Love Me Or Leave Me. Claudia Carroll

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       Chapter One

       London

       Chloe.

      Last night, the old nightmare came back to haunt me.

      I don’t actually know if it’s day or night. All I know is that it’s still my wedding day – or rather the day I was supposed to get married – and I somehow allowed myself to be led out of the bathroom where I’d locked myself, and laid down on top of the fluffy hotel bed. Still in my confection of a wedding dress, crumpled to bits now, like some kind of latter-day Miss Havisham. And they must have given me a sedative the equivalent of a horse tranquillizer, because instead of the heartache that’s to come, all I feel is groggy and sluggish, like I’ve been out cold for hours.

      The curtains are drawn and it’s semi-darkness in here, but suddenly I’m aware of someone breathing and a big blurry silhouette perched on the bed beside me. Frank? Could that by some miracle actually be him? For one wonderful, fleeting moment, hope overrides everything my sane mind is trying to tell me. By some miracle, was today just some kind of hallucination and this is actually my wedding night? But I poke round at the slumbering figure a bit and realize that it’s not Frank at all; it’s my best friend Gemma, now out of the gakky bridesmaid’s dress, the one that I practically bullied her into wearing and back into her normal, standard issue jeans with a swingy, summery top.

      Still here. Still watching over me, bless her, like the guardian angel that she really is.

      ‘Did I dream it all?’ I croak over to her.

      She shakes her head.

      ‘’Fraid not, love.’

      ‘So where is everyone?’

      ‘Well, a lot of his side just buggered off when … well, when they realized that there wasn’t going to be any … emm, you know. But your parents, plus most of your family and pretty much half of your mates from work all decamped to the Cellar Bar downstairs. More private for everyone, I think they all felt, given … you know.’

      ‘Yeah,’ I say dully. ‘I work here. Believe me, I know.’

      Doubtless still all reeling in astonishment at, well, let’s just say, how the day actually panned out. I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t think this wouldn’t be the talk of the town for years to come. Poor Mum. And after all the bother she had finding shoes to match her dress for it too.

      ‘So … what happened? I mean, afterwards …’

      ‘Now that’s absolutely nothing at all for you to worry about, sweetheart,’ Gemma says firmly. ‘That scary wedding planner one, whatshername … dealt with everything beautifully. God, you should have seen her. Worth every penny you paid her just for the massive damage limitation job she did. Your Dad made a short speech at the church and it was all very …’

      ‘Very what?’

      She looks back at me, as though weighing up whether or not I can be trusted with the truth. But then I know she’ll tell me everything. Gemma always has and always will.

      ‘Well … I want to say dignified, but I do remember him using the phrase, “I’ll kick that bastard’s arse if he ever comes near my daughter again.” Oh and then, he chased Frank all the way downstairs to the underground car park, then threatened him with court action for breach of promise. I nearly thought your Dad would have to be held back by burly security men. I was only thankful he didn’t have a set of golf clubs to hand; he’d have sent Frank straight to an intensive care unit.’

      I surprise myself by actually smiling. But then Dad’s a barrister; he’s always threatening people.

      ‘Did you talk to Frank?’ I manage to get out groggily. Jeez, what did they slip me earlier anyway? A valium sandwich? The same kind of tranquillizers you’d use to anaesthetize a rhinoceros?

      ‘Briefly. He was loading up suitcases into the boot of his car and told me to tell you he’d call.’

      ‘What?’ I say, suddenly wide-awake now. ‘You mean that was it? That was all the fecker said? The guy breaks my heart, completely humiliates me in front of the world and its sick dog, and all he can come out with is, “tell her I’ll call”?’

      ‘Well, in fairness, it was all he could say. I left out the bit where I was physically walloping him with the wire metal bit off my bouquet and only praying it would inflict lasting damage on the cowardly git.’

      I squeeze her warmly, silently blessing her loyalty, then slump back against the deep hotel pillows. And now that I’m actually awake, here it comes. What I’ve been postponing all day. I’ve been forcing myself all this time not to relive today’s horrors, but now, like on oncoming car-crash, there’s no avoiding them.

      So where did it all go wrong? What in the name of God did I miss? Then, slowly, my stomach starts to twist as it all begins to come back to me. The excruciating rehearsal dinner last night for a start, I suddenly think. That was the start of it. Definitely the first time I got that slightly sick feeling right in the pit of my solar plexus that something was slightly off-centre.

      Frank has this slight poker tell, you see. Whenever he’s a bit uncomfortable, he gets twitchy and finds it difficult to make direct eye contact, particularly if you happen to be the one he’s uncomfortable around.

      But at the time I thought he was just a bit nervy, nothing more. I even remember looking across the dinner table at him naïvely, lovingly even, more fool me. There’s one hundred and twenty people landing on top of us today, I figured, so who could possibly blame him? Have to admit, I was feeling a bit tetchy myself. I spent useless hours worrying about utter crap, like would the flower arrangements wilt at the reception tables, before everyone got the chance to admire them? And knowing my mates, probably try to nick them later on. But never in my wildest imaginings, did I think this would come to pass.

      Suddenly, violent flashbacks start to crowd in on me. I get a pin-sharp memory from this morning of the make-up artist, a lovely girl called Zoe, hysterically screeching, ‘Mother of God, the groom! What the hell is he doing here?! Would you ever just get OUT!’ as Frank gingerly tapped at the door of my hotel room while we were all still getting ready.

      ‘Frank! You know right well it’s bad luck to see the bride just before the ceremony!’ I can remember my niece Emma screeching over her thin, emaciated shoulder blades, in between lashing on more bronzer than you’d normally see on a Strictly Come Dancing finalist. At that, a sudden, disconnected thought ricochets round my addled brain. Poor Emma. God love the girl, she was so looking forward to being a bridesmaid today. Even joined Weight Watchers especially, then went and lost a whopping eleven pounds. She was the envy of her whole class in school, apparently. And is now so stick-thin, I honestly don’t know whether to feed the kid, or СКАЧАТЬ