Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (6 page)

Lucky Mia’s known me since
birth
, Marcio thought. After living in the vineyard next to his
for two decades, Mia was practically family already.
She
undoubtedly knows better than me who in the extended clan has to be
invited. Probably even knows all their names, which is more than I
do.

In fact, now Marcio gave it any
consideration he would have to say she seemed to delight in all the
planning, closeting herself away with her best friend Leandra for
hours, looking at dresses and flowers. He’d caught them a few times
and they’d looked up guiltily at his entrance. He imagined Leandra
convincing Mia to spend just that bit extra on the dress, the
flowers, the shoes, as if Marcio were some ogre who would deny her
anything her heart desired.

Besides, Mia was paying for all
that. His bit was the venue, alcohol and food. The bills were a
worry, especially with his wages so sporadic. Mia had insisted that
her beauty salon was doing well enough for them to live comfortably
once they were married, whether he got work or not, but it irked
him not to be able to take care of her and the babies he hoped
would follow soon after.

Aware that his thoughts had
taken a gloomy turn, Marcio levered himself up from his prone
position and checked his watch again.

“Best get back,” he muttered,
and went to weigh anchor. “Mum will have my hide if I’m late for
dinner.”

Near land Marcio’s phone began
to bleep as two text messages arrived. He didn’t need to look at
them to know who they were from.

The first was from his sister,
Benita.

El meu germà entremaliat fugitiu. Where
are you? Mum’s going to flay you alive. Not having second thoughts?
Dóna't pressa a casa. B

“Yes, Benita, I’m hurrying
home. Don’t nag!”

The second was from Mia, and
its words were eerily similar.

El meu amor, Et estrany, T'estimo.
Esperem que vostè no està aconseguint els peus freds com es diu.
Mx

“Now why would Mia ask me if
I’m getting cold feet? Why does everyone assume I’m running away?”
He looked around as if the reason was somewhere on the boat. “It’s
a gorgeous day, why wouldn’t I have a quick trip to clear my head?
I’ll be home by six.”

He glared at his seagull
companion who had fluttered back onto the boat from his position
flying astern. Apparently sensing his mood the seagull took off
again immediately with a disgruntled squawk.

“What have you got to complain
about?” Marcio glared at the bird. “You’ve got the whole ocean to
fly over and no one expecting you home for dinner.”

It was nearer seven than six by
the time he arrived at the vineyard and he knew he was in trouble.
The sun was still high in the sky but the family would be waiting
to sit down to dinner which this evening was to be held outdoors to
accommodate the extra numbers.

As he stood in the driveway,
contemplating the old farmhouse and the greeting that awaited him
once he entered, Marcio felt tempted to put some earplugs in as a
preventative measure. His entire family were squeezed in for the
night ready to celebrate with him the following day. The only
person not there was Mia who still lived with her family and would
therefore be spending the night there.

I wonder if I can sneak in
like I used to
, Marcio mused, looking at the wizened tree that
twisted itself up past his old bedroom window.

“If you break your arm doing
something stupid Mia’s going to break the other one,” an amused
voice spoke from behind him.

Marcio turned and saw his
eldest sister Benita leaning against the garden wall, a basket of
fresh herbs over one arm. Trust Benita to read his thoughts, as she
always did.
She doesn’t look angry though,
Marcio noted with
relief as he headed over to embrace her.

Benita tried to look stern as
she hugged her older brother, holding him close for a beat longer
than usual.

“Were you dreaming in the blue,
brother mine?” Her voice was fond beneath the attempt at
severity.

“But of course,” Marcio
shrugged. “Why the big fuss?”

“Mia was here earlier, dropping
off the flowers and Fabian’s suit. She looked pale, ill almost.
Have you upset her? Mòmia thought maybe you two had a quarrel and
that you were hiding so as not to have to face everyone and tell
them the wedding is off.”

Marcio shuddered at the thought
of telling his vast family that there would be no wedding.

“Of course we haven’t had a
fight. Mia never fights; you know that. The woman is an angel.
She’s bound to be nervous though, not least because she’s planned
everything.”

“Exhausted as well.” Benita’s
tone was heavy with disapproval.

“I know, I know, I should have
done more. But really, it only occurred to me today that Mia has
done everything.”

Benita made an angry noise with
her tongue and teeth.

Marcio laughed. “That didn’t
come out exactly right. What I mean is, Mia hasn’t asked for my
help. She requested I write my vows but she seemed happy to do all
the planning, her and Leandra together.”

“Hmmm.” Benita’s response was
non-committal. She suspected her brother was right but didn’t want
to let him think he had got away with it that easily.

“Well, you’d best come in and
make amends with Mòmia.”

She handed her basket to
Marcio, hooked her arm through his and led him into the house.

Chapter
Four

“Hello, darling, sorry I’m late.
Some selfish bastard threw himself under a train at Hammersmith.
The Tube has been a nightmare.”

Daniel bent to kiss Helen as
she stood at the stove stirring dinner, trying to keep it
edible.

She could hear Daniel’s voice
continue as he headed into the bedroom to take off his jacket and
tie. She pictured him hanging them both in the wardrobe before
checking his hair in the mirror.

“Selfish wanker,” he called out
from the depths of the wardrobe. For a second Helen wondered if he
was referring to himself and his tardiness. Then she realised he
was still animadverting about the man who had committed suicide
thus causing commuter traffic chaos.

“Honestly, do these people
realise how inconsiderate their actions are? Bringing rush-hour to
a standstill just because they’re so pathetically sad as to want to
top themselves.”

Helen heard his voice fade as
he went into the en-suite. “Why not jump off a cliff instead? The
sea wouldn’t care. Less mess too, I imagine?”

Helen shivered as she
considered the poor soul who had taken their own life.
How
desperate do you need to be to do that? And in such an awful
way?
Tears pricked at her eyes as she imagined how lonely and
scared the person must have been.
Maybe they left behind a wife,
kids
. It was all Helen could do to stop herself from
sobbing.

Daniel re-entered the kitchen
still muttering under his breath as he took the glass of wine
waiting for him and stood next to Helen.

Noticing her red eyes he said
curtly, “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Chopping onions,
that’s all.”

Daniel shrugged and proceeded
to fill Helen in on the events of his day.

Helen’s mind wandered as she
dished up dinner and carried the plates to the dining table. All
the while Daniel’s voice washed over her. For some reason her
thoughts were drawn back to the man who ended his life so
emphatically.

Would you worry about the
chaos, the lives disrupted by your actions? Surely if you were that
desperate you would be beyond seeing the world around you. Beyond
feeling connected to it. Or maybe you would want to cause chaos; to
get the world to see your pain, to notice you, if only for a
moment.

Aware of the maudlin nature of
her musings, and of the dangers associated with not attending to
Daniel, Helen pulled at her scattered thoughts and commanded them
to pay attention.

She realised that Daniel was
still analysing why he hadn’t won an award the previous week and
Helen found herself having to stifle a sigh. It had been bad enough
on Saturday night. Daniel was furious when the award went to a
competitor. Even now, a week later, he was questioning every
element.

Helen braced herself for the
accusations that would follow his train of thought. In the
aftermath of losing Daniel had lashed out and had more or less
accused her of not putting enough effort into the submission.
Thankfully fresh complaints were not forthcoming. Daniel seemed to
be subscribing to the view that his competitor had bribed the panel
of judges.

Helen kept her face in a mask
of concerned agreement and smiled inwardly. She knew that,
underneath his brusque exterior, Daniel cared for her too much to
really believe she would scupper his chances at advancement.

If he was quick to blame me in
his initial disappointment, he is sorry now he’s had time to
reflect. He knows my sole focus is on making his business a
success.

She thought about the
photography lessons and the shoot, the time she spent with her
photography group in the coffee shop, and quickly pushed such
traitorous thoughts to the back of her mind.

“Did you go for a dress fitting
today?”

They had finished dinner and
were enjoying a second glass of wine. Helen glowed at Daniel’s
words; she still couldn’t get used to Daniel’s willingness to be
involved in the wedding plans. What man would remember something as
trivial as a dress fitting?

“Yes, it looks amazing. I
barely recognise myself.”

That was true enough. Daniel
didn’t need to know that it was a bit too sculpted for her liking.
Or that the dress had been tight on her bloated tummy. Her period
still hadn’t come – probably delayed by the stress of the
photo-shoot and the award ceremony – and the bloating had annoyed
the scary seamstress Daniel had chosen.

Daniel was beaming at her now,
obviously picturing her in the dress and no doubt imagining
removing it at the end of their big day.

“How about the photographer,
did you pay the deposit to the one I suggested?”

It was on the tip of Helen’s
tongue to say,
No I’ve gone with someone Derek recommended
.
As Daniel had no idea who Derek was, it didn’t seem wise to mention
him. After the failure at the award ceremony now was not the time
to give Daniel any idea that her mind had been on anything other
the writing the submission.

Instead she nodded, placed her
wine glass on the coffee table and removed Daniel’s from his hand
to place alongside it. Then she slid across the sofa toward Daniel,
a clear look of intent on her face.

Daniel’s response was immediate
and soon neither of them were concerned about dresses or
photographers, as they practised the only part of the wedding that
meant anything at that moment; the wedding night.

“Are you okay, lady?”

Helen raised her head slowly
and nodded weakly at the weathered face peering at her.

“You look awful green. Can I
get you some water?”

The road cleaner gestured
towards the nearby Tube station where a small shop could be seen
selling bottles and cans.

Part of Helen’s beleaguered
brain marvelled at the random kindness of strangers. She would
never have thought it, before moving to London, but concern often
came from the unlikeliest sources.

Blinking her eyes into focus
she studied the leathery face still warily watching her and
wondered if the cleaner was actually more worried that she was
going to vomit on his pavement.

I might. Particularly if he
doesn’t move on. He may be kind but he is also smelly and my
olfactory senses seem to be working overtime.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying
for a bright tone. “I just felt a bit sick, you know, because of
the heat on the Tube. I came up for some fresh air; I’ll be right
as rain in a moment.”

The street sweeper nodded his
understanding. He saw plenty of frazzled Suits staggering up the
Tube steps in the summer. Satisfied, he moved on, pushing his cart
and whistling a tuneless ditty through his teeth.

Once he was out of range Helen
inhaled deeply and willed the nausea to lessen. She tried to
remember how much, if anything, she had drunk the night before. She
was certain she’d only had a glass or two before she and Daniel had
ended up enjoying each other’s company in the bedroom.

I never get hangovers. Not like
this. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

Trying to clear her head, Helen
sat back into the bench and idly looked around at the other people
in the small park. There were a few office workers hastily eating
sandwiches, glad to venture out of the workplace and breathe
unfiltered air. One man was having a passionate conversation on his
mobile, gesturing wildly with his free arm, startling the pigeons
that were braving the “Do not feed the birds” sign in the hope of
some lunch.

Helen had been on the way to
Daniel’s office to pick up some paperwork when she had been
overcome with a wave of dizziness. Throwing up on the Underground
was not something she was in a hurry to experience, so she had been
forced to return back to the surface for air.

As she mused on the cause of
her illness Helen watched a mother come past with a small baby
tucked inside a pram. Despite the summer weather the baby was
swaddled, with only a scrunched pink face showing. Babies terrified
Helen but she found herself drawn to the child, wanting to pick it
up and hold it. A horrifying thought sprang into her mind, only to
be desperately shooed away.

I am not pregnant.

She tried to think how many
days late her period was. She’d thought she was due at the dinner
party and that was over a week ago.