No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham

No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham Brigid Coady **Winner of the RNA Joan Hessayon New Writers’ Scheme Award**‘Dickens with a chick lit makeover, what's not to love??’ – Bestselling author of ‘The Best Thing I Never Had’, Erin LawlessWhat the Dickens is going on?Edie Dickens is a shark of a divorce lawyer. She doesn’t believe in love and she scoffs at happily ever afters, however she’s agreed to be maid of honour for her oldest friend, Mel in two weeks and she still has the hen night to endure. But she has even more to endure when she’s visited by Jessica Marley’s ghost and finds out she must change her ways or end up being damned to an eternity watching other people’s happiness. Edie is visited by the Ghosts of Weddings Past, Present and Future, every Friday night until the day of the wedding. Can she learn from her mistakes in time? And did the ghosts send the hunky new lawyer, Jack Twist, to distract her? No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham BRIGID COADY A division of HarperCollinsPublishers www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) Copyright (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) HarperImpulse an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015 Copyright © Brigid Coady 2015 Cover images © Shutterstock.com Cover layout design © HarperColl?insPublishers Ltd 2015 Cover design by HarperColl?insPublishers Ltd Brigid Coady asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress. Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008119416 Version: 2016-11-17 For my family with love and thanks. Contents Cover (#u6d0af15e-deb2-5f70-86a1-5361486962fa) Title Page (#u05fd802d-bfef-5eed-836d-8a3e53a6c88d) Copyright Dedication (#ua525fa44-ea75-5167-a71c-a153e894a0fd) Chapter 1 (#u944e1941-3395-5183-9eb8-3092acbf31ed) Chapter 2 (#ub3004865-c970-5fcf-8b96-cdabd9cd5b95) Chapter 3 (#ubcd1ecc0-2598-5c69-a199-0f2a02a0698d) Chapter 4 (#u1fbe08ae-8ab0-5287-8e7a-f708d7c426d6) Chapter 5 (#u94ad5f59-d559-555f-a92e-d4210d3fe7a9) Chapter 6 (#u36055c1a-59c1-5759-9beb-d801bf914559) Chapter 7 (#ue579ef07-2db4-5858-892e-8cee2f174f77) Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) Brigid Coady (#litres_trial_promo) About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 1 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) Jessica Marley was dead: to begin with. The notice of her death had been in all the major newspapers, her Facebook account was now a very sparsely populated memorial page and Edie Dickens had been to her funeral. Yes, Jessica Marley was as dead as a doornail. This didn’t stop Edie from hoping that it had all been a bad dream. She glared at the calendar on her computer. The words ‘Mel’s Hen Night’ stared back at her. It was a mere two days before this ordeal and her greatest ally on the battlefield of nuptial nonsense was gone. Dead. Pushing up the daisies. Whilst Edie was stuck with going and worse, she was the maid of honour, which meant participating in the damn thing. Mel might be her oldest friend but they differed wildly in their views on weddings and suitable hen activities. Jessica hadn’t. Who would complain with her about the ridiculousness of venue, the trite jokes and obscene games, plus the awful tackiness of the regalia that all, not just the hen, would be forced to wear? And at the wedding itself… Edie would have no one to take bets with on how long the marriage would last and whether the groom had had his hand in the bridesmaid’s posy. The thought that it was irrational to blame Jessica for dying did flit across the front of her brain, but it was quickly brushed away. Jessica was a veteran of the nuptial war and one of the rules was always “eye the food warily”. She should’ve spotted the cocktail stick holding the mini burger together. If she’d spotted it she wouldn’t have swallowed it, therefore causing the onset of peritonitis. Death by canap?. Another casualty of a wedding, just a little more final than the normal crushed dreams and plundered bank accounts. Edie locked her computer screen, breathing more easily when the screen showed the regulation company logo, ‘Bailey Lang Satis and Partners’. She grabbed her bag and jacket and left to get a late lunch. She glanced at the empty seat at the other desk in her office. Rachel, her trainee, was taking yet another long lunch. It was getting ridiculous. Edie swept along the corridor, taking some pleasure that people stepped out of her way. Never let anyone stop you from being the best you can be. She couldn't remember who had told her that, but it stuck with her. Along with her mother's maxim of ‘never let the bastards see you cry.’ "I can't believe he's actually working here!" It was another solicitor, Caroline, who was speaking in a breathless voice like a boy band groupie. "He's so sexy. When he smiled at me as he held the door open this morning I swear I almost fainted." Carmel, one of the partners, was giggling. As she passed them all standing in a knot by the Ladies she frowned. The office was not a place for socialising. It was a place to work. When she reached partner, there would be changes. Ever since her mentor, Ms Satis had been put on gardening leave for alleged work place bullying, it had gone soft. Was it bullying to expect the best from everyone? Edie pressed the lift button hard. "Looks like the Shark is in a snit again." She heard the whisper as it carried across the marble floor and hard walls of the lift lobby. The doors opened and she got in. Never let the bastards see you cry. The smell of cinnamon and buttery pastry filled her senses as she stood at the counter of the local sandwich shop. Her mouth watered at the memory of it melting on her tongue. An image of her dad laughing as he wiped the crumbs from her cheeks. She thrust the memory back behind the walls in her mind. It was better to forget that and only remember that her mum never allowed pastries. Too calorific. Plus Ms Satis had always advocated that a widening waist showed that a lawyer wasn’t taking care of the little details. Edie wasn’t sure she would ever reach the greyhound leanness of her mentor but she was giving it a good try. The thought of Hilary Satis kept the memories safer. Emotions had no place in a divorce lawyer. “Oh come on,” she couldn’t help muttering under her breath. Edie wanted to leave the shop as fast as possible whilst her memories were still ruthlessly corralled. But the one person who stood in front of her in the queue wasn’t moving. Why were people not prepared with the correct change when they came to pay for their sandwich? She tapped her foot and started tutting. “I’m sure I have it right here.” The woman in front was digging through her purse and beginning to count copper coins out onto the Plexiglas counter. A key chain with a cube of photos of grinning children swung from it. “For the love of God,” Edie didn’t explode so much as fire the words with laser pointedness at the back of the woman’s head. Edie took in the messy and poorly cut hair and wondered how the woman could’ve allowed herself out looking like that. The woman turned in shock. “Some of us work and you are costing me money. If you are incapable of counting out change then I suggest you ask your children to teach you.” Edie pushed past the woman as she said it, leaving the woman open mouthed and with tears starting in her eyes. I’m only doing it for her own good, Edie thought, pushing any twinge of shame down behind her walls to join her cinnamon flavoured memories. “Smoked salmon on granary, salad and no butter,” she calmly ordered. The owner of the shop, a burly Italian cockney glared at her but slapped the bread onto the board. “No butter,” she said it sharply as she saw him start to dip his knife in the tub. He threw the knife down, muttering in Italian. People had to learn. They had to toughen up. Life wasn’t a Disney film full of helpful woodland creatures and funny animated snowmen. If you didn’t look after yourself no one else would. She paid with the correct money, and took her sandwich in silence. She stared pointedly at the now crying woman standing with a handful of change and left the shop the doorbells chiming accusingly behind her. Walking back onto her floor from the lift, she noticed that there were still people gossiping. She could feel her lips tightening. It was a dog eat dog world; that was what made her a great lawyer. No distractions, no diversions. What she hadn’t learned by herself, her mother or Hilary Satis had drummed into her. These people needed to get with the programme. “Edie?” A weedy voice said. Sighing, Edie turned away from the screen. “Yes, Rachel?” Edie asked herself, yet again, why she had been assigned the most colourless and ineffectual trainee solicitor the firm had ever taken on. Didn’t they know that a divorce practice needed sharks? Go-getters? Ever since Hilary had been forced out it had gone soft. Mind you the trainee before Rachel hadn't been much good either and Hilary had been around then. “I have to leave early tonight,” Rachel said bouncing from foot to foot. It was the most animated Edie had ever seen her. “Early?” She'd already taken a long lunch. Edie would have to check her billable hours carefully. “Yes… it’s for my wedding dress fitting!” Rachel fairly glowed. And another one was seduced to the dark side. No wonder she wasn't good for anything. Weddings turned people's mind to porridge. And if they didn't have much of a mind before, it went even quicker. Edie looked at Rachel, really seeing her for the first time. She shone from within, transforming her dirty dishwater coloured hair, her scrawny figure hidden in a polyester black suit and her cheap shoes into something touchingly pretty. Weddings? Pah. It wouldn’t last. “And you think that takes priority over Mrs Robinson-Smythe’s settlement?” Edie asked. “I can come in early tomorrow?” Rachel’s bottom lip wobbled. “You should be coming in early anyway if you want to get ahead. Oh don’t cry. Just go. But this will be going on your permanent record.” Edie said and turned away from her in disgust, ignoring her until she left the office. Edie found that firing off an email to the HR department about the lackadaisical attitude of her trainee lifted her spirits, and she carried on working with a small smile. If you didn’t watch the trainees they were apt to slack off, she knew this. She’d been taught by the best. Really, between Rachel’s sloppiness and the other solicitors spending the time gossiping about men, it was a surprise that Bailey Lang Satis and Partners was still as successful as it was. Standards were slipping. At eight pm, she shut down her computer, removed all papers from her desk, averted her eyes from Rachel’s teetering piles of briefs and left. She strode confidently through the office, and noted she was the last to leave. Good. It gave her a sense of pride, and also relief that she didn't have to make small talk with anyone. Exactly twenty minutes later she was outside the door to her building, a red and white mansion block just off Victoria Street. It was a quiet and elegant place and an easy bus ride from work at the edge of the City. The double doors were half glazed and led through to a tiled entrance way. Above the doors was a stained glass semicircular window showing flowers, misplaced Edwardian whimsy, Edie always thought. The last rays of the sun on this June evening were shining directly onto the window. As Edie put her key in the lock, she glanced up. Instead of the whimsical flowers she'd expected, a face stared down at her. The face of Jessica Marley. It glowed in the light of the setting sun. It had Jessica’s perpetual look of superiority; her chin length bob moved slightly as if touched by a faint wind. And perched on top was a cheap silver tiara. Brown eyes stared beadily down at Edie. There was nothing whimsical about them. Edie blinked. No, it really was just a stained glass window. The blood from her face was now pooled somewhere round her knees. With her hand shaking, she turned the key in the lock and stumbled through the front door. That didn’t just happen. It couldn’t have done. “Low blood sugar. It’s just low blood sugar,” she whispered as she took the lift not trusting her legs for the usual brisk walk up the stairs. She’d seen Jessica because she’d been on her mind earlier; that was it. It had to be. It was the only logical explanation. Once in her second floor flat, she rapidly turned the locks and put the chain on. Back flattened against it, she lifted a hand to her forehead. It was cold and damp, but not from fear; she didn't do fear. She could hear Ms Satis' voice telling her to pull it together. “Get a grip Edie. It was just a trick of the light.” Maybe if she said it enough she could believe it. It was a technique she knew well. Taking a deep breath she walked to the kitchen through her bland and colourless flat. There was not a personal touch anywhere, not a photo or a knickknack; it was more like a hotel room. She could move out at a moment’s notice and not leave an imprint of herself behind. And what was in the flat was perfectly aligned; everything was in its place. In her spotless and almost clinical kitchen, Edie prepared dinner with automaton precision: organic chicken, no skin and grilled to reduce the calories, organic vegetables steamed and not a touch of a starchy carbohydrate because it was after six pm. The work soothed her, all the boundaries and rules giving her structure, making her feel safe. Her phone rang, and she automatically checked the caller. Her mother. Her lips pursed. She didn’t have time to speak to her mother, Edie lied to herself, when what she meant was that she didn't have the energy to deal with her. She sent it to voice mail. Then, as was her routine, she sat at the small breakfast bar that divided the kitchen from the living room and carefully placed a forkful of food made up of perfect proportions and dimension in her mouth. She chewed exactly thirty times before she swallowed, and, because she'd had so much practice at ignoring anything that made her uncomfortable, she successfully dismissed the thoughts of weddings and stained glass windows as she reviewed Mrs Robinson-Smythe’s settlement. By exactly ten thirty pm Edie was in bed, a solitary figure lying in her cool crisp white linen sheets. It was as if she was laid out, arms by her sides or occasionally crossed across her chest. All neat and tidy, nothing messy. OK, so tonight she might have checked under the bed and in each wardrobe before she lay down, but those were just sensible precautions for a single woman living in the centre of London. And if she'd never done it before tonight, it was never too late to start. At least that is what she told herself. On that fuzzy edge of sleep, that time where you walk on the verge between the waking path or the field of dreams, she heard an electronic click, the sound of a text message being delivered. It jolted her awake. Who could be texting her now? And then as her brain woke up, she remembered she didn't have an alert for her text messages, her phone was set to vibrate mode. Then as if to underline her thought and highlight it in bold, she heard it again, and again. And then it seemed that every electrical appliance in the flat turned on and began to beep, the sound getting louder and louder. What the… Edie's heart was hammering so loudly that she almost didn't hear the sound of stiletto-heeled shoes tapping slowly and laboriously towards her and the clanking sound of a chain being dragged over wooden floors. It came closer and closer. “Bugger this!” she whispered. “It’s just a dream.” And as she said it, something came through the bedroom door. Right through it, without opening it. “Jessica?” Edie whispered. She pressed her hand against her ribcage as if trying to keep her slamming heart from leaping out. The same face that had stared at her from the stained glass was right there in front of her: the superior look, the chin length bob. But Edie had never seen Jessica in a bridesmaid’s dress before. It was peach satin, cheap looking and so full of frills and lace, it was the embodiment of the dream of a demented four year old. And Jessica had a chain dragging behind her. It was fastened about her waist. It wound around her and fell behind her like a train. It sparkled with pink glitter; and woven between the links were pink feather boas, ‘L’ plates and bunny rabbit ears, penis-shaped straws, red devil horns and fairy wings. Her body was transparent, so Edie could see the massive bow that adorned the back of the dress. She’d always suspected Jessica was full of hot air. “What the hell do you want? You’re dead.” Edie said. “Oh come on Edie, of course I’m dead. Do you think if I were still alive I’d be here? Also, you know, see-through…” The shade gestured to her body. “But J-Jessica…” Edie wasn’t sure why she was trying to argue with a mad bridesmaid ghost in her bedroom; maybe she needed to humour it until she was certain what she was dealing with. “You know, that is the first time I’ve heard my name since I died. Nothing worse than having been someone and then to be reduced to wandering around without anyone knowing you,” the spirit said. Edie suddenly remembered that although she and Jessica had known each other since secondary school and were united in their hatred of all things nuptial, she hadn’t actually liked Jessica very much. Too full of herself. “Can you sit down?” asked Edie, doubtfully. The ghoul raised a withering transparent eyebrow. No, Edie hadn’t really cared for Jessica at all. “Well… erm… make yourself at home.” Make yourself at home? What was she saying? She’d never had Jessica to stay in her flat when she was alive and now she was asking her spirit to make herself at home. In fact she couldn't remember ever hanging out with Jessica except at various weddings of mutual acquaintances. Not that Edie went out much anyway. Edie watched as Jessica positioned herself on the end of her bed. There was no corresponding dip in the mattress; it was like the ghoul floated on the duvet. She must be dreaming. “You think you’re dreaming,” stated the ghost. “Well I must be.” “Edie, for once in your life stop being a lawyer and doubting everything. Use the senses God gave you, why question everything?” “Because senses have a habit of being hijacked, that’s why. Little things can affect them; I could be overworked and hallucinating.” Edie knew she was clutching at straws, but what was the alternative? The beady gaze of the spectre was making her uneasy. Added to that was the way that whilst the ghost sat still, her hair, gown and wedding ephemera were agitated. It was as if someone had opened an oven and let the hot vapour out. Odd, very odd. “If I wanted I could have had a piece of cheese after dinner and I'd be imagining George Clooney instead. It’s all bollocks.” Edie said going on the attack as she always did when feeling uncomfortable. But also wondering why she hadn't imagined George Clooney. At this, see-through Jessica gave her a scathing look and then raised a cry, so truly gut wrenching and melancholy, that the hairs on Edie’s neck rose and she clutched her duvet closer to her, moving it to her mouth so she could bite on it and stifle her scream. “OK, OK. I believe in you.” Edie said. “Thank God for that, those cries are hellish on one’s throat.” The apparition coughed politely. “So it’s lovely to see you and all Jessica, but why are you here?” Edie’s voice trembled even as she tried to sound calm and professional. “I can tell you where I would be if I had a choice. I would be living it up the other side of the pearly gates. As it is I’m stuck round here doing the spiritual version of social work.” The ghoul sighed and slumped slightly. Edie waited. The spectre then sat up straighter and fixed its stare on her. “OK so here’s the thing, Edie, supposedly everyone is required to love selflessly. I know; I rolled my eyes too. You are supposed to go out and ‘spread the love.’ Not just love of course, but also all that hope that it supposedly produces, and share it. With the whole world. All a bit vomit inducing, I thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Oh no, and this is the doozy… If you don’t go out and ‘spread the love,’" Jessica-that-was used her fingers to make quotation marks, "well, you spend death wandering the earth, witnessing all that love and stuff and not being able to share in it. Did you know there was a contract? People should let you know these things. I was told it was all set out in the small print. But who has time to read that?” That which had been Jessica threw up its hands causing the chain to rattle and a blizzard of pink glitter to fall on the duvet. “And the chain?” Edie asked. “Another one of those pesky Ts & Cs which no one tells you about; allegedly the links represent every time I scorned love, focused on work and the minutiae of weddings. When I didn’t see through the glitter and the tat to what was underneath it all, I made one of these damn links. Something about free will, I zoned out around then.” The ghost sighed. “And if you think this is bad… well you should see yours. You get extra links every time you act shark-like in those divorces instead of going for mediation. I particularly like the fetching penis deely boppers and magic wands they've put on yours.” Edie was horrified. Not the boppers. Chapter 2 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) Edie was shaking, her teeth chattering. Frantically she looked around her and peeked under the duvet. No boppers. No chain. She checked again just to make sure. “Oh, you won’t see it.” Jessica’s superior voice was beginning to grate on Edie’s already frazzled nerves. “But believe me,” she rattled her chain spewing more pink glitter over the duvet, “it is much, much longer.” Edie couldn't see the end of Jessica's chain; it stretched from the bed and through the closed door to the room. And hers was longer? “But we aren’t evil people, Jessica. We sent all those wedding gifts and some bloody expensive ones too. We gave up our weekends and went to all the hen parties and all the weddings, even the ones we knew weren’t going to last. We said all the right things. And we get this?” Edie pointed at the chain. “Tell me it isn’t true,” she implored. “Empty gestures, Edie. When did we ever congratulate them from the heart? We shut ourselves off from their happiness and our own. We had withering hearts behind our withering put downs. You remember don’t you? All those conversations and bets on who would be divorced first. We said how stupid they all were for believing in fairytales. And how we knew better. Well at least they did believe. Because I’m stuck carrying this chain on my own. Alone. For eternity.” The ghoul shook its chain and sniffed back tears. Edie shivered at the misery that came off it in waves. “But you have a chance, Edie. You can change.” The spirit eagerly leaned towards her as she spoke. “But how?” asked Edie. “You will be haunted,” Jessica the ghost said, “by three Spirits.” She was going to be haunted by more ghosts? This wasn’t happening. She was going mad. Maybe she needed to take some time off. She hadn't had a holiday in years. “Three Spirits?” she said. Jessica nodded. “And this is my chance?” she asked falteringly. “Yes.” “My only chance?” “Yes.” “No other way?” “No, if you don’t do this…” the ghost paused and then gestured down towards her outfit. Edie shuddered; the peach shiny dress and the pink glitter encrusted chain made her feel ill. “Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one.” “Can’t I take them all at once? I mean three nights of interrupted sleep are going to play hell with my work schedule,” Edie hinted. The spirit Jessica ignored her. “Expect the second a week later at the same hour; and the third in a fortnight. Edie, please, for your own sake remember this.” The ghoul stood as she said this and wrapped her chain around her arm. A set of fairy wings fluttered against a pair of devil's horns. “I’ve got two weeks of this?” Edie’s voice rose an octave or two. “Better two weeks now than an eternity later,” The ghoul retorted. When it was put like that… “Will I see you again?” Edie asked. Did she want to see Jessica again? She hadn’t been overly keen on her when she was alive. But maybe she could have someone to talk things over with after the haunting? Edie was used to dealing with things alone, but this was huge. “No, this was my one chance to right some of my wrongs. My one chance to save you from the same fate,” The spirit walked towards the window, heels tapping and chain scraping. “Remember Edie, it’s all in the small print of the Ts and Cs. Let the love in.” The spirit paused. “I can’t believe the crap they’ve got me saying,” Jessica muttered as the sash window flung itself up and open of its own accord and she stepped out. Edie threw back the covers and rushed to the window. Hovering just over the sill, Jessica stared back at her. “Remember!” she wailed and turning joined the throng of similarly clad women and morning-suited men who suddenly appeared. Glitter, fairy wings, handcuffs and dodgy hats filled the air. “Remember!” The ghoul rushed away from Edie and up over the rooftop of the mansion block opposite. And then she and the rest of the wedding crazed ghosts were gone. “Madness,” Edie whispered. “Complete and utter madness. That chicken must have been off.” But still she slammed the window shut and double-checked the locks. She leapt back into bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin. She absently picked at her manicure. “It was just a dream, just a dream,” she repeated to herself, ignoring the glint of pink glitter that dusted the end of her bed. She was still saying that under her breath as she marched through the reception area of the office the next morning. Edie ignored the receptionist cringing behind the large wood and chrome desk, she forgot to sling her usual scathing comment on the state of the poor woman’s dress or that she’d let the flower arrangement droop. “It was just a dream,” she said softly while she waited for the lift. Edie had already said it as she sat up in bed, as she showered, as she dressed, as she made breakfast and in a frothy white mumble as she brushed her teeth. The lift arrived empty, for which she was thankful. She especially didn't want to deal with people this morning. She got in, jabbing the button for her floor. As the doors were about to close a large be-suited arm, stopped them. Damn it. She shifted to the side without looking up. “It was just a dream,” she whispered to herself. “I must cut down on meat." “I did that, did me the world of good but there were times I’d kill for a steak or a bacon sandwich,” a deep voice said in her left ear. Chapter 3 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) Edie jumped. “What?” she said and looked up at the man next to her. He was looking down at her with a friendly smile. Looking down from a long way up. And it was a very charming smile. Edie’s hackles went up. She didn't want to deal with people today. Especially charming ones. “Cutting back on meat, you were just saying,” he explained. “Kindly keep your dietary tips and stories for someone who cares,” she said. She didn’t need charming. Ms Satis had warned her to look behind the charm because they were normally hiding something. She was usually right. The tall dark man’s smile faltered under her icy blast. “Hey, you were the one sharing your dietary story first,” he said his hands held up in peace in front of him. “I thought maybe this was a new Friday office policy people had instigated while I was away.” Edie stared at him confused. Why was he still talking? No one talked to her in the lift and never after one of her put-downs. And who the hell was he anyway? The silence stretched for three more floors. “This is us,” he said brightly. Edie could feel rage building in her. She didn’t do brightly and she definitely didn’t want brightly charming people on the same floor as her. The doors slid open and he gestured for her to leave first. She stalked out of the lift and tightened her grip on her briefcase. Turn left. Turn left. Turn left. She willed him as she turned right. But no one was listening because there he was coming up behind her. “I’m Jack Twist.” He was so close it felt as if he was speaking in her ear directly. She stopped. He wasn’t going to give up, she thought, until he had some sort of conversation. Tenacity was a good trait for a lawyer but not when they were garrulous as well. It went against her work principles to indulge in chitchat but she needed to set him straight. She turned on her heel and found herself inches from a very broad chest. It was currently clothed in a crisp striped blue and white cotton shirt. The tie was discretely and geometrically patterned in blue silk that soothed her somewhat. Then her attention was caught by the lining of the charcoal grey suit. Cerise. She blinked. It was still cerise pink. The colour hurt her sleep-deprived eyes. “Well Mr Twist, thank you for letting me know that you sometimes crave a steak or a bacon sandwich.” She tore herself away from the pink lining and moved her gaze to the determined and tanned chin at the top of the shirt, “I feel I can now begin this day with more of a spring in my step from this minutiae. But for future reference I don’t wish to hear about that or, in fact, anything else about you ever again whether in the lift or anywhere else. Good day.” She swivelled on her heels and stalked off without waiting to see what Mr Twist had to say about it. Who the hell did he think he was? OK so she had been talking to herself, which wasn’t something she usually indulged in but after last night… Edie shivered, it was a dream. Just a dream. She opened the door to her office. No Rachel. And after she promised to come in early. Edie sniffed. The email she’d sent to HR last night would be followed up by a phone call today. How could she work to her best ability or expect to succeed when the people around her were substandard? Edie marched to her desk. She placed her briefcase in the centre of it, adjusting it slightly to align it with the edge of the desk. She flicked open the locks, leaned forward to switch on her computer and then sat down in her chair all in one fluid take. Work. Where she could forget about hallucinating. Where she could forget about ghosts and soft things like loving unconditionally. Where she could concentrate on at least making some money for those poor unfortunates who made the colossal mistake of getting hitched and believing they could have a happily ever after. As she clicked to open her email, her last thought before she lost herself in work was; Had some woman persuaded Jack Twist that cerise was a desirable lining for a work suit? “Having reviewed the joint assets and the pension owed to Mrs Samuels, it is our belief that a fair settlement for my client is…” The door to the office crashed open, banging on the wall and then almost ricocheting closed again. Edie paused in the middle of dictating her letter on the Samuels settlement. She clicked off the recorder, as Rachel, almost brained by the rebounding door, staggered into the room. Edie lifted one carefully groomed eyebrow and surveyed the wreck of a girl before her. “Well hello, Ms Micawber, it is good of you to grace us with your presence,” she said. “But if I could draw your attention to the clock over the door it is now nine fifteen am. If this is your idea of coming in early, I would hate to see you come in late. And may I also point out that you seem to have your skirt on backwards, your tights are laddered and there is a suspicious stain on your shirt.” Edie summed up. She didn't mention the call she'd made to HR fifteen minutes before. “Oh God, I am so sorry I’m late!” gasped a red-faced Rachel. A drop of sweat traced a path down her cheek. “Timmy was sick in the night, and by the time we got him resettled and ourselves back to bed I was so exhausted I missed the alarm,” she stopped to gulp in more air. “And then Rob gave me a lift to the station but we got a flat,” Rachel peered down at her shirt and made some vague rubbing motion over her left breast, smearing the stain into a bigger circle. “I think that might be oil or grease from when I was trying to stop Timmy from lifting the spare tyre by himself. He is such a sweetheart, I can’t wait until the wedding and then I’ll be his stepmum properly.” Edie could feel her eyes beginning to roll back in her head from boredom. It was too early to have to listen to Rachel’s witterings about her allegedly perfect fianc? Rob and his kid Timmy. Actually there was never a good time to listen to her. Edie knew more than she needed to about poor Timmy’s health issues and how his mother had rejected him at birth. “Rachel," she said sharply. “Enough of the family spiel, we are behind enough already without a rehash of the touching family bonding experience I’m sure you all shared. Pull yourself together and when you have you can tell me where you are with the McCartney-Mills case.” Edie clicked her Dictaphone back on. “Half the pension, five thousand pounds a month maintenance and the London flat,” she carried on as if Rachel’s entrance had not happened at all. Edie pinched her nose as a dull throbbing headache, probably caused by her interrupted night’s sleep, hit her. And it was still only lunchtime. She stretched out her arms, laced her fingers and pulled, loosening herself up. At least today was Friday; she could have a small lie in tomorrow and then she would have the whole weekend. Two days where she could get some work finished uninterrupted by colleagues or clients, two days without Rachel's snivelling. But what about ghosts? An inner Edie whispered. There was no such thing as ghosts; last night had been a very vivid and detailed dream, she told herself. She was obviously fixating on weddings because Mel’s was coming up in a fortnight. Why had she ever agreed to be bridesmaid, sorry no, make that maid of honour in the first place? It was only due to the length of time that she had known Mel that had made her say yes. And when had maid of honour become such a big thing? She shuddered when she thought of it. Not only would she have to sit through a wedding, she was actually having to take part in one as a member of the wedding party. It was enough to make her break out in a rash. Yes, it was the stress from the wedding that was getting to her. That was probably why she'd dreamt of Jessica. Really it was funny when she thought about it, how her subconscious was playing tricks on her. And everyone knew you shouldn't read into dreams. Then a memory tickled the back of her mind and as it poked a bit harder at her, a black cloud of dread appeared on her horizon, it loomed and crept closer. It was something to do with the wedding… the clouds gathered into a storm and closed in. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, her recently stretched shoulders tightened. What was it? And simultaneously at the exact point she could put a name to her dread, a calendar reminder on her computer bleeped and named it for her. Mel’s Hen Weekend – 1 day The hen weekend. Her vision of a blessed free weekend was winked out in the flip of a binary switch, the production of a calendar reminder. This time tomorrow she would be in the midst of the most hellish endurance sport known to womankind… the hen party. And as maid of honour there was no way she could miss it or even leave early. She was in for the duration, no time off for good behaviour. And even she wouldn't back out and blame work. She might hate weddings but she really did love Mel. She owed her for making her teen years at least partly bearable. For giving her a refuge from the coldness at home. But Edie knew that every one of the other hens were card-carrying members of the ‘happily ever after’ clan. Her phone rang, thankfully distracting her from the need to think any further about the hen night. She lunged for it without checking the caller ID. “Edie Dickens,” she answered. “Edie! It’s a disaster!” a voice squealed out of the earpiece. She should've checked. Edie frowned as she moved the earpiece further away from her ear. “Hi Mel,” she said, “What is it this time? The caterers have run out of pink icing? Barry has run off with the best man?” And of course the other point of being maid of honour and best friend to the bride was that you were supposed to be available to calm down any nerves and last minute panics. It was a bit of a stretch because all the advice Edie had was to tell her to cancel the whole thing, run very fast in the opposite direction and use the money for something more sensible… like taking a course in underwater basket weaving. “No! As if! Although now you say that I think I’ll just give the caterers a quick ring after we’ve chatted… just in case. God wouldn’t it be awful if they didn’t have pink icing for the cupcake cake? It would blow the entire colour scheme!” Edie looked upwards in disgust. This was why she didn’t do weddings. And to think she wouldn’t even have Jessica to take the piss out of it with her. Jessica. She hadn’t really visited last night had she? She couldn’t have done. All that funny stuff about contracts and loving unconditionally… it was a load of bunkum obviously drawn from some weird and wonderful part of her mind and mixed with dodgy meat. “Anyway what I phoned about is my bloody parents,” Mel had obviously finished worrying about the caterers. “What’s up with Maggie and Doug?” Mel’s parents were the only married couple that disproved Edie's theory. They had been together for thirty-nine years and even though Doug was a workaholic surgeon and was away working more than at home, they would be together for thirty-nine years more. They were safe and solid and completely unlike her own parents. When she was a teenager she used to wish they’d adopt her, that she could be part of their normal family. In fact she'd spent almost all her time round at their house. It was more of a home than the one she'd shared with her mum. “They are acting like five-year-olds. They are squabbling in low, angry voices and whenever I ask them what’s wrong they both clam up and say there is nothing to worry about. You don’t think there is a problem with paying for it all, do you? Maybe they forgot to pay the deposit on the golf club? Oh God, I hope Dad isn’t going to be completely inappropriate during the speeches.” Edie sighed. It was nothing startling then, no world-shattering event, Mel just needing to vent to the one person who had to listen. Her maid of honour. “I’m sure your parents are fine,” Edie spoke absently as she opened her emails at the same time. “Doug probably brought up some surgical procedure at one of their charity dinners or something and put everyone off their scallops.” “Yeah. Of course. You are so right Edie. I don’t know where my head is at.” I know, thought Edie, your brain is on Planet Wedding and it has sucked any sense out of you. But she didn’t say it. She also didn’t say she thought Mel had lost a fair few IQ points ever since she got engaged. Hell, who was she kidding? Ever since she fell in love. Why couldn’t Barry have run off with the best man? It would solve all manner of things. For once Edie kept her opinion to herself, Mel meant too much to her. “OK, well I’ll see you at mine at eleven am, and no ducking out of anything. You promised.” Mel carried on. “I’ll be there.” Edie promised as she said goodbye. She even had to drive herself to her own execution. A three-hour car journey with the blushing bride before they even got to the hen weekend; if Edie’s body wasn’t so well disciplined her shoulders would have been round her ears, her back bent and she would be wringing her hands. Instead she picked at the chipped varnish on her thumbnail. At six thirty, Edie repacked her briefcase with less work than she would have liked. She turned off her computer and left the pale and red eyed Rachel still at her desk. “Oh, are you off?” Rachel sounded surprised. Edie knew it was earlier than normal but if a hen night called then she would need to make sure she hit the gym that night instead of tomorrow. “Good night, Rachel,” she said repressively. There was no need for her to keep Rachel up to date with her social life. Marching out of her office she headed for the lift, thinking as she walked that she would do a quick five miles on the treadmill and then some weights. Pressing the button, the chipped varnish on her thumbnail where she'd been picking at it caught her eye; she wondered whether the manicurist could fit her in tomorrow morning. “We must stop meeting like this.” The deep voice from this morning spoke from somewhere behind her. Her back tensed. It was bad enough that she was haunted in her dreams now it felt as if she was being haunted in real life. She ignored him. “Tough day at the coalface, huh? So tired and drained from saving people’s marriages that you can’t speak?” the bass voice rumbled on. Really. Saving people’s marriages? What kind of divorce lawyer did he think she was? It was in the title ‘divorce.’ Hilary Satis had taught her that when she’d been her mother’s lawyer and then again when Edie had come to work for her. “I think you’ll find, Mr Twist, that saving marriages is for marriage counsellors. Not for lawyers.” The lift arrived and she marched in. Turning to press the ground floor button, she got a good look at her nemesis as he followed her in, grinning. She had forgotten how tall he was; she only came up to his chin. His face was square and saved from beauty by a broken nose, a scar through his left eyebrow and another just below his lower lip. Although the scar brought attention to a bottom lip that begged to be kissed. What? She caught herself from thinking further about his lips. She looked up and caught hazel eyes glinting, laughing at her. “Well, I believe we will have to agree to differ then,” he said following her in. “Ms Dickens, isn’t it? Your reputation precedes you,” he continued. The way he emphasised ‘reputation’ caused Edie to go on alert. She knew his type. They were always trying to convince people that if they just worked at it they could get back together or at least come to an equable settlement. As if. That wasn’t what the job was about. “I take it you believe mediation is the panacea for the masses then? All the touchy feely new age stuff,” she said. As Edie said ‘mediation’ a shiver went up her spine. Mediation. Wasn’t that what Jessica had said she should be pushing her clients towards? “New age? If you want to call it that, then yes, Ms Dickens I’m one of those touchy feely new age types. But maybe you’d care to tell me where I’m going wrong over a drink tonight. Dispense your theories. Maybe take pity on the prodigal son returning to the fold.” His hands were held out in supplication. They were as rough and battered as his face. One of them could've easily held both of hers. Where were these thoughts coming from? And what was this prodigal son stuff? Did he think she had nothing better to do than gossip about her colleagues? A drink? As if. She opened her mouth to tell him and as she did a faint shimmer of pink glitter fluttered out of thin air and landed on his shoulder. The few specks winked in the fluorescent lighting. Pink glitter. Just like the glitter she had found all over the end of her bed that morning. The same pink glitter that had wound a path from her bedroom window to disappear somewhere in the middle of her living room. It hadn’t been a dream. Edie felt the blood drain out of her face. The cerise lining of Jack Twist's suit went grey. She put a hand out to steady herself. It hit solid muscle; muscle clad in cotton and wool. “Whoa there. I know I’m not much of a catch but you don’t need to faint to get out of it. A simple no would have been fine,” Jack Twist joked as he grasped her arms to hold her steady. He smelt of coffee, shampoo, laundry detergent and something citrusy. Clean. Normal. Not the sort of man who would have ghosts haunting him. Well of course he wouldn’t, he was the saintly sort who believed in mediation. And yet there was the glitter. It winked and blinked at her, a warning light. Stop. Wait. Go. Go, she had to go. “Excuse me please,” she said. Wrenching her arm away she staggered to the lift doors and as soon as they were at the ground floor and opening she slipped through the gap. “Edie! At least let me get you a cab,” his voice called loudly causing everyone in the lobby to look and see what was happening but she ignored it. She ran out of the building and bumped and careened her way through the commuters on the street. Chapter 4 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) Edie lay in her solitary but very well appointed bed. She had spent a quarter of an hour smoothing the sheets before she got in, trying to make herself calm. Then she'd gone through all her yoga relaxation exercises and when that hadn't helped she'd used the self-hypnosis sleep app on her phone. But she was still awake. Every time she heard the sound of Big Ben chime the quarter hour, her body tensed and she found herself grasping the duvet. She was being silly. The whole thing with Jessica had been down to dodgy meat; she knew that. She did. That glitter on Jack Twist’s shoulder in the lift was just something left over from whatever birthday celebration was happening this week, there was always one. Not that she was ever invited to them. He'd obviously brushed up against a banner or a card. It had taken her running almost halfway to the bus stop before she had thought logically about that one. So there was no ghost coming. Why she was allowing some bad dream to dictate her life? She'd never let anyone else dictate it before. And she wasn’t about to start tonight. No, she was being silly. Now she'd thought it through logically, she would sleep. And setting her formidable mind and iron willpower to it, she drifted off to sleep. When Edie woke up, it was so dark that, staring round she could scarcely distinguish the window from the walls of her bedroom. She was still squinting trying to see, when the chimes of Big Ben struck the four quarters, she listened for the hour. She reckoned it must be about three o'clock. The heavy bell went past three and struck twelve; then stopped. Twelve. But it had been past twelve when eventually she'd closed her eyes and gone to sleep. The clock was wrong. A damn pigeon must have got into the works. Twelve. This was going to be all over the news and she'd have to listen to everyone witter on about it for weeks until something equally as trivial occupied them. There was no way time moved backwards. She reached to her bedside table and checked her mobile phone. Twelve. Frowning, she looked at her radio-controlled clock. It lit up and confirmed the time. Twelve. "This isn’t happening," she said, "there is no way I’ve slept the day away… no way. Someone would have called." But maybe she had. No, her, Edwina Charlotte Dickens sleeping in and missing a day? Never. It would never, could never happen. And on the few occasions she was sick she’d always phoned in and then worked from her bed. But this wasn’t work she was missing, but a hen night. She could see herself subconsciously sleeping through it. But there was no way that Mel would allow her to miss it. And she wouldn't let Mel down. Edie had promised to do this for her. And she didn’t break promises. Edie scrambled out of her bed, and groped towards the window. Which was frosted. In June. She rubbed the frost off with the sleeve of her pyjamas; nothing unusual. It was just very foggy and extremely cold. Global warming? Freak weather? Time standing still? But the street was silent; no hysterical people running round like headless chickens so probably not a major global catastrophe. Then she must have got the time she went to sleep wrong. Mustn’t she? She hated this feeling of being out of control, of doubting her own mind. Her mind was the one thing that had never let her down Her stomach clenching in trepidation, Edie climbed back into bed again, her mind spinning. Thoughts racing; too many strange things were happening. “There must be some logical explanation,” she said to herself. Jessica's ghost bothered her the most. Although she had spent most of the day ignoring the memory, it still festered there in the back of her mind. And another Spirit was due…if Jessica was to be believed. Had it really come to this? She was taking the word of a see-through former person? Big Ben chimed again. Edie checked her phone, it shone and showed 00:15. Forty-five minutes to go and logic said Edie would be left alone. It was the twenty-first century… people didn’t get haunted the way they used to. It just wasn’t done. She lay on her side in bed, knees curled protectively towards her chest. "Ding dong!" "Half past," she muttered as she reached out and checked her phone yet again. "Ding dong!" "A quarter to," Edie whispered into her pillow, her hands clutching it tightly. "Ding dong!" "One o’clock," she said out loud, her body relaxing, “and not a strange visitor in sight!" Edie didn’t bother looking at her phone; the quarter chimes of Big Ben were good enough for her. And once the hour bell had sounded, she would be getting some sleep. How stupid had she been? Believing some dream she had last night. “Terms and conditions. I mean, really.” Edie bashed her pillow into shape and pulled the duvet up to her chin as the hour bell sounded a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy one. As the sound ended, light erupted in the room, as if a thousand camera flashes were going off at once. With a small scream, Edie catapulted upright in bed. Her eyes were blinded by the flash of light. Rubbing them she tried to rid herself of the black spots. Opening them again, she was confronted with a visitor. She rubbed her eyes again. Opening them still showed the same visitor. What was a six-year-old flower girl doing in her bedroom? The child was dressed in a pink dress; the bodice heavy with embroidered flowers and seed pearls, the skirt fell in folds like a fairy princess. On her blonde and curly hair sat a circlet of sweet peas and roses with bits of baby’s breath, gypsophila, peeking out here and there. Clutched in her hands was a flower basket but instead of flowers the basket held the light that had blinded Edie earlier. It lit the whole room, a blue white light shooting up from the basket to hit the ceiling like a thousand spotlights. Nothing could hide from that light, it illuminated all shadows. Solemn blue eyes stared at Edie. Eyes too old for a six year old and like the light, they scorched bright. They tore through Edie’s outer layers and the mask she showed the world to see what was hidden beneath. Edie’s soul shrank and tried to hide but found its darkest corners exposed. “Erm…” Edie’s voice faltered and faded under the child’s stare. Why did it have to be a child? Edie never knew what to say to them. “So little girl, are you the Ghost that Ms Marley told me about?” Edie tried to smile encouragingly at the youngster, but it felt more like a grimace. The child raised an eyebrow, shook her head and sighed. “I might look like a six-year-old but you don’t have to talk to me like I’m stupid,” the child Wraith replied. Just my luck, thought Edie, I’m being haunted by a precocious poltergeist. “But yes, I am the Ghost that Jessica Marley told you about.” The Ghost had a soft voice and low but it echoed as if it were at a distance. “And who and what are you exactly?” Edie asked her body tense for the next shock heading her way. "I am the Ghost of Weddings Past." "Like history past?" inquired Edie. It was bad enough going to weddings but to have to go through some sort of history lesson as well. "No. Your past and the pasts of those close to you." Oh. “Well, while you do that could you turn down the light?” Edie said. “Turn it down?” the child swung the basket as she put both hands on her small hips. “Turn it down? This light doesn’t have a dimmer switch you know. It isn’t to be commanded and leashed like you do everything else.” Edie’s eyes watered as the light shone in them and her skin stung where it hit her as if caught out in the sun too long. “I’m sorry, Edie you’ll just have to get used to it.” And with that the Spirit folded her arms, knocking the basket even more. The beam careened around the room. “OK, so the light is staying,” Edie conceded reluctantly. A good lawyer knew when to give ground in an argument and when to strike to win. “But what exactly is the reason you’re here?” Information was key, and Edie needed it. There was one thing she hated and that was to be flying blind. “Your welfare, of course,” the flower girl rolled her eyes again. “You did listen to what Jessica had to say didn’t you?” “Well yes,” Edie replied but she thought how much better her welfare would be for having a full night’s sleep. “Sleep? You’d rather sleep than be reclaimed? Saved?” Edie jumped. Not only was she invaded by ectoplasmic presences, they had ESP. Chapter 5 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) The little girl unfolded her arms and held out a hand. Edie looked at it as if it would bite her. She remembered all the other little flower girls she had held the hands of. She remembered the sticky residue, the snotty slickness. “Come on! Get up! We have to get going,” the hand was shaken closer towards her. Edie wanted to say she wasn’t dressed, that it was cold outside and didn’t the little girl have parents who would be worried about her? Instead, Edie reluctantly took the hand. It was soft and warm, dry and without stickiness and it was very strong. With a raised eyebrow the Ghost said, “Stop letting outside appearances blind you to reality.” And then it pulled Edie from the bed and took her towards the window. Edie didn’t have time to grab her robe, her bare feet squeaked on the floor and she shivered in her t-shirt and cotton pyjama bottoms. “I’m not going out of the window,” she said. The Ghost reached out and up and laid its small hand on Edie’s t-shirt, right over her heart. “Have faith.” The eyes were kind even though they still burned bright, “just put up with having my hand here and you’ll be supported in all this and more.” And with those words they passed through the wall. “What the…” There was no plummeting to the ground, as Edie had tensed herself to expect. In fact they were already on the ground but they were definitely not in London any more. Instead of her street of mansion blocks, they were outside on the verge of a lane beside a country churchyard. Instead of darkness and that weird fog, it was a bright summer’s day. The sort of June weather that happened when June behaved properly and it was the way Edie remembered her childhood when she thought about it, which wasn’t often. Butterflies flitted from cowslip to buttercup. “Oh my God…” breathed Edie. Her hands shook as she reached to touch a flower. She slowly turned on the spot, drinking in the scene. “This can’t be, this is the place where I grew up. This is Little Hanningfield.” Her hand went to feel the rough stone wall that separated the grass verge they were on from the tiny cemetery and the small squat stone church. The Spirit looked up at her, a strange smile hovering round her little girl lips, but it was a grown-up, wise smile. Edie rubbed her chest; she could still feel the imprint of the little hand on her. She could feel each finger and along with it she could smell her childhood. Freshly cut grass, the smell of warm tarmac and horses. And with the smells came rushing in all her childish thoughts, hopes and dreams. The dam she had barricaded them behind had been breached by the touch of a tiny hand and she was flooded. “You OK?” the Ghost asked. “Your lip is trembling and… are you crying?” “No, no… just a touch of hay fever,” muttered Edie with a husky catch to her voice. “So where are we going?” she changed the subject. “Where do you think?” the Spirit asked. “Home,” breathed Edie. “Do you remember the way?” The flower girl asked, staring hard at Edie. “Remember it! Of course I remember it!” she scoffed. “Odd, it isn’t like you visit here often,” the Ghost replied. Edie rushed off the grass verge and headed down the small country lane, away from the church and towards the village green. “Look that’s old Mrs Scaman’s cottage, it looks exactly the same. I used to come here because she made the most amazing lemon drizzle cake. And see, all the cats are out sunning themselves. There’s Gerry and Dylan and Merlin.” She paused. “But they died when I was a teenager.” She looked from the cats towards the Ghost who was standing in front of her. “This is the Past, Edie. Shadows of what has been. They don’t know we’re here,” she replied. Tell that to Merlin, thought Edie, as the smoky grey cat twined itself between her legs, purring. “Bloody cats,” said the Ghost. “They never can stick to the rules.” Five minutes later they stood by a worn wooden gate, a garland of flowers and ribbons covered it. Red balloons bobbed from the gate post. “But this was Philly’s wedding,” Edie gasped, remembering. “But that was…” she did some frantic calculation in her head and came up with a number which shocked her. “I told you, I’m the Ghost of Weddings Past,” said the Spirit. “And this was your first wedding. Come watch.” Edie allowed the small strong hand to pull her to one side of the gate. Suddenly, out of the front door of the house flew a little red whirlwind about the same age as the Ghost standing beside her. Fine dark hair in a bob was held ruthlessly back with a flower headband that allowed a mischievous freckled face with two front teeth missing to show. “Look Mummy! Look! Daddy, come and see!” the girl cried as she started twirling in circles, looking down at the way her dress flew round her. “I’m a princess!” “I felt like a princess that day,” whispered Edie. Her eyes blurred as she stared down at herself. “I used to dream that I could have that day again. That I would have a wedding day and feel like a princess again.” Behind the young Edie came a woman who was about Edie’s age now. “Mum!” both Edies cried. “She is so young,” wondered the older Edie. “She’s younger than you are now,” pointed out the Ghost. She was, thought Edie. And she had a family and a home then. It had all gone wrong; everything did, but her mother had known it however briefly. What did Edie have? A job, a voice in her head said. It sounded like Ms Satis. Edie had a life where she didn’t have to answer to anyone but herself. And that was just fine, wasn’t it? “Oh this is where my Aunt Philly comes out!” Edie remembered. “She looked like a queen. I wanted to be just like her. We had so much fun planning the flowers and putting together the orders of service. Did you know that flowers have a language? That if you use different blooms they mean something?” Edie was smiling; tension that had been in her jaw for years was easing. And then from out of the house came a glowing young woman, the dated gown doing nothing to dispel her beauty. Little Edie and her mother instantly surrounded her. When was the last time Edie had been with just her mother and aunt? Last Christmas? The Christmas before? Oh no, not then. That was the year she had gone away on her own because she was too stressed from work to be able to deal with her mother and the empty space which they all tried to ignore. And well, who had time at weekends to visit? At least she would see her at Mel’s wedding. Edie’s mood dipped. “I wish,” she whispered, blotting her leaking eyes with the back of her hand, “but it’s too late.” “What is it?” asked the Spirit staring up at her seriously. “No, it’s just that my mother phoned me the other night and because I was too busy and tired and didn’t want the stress I didn’t answer and never called her back. I wish I had. She’s all I have left.” And then from behind her aunt came a man. Her father. She looked at his face, her memory of it had been blurred by so many years without seeing him. That was what he looked like. He was young and handsome. She had his eyes. He wrapped an arm round her mother’s shoulders. She leaned into him and they shared a look. Edie’s tears flowed again. “Is that your father?” the Ghost asked but Edie knew it was rhetorical. She nodded as she drank him in. She watched as her younger self skipped round the couple, laughing while her aunt looked on. She'd been totally secure in that world, a world she believed centred round her. How wrong she’d been. The older Edie ached. When was the last time she'd seen her dad? It had been a long time ago. Not too many years after this wedding. The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its basket saying, “Let’s see another wedding!” The foliage grew and retreated, blossoms came and went, and little Edie went from six to thirteen in the matter of a minute. Her dress was now peach silk, and her body hovered on the threshold of adulthood. She was at that stage where she was neither fish nor fowl. She picked at flaking paint of the gate, her face set in a sullen scowl. “Hey Edie!” A bundle of blonde energy also in peach came running down the lane. Teenage Edie’s scowl lightened and she smiled. “Mel! Can you believe it, my mother won’t let me wear any make-up!” she grumped to her best friend. "She and Dad had the most massive row about it. God, sometimes I hate her. She never wants me to have any fun." The older Edie felt the tears gathering. That had been the last big row she remembered them having, and then he'd left. Although she hadn't known that then. And they’d rowed because of her. “It’s alright,” the petite elfin face of Mel looked down, frowning as she rummaged through the funny bag that she clutched to her chest. It was a facsimile of a reticule and was done in the same shiny peach fabric. “Here!” Triumphantly she waved a set of cosmetics at teen Edie. “Oh, I remember,” said the older Edie, her face alight with memories. She watched her younger self inexpertly apply lipstick and mascara while her best friend held the small compact mirror in front of her. “There! Tom will have to notice you now,” said Mel. Little Edie’s face flushed hotly and clashed violently with the peach dress. The watching Edie’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the name. The same way she knew her heart had skipped a beat all those years ago. “Ah, so you remember Tom then?” the Spirit quizzed. “How could I forget Tom,” Edie said. But she had. She’d buried all those memories deep, locked them away. Even when Mel had told her that he was the best man at the wedding she'd ignored it. Nodded and then carried on as if she didn't care. Edie and the Ghost moved to follow the teenagers as they piled, giggling, into the flower decked horse and carriage that had pulled up in front of the gate. “Do you know where they’re going now?” asked the flower girl Spirit. “To the church,” she replied. “It was our teacher, Miss Stray, getting married. She was marrying Mel’s cousin, Charlie. Tom was, well, is his brother. “He was fifteen that summer. And Charlie's best man and all I wanted was for him to notice me.” The scene dissolved into soft focus and refocused with them back outside the church. Edie jumped. “Saves time,” the Ghost apologised. From the inside the church came the sound of the wedding march. “Ready?” asked the Spirit. Was she? Fizzing deep inside her was the teenager who wanted to see Tom again. She wanted to feel all the innocent pleasure of being in love for the first time all over again. That wrenching panic that they might never see you, might not love you back. But no matter what happened, you couldn’t stop the hope and yearning from filling you all the way to your fingertips. “Yes,” she breathed. Was this the last time her life had been uncomplicated? Mum and Dad had still been together and her world had been whole. They walked up the path and went into the church; they went from the bright June sunlight to the cool darkness of the Norman church. They passed the font and began to follow the bridal party down the aisle. “There’s Joanne Kitchner!” Edie squeaked. “My goodness last time I saw her she was screaming at her kids in the supermarket. Wow, she looks so young. "Jessica!" she called as she passed a teenage girl. The young Jessica wore the same superior look as the ghost from the night before. The only difference was age and spots. "I'd forgotten she was at this wedding." Edie tried to grab her attention by shouting. "She can't hear you; this is just a reflection of your past. She isn't here," the Ghost said. Edie sighed. It would've been useful to have an ally against the tiny tyrant. She moved on down the aisle. “And there is Justin Douglas. My goodness, how all the girls used to swoon over him. Mel used to doodle Mrs Mel Douglas all over her books." Edie cocked her head on the side to look at the gangly adolescent whose hair was gelled to within an inch of its life and still wondered what Mel had seen. “And you?” the Ghost asked as she skipped down the aisle in a parody of the flower girl she resembled. “It was always Tom for me,” Edie sighed. She remembered the love hearts she'd doodled with 'Tom + Edie 4 Ever' written in them. They reached the bridal party; the teenage Edie was gripping her posy so hard her knuckles were white. Her face was flame red as her eyes kept darting to look to her right. “There!” her older counterpart pointed. It was Tom. The Tom of all her adolescent dreams, the Tom who had turned into her dream man until she put those dreams away from her. Standing solemnly next to the groom, watching the vicar and not glancing to the left at teen Edie or anywhere else, was a tall, slight man boy. His curly blond hair was ruthlessly held down by hair product so that only a slight wave was discernible. Edie’s fingers itched with the memory of those curls unfettered between her fingers, the soft springiness. The way he smelt. Her heart turned over as her eyes traced his profile. A smooth forehead unblemished by the frown lines she had carved there. Mouth full and slightly smiling. When had she last seen him smile? There hadn’t been much smiling in that last year. “How on earth are you doing all this?” she fought against the tearing feeling inside her. “Is this some complicated and sophisticated hologram? And who the hell told you about Tom?” Yes this was better. Stop the maudlin memories. Edie rubbed her chest near her heart, she needed this to stop. The Spirit raised an eyebrow, a very adult look on a six-year-old face. “Edie,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “Well I suppose anyone could have told you about me and Tom! I mean all these people were at the wedding…” Edie’s voice petered out. “I don’t know how you made it all so life like, it must have cost a fortune but I’ve seen what they can do in films these days.” “You want more proof?” the little flower girl asked. Proof? Hell yeah she wanted proof. “Yes,” she said it and jutted her chin out. The pain in her chest retreated as she wrapped herself in her familiar blanket of stubbornness. The Ghost sighed dramatically. The scene vanished in a blink of an eye. It felt as if part of Edie was wrenched out and left behind. A scene emerged around them; they were inside a marquee which had fairy lights strung on the ceiling mimicking a star-studded night. The flashing lights of the mobile DJ twirled to the beat of the music blaring from the speakers. “Oh no,” Edie groaned. “Well you wanted proof,” the Ghost said sanctimoniously. “No really, I believe you,” she was desperate. “Can we just stop it now? Go back to my room? I’ve learnt whatever lesson you want me to learn.” She couldn’t relive this again. “So who is that over there?” piped the Ghost. Surely it wasn’t against the law to hit a Ghost who looked like a six-year-old girl? “Me,” she muttered. “And what are you doing?” No, she couldn’t hit her; knowing her luck this was really some precocious stage school brat whose parents would sue her for lost earnings. “I’m…” the words stuck in her throat. “Yes?” “I’m dancing,” she said. “Dancing? Really?” the Ghost was definitely trying not to laugh. Edie’s face burned for her younger self. She wriggled in embarrassment for what was to come. “I think we need to get just a little closer,” the Spirit said and for a six-year-old she had a freakishly strong grip and pull. Edie got closer to the writhing flushed figure in peach silk. Oh God, had she really thought that she was dancing in a sexy way? Her puppy fat was spilling over the top of the dress and she was squinting up under her eyelashes. And to think she had spent hours perfecting her sexy gaze in the mirror thinking it would have a devastating effect on men. I suppose it did, she thought, devastating in a ‘run screaming from this girl’ sort of way. She watched as the dance continued, her breathing increasing in time with young Edie’s. The anticipation that she knew she’d felt as she danced closer to her quarry; the unsuspecting Tom, who was leaning against one of the marquee poles. He was surveying the dancers whilst surreptitiously drinking a stolen glass of champagne. “Hi…” young Edie croaked out as she wriggled in front of him. It really did look like she was trying to shed a too tight skin. He hadn’t heard her. “Hi!” she shouted. It reached every corner of the marquee. Trust the damn DJ to cut the song for one of those shout back moments. Heads whipped round to look at her. “Er… hi,” he replied uncomfortably. He took another swig of champagne. His eyes were desperately looking round for escape; or was it to check he hadn’t been seen with alcohol? “Can I have some?” the teenage girl asked and the watching woman’s stomach knotted in synch. “Well, you’re a bit young to be drinking,” he said, worried. “I’m old enough! I’ve drunk champagne loads of times!” Twice at least and then only a sip from her Dad’s glass at New Year but this was Tom. She was going to lie, wasn’t she? He looked at her, unconvinced. “Walk away. Walk away,” whispered older Edie. Oh God, it was like watching a car crash about to happen and having no way of stopping it. “Come on, outside,” he said as he looked round and snagged the whole champagne bottle and sauntered out. The teenage Edie glowed. It made the older Edie shiver; she had never seen that look on her face before. It was the look that Mel had when she looked at Barry. What her parents had once had. Even drippy Rachel had looked like that. Lit from inside with the wonder that was love. But what she saw on her teenage face was even purer. This was first love. It was an effing disaster. She lunged at herself. Her hands went straight through her own arms. “We’ve got to stop her! I mean me!" she said. “This is your past. You can’t change the past,” the Spirit said as she twirled gently to the music on the dance floor, making her skirt rustle. “But she is going to be devastated. Mortified. For years she is not going to be able to look at champagne, never mind drink it. Or rather I won't." Edie was desperate and confused. She had to stop herself from making this mistake. Again. “You can’t change the past,” repeated the Ghost. “Well I’m going to try!” she said. She hurried across the dance floor, the dancers somehow avoiding her as if a force field surrounded her. Her stomach felt as if it were round her ankles. Her skin flushed and then paled as she remembered; it crawled in repulsion at her stupidity. She’d relived it time and time again, woken up sweating on many nights. She couldn’t go through it again. She burst out of the marquee into the deep dark night. The stars scattered across the sky, twinkling down, winking at her. Was the whole world laughing at her? “Ow!” she heard a muffled shout. It was beginning… her teenage self had just tripped over the guy rope to the marquee. If she turned around she would see herself. Her dress would’ve flown up and she’d be sprawled across the ground. She turned. Yes, there she was. And she really had shown her knickers to the world. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” young Edie said, voice high and squeaky. “Give me your hand,” Tom said putting down the stolen bottle. He held out a hand and hauled her up. Old Edie had to stop this. “Edie!” she shouted, “Edie, go back inside!” No one answered. She jogged over to the teenage couple and tried to grab young Edie’s arm. It passed straight through as if she were a ghost. “You’re only a visitor here,” the small muffled voice came from the vicinity of her elbow. “Really?” She was getting annoyed. “Well if that is the case where did you get the sausage roll?” The Spirit gave a fake smile as she carried on eating the stolen sausage roll, then turned back to the couple in front of them. “Oh dear” Edie looked up. Young Edie was attempting to pout sexily whilst leaning against a tree. It was less a pout and more a scowl. And it was just about to get much worse. “So can I have a drink then?” Edie junior croaked. She really hadn’t purred in the sexy way she had thought. “Have you got a cold or something? Because I’m not having your germs!” Tom asked. “No,” she coughed. “No, I’m fine. No germs, honest.” No germs. Nothing contagious. Because it isn’t like you can catch stupidity, the older Edie thought. Tom passed over the bottle of champagne and young Edie took a large swig from it. The watching woman’s nose itched in sympathy as the bubbles hit the teenager and started her sneezing. “You have got a cold! Sheesh, Edie! I’ve got my exams coming up I can’t be ill!” “No! It was the bubbles. I’m really OK.” She spluttered. For a few minutes they stood sharing the bottle, passing it back and forth. The memory of that night came back to Edie and she remembered her mind had been racing like a hamster in a wheel trying to think of something witty to say. And how the champagne was acidic on her stressed stomach, making it roil queasily. “Hey Tom!” And suddenly there was Justin, and Edie was now the third wheel. The relief on Tom’s face was just as hard to see a second time. “Champagne! Good one! Hand it over, Dick!” Justin swaggered up. Both Edie’s top lips curled at the offensive contraction of her surname. But the younger one silently gave up the bottle. “Ciggie?” Justin expertly tapped out a cigarette from a pack he conjured up from his pocket. Tom took one like a proper smoker and then the pack was in front of Edie. “Don’t do it,” she whispered. Please let this young Edie make a different choice. “Don’t do it.” Her hand was at her mouth. The teen reached out and inexpertly took a cigarette. It looked awkward in her straight fingers, the tube of tobacco too near the palm. A flame erupted from the Justin's lighter and the two boys leant forward and lit their cigarettes. Teen Edie leant forward, the cigarette trembling in her hand. The sudden smell of burnt hair and hairspray fought with the jasmine. “Silly mare, you’ll go up in flames!” Tom pulled her back and peered through the gloom at her fringe. “You’ve taken off at least an inch. Here, take mine.” Tom passed over his cigarette and took Edie’s unlit one; which he soon had lit. The larger Edie groaned. “That bad, huh?” the little Ghost whispered mesmerised by the scene, the half-eaten sausage roll was hovering by her mouth. Bad? The worst was just a few drags away. The glowing end of the cigarette wavered as she brought it up to her mouth. The teenage Edie sucked on it quickly and coughed out the smoke immediately. “Have you never done this before?” Justin asked. “Of course I have,” she spluttered. “Yeah right! Well you’re supposed to inhale,” he said and proceeded to demonstrate. Edie lifted the cigarette again. This time she inhaled. The memory of the acrid smoke filling her mouth and then her lungs came burning back to her as she watched. Older Edie knew the moment when her teen body rebelled against all the abuse. Her older body tried to relive the memories as she watched herself experience them. The terror from the lack of oxygen and her dizzy head added to the roiling stomach from tension and champagne. The eyes became wide with the dawning horror that the old saying ‘better out than in’ was about to play out. The sheer panic as her body convulsed, sides aching. And then came the eruption. All over Tom’s shoes. Mortification flooded both of Edie’s bodies. “Ahh man! That is gross!” cried Justin. Bent over, all the young Edie could do was throw up again and again, tears dripping from her nose until they were the only liquid left for her to expel. She had wanted the earth to swallow her up then and there. Even all these years later she would happily wish for it again. She watched as Justin backed away in disgust. Hadn’t Tom gone as well? But he hadn’t. She didn’t remember him staying. She watched open mouthed as she saw Tom hesitantly raise his hand and slowly rub her young back in sympathy. He’d rubbed her back? Dumbfounded, the older Edie watched. How come she had never known that he’d stood there rubbing her back? She would’ve known surely. “Go away!” rasped the teen. And he went. Edie looked at herself. The bedraggled vomit sprayed hair, the green white face with black streaks from too much mascara, which had now been cried off. “Take me home,” she turned to the ghost. “I’ve learnt whatever you wanted me to. I’ll agree to anything just let me go home.” The flower girl looked up at her pityingly. Pity. Edie cringed. She wasn’t pitiful, goddammit. “There are a few more things you have to see,” the Spirit said solemnly. “No!” “No?” the Spirit raised an eyebrow. “No. N.O. I’ve had enough of this circus, I want to go home to my own bed.” “Oh you’ll be lying in your own bed soon enough, wrapped in a chain,” the Spirit retorted. A small sprinkle of pink glitter fell from its fingers. Edie shuddered. Not the pink glitter. She caved. “OK, your way then,” she sighed. Chapter 6 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) Another fade out. And then fade in. Another wedding reception, she recognised the Little Hanningfield village hall again. Green and white bunting and streamers covered the walls and the ceilings. Lights flashed as the disco played on the small stage at one end, the stage that had held the annual nativity play but now played host to a middle aged man who was dad dancing behind the decks. Tables at the other end were groaning with a buffet of pork pies, sausage rolls, cheese and pineapple hedgehogs and sandwiches, punctuated by bowls of crisps. The hall was full of people either hanging round the food or in the middle of the floor, dancing. They were dressed in the style people had worn when she was at university. The she caught sight of herself, happily dancing with Mel. Her hair was much longer, her face smiling. Glowing with hope and ideals. “This was Justin Douglas’ wedding,” she said, remembering, “It was my final year at uni. Mel and I were invited for the evening do. She said it was the wake of our childhood dreams. She had still been hoping Justin would marry her." She smiled as she watched herself twirling Mel around wildly by the hand, neither of them caring about the boys who were circling them on the dance floor. “We were so happy that summer. We’d got jobs at the local pub.” Her foot tapped along to the beat of the song. “We thought we could rule the world.” She missed the certainty that everything would somehow come out right. She didn't know why, she already knew by then that life wasn't fair. And then she saw him. He was just coming through the door. Tom. He was taller than he'd been at his brother's wedding and his shoulders had filled out from the rowing she knew he’d taken up at Oxford. His hair was longer and not suppressed by hair gel. The curls and ringlets were spiralling onto his forehead. The older Edie smiled. She looked at her younger self who was twirling, oblivious to the look of admiration that was written on his face as he watched her. She'd never known he'd looked at her like that. As if struck by a thunderbolt and as though he suddenly saw her for the first time. "He looks smitten. A smitten kitten," the flower girl said smugly. Edie could feel herself blush like a teenager. "Don't be silly." She wanted to nudge the little girl with her elbow and then tell her more about how this beautiful boy loved her. Or had loved her. "He told me that this night was when he fell for me." She watched as her student self stopped twirling, looked up and saw Tom watching her. His face was neutral by then, he'd hidden the look that her older self had seen earlier behind a mask. Maybe if she'd seen his face that night things would've been different? "You really think just seeing the smitten kitten look would've stopped everything that followed?" the ghost raised an eyebrow and looked at her dubiously. "It might've done." Edie lied to herself. The ghost tutted and shook her head as if Edie was a hopeless case. Edie watched as Tom came walking towards her past self and Mel. She hadn't thought about it in years. The way her heart had stuttered when she realised that Tom had finally noticed her. The way he’d brushed past Mel, just like he was doing now. The way Mel started to laugh, startled by his single mindedness. The way he'd grasped Edie’s hand. The way her entire world, at that moment, became focused on only him. She couldn't catch her breath. She thought she’d faint. Older Edie felt a faint echo of that feeling rush over her. "You really need to work on that sexy look," the little Ghost had her face scrunched up in disgust as she watched the scene. Edie had to agree; love really must be blind because her student self resembled a goldfish. But she glowed. How she glowed. And then the music slowed. "This was our first dance," Edie felt dreamy, she watched as Tom grabbed her hand and drew him to her. "And this was our song." She remembered her heart racing in double, even triple time to the music. She'd worried that her palms would be sweaty and he'd run away in disgust. But the words of the song wound round her, heartbreak, regret and lost love. She shivered. Their story had been foretold in that song if only she'd listened to the words. "Bit depressingly true to life don't you think?" the Ghost piped up. Edie wondered if damnation was preferable to listening to snarky asides from a pint sized pot of ectoplasm. "Don't even think it." The wise old eyes of the flower girl stared up at her fiercely. Edie quickly held her hand up and shook her head, backing down. She looked back at the dance floor. Tom's hands were holding her younger self closely; she had her head tucked into his shoulder. She’d always fitted perfectly in that space, as if it had been specially made for her. What if? She thought as she watched him bend his head. If only, she sighed as she saw their first kiss. Tears welled up, her heart felt as if it would break all over again. They'd lit up that dance floor with their love; it had been perfect. She remembered the feeling of his lips on hers, burning away all the yearning she'd had for years into a perfect moment. The way her body had wanted to merge with his. "Oi you two, get a room." The drunken groom came barrelling into them and tore them apart. “Hey, what you snogging Dick for?” Justin screeched with laughter but Tom had grabbed her and held her close. "I get it." The older Edie could feel the tears burning on her cheeks. "I should never have broken up with Tom. You need to understand it was…" "No, Edie," the Ghost stamped her foot. "You need to understand. This isn't about being with this boy or that man. This is about you and your choices." "I get it, I need to make better choices. Can I go back now?" She wanted to go home and curl up in her bed and cry for her old self. Tears for the girl on the dance floor. Where had she gone? "Not yet. You need to see one more thing." "But I…" Edie wracked her brain for another wedding. There were so many going back over the years. From the bright primary colours of her teens, gradually fading to pastel and then grey in her memories. The fun was sucked out of them until it was all just ashes in her mouth. The spirit grabbed her hand and with a lurching twist and turn they moved location. A restaurant, a familiar restaurant with people dressed in the fashion of the last decade or so. She wondered absently how anyone had ever thought it had looked good. “This was Tom’s and mine favourite restaurant,” she said confused. “This is where we celebrated our first jobs,” she spun round looking at the place. “But I don’t understand? There hasn’t been a wedding here. Or at least I’ve never been to a wedding here.” When was the last time she'd been here? Not since they'd broken up. At first it had been too difficult. She snorted, as she realised she had been about to say 'it had been too full of ghosts.' And then she had put all thoughts of Tom and her life with him in a box in her mind, shut it tight and carried on. Never let the bastards see you cry. The Ghost beckoned her to the far corner without speaking. And there in the shadows at the back, at the most intimate table was Tom. A grown-up Tom, the age he’d been when they were last together. Blond hair ruthlessly held down and cut short to eradicate the curls he hated but she'd loved. His face was not the boy who had rubbed her back or the face of the student who'd kissed her at a wedding but the face of the man she had lived with, loved. “But…I don’t understand” she whispered. “I’m not going to have to watch him cheat on me or anything, am I?” She recoiled at the thought. “Never have I had a client so completely blind,” the Ghost said. “Of course he didn’t cheat on you. You were the one doing the cheating." she looked disgusted, as though Edie was failing a test. “I never even looked at another man." Edie said. She wanted to throw something at the Spirit for saying it. "I know what cheating does to people." She shuddered as she thought back to her mother and the fact that she never smiled the same way since Dad left. “There is more to cheating than being with another man. You cheated on him with your job, your time, your attention until there was nothing left of you for him.” “It wasn’t like that,” she said. “Wasn’t it?” the Ghost countered. She gestured back to Tom. Edie looked. She didn’t remember this night. Not in this corner. Not with Tom wearing that dark suit that had been tailored to show his leanness, the lining a sedate navy. The light blue shirt made his eyes glow, or was that something else? And that was the tie she had bought for him the last Christmas. Well she hadn’t actually bought it. One of the secretaries had. But he'd loved it and that was what mattered, wasn't it? There was a bottle of champagne chilling, unopened beside him. She saw the yellow label. They had always said they would only drink that brand for truly special occasions, she remembered. There was a little bunch of her favourite tulips in reds and oranges on the side plate of the place setting opposite him. But this had never happened. Was this some sort of fantasy? Her mind was conjuring up a scene where everything turned out right; it was taunting her with what could've been. She watched as Tom craned his neck every time the door to the restaurant opened and someone new came in. She saw the way his eyes lit up as the door jangled and how they died a little when it wasn’t the person he expected. For forty-five minutes she watched. And with each minute his shoulders slumped a little more. She sat at a table nearby, rubbing her chest, which ached more with each drop, with each bit of light that faded in his eyes. “Would sir care to order?” a waiter would ask every five minutes. “No, I’ll wait,” he assured him. And as time went on the waiter’s attitude changed to one of pity. Who the hell had the audacity to stand him up? Just look at him! She thought. His phone rang and even the shock of seeing how phones had changed didn’t disturb her as much as the thought he’d been left alone. “I hope he gives the silly cow what for,” she said, "I mean look at all the trouble he went to." “Shug, where are you?” his face bright and eager. Shug. That was his name for her, short for ‘sugar’ because he said she was as sweet as it. It tugged at her heart and exploded in her brain. She was the one he was waiting for. “Not going to make it at all?” his face fell. No, it crumpled. His whole body seemed to curl in on itself. Like the air had been let out of him. “No, no I understand. Your work is important and if Hilary needs you to stay, you have to. Yes, I know how much she’s done for you. I’ll see you at home. I lo…” he winced at the sound of a dropped phone, which even Edie could hear from where she sat. “I love you.” He whispered to the dialling tone. Edie’s vision blurred. “Would sir like to order?” the pitiful gaze of the waiter was again on him. “Yeah, I’ll have a double gin and tonic and take back the champagne. We won’t be needing it.” As Tom stared dejectedly at the table his hand crept to his right hand pocket. Dipping in, he brought a small object up to the table. A small, black velvet ring box. No. Edie’s stomach flexed like it had taken a prize fighting punch. He flipped the lid and there nestled on white satin was the most perfect ring she had ever seen. Small and discreet, not expensive or showy but it wouldn’t have mattered because it would’ve have come from Tom and that was enough. “No,” she mouthed. “What was so important that you forgot it was your anniversary of your first kiss? What was so urgent that you couldn't make time for him? What blinded you to your life that you didn’t know that Tom was going to propose?” The Ghost was implacable. Each question fell on Edie like physical blows. “But we were busy, the Agnew divorce was complex and it was all hands to the pump. It was that work that got me the promotion. Hilary, Ms Satis, she told me I had to focus. That work would never let me down, that it wouldn’t cheat on you. And he knew I wanted to do well. Always be the best you can be, he knew that. But he never said. If he’d said…” she faded out. “If he’d said that would you have come?” the Ghost asked. Would she? Would she have wanted to be married so young? She wasn’t sure. Maybe a few years before she would have but then… then she was clawing her way up the ladder and getting married would have gotten in the way. “We could have had a long engagement?” she said hopefully. “Edie, you cheated on him. And you cheated on yourself. And you still are." And with a twirl of flowers and pink glitter the Ghost, Tom, the perfect ring and Luigi’s restaurant vanished. Edie was alone at last in her cold and empty bed. Chapter 7 (#u8bd58e47-96b6-5dac-b5db-dc2174be9bbf) Sunlight streaked in the window and struck Edie in the eye. It had drawn its bow and unleashed it right on target. She groaned. She felt like she’d drunk a crate of wine and then gone five rounds with Mike Tyson. What had happened? The scent of jasmine, sweet pea and roses was still in the air. The Ghost. Edie sat bolt upright in bed. A Ghost had visited her, just as Jessica had promised. This was actually happening. She started to shake. People like her didn’t get haunted. In much the same way people like her didn’t turn into vampires or go to s?ances. It just wasn’t done. There was no logical reason she could come up with to explain it, though. Even if someone had managed to invent some sort of very high-end interactive experience it couldn’t explain what happened. There were things that were shown to her last night that no one else could have known. She was going mad. She stopped shaking. Yes, she was going mad. That was much easier to deal with than hauntings. Obviously she was overworked and needed a good rest or something. Or some pills. Maybe an extended stay at a health farm. Odd that being mad made her feel better. As if she'd regained some control. She swung her feet out of the bed. They were grass stained and muddy. She began to shake again. She looked closer; a pink heart-shaped piece of confetti was stuck to the little toe of her right foot. Mad. Crazy. Certifiable. Chased by the little men in white coats loop de loo. If only that was the explanation. “Oh my God!” she screamed catching sight of the alarm clock. It couldn’t be ten o’clock? She had to be at Mel’s in an hour and it was a good twenty minutes between here and there, even on a Saturday. Confetti forgotten, the Ghost relegated to the back of her mind. Edie scrambled from her bed and ran into the bathroom. An hour, later she pulled up outside Mel’s in Clapham South. She’d made it. She winced as she looked in the rear view mirror as she reversed into an available parking space. She had made it but her grooming hadn’t. Her dark hair, which had been damp and unstyled when she got in the car, was now windswept and curling into ringlets here and there. Her nose was shiny as she hadn’t had time to put on any make-up and she struggled to remember what she had stuffed, willy nilly, into the overnight bag for the weekend. She was sure she had forgotten something. “Edie!” Mel screeched as she came to the door of the flat. The terrace of houses, now mostly divided into two flats, was the same as pretty much everywhere in this part of South London. Built sometime in the late nineteenth century as family homes for commuters they now were family homes again, just cut up to a much smaller scale. Mel and Barry had the ground floor of a corner house, giving them a garden that came into its own in the summer. “Edie! Come in! Come in!” Mel called, oblivious to her neighbours and their Saturday morning comfort. Edie grimaced. Typically, Mel had demanded she was here on time and yet again she was running late herself. Locking the Mini, Edie walked to the flat and wondered why she’d rushed. She could've at least taken the time to dry her hair. “I’ll just be a few more minutes,” Mel promised as she ushered her in. Edie followed her through the living room that the front door opened straight on to. The room was cluttered with fashion magazines and boy’s toys. Games consoles and mountain bikes. Edie carried on down the narrow corridor and into the kitchen dining room at the back of the house. The summer sun streamed through the glass ceiling of the extension. Mel disappeared into the bedroom while Edie settled herself on a stool at the breakfast counter and tried not to notice the sink full of dirty dishes. Edie itched to wash them and to stack the listing pile of magazines into a perfectly arranged tower. Instead she chewed on her thumbnail. The edge was ragged and she grimaced as she noticed the polish was almost completely gone. “OK, Edie you have to promise that whatever happens I am NOT to snog anyone or do anything that I might regret tomorrow morning,” Mel called from the bedroom. Regrets? Surely getting married would give Mel enough regrets. One more wouldn't break the bank. “I’ll make sure!” Edie replied, because she knew that as a maid of honour she had certain responsibilities. “Oh and I hope Mum will be OK. Aunty Celia has had to pull out so I’m not sure how she’ll feel being the only one of her generation at the weekend.” “I’ll look after her,” Edie replied. Thank God, she thought, another grown-up. Now there would be someone as uncomfortable with all the pink glitter and stupid games as she was. Maybe this way she wouldn’t miss Jessica’s acerbic asides so much. Thirty minutes later Edie had persuaded, cajoled and threatened Mel into the car. As it was they would be cutting it fine to make it to Bath, or rather the house outside Bath that had been rented for the weekend, in time for lunch. Edie roared out of Clapham and hoped that they would at least be in time for the manicurist and massage therapist some enterprising sort had booked to visit them that afternoon. “OK, we have to be at the restaurant for seven thirty,” Jo, one of the other bridesmaids called over the high pitched and slightly hysterical voices of the hen party spread around the kitchen and living room of the Cotswold house. “And as it said on the invite… LBDs, that is Little Black Dresses everyone! And I’ll be supplying the accessories.” I’ll just bet you will, thought Edie. She’d caught a glimpse of what looked like feather boas in a rainbow of colours in a bag that Jo had slipped upstairs. She had also overheard people talking about fairy wings and tiaras. Why didn’t they just tattoo ‘hen party’ on their foreheads and have done with it? Edie went upstairs, her body more relaxed than it had been since the whole haunting thing had started. She might not enjoy the rest of the weekend but she had definitely enjoyed the wonderful massage. The therapist had set up his table and oils in the study cum library downstairs. The fact that the therapist was male and quite personable hadn’t passed any of the party by. And the manicure; she inspected her nails. Perfect. Now no one would know she was stressed. The hen party included the other two bridesmaids, Jo, Mel’s best friend from uni and Sophie, Barry’s sister. Edie couldn’t work out why Mel thought she had to include her but maybe it was a love thing? She shook her head; there was no point in worrying about it. They were stuck with Sophie. The rest consisted of Mel’s mum, Maggie, and a collection of uni and work friends. In the master bedroom that she was sharing with Mel, Edie took her overnight bag and began to unpack. Her toiletries, nightdress and clothes for tomorrow were all there, but no little black dress. “No,” she whispered. She was sure she had packed it. Edie thought back and suddenly she could see it in its dress bag still hanging on the back of her bedroom door. Put there so she wouldn’t forget it. Yes, she was going mad. “What’s up?” asked Mel as she came into the bedroom. “I seem to have forgotten my dress,” Edie said quietly. Mel’s mouth dropped open. “You forgot something?” she came and sat on the bed, looking up at Edie concerned. “Are you OK, Edie? Is it work?” Edie noted that she didn’t ask if it were a man. “No, I’m fine,” she said. If you count seeing dead people as fine, she thought. “Well, if you’re sure. You do seem a bit distracted…” Mel waited and looked at Edie expectantly. Edie wasn’t elaborating because if she did they would be on their way to the hospital rather than a nightclub. Mel shrugged her shoulders and continued. “Good thing I bought a spare. Do you need shoes as well? Because someone else might have some,” Mel went to her bag and started pulling out a mess of black material. “Actually I bought three dresses because I couldn’t decide and someone was rushing me!” Edie blushed. Untangling the three dresses Edie and Mel stared at them as they lay on the bed. “Ah…” said Mel. Ah indeed. The dresses were all on the ‘lacking in material’ side of fashion. And then of course there was the fact Edie was taller and curvier than her petite elfin friend. “This one is stretchy,” Mel picked up a jersey dress which looked demure in front, which was unusual for anything of Mel’s. “Give it a go.” Edie looked at it dubiously “It looks like a tubey grip,” she said. “It stretches. It’ll be fine” Mel said. Five minutes, later having puffed and panted and wriggled into it, Edie stood red-faced looking at herself in the mirror. “Obviously you’ll have to go commando,” commented Mel, “and you can’t wear a bra because of the back.” “The back?” Edie swivelled round and saw that what the dress had in coverage at the front was more than made up for with a lack of material at the back. The dress scooped down and fell in folds just above her bottom. “But you’ll be fine, you’ve got the body for it,” Mel said as she straightened the seams. “Body maybe, but not the mind,” Edie said. Or lack of it she thought. “I’ll wear what I came in,” Edie stated. “What, you can’t!” wailed Mel. “The whole little black dress thing is a theme… Jo and I had it all planned. If you don’t wear it, it’ll throw everything out. We won’t all match.” Why on earth was she the maid of honour? There was no way she could back out. She was supposed to be calming Mel down not winding her up. She was going to have to do this. “I’ll do it but I’m not wearing heels!” “They aren’t too high are they?” Mel asked later as Edie tottered out to the waiting taxis in the only pair of shoes that had fitted her in the whole house. She’d tried to force her feet into a pair of Jo’s ballet shoes but it turned out the only person with the same size feet was Sophie. “I look like a hooker!” she hissed back. “No you don’t. Admittedly you don’t look like you. But you scrub up very well.” Mel grinned and then swinging her pink feather boa, adjusting her large garish tiara and wiggling her fairy wings she went to join the other hens in the cars. Edie’s nose tickled from the bright red feather boa that she had been presented with as she’d come downstairs and she hoped that the tiny silver tiara that she had managed to find wasn’t too obvious in her hair; the hair that ever since this morning’s fiasco refused to sit flat. I look like I’m on the pull she thought grumpily as her Achilles tendons twinged from the vertiginous heels that she wore. They consisted of a few strips of leather attached to the Everest of heels. She now knew why Sophie had happily passed them over. She’d need a few drinks to just numb her toes that were already complaining about the funny angle. “I’ve heard that the professional rugby players all go to the club we’re off to tonight,” crowed Sophie, flicking her mane of red hair over her shoulder. Edie shuddered; so they were going to be fighting off Neanderthals all night. She tried to get into the taxi without the nonexistent skirt part of her dress riding up round her waist. “Phwoar! I love rugby players…” giggled Mel. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/brigid-coady/no-one-wants-to-be-miss-havisham/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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