CHAPTER 2: THE COAT ROOM

"Where does your salary go, Alden?" Della asked.

Della said it at the bar, loud enough that the barman stopped pouring. She had crossed the whole dance floor with her train bunched in one fist, past the DJ, past a cousin holding a plate of olives, and she hadn't slowed down once.

Alden lowered his phone. "Del, what are you—"

"Not here." She took hold of his sleeve. "Come on."

"We can't just walk out in the middle of..." he said

"Watch me," she said.

She pulled him through the side door and down the corridor, shouldered open the door marked CLOAKROOM, hauled him in, and shut it behind them.

It was tiny. Two rails of guests' coats, a tub of numbered tickets, one bulb buzzing overhead. It smelled of wet wool and old cigarettes. The music from the hall came through the wall as a dull thump.

"There are two hundred people out there," Alden said.

"They'll cope. Answer the question," she said.

"You mean what Mum said?" He tugged his sleeve straight, slowly, as if the sleeve were the problem. "She's been winding people up all night. She told the vicar I was adopted."

"Are you adopted?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"So she lies about things that are easy to check, and this one isn't." Della folded her arms. The dress rustled. "You didn't laugh at the key. You didn't look at me. And your face is doing something right now. Where does it go, Alden?"

He opened his mouth. He shut it. He looked at the coats.

"Alden," she said.

"Forty per cent," he said.

She waited for the rest of the sentence. It didn't come. "Forty per cent of what?"

"Of what I earn. Every month." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It goes to Mum. And I pay her electricity too."

The words went in, but they didn't fit anywhere. "Every month?"

"Since Dad died," he added.

"You were nineteen when your dad died," she said.

"Yeah, " he said.

"And you've paid her the whole time." Her mouth had gone dry. "Through all of us. Every month. You never said a word."

"It never felt like a secret, Del." He gave a short laugh with no air in it. "It felt like breathing. You don't tell someone you breathe."

"You tell them when you're about to marry them," she said.

"I wasn't hiding it," he said.

"You weren't telling it, either." She pushed her veil off her shoulder, hard. "And don't make this about the money. I don't care about the money. I'd have said yes to the money. It's that everyone knew except me."

"It's not everyone," he said.

"Your mum knew. And she knew I didn't know." The thought arrived as she said it, cold and clear. She waited. She picked the one night I couldn't walk out of the room. "She stood up there and did a speech and a dance, and she saved that for last."

"She's not that calculating," Alden said.

"She whispered it," she said

He flinched. It was small, but Della saw it. Then his jaw tightened.

"She's my mum," he said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Tell me," she said.

"You're making it sound like I robbed someone," he said.

"I didn't say that," she said.

"You're looking at me like I robbed a bank," he said.

"I'm looking at you like I don't know you." It was out before she could stop it. The bulb buzzed. Neither of them moved.

Through the wall, a roar went up. Applause, then a long wave of cheering, a woman's voice shrieking something Della couldn't make out.

"Somebody's making a speech," Alden said, not looking at her.

"There's always somebody," she said.

His hands dropped to his sides. "Right," he said quietly. "Good to know. On the wedding night."

Della closed her eyes. She could feel the next sentence building in her chest, the sharp one, true and unforgivable in equal parts. She had never said a sentence like that to him. She did not want her first one to be tonight.

"I don't think we're helping each other right now," she said.

"So you want to end the conversation?" His voice jumped. "That's it? Walk off and leave me standing in the coats?"

"No." She opened her eyes. "I want to cool off and finish this properly. Not in a cupboard."

"It's a coat room," he said.

"It's a cupboard with ambition," she said.

The corner of his mouth moved. He tried to stop it and failed, and she hated how much she'd needed to see that.

"Cool off," Alden said. "Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow. After we've slept," she said.

"Ten?" he asked.

"It's our wedding night. Ten's too early," she said.

"Half ten?" he asked.

"You're negotiating." She narrowed her eyes at him, and let herself almost smile, and held it back. "Ten. Kitchen table. And you bring every bank statement you've got."

"Every single one?" he asked.

"Every single one. Then we go through them. Properly," she said.

"Are we doing snacks?" he asked.

"You're doing statements. I'm doing questions." She pointed a finger at his chest. "And if I ask something, you answer it. Not a joke. Not later. Answer."

He held up two fingers, solemn, like a Scout. "Answer. Ten. Table."

"Good," she said.

The roar in the hall had faded. The music had started up again, something faster. Della smoothed her skirt and turned to the door, and she let herself breathe out, long and slow, for the first time since the dance floor.

Sunday. Ten o'clock. I can hold on until then.

Her hand was on the handle when it moved on its own.

The door slammed open so hard it hit the wall and bounced. The coats swung on both rails. Nerys stood in the gap with her veil hanging off one side of her head and her bouquet crushed in her fist, her chest heaving like she'd run the length of the building, her face blotchy and red.

She wasn't looking at them. She was looking back over her shoulder at Ansel, who was three steps behind her in the corridor with both hands up.

"You told them what?" Nerys shouted.