The Time of Our Lives

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘After the speeches, go find him, spend some time with him,’ Fi suggests. ‘Life is short.’

  Right on cue, my stomach rumbles.

  ‘Mine will be short, if I don’t get some food soon. I’m starving.’

  ‘Me too,’ she replies. ‘I’ve got an idea, but I’ll save it for after the speeches.’

  Before I get the chance to ask questions, Kat’s dad stands up, ready to give his speech. He’s an odd-looking fellow, with a rounded body and the shiniest bald head I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s wearing a tartan suit, for some reason, and red-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Good afternoon, friends, family, countrymen,’ he jokes. ‘For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Martin. I’m Kat’s dad – I’m also a performer, available for all occasions, parties … I’ve left some cards by the door.’

  Everyone laughs dutifully.

  ‘I thought, rather than deliver the usual, boring, father-of-the-bride speech, I’d write a little poem, which I’d like to share with you all now.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Clarky says under his breath. ‘Not poetry. I’d rather eat the vegan food than listen to poetry.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Fiona snaps at him under her breath.

  ‘So, here we go.’ Martin takes a deep breath. ‘Kat saw Matt, and Matt saw Kat – it was love at first sight, and that was that.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Their first date was rocky – I think Matt wore a hat,’ he continues. ‘And he arrived late to meet her, in his banged-up Fiat.’

  A chuckle echoes around the room.

  ‘But dinner at the restaurant was not to be sneezed at, and Kat’s friends inform me they went back to her flat – Matt’s friends says his wasn’t tidy, or something like that.’

  I’m cringing a little. I’d be mortified if my dad did this at my entirely fictional wedding that is probably never going to happen. That does sounds like Matt though, his room was always just a sea of clothing, CDs and games.

  ‘Still, the two fell in love and that’s worth a shot at, and now it’s their wedding we’re all eating stew at.’

  I laugh, mostly at his use of poetic licence.

  ‘I’m a really proud father of my Kitty Kat, with her poise, and her grace – like an aristocrat. And now Matt’s in our family and I’m pleased about that, even though sometimes, he’s a bit of a twa—’

  ‘OK, thanks very much,’ Matt says, standing up, cutting Martin off before he gets to the punch line. I’m not sure if his interruption was rehearsed, or if he’s trying to keep things PG in front of his own parents. ‘My turn now.’

  Poor Matt, he looks a little embarrassed. Still, he dusts himself down and removes his speech from his pocket, before taking a deep breath, ready to start.

  ‘Thank you so much to everyone for coming today – I know a lot of you have had to travel, which Kat and I both really appreciate. We’re so glad we can share our day with you. And, er, thank you to Martin, for that wonderful poem. He’s already touched upon when Kat and I met but, I’ll tell the story properly – and it won’t rhyme, you’ll be pleased to hear.’

  ‘Wahey,’ Clarky shouts. So far audience participation has been strictly quiet laughter where appropriate.

  ‘Cheers, Clarky,’ Matt says, looking down at his notes with a chuckle. ‘So, I’m sure you’ve all noticed Tom, my best man – my best friend – the beautiful man sitting down the table from me.’

  There are a few excitable noises from female guests which make me slightly, but uncomfortably, jealous. Someone wolf whistles, but I don’t notice who.

  ‘I have a confession to make … I’ve always owed my love life, to Tom’s love life. I’m sure anyone who knew me back when I was at uni will know that people used to say I bore a striking resemblance to Olive Oil from Popeye, probably because I had longish black hair and really skinny, long arms and legs. I didn’t exactly have girls throwing themselves at me, until this guy came along. You’d think it might hurt your chances with the chicks, looking like Olive Oil when your best mate and wingman is a regular Bluto …’

  I can’t help but laugh. Tom is very much a Bluto type, with his big, muscular frame and his dark hair and beard. He’s just a much friendlier looking version.

  ‘But it didn’t actually hurt me at all,’ Matt continues. ‘It really helped me. Standing next to the guy all the girls want to be with is actually the best way to meet all the girls – who knew? So, when Tom got a girlfriend, when he met Cleo …’

  Cleo gives him a playful wave.

  ‘I thought I’d run out of luck,’ Matt says. ‘I thought I’d lost my wingman. But what actually happened is that Tom and Cleo introduced me to Cleo’s sister, Kat. And, mate, thank you, because this beautiful woman sitting here next to me is the best thing to ever happen to me. I’m not usually one to think that everything happens as it’s supposed to – fate and all that – but … well … who knows? I am the happiest man in the world, and I hope that one day you get to feel what I’m feeling. No one deserves it more than you, man.’

  If looks could kill … Cleo doesn’t look very impressed with Matt’s speech. She’s got a face like thunder.

  Tom, who has been beaming a smile at his best friend up until now, suddenly looks pensive. But Matt’s audience lap up his words, and coo, applaud, and toast the happy couple.

  ‘You’d think it was Tom he’d just married, with that speech,’ Zach says.

  ‘However …’ Matt is still speaking. ‘Now it’s time for my best man to give his speech, and I’m not sure I’ll be talking about him so warmly after.’

  The audience laughs as Matt sits back down. There’s an uneasy look on his face, and a knowing look on the faces of everyone in the audience. They’ve all heard best man speeches before, they know how this goes. The best man pokes fun at the groom, shares embarrassing stories, makes inappropriate jokes, and all while the happy couple squirm and everyone else laughs.

  Tom stands up, but something isn’t right. Tom has always been the class clown, you’d think this would be right up his street. For some reason, he looks anxious, like there’s something on his mind.

  ‘Wow, thanks mate,’ Tom says, sounding taken aback. He runs a hand through his hair before removing a few sheets of folded up paper from his pocket. He carefully unfolds them, before glancing over each page. He opens his mouth, as if he’s about to start reading, but then he stalls. A few audience members laugh, thinking he’s trying to create suspense or something. After a few seconds Tom meaningfully folds the paper back up and returns it to his pocket.

  ‘I suppose Matt is right,’ he finally starts. ‘He did only meet Kat through Cleo, but, technically, I only met Cleo through Matt, so I can’t take the credit for this. Back in the day Matt was trying to pull Cleo’s friend, which is the only reason I met her. So, you see, Matt, you were always in charge of your own future.’

  So it was Matt who invited Cleo’s friend – and Cleo – to the party? I never knew that. He never told me. Then again, why would he? He probably had no idea how crazy I was about Tom, even if we did have this obvious will-they-won’t-they thing going on, and even if he did, what would’ve been the point in telling me? Anyway, this is all so high school and I don’t have the energy for it.

  ‘Anyone can tell you’re perfect for each other,’ Tom continues. ‘And I don’t believe in fate or destiny but if a few things had happened differently, we wouldn’t all be here today. Everything happened in the exact way it needed to so that you two would meet and whether it’s a coincidence or not, it’s amazing. And, maybe you’re part of something bigger. Maybe we’re all here today so that the rest of us can get our lives back on track.’

  I notice Cleo reach up and place a hand on his forearm supportively. She thinks he’s talking about her. Is he talking about her? Is there any chance at all he could be talking about me? No, I’m being stupid. I’m letting my imagination run wild.

  ‘A relationship like yours is a real blessing’ Tom continues, much to the delight of the
women in the room. I think everyone was expecting a lewd, borderline-offensive best man’s speech. Instead, they’re getting this off the cuff, heartfelt speech that goes way deeper than any wedding speech I’ve heard before. I would be as weak at the knees as the next girl in here, were I not so salty at the fact he’s probably talking about Cleo.

  ‘Maybe we can all get our destinies back on track today.’ Tom is practically talking to himself. He lifts his glass to make a toast, pulling his arm from Cleo’s. She picks up her glass of water – obviously she can’t drink – but it is at this point I decide that, balls to it, I might as well have a drink. ‘To destiny.’

  ‘Destiny,’ the room echoes.

  ‘Well, that was shit,’ Clarky says. ‘Isn’t he supposed to talk about how small Matt’s knob is and how he’s punching above his weight?’

  ‘No, we’re saving that for your wedding, pal,’ Zach replies.

  Clarky gives him the finger.

  ‘I thought it was grutiful,’ Ed says, raising his empty glass. He thinks for a second and then laughs. ‘Ha, I think I was going to say great and then I was going to say beautiful and I just mashed them together.’

  ‘Christ alive,’ Fi says, rubbing her temples. ‘I think I blocked out what it was like when we all used to get together.’

  ‘It’s only today,’ I tell her quietly – the same thing I keep telling myself. ‘Soon you can go back to your life and you never have to see us again. Until your wedding, obviously.’

  ‘If that goes ahead, we need to talk about what food you’re going to serve,’ Clarky interrupts, with all the seriousness of dad giving his son a talk on contraception. ‘We don’t want any accidents like today.’

  ‘You’re the bloody accident,’ Fi replies.

  ‘That’s what his mum told me,’ Zach jokes.

  Fi isn’t impressed. Ed cackles.

  ‘Of course our wedding is going ahead, why wouldn’t it?’ Zach asks him, suddenly serious.

  I glance over at Fi, who looks a little rattled, before turning to our vegan friends who don’t know what else to do but stare.

  ‘I told you we weren’t going to get better,’ I say.

  Chapter 14

  Then – Valentine’s Day 2009

  I have Tom and Cleo sitting on the sofa across from me and four DVDs sitting on the table in front of me, but I can’t quite make my mind up which movie is the right one for tonight, as soon as I have the house to myself. It’s Valentine’s Day and not only am I oh-so single, but I’m also the only one at home this evening. Everyone has plans but, most notably, Fifi and Zach are going on a double date with Tom and his girlfriend Cleo. As if it isn’t bad enough that she stole him from me, I get to see them not only together all the time, but also hanging out with my best friend and her boyfriend. Yay!

  Pretty Woman is my first option. After all, if a smart businessman can fall in love with a random prostitute that he picked up at the side of the road, then there might still be hope for me. My second choice is Closer – a personal favourite of mine, because I watch it, and it makes me so, so happy that I’m single. My third choice is When Harry Met Sally, asking that age-old question: can men and women be just friends? Can they? I don’t know. Technically Tom and I are friends, but with me wanting to be more than that, are we friends really? It’s so hard being his friend, especially on days like today when he’s sitting in my living room with his girlfriend, waiting to go on a double date with my friends. Finally, there’s Moulin Rouge. I figured I might as well throw that one into the mix too, to serve as a perfect example of how love can go terribly, terribly wrong – perfect viewing for Valentine’s Day.

  ‘Is it a bit unusual, to go on a double date on Valentine’s Day?’ I ask, making conversation because it’s so awkward sitting here in my Nightmare Before Christmas pyjamas with Tom and Cleo sitting on the other sofa, all glammed up, while they wait for Fifi and Zach to finish getting ready.

  ‘Not usual, I guess,’ Cleo starts as she fidgets with one of her brown ringlets with one hand and holds Tom’s hand tightly with her other. ‘But my dad is a sound tech, and he’s on tour with Coldplay at the moment. He has these spare access-all-areas passes for their show tonight, so he gave them to me.’

  ‘I see,’ I reply. God, I just want them to go so I can put my film on, eat the heart-shaped chocolate I bought myself – like the strong, independent woman I wish I were – and feel sorry for myself in peace.

  ‘Do you like Coldplay?’ she asks. ‘Everyone likes Coldplay, right?’

  Erm, actually, they don’t. They really don’t. I honestly think I’d rather listen to the unidentifiable and frankly disturbing noises that I hear coming from Clarky’s room on a night for two hours, but I probably shouldn’t say this out loud because it might just come across as jealousy.

  ‘Not really,’ I say tactfully.

  ‘You into metal or something?’ she asks with distaste.

  ‘Something,’ I reply.

  ‘Such as?’

  Ergh, why is she talking to me? She really doesn’t need to talk to me.

  ‘Luca is a rock chick,’ Tom says with a smile.

  ‘But not Coldplay?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah, they’re a bit too heavy for me,’ I joke.

  She smiles.

  ‘So, movie night is it?’ She persists with the small talk.

  ‘Yep,’ I reply.

  ‘What are you watching?’

  ‘Closer.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she asks.

  I mentally roll my eyes. God, I just want to be left alone. This is torture. I toss her the box.

  ‘This doesn’t sound like something you should be watching,’ she insists, examining the box.

  As much as I want the conversation to end, I can’t help but rise to it. ‘Why not?’

  Cleo shifts uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Well … it’s Valentine’s Day … and you’re single. This isn’t the right film for that – how about I pick you one?’

  ‘Cleo, I am watching Closer,’ I say. ‘But thank you.’

  ‘Erm, The Passion of the Christ disc is in the box,’ Tom points out after taking the box from Cleo and looking inside.

  ‘Well then I guess I’m watching The Passion of the Christ,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘I haven’t seen that one before.’

  ‘Oh, don’t spoil it for me,’ Cleo says quickly, playfully covering her ears. ‘I really want to see that one.’

  Is she kidding me? Not only have I not watched it before, but doesn’t everyone know how the story goes?

  ‘Right,’ I reply.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Fifi says as she rushes into the room, closely followed by Zach. ‘Someone had five-aside and had to have a shower when he got in.’

  ‘No one said you had to join me,’ Zach says cheekily.

  Fifi blushes.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Cleo reassures her. ‘We’re pretty much at it all the time too.’

  Kill me. Kill me now.

  ‘One of the lads is popping over to get his wallet,’ Zach says. ‘I told him he could put it in my bag while we played and forgot to give it back to him. Then we can get off.’

  Great. I can’t wait. I just wished they’d be quicker.

  The gang sit enthusing about Coldplay as they wait for Zach’s football buddy to arrive. I sit waiting for them all to leave so I can get on with my night. I’ve been thinking about it, and perhaps Moulin Rouge is the film for me tonight because it pretty much sums up my love life – hopeful, but ultimately tragic. Plus, who doesn’t love a Baz Luhrmann movie?!

  There’s a knock at the door. Zach is tying his shoe, so Fifi jumps up to answer.

  ‘Your friend is here,’ she says.

  Fifi is closely followed into the living room by a buff guy in a grey tracksuit. Under his open hoodie he’s wearing one of those low-cut vests that guys like to wear to show off their muscle cleavage. He’s undeniably attractive, with his toned body and his shaved head – he’s the big, strong bad body women are supposed to fall
at the feet of. I suppose I’ve always liked my men a little softer though.

  ‘Alright mate,’ he says. ‘Sorry, I hope I haven’t made you late.’

  ‘No worries, pal,’ Zach says, tossing the guy his wallet.

  ‘You guys off anywhere nice?’ he asks.

  ‘Off to a gig, mate,’ Zach replies.

  ‘Are you going like that?’ he asks me.

  ‘I’m not going,’ I reply, fairly sure he was joking. These are so very blatantly my pyjamas.

  ‘Luca is alone tonight,’ Cleo says.

  ‘Thanks, Cleo. I’m looking forward to it more and more by the second.’

  ‘What gig are you going to?’ buff guy asks.

  ‘Coldplay,’ Cleo replies excitedly. She seems to have a little glimmer in her eye. Blinded by muscle, I’d guess. ‘My dad is a sound tech, he got us all tickets.’

  ‘Coldplay for Valentine’s Day? I’m so jealous,’ he says.

  Maybe he does have a sense of humour because, y’know, it’s Coldplay.

  ‘You not got plans, Alan?’ Zach asks him.

  God, his name is Alan? That’s not a very sexy name, is it? He looks like a Chad or a Brad or something. If this were an American romcom movie, Alan would definitely be playing the most popular guy in school, the one that absolutely isn’t going to ask you to the prom.

  ‘Nope, no plans,’ he replies.

  ‘Why don’t you hang out with Luca,’ Zach suggests.

  I subtly shoot him a dirty look, telling him to leave it.

  ‘I didn’t bring my pyjamas,’ he says cheekily.

  ‘Pyjamas optional.’ Zach wiggles his eyebrows, clearly not taking my telepathic hint.

  ‘She’s watching The Passion of the Christ,’ Cleo tells him, and I’d swear she was trying to put Alan off.

  ‘Actually, I think I’m going to watch Moulin Rouge,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, sweet,’ Alan replies. He picks up the box and examines it thoughtfully. ‘Who doesn’t love a Baz Luhrmann movie?’

  He doesn’t pronounce his name right but, still, it’s kind of cute. And those were my thoughts exactly … Perhaps I’ve got Alan all wrong.