Do No Harm Read online

  ‘I think you should go full Solange Knowles, anyway,’ Triss declared, reading my expression. She joined me in the mirror and framed both her pale hands around my Afro. She was careful not to shove her hands in it; she knew I hated that. ‘If I had hair this awesome, I would wear it as big as possible.’

  ‘You have gorgeous hair!’ I said. It was true; Triss’s flowing locks were like a Thracian goddess’s. She would not look out of place in an old Renaissance painting, or lounging on a giant seashell.

  But my best friend just folded her arms and gave me a look. Nearly thirty years of friendship meant I could decode it in an instant. We were polar opposites in so many ways: she was white, I was black; she was tall, I was short; I was a mum, whereas she wouldn’t have kids even if she was the last woman on earth and it meant the human race would go extinct. We worked in the same school, but she was a mathematician, while I specialised in language. Yet we were bound together from childhood – like sisters.

  So, like a true sister, I couldn’t resist: ‘You’re right, we’re both hideous.’

  Triss gave that foghorn laugh of hers and swatted me on the arm. She peeled off her T-shirt and denim cut-offs, kicking her flip-flops across the room. One of them hit Denny on the head.

  ‘Oi!’ he yelped.

  ‘Sorry, squirt, was an accident!’ Triss stood at the wardrobe, pulling a slip off its hanger. She turned and winked at Denny ‘… Or was it??’

  Denny laughed and threw the flip-flop back at her.

  ‘You can’t come in!’

  I heard Triss’s indignant voice in the front room of the bridal suite. A smile came unbidden to my lips, painted an uncharacteristic fuschia. Triss had guarded the bridal suite all morning. She’d taken her maid-of-honour duties so seriously she’d downloaded a checklist from the internet. It had included lots of ridiculous drinking games for the hen party. My stomach flopped over at the fragmented memory of sambuca shots and young men in sailor hats gyrating, whipped cream squirted on their hairless, oiled chests. Ugh.

  In the bathroom, I was perched awkwardly on the closed lid of the toilet. The hair and make-up artist had told me to ‘stay right there’. I hadn’t caught her name. She, too, was the result of Triss’s googling, since we hadn’t had much time to put the wedding together. Whatever her name was, she was a formidable woman. She leaned over me, sweeping foundation and powder across my cheekbones and muttering.

  I could hear Triss’s voice continuing outside the bathroom: ‘It’s bad luck, Sebastian! Go back to your room!’

  I looked in the only mirror in the lacklustre bridal suite. My make-up was done – ‘Minimal, I think,’ the artist declared, as if it were her idea – and we had settled on leaving my hair as it was, clipping some of it back behind my ear. Denny had piped up with the brilliant idea of pinning one of the spare buttonholes in it too. I now matched the bouquets, as if this had been the plan all along. My boy had a great eye.

  ‘We done?’ I said now, as I moved towards the door.

  I smoothed my dress down. It was off the peg and not white – I had done this before, after all – but it was beautiful. I’d explained to Triss I didn’t want the hoo-ha of last time: all pins and measurements and the sucking in of teeth and waists. So she had taken me shopping one lunchtime at various upmarket boutiques. I’d never been comfortable showing off. At my first wedding, I had felt less princess and more walking iceberg. As my dear old dad would have said had he lived to see it, ‘You could sink the Titanic all over again with that, girl!’

  This time, I’d eventually settled on a green silk gown with gold beading, tapered in a fishtail style. It was probably supposed to be a cocktail dress but, in Triss’s words, it was ‘understated’, and it went well with my dark skin and brown eyes. We’d chosen it then barely made it back in time for afternoon registration. I’d arrived to the wide, nine-year-old eyes of class E6, their curiosity about my lateness palpable underneath their unison sing-song greeting: ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stevens.’

  I regarded the sparkling rock on my finger as I opened the bathroom door: I wouldn’t be Mrs Stevens for much longer. Good riddance. I’d had so much hope before I’d married Maxwell and observed all the silly rules and traditions of my wedding day. And it had still gone wrong…

  ‘Hey.’

  Triss clucked in disapproval as I appeared in the bedroom. She was still only wearing her slip; her maid-of-honour dress lay on the bed. She grabbed the empty bouquets box and attempted to hold it in front of me, like a shield.

  But she was too late. Sebastian had turned towards me. Brightblue eyes and sandy hair, he was a classically good-looking white boy, with chiselled cheekbones and a strong jaw. He wasn’t tall; he met me nose-to-nose at about five eight, but he was pleasingly broad in the shoulder. I noted his floppy, neglected fringe was gone. Like so many grooms, he’d gone for a short back and sides for the occasion. A smile froze on his face as he drank me in.

  ‘Wow. Just … wow. You look amazing, Lily.’

  I grinned and did a twirl for him.

  ‘Of course she does!’ The make-up artist followed me out of the bathroom. ‘I’ve been slaving over her get-up for an hour!’

  ‘All right, love, don’t make it sound like you’ve had nothing to work with! God!’ Triss was loyal to a fault sometimes.

  As Triss paid the hair and make-up artist, Sebastian took the opportunity to give me a chaste peck on my overglossed lips. I laughed as he tried to wipe his mouth surreptitiously with the back of his hand.

  ‘Ready?’ I said.

  Sebastian grinned and nodded. He was already in his suit, though he was missing his tie, jacket and top hat. His waistcoat was petrol green and he’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. I didn’t know what it was about a guy’s forearms – they always made me shiver with anticipation. I leaned in to give him another kiss, but we were interrupted.

  ‘Yuk!’ Denny fell backwards on the bed, pretending to gag and thrashing his skinny legs. He was all arms and elbows and knees. It made the fact he was named for my father even more ridiculous: Dennis Okenodo had been a veritable giant, with big, meaty hands and broad shoulders.

  ‘All right, mate, you ready to be best man?’ Sebastian laughed.

  Denny sat up and shrugged, nonchalant. Like Sebastian, he was wearing a petrol-green waistcoat, though he had his jacket on, plus a bow tie at his collar, held on by elastic.

  ‘So … everything been okay in here?’ Something about Sebastian’s calm but studied expression set my inner alarm bells ringing.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I lowered my voice, so Denny couldn’t hear.

  ‘Nothing’s happened; everything’s fine.’

  But Sebastian’s answer had come too quickly. I gave him a little frown. ‘Is it … really?’ I said quietly.

  My fiancé’s shoulders slumped. I turned my back and signalled for Sebastian to do the same, in case Denny had learned to lip-read. Kids changed so fast, you could get left behind if you were complacent.

  ‘Tell me the truth.’

  Sebastian sighed. ‘I think I saw Maxwell’s car.’

  ‘Driving past the hotel?’

  ‘No, in the car park.’

  I groaned inwardly. This was the last thing we needed. I’d wanted today to go off without a hitch, but if Maxwell showed up, things could quickly get messy. Flamboyant, destructive, incapable of processing what he didn’t want to hear, Maxwell was a human whirlwind of a man. I knew this only too well, because I’d been married to him for nearly six miserable years and had Denny with him.

  ‘But he stayed in his car?’ Confusion whirled through me: was this some kind of creepy vigil? Or was he planning to show up at the wedding? Forced to consider the two choices, I’d have preferred the former.

  Sebastian nodded. ‘I showed the guy on reception a picture of him on my phone. Y’know, just to be safe.’

  ‘That was a good idea.’ I breathed out, trying to calm my skittering heartbeat.

  Seated at the dressing
table, Triss grabbed a hairbrush and waved it in the air. ‘Well, he needn’t think he’s going to cause any trouble, else I’ll shove this up his arse.’

  I glanced at Denny – apparently he was too absorbed in the iPad to notice what we were discussing.

  ‘It’ll be fine.’ Sebastian’s tone was measured, deliberate.

  I almost expected him to grab my wrist and pat the back of my hand, as if I’d had an attack of the vapours. He was so old-fashioned sometimes.

  He pecked me on the cheek and, as he turned to leave, he threw over his shoulder, ‘I like your hair like that.’

  ‘Told you.’ Denny said. He had been listening all along.

  Two

  Shit, shit, shit. This was so typical of Maxwell. Why couldn’t he just leave them alone?

  Sebastian parted the curtains on the hotel landing as he went down the stairs. He’d patrolled the landing every twenty minutes for the last two hours and, sure enough, Maxwell’s boy-toy car was still below. He’d parked at the back of the large car park at first, but had crept forwards every half hour or so. It couldn’t be coincidence. Lily’s ex knew they were getting married today; he was supposed to be picking Denny up after the reception.

  Irritated now on top of being nervous, Sebastian tramped down the stairs towards reception. His stomach lurched. He’d not been able to eat a thing at breakfast, sipping on stewed black coffee instead. Was it normal to feel so nervous before one’s wedding? He had no clue – he’d never done it before. And he’d never really thought about it either. He’d not been against it, it was just that, until nine months ago – and Lily – marriage had been something other people did.

  Sebastian arrived in reception. The space around the large desk was deserted but for a black silhouette in the window. Despite the sound of his footsteps on the marble floor, she did not look his way.

  ‘Mum.’

  Sebastian’s mother turned and smiled. There was a faux look of surprise on her face, as if she’d chanced upon him here, rather than received an actual invitation to her only child’s nuptials. As she rose from her chair, Sebastian was shocked momentarily at how long it took her to rise, how frail she seemed.

  ‘Darling.’ Fran air-kissed both his cheeks then grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. ‘Let’s take a look at you.’

  Sebastian waited, impatient, as she adjusted his tie and his jacket collar. She nodded at last; he passed muster, it seemed.

  ‘Handsome, as ever!’ she said.

  Sebastian cast his own eyes over his mother’s outfit. She was dressed almost head to toe in black, the only colour the red of her lips, nails and handbag.

  Sebastian’s uncharitable side rose up – his frustrations with Maxwell showing as he spoke. ‘You look like you’re going to a funeral.’

  Fran’s smile faltered. ‘Don’t, darling. This is a happy occasion.’

  Shame flooded through Sebastian. He was being an arse. It wasn’t his mother’s fault Maxwell was loitering outside. ‘Sorry, Mum. Just feeling a bit stressed.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Just asking, darling. I have done this myself, you know. A million years ago now, but I do remember.’ Fran sighed, and as she did so, a sharp cough exploded from her mouth, seeming to take her by surprise. She put an embroidered handkerchief to her mouth. A volley of three or four more coughs followed, her shoulders shaking.

  Sebastian guided Fran to a leather settee. ‘That’s a nasty cough, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, just a touch of summer flu.’ Fran smiled, patting him on the arm. ‘I bet Lily looks lovely in her dress. But then, she’d know how to make the best of herself, I expect … having done this before.’

  Sebastian felt irritation wash over him again. He didn’t need this right now. ‘Yes Mum, Lily is divorced. I don’t need reminding.’

  ‘Well I should hope not, since you’ll be taking the boy on.’ Fran’s eyes twinkled. ‘I am proud of you, darling. There aren’t many men who would take on another man’s child.’

  Sebastian almost shook his head in bemusement. Stepfamilies were not unusual in this day and age, but his mother appeared to have been frozen somewhere in the early eighties. He knew she meant nothing by it, though; it was just her way.

  ‘He’s a good lad.’ Sebastian puffed up his chest, as if responsible for Denny already.

  Fran grinned indulgently, then lowered her voice. ‘I saw the … ex. In the car park. Do you think he might … try anything?’

  ‘He’d better not.’ Sebastian’s words sounded tougher than he felt.

  Fran nodded. ‘It’s not too late, you know.’

  ‘Too late for what?’ Sebastian said, frowning.

  Fran raised her hands. A bemused smile shimmered across her face. ‘Goodness me, aren’t we a little defensive? I’m just saying, you wouldn’t be the first groom to get cold feet.’

  Sebastian sighed. He was being unreasonable. His mother had not been unsupportive of his marriage to Lily. And any misgivings she had were to be expected; after all, his and Lily’s relationship had been the textbook whirlwind romance. He’d had many girlfriends over the years and loved every single one of them … for a short while, at least. So why wouldn’t his mother wonder what was different about this one? It was probably his own stupid fault – he should have brought the two women together more in the nine months he’d been seeing Lily.

  ‘I saw that young woman Lily’s so close to – Triss, is it? – sitting outside in her car, too,’ said Fran. ‘Cutting it a bit fine, isn’t she? I thought she was supposed to be the maid of honour.’

  ‘She’s with Lily now, Mum, no need to worry,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘Anyhow, darling, shall we go in?’ Fran offered him the crook of her arm.

  But Sebastian’s gaze had wandered back towards the window. He’d caught sight of Maxwell’s car again. Had he moved the vehicle closer still?

  Sebastian thought he had. A Lexus with all the finishing touches, it looked grossly out of place among the saloon cars and people carriers. Even Fran’s one-year-old BMW, almost fresh off the forecourt, looked shabby in comparison.

  ‘Sebastian?’ Fran prompted.

  Through the window, he could see Maxwell sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel. He was as impeccably turned out as his Lexus. Shiny teeth, high cheekbones, close-cropped hair. The cuffs of his expensive-looking shirt were undone and flapping around his wrists in clearly contrived rebelliousness. Even dressed to the nines for his own wedding, Sebastian felt inferior.

  Maxwell looked from the windscreen back towards the hotel, and the two men’s eyes locked.

  ‘You go in ahead, Mum…’

  Sebastian didn’t look back as he rushed towards the revolving doors. But before he’d even made it outside, he heard Maxwell gun the Lexus’s engine. He arrived on the steps just in time to see Maxwell’s penis extension roar out of the car park.

  A smile passed over Sebastian’s features. That was more like it. He knew it was ludicrous, but he felt the bigger man; he’d seen his rival off, even though he had not technically done anything.

  Relieved, he allowed the tension of the morning to dissipate through his limbs, and strode back into the hotel.

  He was getting married.

  Three

  I stopped on the landing as the wave of sound hit me: a scraping of chairs and babble of voices. My nerves prickled – it sounded like there were hundreds of guests. But I knew it was my mind playing tricks. Both Sebastian and I were only children, and we’d stuck to family and close friends. Even so, the guest list had hit nearly seventy, my extended family being large.

  ‘It’ll be all right, you know.’ Triss adjusted her dress, so just the right amount of cleavage was showing.

  I gave her a watery smile. As my oldest friend, she was not only my maid of honour, but was giving me away as well. My cousin Maya was a bridesmaid, following us up the aisle. Denny was the ringbearer.


  ‘Can’t see Maxwell’s car.’ Triss craned her neck to look out of the landing window. She grabbed her boobs and jiggled them, making sure they wouldn’t fall out. Perpetually single, Triss would be looking for some action at the reception. I felt sure she would be disappointed; most of the male guests were either married or in their sixties.

  ‘Good.’ I handed her my bouquet and patted my hair, checking none of it was caught in any of the beading on my dress.

  Triss sighed. ‘It’s a shame he’s such a dick. Wouldn’t mind a crack at that myself.’

  I wasn’t sure whether to be outraged or amused. ‘That’s the father of my kid you’re lusting after and insulting.’

  Triss shrugged. She handed me back my bouquet. ‘Okay, missus … showtime!’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’

  Triss grinned.

  One step at a time, we picked our way down the rest of the stairs. Hotel workers looked up and smiled at us. I knew they were not really seeing me: they were seeing the dress, the traditions and ceremony. Even so, I enjoyed basking in it all. There had been none of this laid-back attitude at my first wedding. Instead, I’d been drilled military-style by a wedding planner with a beehive hairdo and a clipboard. I’d felt less like a bride and more like a parcel, delivered to my new husband with a big white bow on top.

  Sebastian and I were to be married in the Evesham Room. It was the biggest and the lightest in the hotel, with a view onto a large ornamental pond and trees. Of course, if you opened the tripleglazed windows you’d hear the zoom of traffic and realise it was just a narrow strip of green before the motorway. But the price had been right. Sebastian had wanted to spend more, but I’d told him not to. What was the point? I knew men didn’t really care about this stuff and in truth, it was just one day.

  Sebastian and I had the rest of our lives.

  Denny joined us outside the big double doors, accompanied by Maya, who was from Dad’s side of the family. I didn’t see as much of her as I would’ve liked, but I could always count on her to attend big family occasions like this. She was wearing the same faded trouser suit she always did to formal events, yet somehow looked chic and effortless. With three kids under five and a full-time job she had no time for shopping – she’d sooner use the time for sleeping, she said. Me, too, and I only had one.