The Day of the Wedding
I got up at eight o’clock with a stiff neck. I didn’t own a shower cap, so I had to shower very carefully so as not to get my hair wet. I definitely thought my stomach felt a bit flatter than yesterday. Checked both phones for messages, and there were none, so it looked as if the wedding was on! It was scheduled for 1 pm at the registry office and the Husband was due to pick me up at midday so we left ourselves enough time to get parked. I almost felt excited as I was getting ready. Karen phoned.
“Hi Kate,” she said, “I know you’ve got your brother’s wedding today, but I just thought you should know James and I staked out Montpellier road last night.” The Husband’s address. I went cold. What was she about to tell me?
“We sat in the car outside the house with some nibbles in our picnic hamper and watched Toy Story 3 on the iPad while we were waiting.” They’d made a bloody night of it! “He was inside,” she continued, “his car was there and we could see him moving about, until he eventually closed the curtains. Yes, yes, what else? “Well, it was all quiet for hours, but then at about ten thirty, oh hang on, what? Oh, James said it was ten thirty seven, a car pulled into the drive really quickly and went straight into the big garage.”
“Did you see who it was?” I had that all-too-familiar sick feeling again.
“Well, it was all so quick. We’re pretty sure it was a woman driving, and the car was one of those big four by four things with a child seat in the back.” Debbie drives a four by four “But the garage door closed straight away and no one came out so there must be a door from the garage into the house.”
“How long did you stay for afterwards?” I asked. Was she there all night?
“About another half hour,” said Karen, sounding apologetic, long enough for them to have sex at least once, “but poor James’ toes were getting cold and we were worried about his chilblains.” She waited for me to say something. “Kate, are you still there hun?”
“Yes I’m here,” I replied miserably.
“What do you think?”
I was trying hard to keep my voice from cracking.
“It doesn’t look very good, does it?”
“No,” agreed Karen, “I’m afraid it doesn’t.” There was a pause. “What are you going to do? Have it out with him?”
What was I going to do? I’d already asked him outright and he’d denied it, saying they were just good friends. Would a “good friend” turn up at that time of night and hide their car from view? No, of course they wouldn’t. I had to face the fact that there probably wasn’t any other explanation. I thanked Karen and James for spending their Friday evening in such a manner and agreed to meet them for Sunday lunch.
I sat on the sofa, the excitement I felt earlier gone, replaced by nausea and a growing anger. He’d be here shortly, expecting to spend the day putting on an Oscar-winning performance as a devoted happy husband for the benefit of my family. I wasn’t at all sure I could bring myself to go to the wedding. But I had to, my parents would be dreadfully upset if I wasn’t there, and although my laid-back brother probably wouldn’t be bothered, the Bunny Boiler would take it as a personal slight and would never forgive me.
I finished getting ready, and then sat in silence staring at the fireplace. Midday came - he was late. He turned up at quarter past, ringing the doorbell before letting himself in. No apology of course, just “We’ve got plenty of time” to justify his tardiness. I could hardly look at him.
“You look very nice,” he said. You rat-faced creep.
“Right, let’s go,” I said, not returning the compliment. “You’ve got the reading?”
He looked surprised.
“I assumed you’d be bringing it.” Couldn’t even print yourself a copy, you lazy tosspot.
“Oh for God’s... no I haven’t.” I started to flap. “I’ll have to turn the laptop on, it takes ages to boot up, we’ll be late.”
“No don’t panic, we’ve got plenty of time.” He went into the study, logged into the laptop and turned the printer on. I was hopping from foot to foot, anxiously watching the clock in the hall. The laptop was painfully slow. Why didn’t you do this last night, you stupid bastard? Oh no you couldn’t could you, you were too busy shagging your “good friend”.
A thought struck him.
“Of course, we could take the iPad and I could read from that,” he suggested. Nice try. I’d sooner chuck it in the canal that let you have it now.
“You can’t stand at a wedding service reading from an iPad,” I said crossly. “It would look really wanky.”
It was almost half past twelve. At last, the printer spluttered into life and churned out the poem. Had he even looked at what he would be reading? I didn’t think he had.
We climbed into the car and were off. He started to say: “I just need to get some petrol-” but when I screamed “Are you fucking kidding me?” he looked very startled and decided there was enough in the tank after all.
We arrived at the registry office at ten to one, but the nearest car park was full. We drove round it twice and then the Husband said he was going to try the pub opposite, where we finally found a space. I got out with my head reeling from the stress. From the pub piled a group of about half a dozen guys, clearly part of the wedding party. Despite all being dressed in suits and ties, they still managed to look like they’d just stepped off the set of the Jeremy Kyle show. They must be the Bunny Boiler’s family. They stood outside the registry office, laughing and pushing each other whilst they lit cigarettes.
There were two burly men stood outside the entrance to the registry office, hands clasped in front of them, who nodded us in through the doors like we were going into a nightclub. Inside there were about fifty guests beginning to take their seats. My brother stood at the front, sharing a laugh with his best man, very handsome in his suit and tails and a pale blue tie. I went to give him a hug and asked:
“What’s with the bouncers?”
“Oh, that’s a couple of Kirsty’s cousins,” he said matter-of-factly, like it was perfectly normal to have a couple of heavies at a wedding service. “We thought we’d better be on the safe side, just in case some undesirables turn up - you know what Kirsty’s family are like.” No I didn’t know, but if they were anything like her, then nobody’s pet rabbits were safe. Flipping heck bro, what the hell are you getting yourself into? It’s not too late. Run, get out of here and flee to the hills...
I said a quick hello to my parents who looked extremely smart, my father saying, a bit too loudly:
“You two cut it bloody fine - waiting for it to be called off were you?” and then waving to various aunts, uncles and cousins as we found some seats. The Husband was looking at the poem.
“Bloody hell, Kate,” he hissed, “have you read this?”
“Yes I have.” Why, haven’t you?
“But Jesus Christ, I can’t read this, not at a sodding wedding!” He was panicking. I shrugged. I didn’t want to be sat there with him, I wished I’d come on my own. The registrar asked us all to stand to receive the wedding party. Music started to play - Coldplay’s “Fix You” filled the room. We turned to see The Bunny Boiler coming in on the arm of a grey haired man - I wasn’t sure who he was, I knew she’d fallen out with her father some time ago. She was wearing a strapless long white dress which had an amazing sprinkling of silver bits on it, as if someone had shaken a pot of glitter over her. We got a good view of her barbed wire tattoo round her right arm as she passed and when she reached the front we could see she had a red devil tattooed on her back. Her hair was up, the top bit teased into blonde candy floss wisps secured with a sparkly tiara, the roots below much darker. Georgia bought up the rear in a sheer pale blue dress, which looked a bit like a long nightie. She looked absolutely freezing, but at least she was making an effort to smile.
The service began, and they stood at the front, the Bunny Boiler having to hoik her dress up at regular intervals whenever her breasts tried to peep over the top. My brother looked
really proud and happy. They sat down for the readings and The Husband was up first. Shooting me a desperate look, he walked to the front and cleared his throat. He read out the title:
“The Four Candles.”
There was a burst of laughter in the room. The Bunny Boiler shot a furious look over her shoulder. The Husband looked very uncomfortable, but composed himself and started to read:
“The first candle represents our grief; the pain of leaving you is intense....”
I could see the guests exchanging glances with each other and there were some thinly disguised snorts.
“The second candle represents our courage, to confront our sorrow....”
The guy sat behind me whispered loudly to his wife:
“Are we at a fucking funeral?” which made everyone around us get the giggles.
“For the times we laughed...” Someone whimpered. “The times we cried...” the woman seated in front of me buried her face in a hanky, her shoulders shaking.
“The silly things you did....” The guy behind me whispered: “What will they walk out to, the fucking funeral march?” which set everyone off again.
“The fourth candle...” A big cheer went up. The Husband, very red in the face, carried on.
“We light for our love....”
I caught the eye of the best man, Kieron, who was sat facing the guests and we both had to look away to hide our smirks.
“We light this candle that your light will always shine...”
A small boy sat near the front turned to his mother and said so everybody could hear: “Is she dead Mummy?”
The Husband had to raise his voice above the howls.
“We thank you for the gift your living brought to each of us. We love you.”
I knew the last line was: “We remember you” but he couldn’t bring himself to read it out. Instead, he nodded to the bride and groom and slunk back to his seat, his face on fire. I had covered my face with my hand, pretending to scratch my nose so he wouldn’t see me smirking. The registrar paused for a moment, as some of the guests were still convulsed. The bride did not look too amused, but my brother smiled and winked at her, and whispered something in her ear, which made her laugh. I looked across at my parents. My father’s face was an absolute picture; my mother simply looked confused.
When the service was over, we all crowded into the small garden of the registry office for some photos and chucked confetti over the new Mr and Mrs Bunny Boiler as they came down the steps. The photographer and the best man did their best to organise everyone, but they had quite an unruly crowd to manage, and some of the bride’s family appeared to have gone missing. I guessed they’d slipped away over the road to the pub. While I was stood smiling for the ‘family of the groom’ shots, the best man called over “Kate, can you get your hubby? We need him for this photo.”
I called back: “Ok, we can always cut him out later!” which made everyone laugh.
The reception was being held in the function room of The George pub, which was a five minute walk away. I nipped to the loo. When I got there I found the bride in tears, wailing to a friend: “It’s shit isn’t it, I know it looks shit.” She grabbed my arm. “Kate, be honest with me, does my hair look shit?” Yes it does a bit. I told her she looked absolutely stunning and gave her a hug. I came away covered in body glitter and headed to the bar. I chatted to my parents and to family members I hadn’t seen in ages, all of us saying, as we always did: “Isn’t it a shame we only meet up at these occasions?” The Husband had latched onto one of my brother’s friends he’d met on the stag night. From what I could hear of the conversation, he was trying to flog him a pension plan. I saw him check his iPhone several times. Missing her, are you?
The room had been decorated with pale blue and silver heart-shaped balloons, with silver candles on the tables. As we were sitting down (unfortunately I had been seated next to the Husband) a young guy walked past our table and said very loudly to his mate: “Oh look, I can see one, two, three, four candles!” I shot a sideways glance at The Husband, who looked furious, but did not react. I so wanted to laugh but managed not to. We were sat with some of my brother’s friends and their wives and girlfriends, and they were really good fun. The wedding breakfast was roast turkey “with all the trimmings” which was a bit bizarre, as it was October, with a sticky date pudding which was actually very similar to Christmas pudding. I was waiting for the mince pies to come round with the coffee.
I ignored The Husband and chatted to the couple next to me who were on the verge of emigrating to Australia, the lucky buggers, and they were extremely excited about it. Finally, we were all served with a glass of Asti shudder and the speeches began. The grey haired man who had given away the Bunny Boiler went first. It was her Uncle, Stammering Stan! It was like a scene from The King’s Speech. It must have been such an ordeal for him, but he got through it, keeping it very short, and we gave him a huge round of applause when he’d finished. Then it was my brother’s turn. He was extremely nervous. I could see his notes shaking as he clutched them. He said lots of gushing, sickly things about the Bunny Boiler (she’d clearly written it) and described Georgia as “a delight”. Who are you kidding? He got emotional at one stage, which was embarrassing, but he recovered and finished off by presenting my mother and a friend of the Bunny Boiler’s with large bouquets of flowers. Where was the Bunny Boiler’s mother then? I thought she was going to be there. Perhaps she hadn’t made it past the bouncers.
The best man, Kieron, saved the day with a very funny speech about my brother’s exploits as a builder, even managing to get the words “fork handles” in, which received a massive cheer, though The Husband remained straight-faced. Kieron also poked fun at the bride for choosing a “white” dress, although I noticed he didn’t mention anything about the stag night. Probably very wise.
We all drank a final toast, and then to everyone’s amazement, a woman stood up and started shouting angrily, gesticulating towards the top table. She was probably around sixty, but was dressed quite youthfully in a tight fitting zebra-affect black and white suit with a black hat which had a feather in it. As she was shouting the feather bobbed about furiously and the hat slipped slightly to one side. She was clearly drunk, and I couldn’t make out what she was shouting because she was slurring so badly, but I thought I heard her yell: “You’re dead to me now bitch!”
Then several other guests got up too and joined in, and suddenly it was bedlam. What the hell was going on? It was all getting extremely heated, and our table decided we’d move ourselves into the safety of the bar. Where were the bloody bouncers when you needed them? The Husband went to rescue my parents from the top table while I got a round of drinks in. There was lots of shouting still coming from the room, and then the sound of chairs being turned over and glasses smashing. Staff rushed into the room.
When my mother reached the bar she didn’t seem at all shaken but said: “Well, I didn’t think much of that last speech.”
The bride came out of the room and rushed past us in tears, her friend close behind her. The commotion in the room next door eventually died down and my brother emerged to explain to us that the drunken woman was the Bunny Boiler’s mother. She had felt snubbed because she wasn’t on the top table and humiliated that she hadn’t been given a bouquet of flowers. He said that she had done “precisely fuck all” towards the wedding so she hadn’t deserved any recognition. She’d now walked out and taken half her family with her. We all said ineffective things like “Oh, families eh, what are they like?” and I got my brother a large whisky for his nerves. When my mother asked my brother why there hadn’t been any crackers to pull, my father decided he was going to take her home.
The room was cleared for the disco, and the evening guests were turning up. The Bunny Boiler had recovered and was dancing with her friends, one hand holding her dress up. I saw Georgia tipping the dregs from discarded glasses into her own and downing them when she thought no one was looking. I pretended not to h
ave seen her. The Husband was pontificating with another boring fart-arse about investment opportunities. Kieron, the best man, came over to me at the bar. I told him he’d made a great speech and he bought me a glass of wine.
He was very engaging to chat to, having worked for a long time with my brother in the building trade but had now set up on his own as an “odd job” man. He said it had been a scary move to strike out on his own, but he didn’t regret it, he always had loads of work on. He asked if I could get him a quote for his buildings insurance so I promised to give him a call during the week and we swapped numbers. I said I hadn’t seen his girlfriend, how was she, and he said they’d recently split up, which was a bit embarrassing. I told him I was sure he wouldn’t stay single for long, and he fixed me with his lovely blue eyes and said: “I hope not.” I half-wondered if he was trying to chat me up. It had been so long since anyone had it was impossible to recognise the signs.
The bride and groom had their first dance to REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’. I stayed in the bar, fixedly talking to my Aunt so that I wouldn’t have to dance with the Husband. I needn’t have worried; he didn’t have any intention of asking me. When things began to deteriorate into a drunken melee, we decided to go home. I said goodbye to the bride and groom who were holding each other up on the dance floor and we left the pub. Three women were sat outside on a picnic table, dressed in their pretty dresses and glamorous hats, and scoffing kebabs.
The Husband moaned all the way home about the wedding and the Bunny Boiler’s awful family, saying my brother had just made the worst mistake of his life.
I nearly said: “It’s a hereditary thing” but I stopped myself. I managed to thank him for driving when he dropped me at home, our home, and asked if he wanted a coffee or if he was going straight back to the Shag Palace, oh no sorry, I meant Bruce’s house. He didn’t respond to the Shag Palace comment, but said he would get straight off as he was very tired. Was she there waiting for him? I said goodnight, and saw next door’s curtain twitching as I walked up the drive. They must have been wondering what was going on. So was I.
Chapter Twenty-Five