Ghostwritten. Isabel Wolff

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       ONE

      I guess it was inevitable that Nina’s wedding would change things between Rick and me, though I could never have guessed by how much. Up until then, it had been so easy being with Rick – we’d fitted into each other’s lives as though we’d always known one another. And now we were going to a wedding – our first one together – and suddenly being with Rick was hard.

      ‘They’ve got great weather for it,’ he remarked as I locked the door of our small north London flat. The early haze had given way to a pristine blue sky.

      ‘A good omen,’ I said as we walked to the car.

      Rick beeped open his old Golf. ‘I didn’t know you were superstitious, Jenni. But then I don’t know everything about you.’ There was a slight edge to his voice.

      ‘Well, I am superstitious.’ I put our gift, in its silvery bag, on the back seat. ‘But then I was born on Friday the thirteenth.’

      Rick smiled. ‘That should make you immune.’

      We drove west, talking pleasantly, but with an unfamiliar reserve, born of the anguished conversations that we’d been having over the past two or three days.

      We sped down the A40, and were soon driving along rural roads past fields still stubbled and pale from the harvest. It was very warm for mid-October, and clear – an Indian summer’s day, piercingly beautiful with its golden light, and long shadows.

      Nina’s parents lived at the southern end of the Cotswolds. Over the years I’d visited the house for weekends, or the occasional party – Nina’s twenty-first, and her thirtieth, which was already five years ago, I reflected soberly. For fifteen years, she and Honor had been my closest friends. And today it was Nina’s wedding, and before long, no doubt, there’d be a christening.

      Rick glanced at me. ‘You okay, Jen?’

      ‘Yes. Why?’

      He changed down a gear. ‘You sighed.’

      ‘Oh … no reason. I’m just a bit tired.’ A bad sleeper at the best of times, I’d lain awake most of the night. As I’d stared into the darkness, I’d longed for Rick to hold me and whisper that everything would be alright, but he’d turned away.

      ‘So where do we go from here?’ For a moment I thought that Rick was talking about us. ‘Which way?’

      I spotted the sign for Bisley. ‘Go right.’

      Minutes later we turned into Nailsford Lane, where a clutch of white balloons bobbed from a farm gate.

      ‘Looks like we’re the first,’ Rick remarked as we drove into the parking field, which was empty except for an abandoned tractor. He parked in the shade of a huge copper beech; as he opened his door I could hear its leaves rustle and rattle. ‘Is it going to be a big do?’

      ‘Pretty big – about eighty, Nina told me.’

      ‘So who will I know, apart from her and Jon?’

      I pulled down the visor and checked my reflection. ‘I’m not sure – she’s invited quite a few of the people we knew at Bristol; not that I’ve stayed in touch with that many …’ I winced at my red-veined eyes and pale cheeks. ‘I’ve only really kept up with Nina and Honor.’ I wound my long dark hair into a bun, then pinned onto that the pale pink silk flower that matched my dress.

      Rick pulled a blue tie out of his jacket pocket. ‘So will Honor be there?’

      ‘Of course.’ Rick groaned; I glanced at him. ‘Don’t be like that, Rick – Honor’s lovely.’

      ‘She’s exhausting.’

      ‘Exuberant,’ I countered, wishing that my boyfriend was a bit keener on my best friend.

      He grimaced. ‘She never stops talking. So she’s in the right job, not that I listen.’

      ‘You should – her show’s the best thing on Radio Five.’ As Rick looped and twisted the blue silk, I suppressed a dark smile. He’s tying the knot, I thought.

      Reaching into the back for the gift, I saw more cars arriving, bumping slowly over the field. We made our way across the grass, which was studded with dandelion clocks, their downy seeds drifting like plankton. We strolled up Church Walk then pushed on the lych gate, which was garlanded with moon daisies, and went up the gravelled path.

      Jon was waiting anxiously by the porch with his brothers, all three men in morning dress with yellow silk waistcoats. They greeted us warmly and we chatted for a minute or two; then the photographer, who had been sorting out his camera on top of a tomb, offered to take a picture of Rick and me.

      ‘Let’s have a smile,’ he said as he clicked away. ‘A bit more – it’s a wedding, not a funeral,’ he added genially. ‘That’s better …’ There was another volley of clicks then he squinted at the screen. ‘Lovely.’

      Tim handed Rick and me our Order of Service sheets and we walked into the cool of the church.

      I’d been to St Jude’s before, but had forgotten how small it was, and how simple the interior, with its plain walls, wooden roof and box pews. There was the smell of beeswax and dust and age, mingled with the scent of the oriental lilies that festooned the columns and pulpit. It was also very light, with clear glass, except for the East window, which depicted Christ blessing the children. The sun streamed through its coloured panes, scattering jewelled beams across the whitewashed walls.

      ‘Lovely church,’ Rick murmured as we sat down.

      ‘It is,’ I agreed, though today its beauty was a shard in my heart. Rick and I glanced through our service sheets as the church filled up, heels tapping over the flagstones, wood creaking as people sat down, then chatted quietly or just listened to the Bach partita that the organist was playing.

      Jon’s parents went to their seats. Behind them I recognised a colleague of Nina’s, and now here was СКАЧАТЬ