The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,16

I’ll cut during summer months. But as I walk in, I see the wedding flowers I’ve been growing, large terracotta pots of white narcissi and hyacinths, their planting timed so that they’ll flower just before our wedding. Then I picture the bouquet I’m planning to make – simple, delicate, scented; another smaller one for Jess, as a lump lodges in my throat.

Turning away, I start to fill seed trays and carefully label them, but my heart isn’t in it. Instead, I discover how agonisingly slowly time can pass; how when you’re waiting for news, a call, or anything to happen, every second feels ten times longer.

As the stress catches up with me, my heart starts to race. Suddenly shaky, my grip on life seems to be loosening, a full-blown sense of panic consuming me as I remember the last time it happened. I’d been at my lowest ebb after my marriage to Dominic ended. On the verge of a breakdown, even. Back then, I hadn’t known what was happening to me, but this time I recognise the symptoms. Terrified it’s happening again, I think about calling the therapist I used to see back then. Sonia Richardson. But I can’t bring myself to make the call. She’d be another person to whom I’d have to explain Matt’s lies.

*

The thought of cancelling the wedding dominates my mind. But at least work forces me out of the house for a couple of hours. As I drive to Shoreham, in my fragile state I’m easily distracted, almost pulling out in front of a van, only narrowly avoiding hitting it. It shocks me into concentrating long enough to make my deliveries, before heading straight home when I call Lara.

‘Have you heard anything?’ It’s the first thing she says to me, without so much as a hello.

‘No. Lara …’ I hesitate, but I can’t go on putting it off. ‘I think I should cancel the wedding.’

‘Oh God, Amy.’ She sounds shocked. ‘Why not leave it a few more days?’

‘People need to know. Some are travelling quite a distance.’ Trying to keep my voice level, I’m thinking of people like Matt’s parents. Then I remember – they still haven’t replied to my email. I make a mental note to try them again. ‘And if I do it now,’ I continue, ‘maybe I can get some of the money back.’

‘Amy …’ She sounds confused. ‘Matt told me … I thought you knew …’

My ears prick up. ‘Knew what?’

‘He took out insurance. I assumed he would have told you. He asked me to organise it a couple of months ago – not for any particular reason. I think he saw the costs adding up and wanted to protect what you were paying out.’

It’s another secret. I feel my skin crawl at the thought that he’s kept this from me. Silent for a moment, I try to imagine why he would have done such a thing. ‘There’s been so much going on. It’s possible he did tell me and I forgot.’

As she speaks, she sounds hesitant. ‘I would have thought you’d have remembered something like that. And I can’t imagine why he’d hide it from you?’

But he had hidden it – why, I can’t imagine. Stunned into silence, a conversation we had comes back to me. At the beginning, it had been me who suggested it, when we were booking the venue, after hearing horror stories of last minute double bookings and cancellations. I remember Matt’s words. It’s a waste of money. It’s hardly as though either of us will change our minds.

‘Maybe he forgot to tell you.’ Lara tries to sound reassuring, but there’s an edge of uncertainty in her voice. ‘But basically, if the wedding’s cancelled at the last minute, everything’s covered.’

Any relief I might feel that the costs are covered is outweighed by the fact that Matt didn’t tell me. It’s impossible to ignore the glimmer of suspicion that creeps into my head. He must have done it, because something had changed. Had he already decided our wedding wasn’t going ahead? I can’t think of any other reason why he wouldn’t have told me.

After speaking to Lara, I remember I haven’t told her the police asked for her mobile number. But needing to clear my head, I pull on my coat, close the front door behind me, and instead of heading for the Downs, walk the other way, towards Steyning. The air is still, pale streaks of light filtering through the clouds, lifting the gloom. Either side