Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (9 page)

“Goodness, what is it, darling?
Is it Daniel?” Her voice took on an edge Helen hadn’t heard before.
“Has he cheated on you?”

“Now what would make you say
that?” Helen was momentarily diverted. Her mother had been nothing
but positive about Daniel until now. Was it going to be one of
those instances where suddenly everyone came out and admitted they
had never liked him anyway? She couldn’t decide whether to be
amused or irritated that her life was taking on the hue of a bad
chick lit novel.

“Nothing really, he doesn’t
seem the wandering type, but why else does a wedding get called off
at short notice. Are you having second thoughts? Is he?”

“I’m pregnant.”

There was a long silence.
Helen’s heart pounded as she waited to hear her mother’s reaction.
Maybe telling her over the phone wasn’t such a great idea.

“That’s fantastic news! My
first grandchild.” Her voice was joyous but Helen could hear that
it was slightly forced. She waited, knowing her mother would say
what she really meant eventually.

“Is that why the wedding is
off? Do you want to wait until after the baby is born? The dress is
beautiful, from the pictures I’ve seen; it would be a shame to
spoil the line with a bump. How far along are you?”

“I can only be 5 or 6 weeks,
there’s no bump.”

“Then why, darling? I don’t
understand.”

She realised she might as well
tell her mother the whole truth straight away. She didn’t feel
obliged to paint Daniel in a good light, so she didn’t mince her
words.

“Daniel wants me to get rid of
it.”

“He WHAT?”

Helen had never heard her
mother raise her voice, not even when she and her brother drew
sheep on the landing walls with the felt-tip pens she’d got for her
fifth birthday.

“Is he mad?” Her mother’s voice
was shaking with reined-in emotion.

“He certainly seemed so to me
last night. He told me to do what I was told or get out, so I got
out.” Helen revisited the scene briefly as she told her mother.
Incredulity that he had instructed her to do what she was told
almost made her laugh. What planet was he on?

“He told you to do as you were
told?” Maggie’s voice mirrored Helen’s thoughts, somewhere between
fury and disbelief.

“That’s why I’m calling. I need
somewhere to stay for a while, until I work out what I’m going to
do. I thought I just needed to hole up until Daniel came to his
senses but the more I think about it the more his reaction seemed
more than shock. He was furious, Mum, you should have seen
him.”

“I’m glad I didn’t,” Maggie
retorted, “I’d have punched him.”

“Mum!” Helen had never heard
this side of her mother, like a bear fiercely defending her cubs.
Is that what mother’s did? Would she be able to do that?

I’ve never so much as talked
back to a surly taxi driver, how am I going to find the strength to
fight my child’s battles? How am I going to be able to look after
them and protect them? Oh god.

“Helen, are you still there?
Are you okay? He didn’t try and hurt you did he? Sorry, here’s me
getting all angry with him and it’s you I should be worried about
darling.”

“Mum, I’m fine,” Helen
staunched the flow of words her silence had unleashed. “I was
shocked, upset, but I’m clear now. There’s nothing he could say to
excuse his behaviour last night. He more or less accused me of
conceiving this baby with someone else. I mean, who thinks that of
their fiancée as their first thought?”

“An idiot, dear.” Her mum was
calmer now. “Come home, your room’s always ready you know that;
stay as long as you need to.”

“I don’t want to impose on you
and Dad; you’ve only just got rid of me and Simon I know. I just
can’t afford to stay in London until I get work. Thank god I kept
the flat.”

“Will you return to London to
have the baby then?” Her mum sounded unsure, disappointed even.
Helen hadn’t thought it through but of course her mother would
prefer her to be closer to them in Devon. She and Dad visited
London to see her as often as they could but as they got older it
was a long way for them to come.

“I don’t know yet,” Helen
responded as diplomatically as she could. “I have eight months to
figure that out. For now I need some distance to work out how to
make a living and bring up a baby on my own.”

“You’ll do great, darling, you
have many options and things are easier for you than in my day.
Disposable nappies, available childcare, you’ll be fine.”

As she hung up the phone Helen
wondered if her mother’s optimism was well-founded or just empty
words to reassure her. She didn’t feel fine at all.

Chapter
Seven

A shiver ran down his spine. It
was approaching thirty outside but the ancient building was imbued
with the ice of ages. Marcio’s vacant stare took in the details of
the building around him. He’d spent so many hours in the place but
yet had never really seen it before. The ornate stonework, the
cavernous space, the permanent chill that permeated it, as if you
needed to be shivering to truly appreciate the wonder of the
Lord.

And I thought Mia was crazy
putting me in this monkey suit in the middle of summer.
Marcio
ran a finger round his collar, trying to avoid all the clichés of
comparing it to a tightening noose. Much had been written about the
role of the groom, although not by him. His literature tended
towards the fantastic rather than the romantic. Still, he knew the
stock phrases. Standing here, staring out at a tapestry of faces,
people he’d known all his life rendered alien by wedding attire,
Marcio wondered how he would describe this scene. Would he gush
about the groom’s anticipation at the first glimpse of his bride?
Would he wax lyrical about the flowers, the music, the abundance of
details Mia had obviously spent hours organising?

Maybe I would describe the
physical sensations of standing here in the spotlight, knowing that
I’m fulfilling only a supporting role to Mia’s leading lady.

Marcio opted to think about
Mia; her caramel skin, warm and smooth as sun-drenched wood. Her
curvaceous body undulating like lazy waves, sensuous and sexy,
particularly when she was wrapped in her favourite skinny jeans.
His heart swelled with emotion and the anticipation to see her
approach down the aisle built inside.

The atmosphere changed as the
organist struck a familiar chord.
So Mia has opted for a
traditional English wedding march?
Marcio grinned in
appreciation. This day was going to be a beautiful blend of Spanish
and English, traditional and modern. Mia had done them both
proud.

Heads began to turn at the back
of the church, rippling towards the front like the incoming tide.
Marcio fought the urge to turn and face the door. His role, he
knew, was to face the priest and the altar, and sneak a peek at the
last moment. Mia had done so much; the least he could do was play
his part.

It was torture, not turning. In
the end he could resist no longer. Twisting his neck ever so
slightly Marcio looked over his left shoulder, seeking the face of
his future wife.

His breath caught at the sight
of her as she walked slowly towards him. Time paused for a moment
before Marcio’s pulse began to race. It wasn’t the beautiful dress,
clinging to her curves but still staying within the bounds of
modesty dictated by their religion. Nor was it the cascades of
black curls that fell over her kissable shoulder. It was her face
that made him gasp. She had applied careful makeup but nothing
could disguise her pallid countenance nor the deep bags almost
concealed. Not wanting to, but powerless to resist, Marcio raised
his eyes to meet hers. There was love contained within, but
something else besides. Fear? Grief? Marcio had never seen such
pain. He wanted to envelop her, protect her, erase that look
forever from her espresso-dark eyes.

Behind Mia’s shoulder he could
see Leandra, her face also ashen. Anxiety began to curl around
Marcio’s intestines.
There’s something going on here, something
I don’t know. What are they not telling me?

Mia arrived at his side and he
turned to face her. His face held the question as he reached out a
hand towards his fiancée. Mia took a final step towards him and
returned his grasp, her hand trembling within his. Pulling her
close, Marcio breathed in her familiar scent and felt his eyes itch
with unshed tears.

“What is it?”

Instead of responding Mia
looked over her shoulder at Leandra, who gave an encouraging
nod.

Marcio began to think he had an
idea what was going on. With snakes coiling in his stomach he
leaned in to whisper again to the girl he’d known all his life, but
thought that maybe he didn’t know at all.

“You don’t want to do this, do
you?”

Mia looked up into his face,
her expression a mixture of despair and relief. She nodded almost
imperceptibly, but it felt like a killer blow and Marcio reeled
back.

“Why? Is it something I’ve
done? Or is it because I didn’t help you plan the wedding? Am I
spending too much time on the boat? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

Mia swallowed and inhaled
deeply, as if trying to find the strength to speak. Marcio was
distracted by what her deep breath did to the amazing dress, but
pushed the thought away as ridiculously inappropriate.

“I…” she stopped, aware of the
priest waiting expectantly for them to approach the altar. Marcio
could hear the beginnings of shuffling sounds coming from the
congregation. He squeezed Mia’s hand, trying to give her the
strength to tell him even if her words robbed him of a life of
happiness.

“Tell me,” his voice was urgent
but full of love.

“I… We… I’m so sorry.” Heavy
tears began to fill her eyes, making them sparkle.

We. Marcio thought that said it
all.
We.
She didn’t mean him and her. She meant her and
someone else.
We.
It was obvious although it had never
occurred to him until that moment.

Marcio looked out past Mia at
the mass of faces, fear building in his own mind.
Why now?
Couldn’t she have told him earlier? Called it off sooner? As hard
as it would have been, surely nothing could be worse than
now.
Who would tell all those people? Everyone had turned up
to witness a union, a celebration, expecting to party as only the
Spanish could.

Forcing himself to breathe
through lungs that felt trapped within his chest by a steel cage,
Marcio turned back to Mia and voiced his thoughts.

“Why now?” He tried to keep the
blame, the anger, from the words.

“I didn’t know how.” Mia looked
at his chest, unable to meet his eyes.

Bitterness swept through him.
How dare she humiliate me like this, in front of all my friends
and family?

“Well, you’d better tell
them
.” He gestured towards the congregation with his
chin.

The change in mood filtered
slowly out to the congregation like drops of blood in water. The
people began to shift on their pews as if the wood had become
hot.

What little colour there was
drained from Mia’s face. She nodded once, acknowledging his right
to be angry. Lifting her chin she dropped Marcio’s hand and turned
to face the assembled crowd. Leandra was at her side and part of
Marcio’s brain noticed the glance that passed between them. At that
moment he hated Leandra too, for helping Mia conceal her
infidelity.

Standing helpless, hands
dangling by his sides, Marcio focused on a painting on the opposite
side of the building, only partially aware of the expanding silence
as Mia stood patiently waiting to speak.

The words of explanation
drifted in and out of Marcio’s consciousness as he listened without
wanting to hear. Mia’s faltering voice was quiet, as she told his
friends and family the reason why the wedding was off. The words
echoed loudly in his ears, leaving a buzzing noise as if he had
stood too close to the speakers at a heavy-metal gig. Marcio took
two steps and leaned against a pillar for support. The stone was
cool and solid behind his shoulder.

I thought the worst part was
that she was leaving me; that she was jilting me literally at the
altar, like some bad daytime soap. In fact she saved the worst
until last. Silly bitch.

As the news sunk in chaos
erupted. A hundred voices raised in rapid Catalan, talking over
each other, berating Mia, clamouring for explanation.

Marcio felt a hand on his
shoulder. He turned and saw the lined face of the priest, a man who
had been in his life for all his life.

“My son, what can I say?” The
priest paused, as if waiting for words of advice from God. When
none seemed forthcoming he seemed to search for a more practical
way to assist. “Would you like to escape?”

Marcio raised his head and
looked into the dark brown eyes gazing compassionately back at him.
He had expected the priest to blame him somehow, as if he had
failed to be man enough to keep his fiancée’s love. Instead he was
offering him a way to escape from the wreckage of his life.

Marcio glanced over at the
carnival of waving hands and listened to the cacophony of raised
voices.

“Yes.”

The priest smiled
sympathetically and gestured towards an unobtrusive door at the
rear of the vestry.

Marcio nodded his thanks,
turned once more to survey the bedlam, and gratefully slipped
away.

Chapter
Eight

Outside the grimy carriage
window familiar sights began to appear one by one. Helen rested her
head against the shuddering glass and closed her eyes.

I will not weep, I will not
weep
, she chanted, in time with the chug-chug of the train. She
hadn’t been home by train since her student days. Once she had
started work she only came home in the holidays and often hired a
car so that she could move freely around the snakes and ladders
board of rural Devon. After she had hooked up with Daniel, on the
few occasions they had come to visit her parents he had insisted on
driving in his company Mercedes.