We talk tentatively about things we’ve never even touched on. Like having children ourselves. Luke wants to have three. I want… well after having watched Suze go through labor, I don’t think I want any, but I don’t tell him that. I nod when he says “or perhaps even four” and wonder whether maybe I could pretend to be pregnant and secretly adopt them.
By the end of the evening, I think Luke is a lot better. We walk home and fall into bed and both go straight to sleep. During the night I half wake, and I think I see Luke standing by the window, staring out into the night. But I’m asleep again before I’m sure.
I wake up the next morning with a dry mouth and an aching head. Luke’s already got up and I can hear clattering from the kitchen, so maybe he’s making me a nice breakfast. I could do with some coffee, and maybe some toast. And then…
My stomach gives a nervous flip. I’ve got to bite the bullet. I’ve got to tell him about the weddings.
Last night was last night. Of course I couldn’t do anything about it then. But now it’s the morning and I can’t wait any longer. I know it’s terrible timing, I know it’s the last thing he’ll want to hear right now. But I just have to tell him.
I can hear him coming along the corridor, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
“Luke, listen,” I say as the door swings open. “I know this is a bad time. But I really need to talk to you. We’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?” says Robyn, coming into the room. “Nothing to do with the wedding, I hope!” She’s wearing a powder-blue suit and patent leather pumps and carrying a tray of breakfast things. “Here you go, sweetheart. Some coffee to wake you up!”
Am I dreaming? What’s Robyn doing in my bedroom?
“I’ll just get the muffins,” she says brightly, and disappears out of the room. I subside weakly onto my pillow, my head pounding, trying to work out what she might be doing here.
Suddenly last night’s Mafia film jumps into my mind and I’m struck with terror. Oh my God. It’s obvious.
She’s found out about the other wedding — and she’s come to murder me.
Robyn appears through the door again, with a basket of muffins, and smiles as she puts it down. I stare back, transfixed with fear.
“Robyn!” I say huskily. “I… didn’t expect to see you. Isn’t it a bit… early?”
“When it comes to my clients, there is no such thing as too early,” says Robyn, with a twinkle. “I am at your service, day and night.” She sits down on the armchair next to the bed and pours me out a cup of coffee.
“But how did you get in?”
“I picked the lock. Only kidding! Luke let me in on his way out!”
I’m alone in the apartment with her. She’s got me trapped.
“Luke’s gone to work already?”
“I’m not sure he was going to work.” Robyn pauses thoughtfully. “It looked more like he was going jogging.”
“Jogging?”
Luke doesn’t jog.
“Now, drink up your coffee — and then I’ll show you what you’ve been waiting for. What we’ve all been waiting for.” She looks at her watch. “I have to be gone in twenty minutes, remember!”
I stare at her dumbly.
“Becky, are you all right? You do remember we have an appointment?”
Dimly a memory starts filtering back into my mind, like a shadow through gauze. Robyn. Breakfast meeting. Oh yes.
Why did I agree to a breakfast meeting?
“Of course I remember!” I say at last. “I’m just a bit… you know, hung over.”
“You don’t have to explain!” says Robyn cheerily. “Fresh orange juice is what you need. And a good breakfast. I say the same thing to all my brides: you must take care of yourself! There’s no point starving yourself and then fainting at the altar. Have a muffin.” She rummages in her bag. “And look! At last we have it!”
I look blankly at the scrap of shimmering silver material she’s holding up.
“What is it?”
“It’s the fabric for the cushion pads!” says Robyn. “Flown in especially from China. The one we had all the problems with over customs! You can’t have forgotten, surely?”
“Oh! No, of course not,” I say hastily. “Yes, it looks… lovely. Really beautiful.”
“Now, Becky, there was something else,” says Robyn. She puts the fabric away and looks up with a serious expression. “The truth is… I’m getting a little concerned.”
