She draws in a long-suffering breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, hoping she says nothing.
‘What’s wrong is that this is supposed to be a celebration of our wedding, but it feels like the Alice Show.’
‘That’s not fair! I’m sorry about Seth, but this is hardly my fault. I want you to have a lovely evening, Lizzie. Can’t we go back out there and start again? Look, the food hasn’t even arrived yet, we haven’t done the toasts, we’re in a beautiful place ... let’s just enjoy ourselves, have a few drinks and celebrate you and Graham being in love.’
‘Yeah, well ...’ Her shoulders sag. ‘Graham’s in a terrible mood and I feel like I just want to go home.’
‘What’s wrong with Graham?’
‘Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. Now, are you coming back to the table, or what?’
‘Yes, I’m coming, but tell me what’s—’
‘I said I don’t want to talk about it,’ Elizabeth retorts.
I flinch backwards at her hostile expression.
She looks contrite for a millisecond before hardening her face again. ‘The more I talk about it, the more upset I get. The last thing I want is to go back to the table with tears running down my face.’
‘Tears?’ I question. Wondering what on earth Graham could have said to make her so upset.
But Elizabeth has already turned away from me. She’s opening the door and leaving.
I follow her, disappointment and anxiety vying for first place in my gut. As I stare at the stiff set of my sister’s shoulders as she strides back to the table, I realise it’s going to be a long and painful evening.
Chapter Fifteen
NOW
Trudging up the gravel path, we come across a couple of grey and white donkeys. Laurence strokes one on the nose and gives the other a scratch behind the ear. I can’t help wondering what it would be like to be a donkey or wild pony grazing my way around the forest with no complicated problems or desires. These two decide to follow us part of the way. I think they’re hoping we might have a carrot or an apple for them, but sadly there’s no food in my bag.
It’s Saturday morning, and Laurence and I have met up at Linwood – a pretty hamlet in the New Forest – for our first counselling session. He first suggested we meet at his office. He works from home in his spare room. It’s all done out with a smart desk and comfy chairs, certificates framed on the wall. But I’m not comfortable talking to him in such an official capacity. Not while things are already so odd in my life. The thought of such formality made me feel claustrophobic and panicky. Thankfully, Laurence agreed and suggested going for a walk instead. Linwood is reasonably close to Ringwood, the weather is sunny and there are hardly any people around so it’s private, yet open. The plan is to walk and talk for an hour and then finish up at a nearby pub for lunch.
After fifteen minutes or so, we reach the top of the path and take a right towards one of my favourite viewpoints before coming to a gradual halt. In silence, we drink in the vast open plain of grass and bracken, clusters of trees, breathtaking views of the silver lake and low hills beyond, and above us the wide azure sky. I’ve been here a hundred times or more, but I could never tire of it. The only sounds are birdsong and the soft rustling of the breeze sweeping through leaves and grass.
Our donkey friends have wandered off towards a distant stand of trees and I realise Laurence and I haven’t even started talking yet. I like the fact he hasn’t pushed me. He told me to open up in my own time and then to talk freely. I’m hesitant to spoil the tranquillity and peace of this place with my woes, but I suppose that’s the whole reason we’re here.
‘Thanks for doing this, Laurence,’ I say, wrapping my arms around myself.
‘Thanks for trusting me.’ His blond hair is even more tousled than usual and he has a bit of unshaven scruff on his jaw and chin that he scratches as he gives me an encouraging smile. As he does so, I’m reminded of how he looked as a young boy when it was me, Daisy and him running around together in the school playground – the three amigos.
We walk around the heathland in a wide loop, loosely following the grassy tracks, startling rabbits who zigzag away from us, and passing the occasional dog walker with a friendlyhello. At some point, I begin talking. I start off slowly, hesitantly, but it soon comes rushing out in a torrent. I tell Laurence everything, from the start of my wedding day disaster right up to my appointment with the neuropsychologist yesterday. He doesn’t interrupt me at all, other than to clarify a couple of things and reassure me that he’s still listening. I try to explain how I felt when I saw a stranger standingat the altar rather than my fiancé. And how even thethoughtof seeing him again makes me anxious.
I tell him how I feel like fate has slapped me down. Like it heard my self-congratulatory thoughts on my wedding day and decided I wasn’t supposed to have so much happiness. I hate how I’ve started to sound so self-pitying, so I stop myself going down this track. I mention the missing photos, explaining that I can’t seem to locate any images ofmySeth, only those of the new Seth. Finally, I stop talking. I’m mentally drained, but it’s a relief to have unburdened myself.
‘That must have been difficult, Alice,’ Laurence says after a few beats of silence. ‘Going through all that trauma, and then talking about it so honestly.’
I nod, his empathy bringing a lump to my throat. I realise I didn’t speak this freely with my GP or the psychologist. With them, I recounted bare facts rather than including my deepest, darkest fears and emotions.
‘So when you walked down the aisle,’ Laurence says, ‘that was the very first time you didn’t recognise Seth?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, stepping over a drying patch of mud. ‘Everything was normal up until that moment.’
‘And you didn’t recognise Seth’s parents either?’ Laurence takes my arm as I stumble.
‘Thanks. No. They were the only three people I didn’t recognise. But the thing is ...’ I pause.