I couldn’t bring myself to call Lottie back, and anyway I didn’t have time. Instead, I texted her, suggesting drinks at seven P.M.
Now I’m back at the office, speed-reading a review of a new luxury safari lodge in Kenya, which has just come in, about two thousand words over the limit. Clearly this journalist thinks he’s writing the next Out of Africa. He hasn’t mentioned the pool or the room service or the spa, only the hazy gathering light over the savannah, and the noble bearing of the zebras drinking at dawn, and the shimmering grasslands whose ancient stories beat on in the sound of the Masai drum.
I scribble Room Service??? in the margin and make a note to email him. Then I look at my phone. It’s surprising that Lottie hasn’t confirmed. I would have thought she’d be dying to tell me how many bridal magazines she’s consumed today.
I glance at my watch. I’ve got some time now. I can make a little sisterly call. I lean back in my chair and speed-dial her, making a “Cup of coffee?” request to Elise through my office window. Elise and I have a pretty good sign-language system going on. I can communicate, “Cup of coffee?” “Tell them I’m out!!” and “Go home, it’s late!” She can communicate, “Cup of coffee?” “I think this one’s important,” and “I’m off for a sandwich.”
“Fliss?”
“Hi, Lottie.” I kick off my shoes and take a swig from my Evian bottle. “So, are you on for drinks later? Do I get to meet Ben?”
There’s silence at the other end. Why is there silence? Lottie doesn’t do silence.
“Lottie? Are you there?”
“Guess what!” Her voice throbs importantly. “Guess what!”
She sounds so pleased with herself, I can tell she’s pulled off something special.
“You’re getting married in the school chapel and the choir is singing ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’ while bells peal throughout the land?”
“No!” She laughs.
“You’ve found a wedding cake made of profiteroles and cupcakes, all covered in sparkly icing?”
“No, silly! We’re married!”
“What?” I stare at the phone blankly.
“Yes! We’ve done it! Ben and I are married! Just now! Chelsea Register Office!”
I clench the Evian bottle so hard, a stream of water soars into the air and lands in splotches all over my desk.
“Aren’t you going to say ‘congratulations’?” she adds, a bit petulantly.
I can’t say “congratulations,” because I can’t say anything. My mouth has seized up. I’m hot. No, I’m cold. I’m panicking. How did this happen?
“Wow,” I manage at last, trying to keep calm. “That’s … How come? You were going to delay. I thought you were going to delay. That’s what we agreed. That you would delay.”
You were meant to DELAY.
As Elise comes in with a cup of coffee, she looks at me in alarm and makes the “Is everything OK?” sign. But I don’t have a sign for “My bloody sister has gone and wrecked her life,” so I just nod with a rictus smile and take the cup of coffee.
“We couldn’t wait,” Lottie’s saying happily. “Ben couldn’t wait.”
“But I thought you persuaded him?” I close my eyes and massage my brow, trying to get my head round this. “What happened to Brides? What happened to a little country church?”
What happened to Bridezilla? I want to moan faintly, Bring back Bridezilla.
“Ben was totally on for the church and everything,” says Lottie. “He’s actually got this sweet, traditional side to him—”
“So what happened?” I try to control my impatience. “Why did he change his mind?”
“It was Lorcan.”
“What?” My eyes open sharply. “What do you mean, it was Lorcan?”
“Lorcan came to see him first thing this morning. He told Ben he mustn’t marry me and it was all a huge mistake. Well, Ben went nuts! He came storming round to my office and said he wanted to be married to me now and everyone else could fuck off, including Lorcan.” Lottie sighs blissfully. “It was really romantic. Everyone in the office was staring. And then he picked me up and carried me out, just like An Officer and a Gentleman, and everyone cheered. It was amazing, Fliss.”
I’m breathing hard, trying to keep control of myself. That idiot. That stupid, arrogant, fucking … idiot. I’d solved the problem. It was all sorted. I’d played the diplomatic card to perfection. And now what’s Lorcan done? Blundered in. Stirred up this Ben into the most ludicrous, overblown gesture. No wonder Lottie fell for it.
“Luckily there was a cancelation at the registry office, so they could squeeze us in. And we can have a church blessing down the line,” she’s saying blithely. “So I get the best of both worlds!”
I want to throw my cup of coffee across the room. Or maybe I want to tip it over my own head. There’s a nasty heaving feeling in my stomach. This is my fault too. I could have stopped this. If I’d told her everything Lorcan said.
He’s having a bit of an early midlife crisis.… Your sister will be the casualty.…
“Where are you now?”
“Packing! We’re off to Ikonos! It’s so exciting.”
“I’ll bet it is,” I say feebly.
What do I do? There’s nothing I can do. They’re married. It’s done.
“Maybe we’ll have a honeymoon baby,” she adds coyly. “How do you feel about being an aunt?”
“What?” I sit bolt upright. “Lottie—”
“Fliss, I’ve got to go, the taxi’s here, love you lots.…”
She rings off. Frantically, I speed-dial her again, but it goes to voicemail.
Baby? Baby?
I want to whimper. Is she insane? Does she have any idea what strain a baby will bring to the party?
My love life has been such a clusterfuck. I can’t bear it if Lottie’s is too. I wanted her to crack it the way I didn’t. I wanted her fantasy to come true. Happy ever after. Picket fence. Strong, lasting happiness. Not a honeymoon baby with some flake-head who’s on a brief domesticity craze before taking up motorbikes. Not sitting in Barnaby Rees’s office with red eyes and hair that needs washing and a toddler trying to eat all the law books.
On impulse, I Google the Amba Hotel. At once, a series of holiday-porn images greets my eyes. Blue skies and sunsets. The famous grotto swimming pool, with its thirty-foot tumbling waterfall. Beautiful couples strolling by the sea. Massive beds, scattered with rose petals. Let’s face it, they’ll have made a honeymoon baby before the wedding night is over. Lottie’s ovaries will twang into action and she’ll be vomiting all the way home.
Then if he does turn out to be a flake … if he does let her down … I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands. I can’t bear it. I need to talk to Lottie. Face-to-face. Properly. With her brain engaged, not in fantasyland. At least make sure she’s thought through all the consequences of what she’s doing.
I’m sitting utterly still, my mind skittering back and forth like a mouse trapped in a maze. I’m trying to find a solution, I’m trying to find a way out, I keep coming up against dead ends.…
Until suddenly I lift my head and take a deep breath. I’ve come to a decision. It’s huge and extreme, but I have no choice. I’m going to gate-crash her honeymoon.
I don’t care if it’s a heinous thing to do. I don’t care if she never forgives me: I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t. Marriage was one thing. Unprotected sex is another. I need to get out there. I need to save my sister from herself.