in-law. Sebastian, is it? He’ll make Nick look bite-size! Surely he’s spoken for?’
Penny doesn’t answer, her large eyes are glassy and far away. Then she turns to Geri with a small jerk. ‘Oh, sorry, no, they’ve just split up. She’s French.’
‘French, eh?’ Dan says with a grin. ‘I’d better find out more.’
Shaking himself back to today, Dan returns to the chancel step. Standing next to Will, he studies the damp people slowly filling the church. His gaze catches the photographer. Almost invisible, he’s taking snaps of the guests, some standing in groups, wearing heels and hats, hushing greetings and discussing the rain, he supposes, others hitching along the wooden pews and studying the Order of Service as they wait for a familiar face. His eyes rest on Seb Taylor sitting on the front bench. His arms are folded, his long legs stretched out. He’s looking back at him through striking blue eyes.
‘So, you remember the swimming at St Mark’s?’ he asks.
Dan feels himself flushing from the intensity of Seb’s gaze. ‘Not much,’ he says with a small laugh. ‘The disgusting pool mainly. Full of urine, sweat and sh—’ Bloody hell, he’s sounding like his dad. ‘Other things one doesn’t like to dwell on!’ Seb’s stare is still steady, as though reading his mind. ‘Yeah, and those grubby changing rooms; no wonder everyone dived in the showers so quickly, bloody freezing in there and—’
But he’s saved from his blather by a slap on his shoulder and Will’s deep voice. ‘Bloody hell, look at the time. No priest! We’ll be relying on you to don your little cassock, Dan.’ He looks at the door and laughs. ‘And where’s the bloody groom? His mum isn’t here either. We’ll know who to blame if Nick’s done a runner.’
Nick
Staring at the ribbon caught up in the windscreen wipers, Nick Quinn taps his foot. Patrick has decorated the vintage Mercedes; white ribbon on the bonnet and bumper, silk flowers on the dashboard. The handsome car was bought new by their father years ago and passed to Patrick on his eighteenth birthday. He frowns, sure he remembers his dad handing over the keys, though with the fifteen-year age gap, he’d have only been three.
‘Why don’t we hire a car for you and your family like everyone else does?’ Lisa asked when they started their wedding plans.
‘Oh, it’s family tradition,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘The Merc is pristine. It’ll look great.’
But it’s Patrick’s lore really. He doesn’t like change. ‘But we always have a turkey roast at Easter!’ he’ll say if their mum suggests something new.
As Patrick negotiates the sodden streets of Aberystwyth, Nick glances at his brother’s greying hair, wondering how he’ll cope this Easter if he isn’t there. Christmas too. If he’s at Lisa’s family house in Wales. Or just him and Lisa at their own home. The thought of letting Patrick down makes him hot. His older brother has always been there, like a sentinel, with his peculiar and tender love.
The traffic is thick; it’s still raining heavily. Nick goes to touch the small scar on his scalp, but stops just in time before messing his hair. He’s surprised the caught ribbon hasn’t perturbed Patrick, a lot less often does; a speck of mud on his tyres, let alone on the mats. Thank God it hasn’t; they’re already running late after a shrill spat between his parents, then turning back for his dad’s reading glasses.
Finally arriving in the drenched car park, Nick spots Dan and Will’s cars parked together like kippers. Feeling a warm spread of comfort, he jumps from the car, flicks open an umbrella and opens his mum’s door. She slips out, neat and trim in her hat and tailored suit, and smiles reassuringly. Patrick does the same for their scowling father, but at a much slower pace. Harry’s hip replacement was a complete success according to the consultant, but he still struggles. ‘He’s got a new hip. He needs to use it,’ his mum says. But only in private.
The rain splattering his polished shoes, Nick walks briskly up the path towards the stone and cream church.
‘Are you nervous, love?’ his mum asks, tightly holding his arm. ‘Big day. Your big day. Exciting but nerve-wracking at the same time.’ At the door she pats the rain from his shoulders and kisses his cheek. ‘You look very handsome. You make me so proud.’
Similar to the words she used on his first day at school, he tries to answer with a mildly sardonic quip, but finds that he can’t. It’s as though the soft, steady smell of her perfume is stuck in his throat. Instead he focuses on the door, pushing it hard and almost colliding with the priest.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Nearly knocked you over, Father.’
Father Garry turns. ‘Just wiping my feet.’ He shakes Nick’s hand and Patrick’s, then his mother and father’s. ‘Welcome … Welcome all,’ he says, his eyes pale and rheumy.
Glancing at his mum, he’s not sure what to say. Father Garry has clearly forgotten their names, though the tense wedding run-through was only last night.
‘Nicholas the groom; Harry, Patrick and Dora Quinn,’ she says clearly. Then another guest arrives, bringing a fresh burst of rain. ‘You go ahead, love,’ she says to him. ‘Your best men will be waiting.’
Dan and Will are standing at the front, chatting to Seb. Striding towards them, Nick feels the rush of release as they grin. Dan, black-haired and handsome in his cravat and his tails, makes a show of looking at his watch. Will puts his top hat on his broad chest, miming a dance.
When he reaches the transept, Dan cocks his head, his eyes dark and watchful. ‘Everything OK, Nick? Feeling ready?’
‘Yeah, apart from the monsoon, a divorce over Dad’s glasses and the priest having dementia, everything’s fine. Bloody hell, this is scary—’
‘Piece of piss,’ Will says, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. ‘Saying the vows is the easy bit. Wait until you’re twelve months into the life sentence.’ He looks at Nick’s expression and laughs. ‘Only kidding, mate; everything will be fine and Lisa’s a smasher.’
Watching the priest light the candles, Nick tries to loosen the breath which feels jammed in his lungs. Coming back to the conversation, he turns to Seb Taylor. He’s studying Dan with a mild frown. After a few moments he speaks. ‘So, not just one best man, but two,’ he says, nodding to his older brother.
‘What I lack in hair, Dan makes up for in eyebrows,’ Will replies with a grin.
‘Had them blow-dried especially,’ Dan quips. ‘Thing is, Seb, everyone knows that I’m the best man. Batman’s Robin—’
Will pulls a droll face. ‘More like The Joker—’
Nick interrupts, the trapped air bursting out as he laughs. ‘I couldn’t choose. But with the grief that I’m getting from these two, I should’ve spread the net wider. In fact, seeing as you’re here, Seb—’
‘Hurtful,’ Dan says with a mock-sad face. ‘Don’t you think so, Will?’
‘Yeah, Dan.’ He puts his fist on his chest. ‘Gets me just here. Maybe we should leave.’
Listening