Chapter 8

*****

“Shelley? Is it you?”

The woman freezes then turns to face him, eyes wide and her mouth opening. “Davey? Oh, God, Davey!” She runs to him, flinging her arms around his neck. “Davey. It’s you. It’s really you. I’m so glad to see you.”

Her eyes are glossy. So are his. “Shelley, I can’t believe it. It’s you… and….” He stands back, gazing at his little sister. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

Abruptly, she calms. “Davey, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” He takes her by the shoulders, looking down at her. “Four years without a word? Not even to let us know you were alive? When you ran off, I thought it would kill Dad.”

Her voice trembles, "But I wrote to you lots. Not at first, ‘cos I was still confused and trying to…. well, get my life together. But later I wrote loads of letters to you, but you never replied…." She frowns. "You haven’t moved to a new house or anything?"

“No….” David speaks slowly, his mind churning. “You say you wrote….”

“David, come on. Delia’s waiting for us.” Stephen’s voice is brusque. “What are you….?”

David revolves, taking his sister with him. “Look who’s here, Stephen.” His words are slow…. measured….

“So I see.”

Shelley looks up at her elder brother. Nothing about him speaks of welcome or pleasure. “Hello, Stevie.” She falters…. Looks between the two men. “What are you doing here? Both of you?”

“You have to leave,” says Stephen. David swings to protest, but Stephen jabs a finger at him. “No arguments. It broke Dad’s heart the first time. She’s not butting in on his wedding day.”

“Wedding day?” Shelley’s words burst out. “Dad’s getting married?”

“Yes!” snaps Stephen, “And you are staying out of it. After four years….”

David’s voice is calmer. “Shelley tells me she wrote to us. What happened to her letters, Stephen?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Chest thrust out, he looms over her, eyes slit. “And I’m not having you spoiling Dad’s big day. For the first time in years, he’s getting his life back. You are not interrupting that.”

Shelley’s eyes flood and she turns and runs. David reaches for her…. “No….” But she’s gone, fleeing….

David turns on his brother but is given no opportunity to speak. “We have a wedding to get through,” says Stephen. His eyes white-rimmed, he glares. “Not a word of this to Dad. Right?”

“She’s our sister.”

“She should have thought of that four years ago.”

*****

From a cafe across the road Mitch, wearing jeans and tee-shirt, her eyes red and swollen in a face stripped of make-up, watches.

The wedding party arrives, the car long and low and black, decked in ribbons, pulling up at the front steps. The bride steps out. Mitch doesn’t know her. Dressed in a pale lilac two-piece suit, the woman stands very upright, directing Al to the door, her air crisp and efficient.

More cars pull up behind. Her brothers step out of one. In dark suits and tall hats, they look so smart. Stephen follows the bridal couple inside. David lingers, looking right and left, then also makes his way inside.

Another couple steps out, a little girl toddling with them. Her thatch of brilliant orange hair clashes violently with her lilac bridesmaid’s dress.

*****

“You alright, Mitch?” Angelo pauses from his eternal polishing of glasses, examining her. Unusually, her makeup is heavy, almost plastered into place. “You look as though you have a cold coming on or something.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Maybe you should take a couple of paracetamol and get an early night?”

“No, I’d…. I’d rather have company.”

“It’s your call.” The barman purses his lips. “But I think you need a night off.”

“Has the wedding party finished?”

He frowns.

What does that have to do with anything?

“Yeah. The cleaners cleared up last night. I suppose the last of the guests checked out a few hours ago.”

She nods, looking miserable.

“Hey, Mitch, c’mon. What’s wrong? You want a drink? You look like you could use one.” Without waiting for her reply, he glugs a good measure of cognac into a glass, then another, pushing the glass towards her. “Get that down your neck. It’ll do you good.”

She heaves a long sigh, her breath shuddering, then gulps at the cognac.