Don't Tell the Groom Page 22

  ‘But Rosemary, I have to talk to him. I have to make him understand.’

  ‘Oh Penny, I didn’t think you would do anything to hurt Mark.’

  ‘I haven’t, or at least I didn’t mean to hurt him. I thought I’d fixed everything.’

  ‘Whatever is going on, I don’t think Mark sees it that way,’ says Rosemary.

  ‘But I’ve got to talk to him. I’ll come round.’

  ‘Penny, he’s quite adamant that you’re not to come over. I think he just wants some space.’

  ‘Some space? We’re getting married on Saturday.’

  This is so frustrating. I understand that it must have been a bit of a shock to have found out, but I can’t believe that he won’t let me tell my side of the story. Especially when we’re getting married in a week. One week!

  ‘Penny, why don’t you just let Mark sleep on it tonight and give him a ring tomorrow? Give him some time to get his thoughts together.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Penny, just leave it for tonight. I know Mark and he needs his space.’

  ‘OK,’ I whisper. I can’t believe this is happening.

  ‘Bye, Penny. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  I hang up the phone and just stare at it. I can’t believe that his mum was telling me how she knows what Mark is like. I know what Mark is like. I know everything about how he’d react. I know that he’s a hedgehog, as the marriage class taught us. He goes into a ball and doesn’t want anyone to come near him when he’s angry, and he puts his spikes out. I’m the opposite. I’m a rhino so I like to charge into arguments. Rosemary doesn’t need to tell me that Mark would rather not talk about it.

  And usually I’d let him stay in his ball, but not when we’ve got a week to go until we get married.

  There is just one person that I need to phone before I go over to Mark’s parents’ house.

  ‘Hello,’ says Violet. I love that you can guarantee that she’ll pick up with one ring in the evening as she’s always sitting right next to the phone.

  ‘Hi, Violet, it’s Penny here.’

  ‘Oh, Penelope.’

  I’m still obviously in the doghouse with Penelope being trotted out.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Rosemary on the phone and she says that Mark is there and he’s furious.’

  ‘Yes, dear, he is. He came to me in such a state. He kept going on about you hiding something from him and bank statements and I had to tell him what I knew. I’m so sorry, Penelope, but he is my grandson.’

  Oh no. The bank statements. I’m so sure I hid them all. They were in a shoebox underneath a pair of boots. In the spare room. There was me worried that Mark would find my secret shoe collection and I never even gave the bank statements another thought.

  ‘Oh Violet,’ I say.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but Penelope, you should have told Mark the truth while you had the chance.’

  ‘I wish I had. I just want to explain to him why I didn’t tell him but he won’t talk to me.’

  ‘Well, I can’t blame him.’

  ‘But didn’t he at least seem relieved when you told him what you saw?’

  ‘Of course he wasn’t. He was practically inconsolable. Beforehand he’d been confused, but by the time he left he was furious.’

  ‘But didn’t it make him feel better knowing that I was getting over it? You know, trying to sort myself out and get help?’ I ask.

  ‘What are you talking about, dear? Getting help? I didn’t know you were. I don’t know, you young people going to counsellors over the littlest of upsets.’

  Why doesn’t Violet know that I was getting help? Isn’t that how she knew what my little secret was?

  ‘Wasn’t he pleased that I was going to a gamblers’ support group?’

  ‘Gambling? Penelope, I don’t have a clue what you’re on about.’

  There is definitely something weird going on with this conversation and I’m wondering whether Mark was right: that Violet is losing it. Of all the times that I need her to be lucid, this is most definitely it.

  ‘What did you see me doing at the community centre?’ I ask in frustration.

  ‘I saw you holding hands in the coffee shop with another man.’

  Holding hands with another man. She must have seen someone else. This must be a huge big misunderstanding. I’d never hold anyone’s hand but Mark’s.

  ‘Hang on, Violet, I think you’ve got it wrong.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I watched you holding hands with him and then I saw you hug him goodbye.’

  ‘That wasn’t me, that …’

  Oh, hang on. An image of me and Josh pops into my head. Now it all seems to be crystal clear. She hadn’t seen me going to one of my support group meetings; she’d seen me meeting Josh that time when I was feeling weak in willpower. It all makes sense now. That’s why she told me the story of Geoffrey and Ted. She confided her story of infidelity to get me to tell mine. But I didn’t have one.

  ‘Violet, that wasn’t what it looked like.’

  ‘That’s what they all say!’

  ‘It’s true! I have a gambling addiction and I’ve been going to a support group and Josh is my mentor.’

  There’s complete silence from the other end of the phone and I suddenly wonder if Violet is still breathing. This probably wasn’t the most sensible conversation to have with a woman in her late eighties.

  ‘I think it would be best if you started from the beginning,’ says Violet.

  I really feel that I should be explaining this to Mark first rather than his nan, but at the moment that doesn’t seem like an option.

  I tell Violet the whole sorry story. From wanting to have a princess wedding to me becoming a regular fixture on Fizzle Bingo. I go on to explain about the bank and the Citizens Advice Bureau before filling her in on my support group, Josh, and my Saturdays spent at the museum. By the end of it I am exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

  ‘Well, well, well. You have been a busy girl,’ she says.

  ‘Yes, it’s been quite a hectic three months.’

  ‘I’d say. I still think that Mark would have understood, you know, if you’d told him from the outset.’

  That is not what I want to hear right now.

  ‘He’s just so sensible with money. I didn’t want him to see me as a disappointment.’

  ‘I think he’ll see your lying as more of a disappointment.’

  I don’t want that to be true, but I guess in my heart of hearts I know it is.

  ‘It’s such a mess, Violet. How am I ever going to fix it?’

  ‘Oh Penny, I just don’t know. You know what Mark is like.’

  Yes, I do, I nearly scream. At least Violet recognises that I know my fiancé. And did you hear? She called me Penny! It seems that I have won her over at least with this conversation.

  ‘I just need him to know my side of the story. The whole story,’ I say.

  ‘I think that’s the only way. I’m sure if you explain to Rosemary, she’ll let you see him.’

  Rosemary? I can’t tell Mark’s mum the whole story. I’m tired enough from telling Violet. What is it with the women in his family acting like gatekeepers?

  ‘I just feel that the next person I tell should be Mark.’

  ‘Then go and see him, love. I don’t think he’s going to like what you have to say, but at least it isn’t as bad as what he thinks it is.’

  Well, that’s encouraging, surely? Although I have a sneaking suspicion it is going to take a lot more than just telling Mark my side of the story to get him to forgive me.

  ‘Right, Violet, I’m going over,’ I say determinedly.

  ‘Good luck, Penny. And I’m so sorry that I made the situation worse.’

  ‘Violet, I only have myself to blame.’

  It’s true, it’s all my fault. Somehow now the fact that I spent the money seems like such an inconsequential part of it. If I had told Mark the truth in the first place, before I tried to sort out the wedding, then he would have seen
how much I’ve changed as a person. Instead I’ve built a house made of lies that has come crashing down around me.

  I rush out of the house with just my keys and my phone. I don’t know how I’m managing to drive normally, but I am. It’s like I’m driving on autopilot. Mark’s parents only live fifteen minutes away but tonight it seems to take fifteen hours to get there. The thought of what I’ve done and the magnitude of the repercussions keep swirling around my brain.

  I do quite possibly the worst piece of parking on their drive and run up to the doorstep. I feel like I’m in a dramatic scene in a romcom movie and I can suddenly hear the power ballad playing as a theme tune behind me. All I have to do now is beg Mark to come back and he’ll sweep me into his arms and we’ll live happily ever after. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to happen?

  As the door opens I’m faced with Mark’s mum, Rosemary. Her hair is in her usual severe up-do and her lips are pursed. This isn’t going to be easy.

  ‘Rosemary, I’ve got to see Mark,’ I say, practically barging her out of the way. I start to run up the stairs and that’s when Rosemary tells me that Mark isn’t here any more.

  ‘What?’ I say, collapsing on the stairs.

  ‘He’s gone, Penny. He said he knew you’d come round once you’d spoken to me and he doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘But I’ve spoken to Violet and she had the wrong end of the stick. I’ve got to tell Mark what was really going on. I’ve got to tell Mark the truth.’

  ‘You’re making about as much sense as Mark was earlier. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’

  I can’t face telling the story again. It is far too draining. And besides, I do owe it to Mark to tell him before his entire family.

  ‘I can’t, I need to tell Mark.’

  I suddenly have this sneaking suspicion that Rosemary is covering for Mark and that he is actually upstairs hiding. I stand up again and go racing into Mark’s old bedroom only to find it empty.

  There are crease marks on the bed where he’d obviously been lying. I sit down only because it makes me feel closer to Mark.

  ‘I’m sorry, Penny. I was telling the truth – he’s gone,’ says Rosemary, poking her head round the door.

  ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  ‘No, he told me he’d text me when he got there, wherever there was. I have a feeling that he’s going to a hotel rather than someone’s house.’

  Perfect. There are loads of hotels in the local area that he could have gone to. I’m going to have to face the fact that Mark doesn’t want to be found.

  I can feel my mobile vibrate in my pocket and my heart suddenly leaps. Maybe Mark has spoken to Violet and now he wants to speak to me. But it’s not Mark. I’m disappointed when I see that it is Chris from the band calling.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, in the most unmelancholy voice I can muster.

  ‘Hi, Penny. I was just phoning to confirm our set times for Saturday. Do you want us to start off at eight for our first set, and then our second set at ten?’

  I don’t have the heart to tell Chris that there might not be a wedding. They’ve already had one cancellation on that date. Maybe that was a bad omen. Maybe booking the band that had been due to play at someone else’s wedding has jinxed mine and Mark’s big day.

  ‘That sounds perfect,’ I say, lying.

  ‘Great. And we’ve learnt “Mrs Robinson”, so we’re all set to play that for your last song. Have you picked a song from our playlist for the first dance, or did you want to play a CD of your own choice?’

  ‘We picked “Kiss to Build a Dream On”.’

  I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes at the thought of Mark and me dancing in the kitchen to the Lou Reed song earlier in the week. We’d been dancing to the different options and seeing which we liked best. Mark had spun me round to that song and I’d felt like a princess. Ironic that Mark made me feel like a princess having spent no money, and yet I was convinced it would take at least twenty thousand pounds.

  ‘Excellent choice. I’ve spoken to the venue and we’ve got it all sorted for our set-up and sound checks. So we’ll see you on Saturday night. If you give our fee in cash to us then, minus the deposit you posted, that would be great’.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I say, without any enthusiasm. We’re going to have a band playing for no one at this rate. Or maybe all our friends will want to go to a big party without us; after all, I’ve already paid for it.

  ‘See you then,’ says Chris.

  Great. We’ve got the band confirmed and all I need to do now is make sure the groom is still going to attend. Somehow I don’t think confirming Mark’s attendance is going to be as easy.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I am proud that I managed to make it through an hour and a half of work before I left. I’d love to tell you that I was highly productive in that hour and a half, considering I’ve only got two days of work before I’m off for two and a half weeks, but I wasn’t. Instead of starting on my massive to-do list I sat staring at my computer screen, the desktop image being of me and Mark looking all happy and loved-up on holiday last year in Greece.

  I’d managed to answer two phone calls, including one where I’d agreed to host the annual ‘handrail safety awareness day’ which, in our department, we usually rock, paper, scissors to avoid. But as I’m a tad preoccupied with my impending wedding and missing groom, I said yes just to get the health and safety officer off the phone. It now means that next month I’m going to have to spend a whole day walking scores of people up and down the stairs making sure they know how to hold the handrail.

  With Mark not answering his phone, and the receptionist at his accountancy firm telling me he’s off site, I’ve got no choice but to go to his office in person. The receptionist always says the accountants are off site – it’s like their default do not disturb. I don’t really want to go to his office, but he’s left me with no other option. I’m starting to lose my mind, and who knows what else I’d agree to at work in my current state?

  Pulling into the Brown and Sons car park I scan it for Mark’s car but it isn’t here. I reassure myself that he could still be at work. It might just mean that he is staying somewhere so close he can walk.

  I climb the stairs to the second floor where their office is and I take a deep breath before pushing the door open to reception. I’ve only been to Mark’s office once, when I went to deliver the lunch he’d left on the kitchen sideboard. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or the receptionist, as I handed over Mark’s Tupperware tub of smelly leftover curry. I hope it will be a different person today.

  As I open the door I see that it is the same receptionist. She looks at me like she’s trying to place me and then her eyes widen in recognition and she looks down at my empty hands. I do a jazz-hands wave to symbolise that I’m not carrying any Tupperware. And this is me trying not to cause Mark any embarrassment at work.

  ‘Hi, I’m here to see Mark Robinson,’ I say as professionally as I can manage.

  ‘You’re his fiancée, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I say.

  ‘You must be so excited about the wedding this week! And the honeymoon, eh? Where are you going again?’

  ‘Mexico.’

  ‘How lovely.’

  The receptionist is just smiling at me and I wonder if she’s forgotten why I was here.

  ‘So is Mark around?’ I ask again.

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry. No. No, he’s not here.’

  Surely Mark wouldn’t have called in sick, would he? Mark hates missing work. I practically have to chain him to the bed if he has flu or else he’d go to work pretending it’s just a sniffle.

  ‘Do you know when he’s going to be back?’ I ask.

  The receptionist clicks around with her mouse.

  ‘It looks like he’s on site at Kinetic-Co all this week,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I say, despite the fact there are a number of expletives in my head that I wanted to say instead.


  ‘You’ll have to give him a call on his mobile,’ says the receptionist.

  What a genius. Why didn’t I think of that? See, this whole not being able to talk to Mark thing is turning me into a mean person.

  ‘Thanks ever so much,’ I say, before turning to leave.

  ‘Good luck with the wedding,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mutter. At this rate I’m going to need it.

  Slumping back down into my car I’m wondering just what I’m going to do. I know that Kinetic-Co is a big local company, but can I really just go there and hunt Mark down? I can’t think of any other option, so I start the engine and try to remember where it is.

  As I stop behind a car going on to the Kinectic-Co site, I’m thinking there might be a slight hitch in my plan. There’s a barrier in my way, literally. I’d forgotten that Kinetic-Co is a quasi-military establishment. The car in front has pulled forward and the guard in his little hut is waving to me and I’ve got nowhere else to go but towards him.

  ‘Have you got an appointment?’ he asks, as I wind my window down.

  ‘No,’ I say honestly. ‘I just have to see my fiancé. You see, we’re getting married at the weekend and I need a quick word with him.’

  ‘OK, so your fiancé works here. What’s his name?’

  ‘No, no, he doesn’t work here,’ I say. I can see the guard is looking puzzled. I look in my wing mirror and there is quite a queue forming behind me.

  ‘Right. Well, if he doesn’t work here, then how can I help?’

  ‘Because he’s here on site all day, all week in fact. He’s an accountant.’

  ‘Well, do you know who he’s meeting here?’

  ‘No,’ I say quietly.

  The guard is not looking impressed. ‘I’m afraid you’re not able to come on site unaccompanied. Can’t you just phone your fiancé on his mobile?’

  I’m about to start venting steam from my ears, if one more person tells me to ring his sodding mobile. What did people do before mobiles anyway? What if there was an emergency and his phone battery was flat? Perhaps I should have made that my cover story.

  ‘He left his phone at home,’ I say, lying. ‘Look, can’t you just check the guestbook and see where he is?’