carefully folded, the lace bodice lying neatly upon the heavy folds of the skirt. A glimpse of the hemline shows her that it is slightly soiled, and there are flakes of dried confetti scattered around the box.
Opposite the scalloped neckline is a pair of white satin shoes, the soles and thin heel stained green. Size seven. As though moving in a dream, Felicity removes the slipper from her left foot. The satin shoe fits her perfectly. She pulls it off, as though it has burned her foot, and tucks it back into the box.
There is more to discover in the trunk. She spots a leather-bound photograph album that she doesn’t quite dare look at yet, and a small jewellery box. This feels safer so she opens it to find two items inside.
The first is a wedding ring, simple, gold, inscribed on the inside. F & F, for now, for always. She tries it on the third finger of her hand and feels sick. It slips on as though it knows where it belongs. She rips it off so fast that she hurts her knuckle. The other item in the box is almost worse. A silver lily on a chain that she recognises instantly. It is the emblem of her Cambridge college, and this is a piece of jewellery that is only available to members of the college. Several of her friends were given it on graduation by parents or boyfriends, but she’d had neither and hadn’t wanted to buy her own. The chain is fastened around a folded note. She opens it to read: From Freddie, for now, for always.
She has no idea who Freddie is, and at the same time, knows the name means something to her. No, it means everything.
She is going to have to look at the album. She lifts it and spots what might be a reprieve. Beneath is what looks like a single photograph, framed and wrapped in a protective black cotton. A single photograph feels easier than an album, and so she unfolds the cotton and shines the torch.
It is a stylish, silver-framed, black and white wedding photograph, taken from the back of the church. The veiled bride and a tall, fair-haired groom are small figures in the distance at the chancel rail. Both are looking back over their shoulders, a little startled, towards the focus of the photograph, a tiny blonde bridesmaid, hardly two years old, who is running for the church door with a look of joy on her face.
It is a charming picture, and yet Felicity can find no pleasure in it. She shines the torch on the face of the groom and knows, with an instinct she can’t explain, that this man is Freddie. She knows that she has loved him with all her heart and that he has caused her unbearable pain. She knows, from the trembling in her hands, and the sickness in her stomach that she doesn’t feel will ever leave her now, that she is terrified of him.
She almost doesn’t need to look at the bride, but she shines the torch all the same. The woman’s face is difficult to make out behind the veil, but Felicity can see a hint of blonde hair swept back into a graceful bun, the curve of the cheekbone, the full lips and arched brows. She is looking at a photograph of herself on her wedding day.
She is married. To Freddie. And she has no memory of it at all.
33
Joe
Joe, Jake and Ellie have dinner at his mother’s house, as they often do on Sunday evenings. All three of them relax around Delilah. He loves his kids, of course, and needs them in his life, but this once-a-week intensity is tough. When you live with your children, and see them every day, there is natural downtime, when you can co-exist in the same house for hours without paying each other any particular attention. On the other hand, when interaction is restricted to a few hours a week, the pressure to make those hours count becomes enormous.
After dinner, both kids pull out their iPhones and take themselves off to the lounge. Joe’s suggestion that they help with the clearing away and then play catch in the garden falls on deaf ears. Including those of his mother.
‘You’re trying too hard.’ Delilah throws him a tea towel.
‘They have all week to play on their phones,’ he grumbles. ‘Jake’s too young for an iPhone anyway. I’m surprised he’s allowed it at school.’
‘He isn’t,’ Delilah