Eva had lain awake in her bed the night before with a knot in her stomach thinking about what it would be like to watch Benedict say his vows but sitting here now, she found herself feeling remarkably detached. It was all so surreal and removed from their real lives, Lydia with her bump just visible through her roman-style gown, luminous with pregnancy or bridal joy, Benedict stumbling over his words but generally looking happy and a bit dazed. Eva found herself feeling strangely peaceful, perhaps because of the calm of the chapel, or perhaps because of the finality of Benedict actually being married to somebody else, the relief that comes of being behind a closed door.
After the wedding breakfast Benedict’s brother Harry, who was his best man, made a speech that trod a deft line between joking that the marriage had been prompted by the imminent arrival and implying that it would have been only a matter of time anyway, and then the music had started up, allowing Eva to take a much-needed breather to compose herself in the bathroom. She stood at the basin washing her hands and examining her weary face in the mirror, assessing the cumulative damage from an eighty-hour working week topped off with a good four or five glasses of champagne. Even to her own eyes she looked tired and sad. She pulled a few faces at her reflection and then practised a smile. Only a few more hours to get through before she could slink off to her room and then the whole ordeal would be over and she could go back to her life, which would, after all, be much the same as it had been before the wedding invitation had arrived.
It didn’t feel like it was going to be the same, though. It felt as though she was staring down the barrel of a long, lonely winter, and perhaps even a long, lonely life of regretting having been too stupid to know what she had until it was lost. This too shall pass, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t always be drunk and tired and emotional. New days would roll by, new men would come and go. That was life: you put one foot in front of the other. She was just steeling herself to rejoin the fray when a cubicle door swung open behind her and Lydia staggered out.
‘Oh hi,’ squeaked Eva, sounding artificially bright. And then, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, ‘Congratulations. How does it feel to be Mrs Waverley?’
‘The Honorable Mrs Benedict Waverley, to be precise,’ said Lydia, coming over to the sink next to her and rinsing out her mouth with a handful of water from the tap. ‘And right at this moment, it feels utterly nauseating if you must know.’
Eva tried a joke. ‘Well, Benedict has been known to have that effect on women.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Lydia without actually laughing. ‘No, it’s the morning sickness. Except that’s the biggest lie in history, because it doesn’t begin and end in the morning, or if it does it’s followed by the afternoon sickness. Which lasts just until the evening sickness kicks in.’
‘Oh. Sorry. You’d never know it to look at you. You were positively radiant today in church.’
‘That’s just the sweat.’ Lydia wiped her brow and underarms with a paper towel. ‘Another thing they don’t tell you about pregnancy, the amount you perspire. Plus, I gained a certain sheen from throwing up five minutes before the ceremony.’
‘Oh dear. In any case, the chapel was beautiful,’ Eva said, clutching at straws.
Lydia brightened. ‘It was, wasn’t it? If it had been up to me we’d have just run off and done it in Vegas, but I’m really glad that we did it this way now. I wasn’t sure about going for the whole church thing at first, but you know how Benedict is about all that.’
Eva shot her a quizzical look. ‘I don’t, actually. I mean, I didn’t know it was a big deal to him. It was Benedict who was keen to have a church wedding?’
‘Oh yes. Hugely important to him. I found it a bit strange at first because let’s face it, you
After the wedding breakfast Benedict’s brother Harry, who was his best man, made a speech that trod a deft line between joking that the marriage had been prompted by the imminent arrival and implying that it would have been only a matter of time anyway, and then the music had started up, allowing Eva to take a much-needed breather to compose herself in the bathroom. She stood at the basin washing her hands and examining her weary face in the mirror, assessing the cumulative damage from an eighty-hour working week topped off with a good four or five glasses of champagne. Even to her own eyes she looked tired and sad. She pulled a few faces at her reflection and then practised a smile. Only a few more hours to get through before she could slink off to her room and then the whole ordeal would be over and she could go back to her life, which would, after all, be much the same as it had been before the wedding invitation had arrived.
It didn’t feel like it was going to be the same, though. It felt as though she was staring down the barrel of a long, lonely winter, and perhaps even a long, lonely life of regretting having been too stupid to know what she had until it was lost. This too shall pass, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t always be drunk and tired and emotional. New days would roll by, new men would come and go. That was life: you put one foot in front of the other. She was just steeling herself to rejoin the fray when a cubicle door swung open behind her and Lydia staggered out.
‘Oh hi,’ squeaked Eva, sounding artificially bright. And then, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, ‘Congratulations. How does it feel to be Mrs Waverley?’
‘The Honorable Mrs Benedict Waverley, to be precise,’ said Lydia, coming over to the sink next to her and rinsing out her mouth with a handful of water from the tap. ‘And right at this moment, it feels utterly nauseating if you must know.’
Eva tried a joke. ‘Well, Benedict has been known to have that effect on women.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Lydia without actually laughing. ‘No, it’s the morning sickness. Except that’s the biggest lie in history, because it doesn’t begin and end in the morning, or if it does it’s followed by the afternoon sickness. Which lasts just until the evening sickness kicks in.’
‘Oh. Sorry. You’d never know it to look at you. You were positively radiant today in church.’
‘That’s just the sweat.’ Lydia wiped her brow and underarms with a paper towel. ‘Another thing they don’t tell you about pregnancy, the amount you perspire. Plus, I gained a certain sheen from throwing up five minutes before the ceremony.’
‘Oh dear. In any case, the chapel was beautiful,’ Eva said, clutching at straws.
Lydia brightened. ‘It was, wasn’t it? If it had been up to me we’d have just run off and done it in Vegas, but I’m really glad that we did it this way now. I wasn’t sure about going for the whole church thing at first, but you know how Benedict is about all that.’
Eva shot her a quizzical look. ‘I don’t, actually. I mean, I didn’t know it was a big deal to him. It was Benedict who was keen to have a church wedding?’
‘Oh yes. Hugely important to him. I found it a bit strange at first because let’s face it, you
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