The Beauty of the End (9 page)

17

 

“I
thought I'd ask Will to be my best man,” I told April happily. “I mean, he's my oldest friend. And you've known him just as long. He'll make a great speech.” He would, too, with just the right blend of warmth and wit, laced with irreverence—just enough but not too much. “He's the obvious choice.”

April seemed less enthusiastic than I was. “You think?”

“Of course. Why? Don't you agree?”

She was silent, measuring her words. When she looked up, her face was serious. “Be careful of Will. I know you think he's a good friend, but . . .” She broke off.

“But what?” I persisted, surprised by her reluctance, and added, “Come on . . . Tell me!”

“Just . . . there's another side to him, that's all. A selfish one. He has a ruthless streak.”

Half jokingly, and because none of us is perfect, I defended my oldest friend. “He's single-minded and determined.... He's always been like that.” Then as I looked at her, an unwanted sense of unease came over me. “Has something happened between you?”

Again, she hesitated, before saying, “No. Nothing like that. It's just a feeling I have.” Then her voice changed as though she'd had a change of heart, but her smile was forced. “You know what I'm like! Anyway, you know him far better than I do. Honestly, forget I said anything.”

I let it go, when I should have pushed her. But I was too happy, too swept along by our wedding plans, eager to only see the best in Will and everyone else, and I let it pass.

* * *

I was foolish enough to believe that such happiness was my due. That I actually deserved it, giving it no further thought, as I rode the wave that just kept on going. Believing this was how my life was now, never for one moment stopping to consider that from such a height the only way was down.

The weeks had gathered momentum, and with just days to go, I was flying. How many people had ever felt like I did, at that moment? I was in our South London flat, having taken leave from the high-profile law firm I'd joined a few months ago, two days from marrying the woman of my dreams in the most romantic country-house setting I'd ever seen. Even the weather was on my side. It was June, high pressure established over the country, meaning we were guaranteed sun. It didn't get better than that.

It had already been quite a year. Moving into the home we were still renovating, our spare time filled with wedding planning, tasting menus and wines, making decisions, then changing our minds again, making last-minute changes to the seating plan as the number of guests oscillated. I was secretly looking forward to it all being over, to the process of actually being married and away on our honeymoon, then starting out on the rest of our lives.

“Hey! We've had more cards. Want to open them?” April's voice drifted through to the kitchen, where I was deep in thought.

She appeared, framed for a moment in the doorway, her eyes bright, her long hair untidily caught up, before coming over to kiss me briefly on the cheek, then depositing the mail on top of my paper before going over to the sink.

“There was a call from the hotel this morning. I told them you'd call back,” I told her, starting on the cards.

“Oh? Did they say what about?”

I shook my head. “I would have asked, only it was that bossy woman who doesn't like me. I thought I'd leave it to you.”

It had made sense to leave the finer details to April. Once we'd booked the venue, she'd become absorbed in planning the place settings and the flowers. I knew it was going to look beautiful.

“Noah! Emma's not bossy. She's just organized—which, seeing as you're not, is just as well.”

Feeling slightly guilty, I put the cards down and got up, walked over and got out a couple of mugs. “I did book the honeymoon, remember? It's just that you have such impeccable taste, I think it's far better if you make these decisions. I trust you. Completely.” Wondering if she knew, I was talking about far more than the wedding.

“Really . . .” She arched an eyebrow at me as I put my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing in the scent of her as I kissed the slender line of her neck.

“Noah . . .” She tried to wriggle out of my arms. “I have to go out again. In ten minutes.”

“You said you would be here this afternoon. And I thought everything was done.”

“It is. Almost. Just one or two last-minute . . . small things. That's all. Okay? Now quickly, coffee or tea?”

“I'll make coffee. Anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “Really. It's nothing. And I shouldn't be long.”

I let my arms fall away. There were aspects of our wedding day that were out of bounds to me, at least until the big day itself. And it didn't matter. After Saturday, when the wedding was over, we'd have the rest of our lives together.

She drank half her mug before picking up her keys and dashing out. I called my mother's care home, to confirm the transport we'd booked to the wedding for her and one of the carers, who was coming along to look after her. That done, after tidying the kitchen I was restless, eventually pulling out a file I'd brought back from the office about a domestic abuse case I was working on, a case that interested me on several levels. The wife was a smart, educated, accomplished woman. I couldn't understand how someone like her had married such a violent man. Had he hidden it from her all that time? Or had love blinded her to the truth?

* * *

Engrossed, I didn't notice the time passing. Only after the sun slipped lower in the sky and I was straining my eyes to read the text did I register how late it was.

April had said she wouldn't be long. Hours ago. Suddenly I was filled with unease, followed by guilt, because I hadn't noticed. Finding the phone, I called her mobile. There was no reply.

A train of startling thoughts rushed through my head, of terrible scenarios, imagining her hit by a car and taken to hospital—or worse—as I hunted around for Bea's number. If she was anywhere else, Bea's place was most likely where she'd go.

“Hello, darling.” After leaving school, Bea had gone to college and reinvented herself. Effortlessly glamorous, she called everyone “darling” these days.

“Bea. Have you seen April? This afternoon? She told me she was going out—ages ago. She's not back.”

I broke off, suddenly paralyzed by fear. What if she'd had second thoughts?
What if she wasn't coming back?

“We spoke earlier.” My fears escalated as Bea paused. “Lunchtime. She told me she was on her way home. Noah, look, you know I adore both of you. And it's not really any of my business, but . . .”

I wasn't listening—I didn't want to, not to the seriousness in her voice, the unspoken suggestion that something was wrong. Hearing keys in the front door, I cut her short.

“It's okay! She's just walked in! Cheers, Bea. See you on the big day!”

I went to meet April, filled with relief that my fears had been for nothing, pausing to watch her pull off her jacket and hang it up just inside the front door, before draping her scarf over the top. Feeling so much love for her, I thought she must be able to sense it even from there.

“Did you get it done? Your mystery deed?”

Her head down as she slipped her shoes off, she said nothing. Then she stood up, turning so that I saw her face. As I looked at her, I felt my blood run colder than ice.

There was a terrifying sadness in her eyes, worse than any blackness I'd ever seen there. Fear struck me again, only far harder this time. Before I knew it, I was beside her, my arms tightly round her.

“April? Honey . . . ? What's wrong? What's happened?”

As she slumped against me, suddenly I knew I wasn't ready. I never would be. Whatever was so bad, so close to our wedding, I didn't want to hear it.

As if she knew, she lifted her head, for a moment looking into my eyes as if searching for something.

“I'm sorry,” she said, glancing momentarily away. Managing a glimmer of a smile. “It's just wedding nerves, catching up with me.”

“Where were you today? I was worried,” I said quietly. “I thought for a minute there, you'd changed your mind.”

The smallest sigh came from her. “I would never, never do that,” she said. “Look at me, Noah. Believe me. I want to be with you, more than anything in the world.”

I looked into her eyes, knowing I believed her, fighting an irrational desire to keep my arms round her, terrified that if I didn't, I'd lose her.

* * *

I knew something was wrong, but no matter how many times I asked, she wouldn't tell me. Not even much later, when we were in bed, and she couldn't sleep, and simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

“You do love me, Noah? No matter what?”

It was what we always said to each other.
No matter what.

“Hmmm.” I pulled her closer, my earlier unease dissipating slightly.

“You know I love you, too? No matter what?” I thought I heard her say, but much later, when I tried to remember, I was never sure. I should have stayed awake that night, kept my arms tight around her, got her to talk to me, told her that whatever was wrong, we were strong. We'd survive. But instead, I slept, then awoke the next morning to find her sitting on the bed.

“Hey . . .” She had her back to me. Still drowsy, I reached for her, wanting to pull her back into bed, feel her warmth against me. Then suddenly noticing she was dressed, I pulled myself upright.

“April? Honey? Are you all right?”

She didn't reply, but as she turned, the look on her face chilled me.

18

A
fterward, when I played her words back in my head, I told myself there'd been a mistake. A misunderstanding. It couldn't have happened. We were getting married. But my denial was replaced by shock when I remembered her face, ashen, as she told me.

 

 

As she spoke, her words stopped my heart, as a numbness started in my brain, flowing through my body.

 

 

Her voice was quiet, full of sadness, as she went on.

 

 

Trying to make sense of what she was saying, my brain was unable to take it in. We were getting married. Tomorrow. The hotel was booked, the guests had accepted. We couldn't cancel. Not now.

 

 

I begged her to stop. It didn't matter what had happened, or what she'd done, I told her. I loved her enough to forgive her anything. But before she could reply, the doorbell rang and she went to answer it. Pulling on pajamas as fast as I could, I rushed after her. But by the time I got there, she'd gone.

Now, in a state of shock, I was overwhelmed with the need to find her. I fumbled with my phone, frantically calling her, forced to listen as each time it went to voicemail.

My voice was shaking as I poured my heart into a string of desperate messages, telling April it didn't matter what she'd done, it was past, behind us and there was nothing that would stop me from loving her. Until there was no more space, by which time I'd run out of words.

I remember little after that, just that I sat, unable to move, unaware of time passing. I never asked who told him. Where he got a key. Later I assumed it was April, or maybe Bea, but I was still sitting in the same place, staring at the table, when Will quietly let himself in.

I felt his hand on my shoulder, then heard him pull out the chair opposite. For once, he didn't talk, just sat in silence with me, while I held the phone as though my life depended on it.

I don't remember how long we stayed like that, neither of us moving, just that it was Will who eventually spoke.

“Noah? Mate, I know this is hard. But we need to call the hotel.”

It was as if my insides were gripped by a giant hand. “I can't. . . .” The hand twisted. “Not without talking to her. I need to find her, Will. You have to help me.”

He glanced at the phone I was still clutching tightly.

“She doesn't mean it.” My face was wet with tears, but I didn't care. “She can't. This is a terrible mistake—but that's all it is. If I talk to her, she'll see that. I know she will. . . .”

Across the table from me, Will rested his head in his hands. Then he told me she'd asked him to come here. It was over. She wasn't coming back.

Spoken out loud, there was a finality in his words that in my shocked state I didn't question.

“I'm sorry, mate. Very sorry. Look, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you need to let the hotel know.”

I never asked him why. I thought of the day April and I had so carefully planned, looked forward to for so long. Getting up, I went across to the window, looked out on yet another perfect summer's morning, still unable to take it in.

Will must have understood. “I'll do it for you—if you like.”

Leaving the phone on the table, I went outside at that point. To hear him tell them the wedding was canceled was more than I could cope with. I heard him call my mother's care home, and Bea. Then between them, Bea and Will began calling our guests.

* * *

I remember little about the days that followed. In a word, my world had imploded. Nothing existed outside my grief. I had no plan, no solution, and, I believed, no future, because April had taken it with her. It was as my mind comprehended this, I gave up. From the moment I woke up, I drank, until my vision blurred and pain dulled, until I collapsed into unconsciousness. Anesthetizing my mind, every cell in my body, day in and day out, until one morning when I wasn't expecting him, Will came round.

“If you carry on like this, you'll fucking kill yourself,” he told me. “It's ten o'clock in the morning, man—and you're plastered.”

“You have no idea,” I threw back at him, then took another slug of whisky, not caring. “You have no idea how this feels.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“You're fucking single, Will.” Taking another swig, completely missing his sarcasm. “You screw a different girl every week. That's nothing like me and April.” Just saying her name sent another stab of pain through me.

My glass empty again, I reached for the bottle. But this time, Will was quicker than I, grabbing it, across the room in seconds and pouring it down the sink.

“Don't be so sure.” His eyes narrowed. “You've been so caught up in your perfect little world, mate, you don't know the half of it.”

Just like with Bea, I wasn't listening. Not to his allusion to what were possibly his own problems, nor that somewhere along the line maybe I'd missed something. This was my tragedy—not Will's.

“Do you know how many times I've lost her, Will? And every time, she came back? This time, she won't, though. I know she won't.” My voice choked, my body shaking with unsuppressed emotion.

“Poor Noah,” Will mocked. “Welcome to the real world. She said it herself. She was keeping something from you. Anyway, didn't you ever ask her where she went?”

In my alcoholic haze, I missed it—that he knew April would disappear.

“We knew everything about each other,” I hurled at him, my pain translated into anger. “Everything that counted. You don't understand because you've never had a relationship like that. Most people haven't.”

Will shook his head. “You're completely deluded. You have no idea, do you?” His words were loaded with cynicism.

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,
man
. You need to wake up to yourself. You want the truth?”

As he spoke, I heard his condescension, felt his coldness, dimly registering Will didn't care about me. Not really. I didn't even know why he was there. I felt a wave of hatred for him. But he went on, oblivious.

“She was with other blokes. The whole time. You didn't know that, did you? Your perfect little April's nothing but a cheap slut. Think yourself lucky you found out now. . . .”

I was drunk, but I felt each word tear deeper into me, until I couldn't take any more. He hadn't finished his sentence when I got to my feet and took a swing at him, punching him as hard as I could, in the mouth.

“
Fuck
. . .” Will bent over, his face white, his hands splattered with blood that was dripping onto the kitchen floor. “You're a bastard, Noah.”

“Get out,” I told him, suddenly sober. “Or I'll fucking kill you.” My body was tense, my fists clenched involuntarily. I meant every word.

“Bathroom,” Will muttered, ignoring me as he staggered toward it.

But I blocked the way. “Just get the fuck out.”

He stood up, still holding his jaw, as if weighing up whether I meant it, before picking up his keys and walking out.

Once he was gone, I sat there, hearing his words over and over, fury raging through me. Will was wrong. He had to be. Now I heard what I'd missed the first time round, gripped by shock's icy chill. Who was he to know where April went? How would he know? But it was all lies, I tried to convince myself, my trust pitted by silent doubts.

I poured myself a drink, then another, remembering the day before she left. The look in her eyes as she told me she wanted to be with me more than anything. How I'd believed her. Those long walks she used to take, preferring to be alone . . . It had never entered my mind that she might be meeting someone. In my naivety, I'd believed everything she told me.

I hurled my glass at the wall, and suddenly I was out of control, throwing everything within reach, the sound of shattering glass and china fueling me on. Whatever had happened to make her leave, April had loved me. There was a reason she'd left like this. There had to be. When I found her, she'd explain—I knew she would. I loved her. I could forgive her anything. Not Will, though. He'd been jealous, all along. He couldn't bear the existence of my happiness.

If it was just that, I could have forgiven him, too. But I couldn't. After the way he'd spoken about April, I never would.