Page 68 of Best Man
TWELVE
JESSE
That feeling hasn’t gone away by the next morning as we orbit each other getting dressed. It gets deeper, and I feel a panicked twist in my stomach. I don’t know what it is, but I have the feeling that this is going to go wrong. I’d discount it, but my mum is known for her form of second sight. She taught me to always pay attention to my feelings and they’re currently screaming at me that today Patrick will try to fuck us up.
I’m dressed first, as I really don’t care what I look like. I slide the morning suit on that Zeb hired for me and put in the boutonnière that arrived with Zeb’s this morning, still wet with the dew.
I watch Zeb faff with the sleeves of his tailored, dark grey morning suit. No rental for him. The navy cravat suits him, enhancing those wonderful eyes. He rearranges the cravat and fiddles with the boutonnière and the feeling inside me bubbles up suddenly so strongly that I can’t rein it in.
“Come to Devon with me,” I say impulsively.
He stares at me. “What?”
“Come with me. I was going to visit my family. Comewith me and meet them. We could spend a few days away from here and tour round the countryside. I know loads of good spots.”
I can hear the enthusiasm in my voice and for a moment a wild exhilaration shows in his face, but then even as I watch he smothers it.
“I can’t,” he says slowly, wincing at whatever he can see in my face. “I made a promise, Jesse. What would I be if I broke it?”
For a long second I stare at him. “A man,” I say finally.
“What?” I watch as he looks at himself in the mirror and adjusts the handkerchief in his pocket. He looks back at me queryingly.
“Just a man. One who makes silly promises that he should never have been kept to.”
Zeb shakes his head, and I feel my stomach clench. “I’m his best man, Jesse. Don’t be silly. And what’s all this about being kept to promises? I said yes, and I don’t go back on my word.”
“And he knows that and is using it,” I burst out, feeling almost wild. For the first time this month I feel very young. “You shouldn’t do this. He’s going to marry Frances and still keep a fucking tight hold on you. He doesn’t want anyone else to have you, but he isn’t prepared to give up anything for you. It isn’t right that he’s played on your feeling of duty and got you to do this. It’s bad for you.” I pause. “He’sbad for you. But you can’t see it.”
“Don’t be utterly ridiculous. You’re acting like we’re in the plot of a Mills and Boon. I see everything,” he says crossly, looking at me suddenly like I’m a disappointment to him. “I’m not blind. I know his faults, and I can quite categorically say that you’re talking shit. Along with the fact that this really isn’t about him but about you.”
“What do you mean?” I say sharply and he looks almost apologetic.
“You think he wants me back, and I’m going to get back together with him.”
“And are you?”
He stares at me for a long moment, annoyance and something else crossing his face. He opens his mouth to speak but his phone rings. Picking it up, he looks down at the display. “That’s the taxi company’s number. They’ll be outside. We can’t be late.”
“You’re still going to do this, then?” I say, hating the querulous tone in my voice. I sound like a nag.
Irritation crosses his face. “Of course I fucking am,” he snaps. “I made a bloody promise and I’m not happy that you’ve had all month to say this and you’re picking a fight right now before we leave.”
“Patrick is not right for you because he doesn’t see you properly,” I say doggedly.
He exhales in exasperation and runs his hands through his hair. “Jesse,” he says through gritted teeth. “Please stop.”
“He doesn’t see how clever you are and how fucking kind and how you live your life in tiny portions, trying so hard to be a good man that you’ve completely missed that you already are. The best man.” I’m desperately trying to get everything out, and I know it’s coming across very wrong. I sigh heavily. “Promises aren’t as important as people. There’s a middle ground between your father and you, Zeb. I wish for your sake you’d find it.”
Silence falls for what feels like an hour. Then he picks up his keys, anger plain in his face. “Much as I hate to break up this session on the psychiatrist’s couch, I’m going,” he says tightly. “Coming or not? Last chance.”
I stare at him and then sigh. “Coming,” I mutter.
The journey there is tense. Zeb hardly says two words to me, and I’m not delighted that the theme continues when we get up to Patrick’s suite. The rooms are full of his groomsmen and immediate family helping him to get ready, and as soon as we get into the suite, Zeb fucks off, drawn away by Patrick who directs one fulminating glare at me and then keeps him by his side as he reintroduces him to everyone. Zeb smiles and shakes hands and kisses cheeks, showing no sign of the argument that has twisted my guts.
I hover on the edge of the crowd, nimbly avoiding Nina and Victor. I make small talk and coincidentally feel myself getting smaller too. Smaller and more invisible.
Even when the members of the party sit down for the breakfast served on a long table in the lounge of the suite, I find myself relegated to the end of the table next to someone’s grandfather who’sextremely deaf. I answer his questions absentmindedly while watching Patrick and Zeb in the centre laughing over something together.
