the etiquette, or maybe concerned Amy might start throwing pestles and mortars at me.
‘ . . . trust you? What was I thinking? Recently you’ve been so caught up in yourself you don’t have time to think about anyone else. I’m amazed you found the time to squeeze me in today.’
The words hurt, fired at me in a sarcastic rush as Amy revved up, in her stride now. I felt the tears on my face freeze, heard the accusations levelled at me, felt unable to do anything but stand there, hating the shop assistant for not leaving, noticing two of her colleagues staring from over at the till.
‘Do you even care? I told you that brooch was special. My mother and my grandmother wore it on their wedding days . . . ’
Amy’s words started to break up, choked by tears. I hadn’t seen Amy cry in years, she was always impossibly stoic. I felt nausea swirl in my stomach, feeling any fight I might have had leak out of me. She was right. I had completely messed up. I hadn’t thought about her.
‘If you want any further assistance . . . ’ The assistant looked on the verge of tears herself, stepping backwards, palms up as if we were two quite dangerous animals and she shouldn’t show her back to us. She melted away, heading to the till and the other two women staring at us. They all started whispering.
Amy had grown quiet, the plastic white bleeper held limply by her side.
I took a breath. ‘I’m going to try everything I can to get it back before the wedding,’ I said in a quiet voice, tinged with my desperation. God, why had I messed up? I was causing Amy this pain so close to her wedding. Amy, who had always been such a loyal, steadfast friend to me: sending me flowers when I broke my wrist, paying my rent one month when I’d spent all my money on the deposit for a new flat, inviting Luke and me away to her parents’ Majorca holiday home, treating me like a sister.
‘Don’t bother,’ Amy said slowly, all the anger seeped out of her. She couldn’t meet my eye. ‘Don’t bother to do anything else. I don’t want you to.’
‘But the woman . . . maybe she’ll be back soon, maybe I could—’
‘Lottie, I don’t want you to do anything.’
‘But I think—’
‘I don’t want you to be my bridesmaid.’
I heard the words seconds too late, feeling all the breath leave my body as she said them. She met my eye now, a steely determination I had seen in her before, knowing she had made up her mind. She had looked the same when she told me she was going to be a teacher, when she said she was going to run the London Marathon. When Amy committed to something she did it, she was amazing. She was my amazing best friend. I felt a terrible ache deep inside me.
‘I . . . ’ Now my eyes were full of tears. I couldn’t help it, aware still of the hush in the shop, the shop assistant and her colleagues half-heartedly pretending to stack shelves, wipe down surfaces, neaten stock, all the time snatching glances across at us, wondering what had befallen our happy party of two.
‘Just go,’ Amy said, folding her arms, no more emotion in her voice, her face set, her voice brisk. She looked every inch the no-nonsense deputy headmistress.
I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth and speak, stumbling away from her in the direction of the lift, almost sending a row of egg cups reeling as I blinked tears out of my eyes. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ I whispered, feeling a terrible blackness inside me, a hole. I had done this, I deserved this.
I jabbed at the lift, hating the wait, aware of Amy watching behind me, other shoppers staring, wondering what had happened. A flushed-face couple in the middle of a joke appeared as the doors opened, the woman’s face changing as she took in the tears spilling down my cheeks, my hunched shoulders.
‘Are you—’
I stepped in past her, not wanting to talk, just stabbing the buttons to get away from the place. The couple moved away and the last thing I saw as the doors closed on me was Amy’s face, cheeks glistening, mouth set in a line, watching me leave.
Darling Cora,
I think that fishing trip might have done the trick. Luke accosted me a couple