Lizzie and her husband step out of the church and I just manage to hide from view by crouching behind a hedge. She looks just like her mum did on our wedding day. She giggles as friends and family throw confetti and her husband leads her by the hand to their car. He brushes some stray confetti out of her hair and I sense that she hasn’t done badly at all. Before I can suppress it, a smile creeps onto my face. Their car moves off and my hand grips the Polaroid in my pocket. At least I got one photo – one memory to keep. That’s more than I deserve.
Family and friends make their way out of the churchyard. Joanna turns around and I can’t tell whether she’s looking at me or the church doors. I remain still and try to read her expression but she turns again and hurries to join the others. She was never one to linger. Once her mind was set about the car accident, she made sure I lost everything and everyone. Who could blame her, the way I behaved in the aftermath? My thoughts are broken by a sharp tap on my shoulder.
“Peter!” I hug my stepson and carry on holding him, remembering the little boy who used to run into my arms.
“I saw you coming into the church. Late as usual,” he jokes, fully aware I wasn’t allowed to come. I splutter and laugh. I haven’t seen his face for so long.
“How is your mum? Does Lizzie know I’m here?” It all tumbles out of me at once.
“No. Mum says today is the happiest day we’ve had for a long time. Best keep it that way.”
I nod. “Who gave Lizzie away?”
“Me. She asked me to. Want some? It’s your favourite.” He grins, pulling out a hip flask, knowing I’ll be tempted. “Dutch courage. She asked me to do the father of the bride speech too.”
I search his eyes as he takes a swig but I know where I stand. The warmth has left his voice. I try to change the subject.
“Do you remember what you and I were doing exactly this time last year?”
“Yep. Watching the latest Bond film. For your 50th.” He pauses to look me in the eye. “And two weeks after that you smashed us both into a tree. Remember that? How dare you show up today. Did you want to explain yourself? Be forgiven and everything go back to normal?”
“I was hoping nobody would see me today,” I lie. In reality I held out an impossible hope that my family would still feel some love for me. Peter shakes his head in disgust.
“As always, you turn up when you’re not wanted, and when someone needs you, you’re nowhere to be seen. If you can’t be the hero, you run away. This isn’t one of your stupid spy novels. It was my life. When I needed you most, you ran away.”
I see tears in his eyes and think back to the last time I saw his face. It was bloodied and bruised. He was slumped out cold in the passenger seat. I stumbled out of the driver’s seat and into the night, gripping my car keys in one hand and my bottle in another. It was easy to hide in the dark as I watched the paramedics take him away. I tossed the bottle into some bushes and ran. I was scared of being caught. Even more terrifying, however, was the thought of having to face any of those authorities again. I’ve been running ever since.
“You know, Peter, meeting you and your mum was the best thing to ever happen to me.” In those heady days of new love I believed I could lay the past to rest and make something good in my life last. I did, for a while. “When I hit that tree, the old me resurfaced. The same old fears, the same old messing things up. It was all I could manage to run.”
He looks at me in silence and I see in his face that there is no love, just pity. He turns and walks away, pausing to shout back, “Happy birthday, Gil.”
My fist clenches. I swallow back my anger and thrust my hand into my pocket, clasping my passport and flight tickets. Through the hedge, I watch my stepson for the last time as he leaves the churchyard and approaches his car. He takes his time getting into the driver’s seat, lifting in his left leg and then using his hands to lift in his right leg. I see that where his right ankle and foot should be, there is a prosthesis covered by his sock and polished shoe.
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