One Night in London

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright © 2017 by Jillian O’Brien. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Published in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-0-9993227-0-3.

CHAPTER ONE

I love weddings. Small country ceremonies where the bride is barefoot wearing some lace Boho-chic summer dress. Grand city affairs in cathedrals fit for a princess in a sweeping satin ball gown. Yes, I can safely say I love all weddings. Except this one.

I wasn’t dreading this particular wedding just because it was a particularly gray and drizzling London evening. It wasn’t just that there was a delay on the Tube when I left work, which meant by the time I reached the tailor near my flat they were closed, so Alexander McQueen would not be my date tonight. Instead I was wearing a Marks & Spencer wrap dress from their Twiggy collection. It was a Christmas gift from my grandmother, who fell in love with the blue and yellow floral pattern. She said the blue brought out my eyes. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was marketed for the over sixty crowd, so I had about thirty years to go. Still, it was the only dress in my closet that was clean and pressed. Not to mention it was loose enough to conceal the added weight I’d gained since my divorce, without the need for extra-strength Spanx.

Which brings me back to the real reason I was dreading this wedding: my ex-husband was marrying my younger sister.

I still had to pause and let that sink in every time I said it to myself, or worse, out loud to someone else. At first, they’d ask me to repeat it. Then, once they realized what I’d said, they’d give me a look like my family should be appearing on one of those daytime shock-talk shows like Jeremy Kyle or Dr. Phil. A thousand scenarios went through my head too, many debauched and nefarious, when I found out they’d hooked up six months after Charlie and I split. They got engaged six months after that. And now, as the ink was barely dry on our decree absolute, I was walking back up the stairs of the Hammersmith and Fulham Registry Office for the Parker-Hickinbottom wedding. Part Two.

Sarah, my mother called out from across the building’s lobby as soon as I walked through the doors. She was channeling Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall today in her pale blue coatdress, matching handbag, and gloves. My mother was all about matching. She rushed towards me in a very unroyal manner that made me worry.

What’s wrong? I asked, slipping out of my blue raincoat, which was wet from the early evening rain.

Thank goodness you’re here, your sister is in one of her moods… My mum paused her fit to look at my wrap dress. What are you wearing? Isn’t that the dress nan got you? I thought you were wearing that flattering McQueen dress? She leaned in and whispered, You know, the one with the corset that hides your, um, baubles.

You mean my fat?

I didn’t say that. My mother looked aghast, as if I’d yelled fuck instead of fat. Besides, it doesn’t matter, no one will be looking at you anyway.

Gee, thanks, Mum.

Oh, don’t you start with me. I can only deal with one stroppy daughter today.

What’s wrong with Angie? I tried to get Mum to focus back on the problem.

She says she can’t get married until she sees you.

Why?

I don’t know. How do I ever know what’s going to set her off? She said I was to bring you to her as soon as you arrived.

I followed Mum down the hall but wasn’t particularly worried. My sister was a drama queen, but it usually didn’t get out of control as long as she was the center of attention. And surely she was the center of attention on this, her wedding day. We stopped outside the ladies’ toilet.

Angie, darling? Mum knocked on the door. Sarah’s here. May we come in?

No! Angie shouted from the other side, then a pause. Just Sarah.

My mother looked at me and shrugged helplessly.

It’s okay, Ang, it’ll just be me, I said.

Promise? The voice on the other side of the door was calmer now.

Yes, I promise. Just let me in, it’s getting late. I looked at my watch. It was just past four forty-five and the ceremony was supposed to begin at five. The hall was closing and the officiant had agreed to stay late as a favor to my father, the Right Honourable Lord Justice Francis Parker, a judge on the Court of Appeal.

Finally, I heard the lock turn, and the door cracked open just slightly.

Tell everyone we’ll be there shortly, I said to my mother, then stepped inside the tiny cramped loo.

Angela stood in the middle of this nondescript government building toilet looking at me with her wide cornflower-blue eyes. Our eyes were the only similarity that would clue anyone to the fact that we were sisters. At twenty-three she was nearly a decade younger than me, but even without the age gap people would not guess that we were related. Angela was tall, blond, and naturally slim. I was five feet five, and every little digestive biscuit I ate went straight to my hips. Angie’s hair was a lion’s mane of waves that fell midway down her back as if she’d walked off the beach, while I kept my straight dark brown hair cut to a professional length just above my shoulders. After all, I was a barrister, so most days I wore a wig to work. It seemed a waste of money to pay for a blowout that would only get matted down beneath horsehair.

I was surprised that she had chosen a simple dress. It was white silk and fit her figure flawlessly. Still, Angie didn’t do simple. Everything was usually the biggest and the best for Angie. She was my parents’ little surprise after a brief holiday in Spain, and there was nothing she wanted that she didn’t get.

Including my ex.

What’s wrong? I asked.

I can’t get married, she blurted out.

Um, okay. Do you want to just go? I can get us a cab. I hooked my thumb towards the door, calling her bluff.

No, I don’t mean it like that. She reached out and clasped my hands. I can’t marry him until you forgive me.

For what, Ang? My lawyer brain, which was trained to never ask a question I didn’t know the answer to, sensed whatever was about to come out of her mouth wouldn’t be good.

I slept with Charlie.

I would imagine so. I mean you are getting hitched.

Not like that… she said, looking at the ground, unable to meet my eyes. Unable to finish her sentence. She looked contrite and I considered just how bad this confession could be. It didn’t take me long.

Are you saying you slept with Charlie while we were married?

She shook her head. Before.

Before we were married? I did the math quickly. You were like, what, eighteen? I mean, please say you were eighteen and not younger. Oh my God, did he…

No. It was just once. Before you got married. I’m so sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean for it to happen, neither of us did.

When did it happen? I didn’t know why I wanted the details. I knew Charlie couldn’t keep his fly shut, that’s why we got divorced. I just never thought my sister, no matter how selfish and spoiled she was, would hurt me in such a way. That’s what stung.

The night of your engagement party.

At Mum and Dad’s?

Yes, Charlie and I went out for a… she paused …long walk.

By long walk, you mean to smoke weed?

She giggled. "And it just sort of happened.

I shook my head in disgust. Not just at my sister and Charlie, but at myself for not seeing before we got married, before we got divorced, what a bloody tosser he could be.

I’m sorry, Sarah. Really. We have this animal magnetism and we can’t keep away from each other. You and he, well, you just never made each other happy.

Is that what he said? That I never made him happy?

You said it too, she pointed out.

I wanted to say it hadn’t always been that way. In the beginning Charlie and I had been typical newlyweds. We were opposites who were attracted to each other, and I thought that would be enough. In the end it turned out not to be the case. I said none of this to Angie, considering she was standing there in her wedding dress, filled with