five thirty, we’ll see the bride and groom coming out, we can gettare the confetti! Who’s on for it?’
‘Ed,’ Cara said.
Ed was a well-known lover of weddings.
‘Melt,’ Liam called.
‘Not ashamed,’ Ed replied.
He insisted that making a public commitment before your peers was a defiantly optimistic act. Accidentally stumbling across a wedding always made him happy.
Cara wanted to go too, but she was due a snack at six o’clock. She could bring something, maybe a banana. But having to eat in front of people would, once again, single her out as a special case.
Was this what her life would be like for ever? Having to plan everything? Being a freak? Well, it would be better if she just made her peace with it. She had all her limbs, she could see, hear, talk – something far worse could have happened to her.
Only Liam, Saoirse and Robyn stayed behind. Poor Saoirse, Cara thought. She was usually a sucker for an Italian wedding. Robyn was a malign influence.
As they approached the little stone church, Nell exclaimed, ‘Oh! So beautiful.’
Her attention had been caught by the pastel blue, old-fashioned Cinquecento camper van, festooned with white ribbons and flowers.
‘Is that the getaway car?’ Ferdia asked.
‘I think it’s called the wedding car.’ She laughed. ‘But yeah.’
Standing in the sliver of shade provided by the church several pouty girls were dolled up to the nines, in high, high heels, fanning themselves and looking pissed off. Quite a distance from them lounged a cluster of very young men, smoking and looking uncomfortable in their shiny new suits.
‘Why aren’t they inside?’ Cara asked.
‘Feck alone knows!’ Jessie’s eyes were sparkling. ‘Italians are gas. You’d swear they were at a murder trial, not a wedding.’
Automatically Cara checked out the size of the girls. Skinny, skinny, skinny – not skinny. There was one girl jiggling a grizzling baby and she was really quite hefty.
For a moment, there was relief – then the familiar wave of judgement. She shouldn’t do this. Not to herself and not to other women.
But, she wondered, was it easier here in Italy? When you had a baby, was it acceptable to be bigger?
Probably not. The Western world subjected all women to the same beauty standards.
Suddenly a swell of organ music reached them, followed by a murmur of activity. The boys were extinguishing their cigarettes with elegant swivels of their new shoes, the pouty girls were no longer pouting, and a number of older women had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, carrying baskets of white paper petals. One of the older women gave Vinnie a handful of petals. ‘Gettare,’ she urged, making throwing gestures. ‘Gettare.’
‘Gettare, my bumhole.’ In disgust, he passed them to Cara.
The bride and groom appeared on the front step, young and beautiful.
‘Bella! Bravo!’
Suddenly everyone had confetti and was flinging it joyfully at the newlyweds. As a blizzard of paper petals rained down on them, Cara watched Ed, his happy face, his eyes that gleamed with unshed tears. He was a great person. He was a brilliant father. He saw the best in people, without being a doormat. His openness to life was remarkable, his positivity rare. Her feelings were in a mess right now, but she knew she loved him.
As the last paper petal hit the ground, Vinnie cried, ‘Gelato!’
There was a surge towards the ice-cream shop. Cara hung back and ate her banana.
SEVENTY-SIX
Nell’s eyes opened. It was the middle of the night but she was suddenly fully awake. Beside her, Liam was still deep in sleep.
She didn’t know what had woken her – then she did: something was terribly wrong between her and Liam.
The knowledge howled at her: Liam was almost a stranger now, a person she barely liked. He kept disappointing her. His every action was that of a much more selfish man than the one she thought she’d married. She kept disappointing him, simply by being herself.
More horrible truths flung themselves at her: she’d ignored warning signs, she’d got married too soon.
When her mum and dad had told her to wait for a bit, they’d been right.
This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. It was like the nightmare she’d had a couple of nights ago, except that this time she was awake.
Dark orange light gleamed under the shutters. The sun must be coming up over all that beautiful countryside. Here she was, in one of the most perfect places on earth, and the contrast between that and the wasteland within her was horrifying.
Their love was lost, gone, dispersed. What could she do? How