by Adele Parks
‘I’m seeing a whole new side to you, Casanova,’I say with a giggle as we slip into our seats.
‘I’m not normally this confident, Rose,’says Craig. He stares directly at me and adds simply, ‘It’s being around you. I feel a million dollars. You make me a better man than I normally am. Still or sparkling?’
He drops the enormous compliment and the trifling question of my preferred choice of water into our conversation as though both sentences are of equal import. The result is, I am bouncing with joy and can barely mumble that I prefer still.
The reception is wonderful. The wine is plentiful, the band is pitched perfectly, both in terms of volume and tone, and the food isn’t cold, which is often the best you can hope for when there are one hundred and fifty people to feed. We are amused by a mime act and a magician. Craig is attentive but not overbearing. He compliments me on my dress but isn’t slimy. He makes sure my glass is full but I don’t get the feeling he’s trying to get me drunk. He asks who is looking after the boys but he doesn’t let the conversation deteriorate into school talk.
Unusually, the couple have opted to break up the proceedings by hosting an afternoon tea dance before the speeches and dessert. This gives the old rellies the chance to twirl around the dance floor before the disco music starts up in earnest this evening. I think the idea of a tea dance is truly wonderful and my approval rises further when Craig asks me to join him on the floor.
‘I can’t waltz,’I confess.
‘Nor can I. But how hard can it be? Tom’s Auntie Madge is managing to do it with a Zimmer frame.’
I decide that it will be nice to be held by Craig and so I agree.
We shuffle across the dance floor and repeatedly murmur, ‘One, two, three. One, two, three’– I doubt we are fooling anyone. After a few moments we settle into swaying in one another’s arms and the effect isn’t completely ludicrous. It is lovely to be held again. I’m not sure when a man last deliberately put his hands on my body. Can it be as long ago as six years? The thought is nauseating, unless of course you are a nun. Craig has large hands and he grasps me firmly around the place where my waist ought to be. He doesn’t seem to be in the slightest bit embarrassed by my lumps and swellings, nor does he crucify me by saying something obvious, like, ‘I luuurvve your curves.’He appears to accept my shape, seemingly without thought, and his acceptance makes me feel calm, relaxed and comfy. I allow my body to smudge a little closer to his.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Rose?’
‘Do you need to ask? I’ve been smiling since the moment you picked me up this morning. I’m having a wonderful day.’
‘I’m so glad. I’d really like to be part of what makes you happy.’
I stare at Craig, stunned and unsure how to best respond. Can he be for real? Is he saying he wants to do this again, maybe more than once? I think he must be. I allow the thought to drift into my consciousness and I examine the idea carefully. I do not find the concept horrifying. Far from it. I like Craig – very much.
For the first time we are a little embarrassed with one another but the embarrassment is exciting. It’s not the mortification of two awkward strangers – it is the discomfiture of two lovers who are verbally and physically skirting one another, unsure of their next move, desperate that there is a next move. Craig coughs and changes the subject.
‘Tell me about yourself, Rose.’
‘There’s not much to tell,’I point out. He knows I am the divorced mother of twins, what can I add?
‘I don’t believe that. You must have exciting parts of your past that you want to tell me to impress me,’he says with a grin. ‘And you must have thrilling plans for your future, however deeply you are keeping them hidden.’
I’m rather flattered that he thinks I might once have done something, anything, exciting and of note, although I don’t think he’s right about my future. I really don’t have secret gripping plans. For the first time I wish I had, if only to impress Craig.
I start falteringly, a little like our dance steps.
‘I studied Maths at Bristol University. I managed to scramble up to the dizzy heights of a 2:1 grade, although I was more of a 2:2 sort of girl really. I’d forgone a number of dates and parties and spent long hours in the library. Accountancy was a very natural choice for me after I left uni, and actually I was very good at it. Not that I’m saying I’m dull,’I add hastily.
‘I know you’re not dull, Rose,’he says with assurance.
An old couple glide past us. I think they are foxtrotting. They manage to look wonderfully elegant, even though they are eighty plus and their faces are creased like yesterday’s sheets. The old couple are gazing at one another, their expressions the same – they radiate awe and devotion. Mesmerized, I watch them sashay and my chest tightens. They are only aware of one another, oblivious to anyone or anything else. And as they slip over the aged and grooved wooden floor I wonder how many romances have blossomed on this same floor, how many women have glided with hope and men danced with pride. And I wonder if I’ve drunk too much?
For six years I have kept my heart hidden behind indestructible barricades that repel any sort of intimacy. I’ve accepted my life for what it is and learnt to love it for being just that, and I have not allowed myself to hanker for more. It wouldn’t have been sensible. More always ends up being less. Loving Peter more than I thought possible left me feeling less of a person in the end. I did not want to risk that searing agony again, as I was afraid that my brittle soul would not be able to endure another, similar disappointment. I’d shatter and then what use would I be to the boys? The boys, always the boys to think of. Thank God.
And, after all, a life full of children, recipes, friends and family is a full life and I can’t complain.
But, as I watch the old lovers rapt in one another, suddenly it is impossible for me to ignore the fact that my life is full, but not brimming, and the distinction matters. My life is not a life overflowing, ebullient and fluid and I want it to be. I know what is missing. I’ve always known – I just haven’t wanted to admit it. I don’t believe a woman needs a man to have a complete life but I do admit that having a soulmate can be a cornucopia. I glance at Craig and wonder how deep and strong a possibility he might represent. None of my recent dates have ignited a spark of interest but unexpectedly I can feel real heat right now. The idea of entertaining possibility makes my heart soar. I become brave and almost tap my toes as I hop from one foot to the other in an inexpert but enthusiastic step.
‘It’s just that people think accountants are dull and we’re not, actually. I am chatty and I know how to get drunk, although it’s not a skill I’ve been honing of late. I even did karaoke in a bar once.’
‘What did you sing?’asks Craig with a smile.
‘Err. “Like a Virgin”,’I admit.
‘I can well imagine the scene.’Craig’s smile broadens but he has the good grace not to laugh out loud.
‘Have you ever done karaoke?’I challenge.
‘Often. “My Way”, “Go West”, “Let Me Entertain You”. I have quite a repertoire. Karaoke is great fun. It ought to be available on prescription.’
I am excited by how much I have to learn about Craig. I realize that he might be a still water that runs deep and the thought is thrilling.
‘So what do you mean when you say accountancy was a natural choice?’he pursues.
‘Well, I’m good at exams. I think people ought to pay their taxes. I don’t like breaking laws. Or rules, diets or hearts come to that. I am better at being good than bad.’
‘What else are you good at, Rose?’Craig sends me twirling gently under his arm.
I consider the question. ‘I’m good at gardening, cheering people up, making jam.’I know it doesn’t sound glamorous but it is at least honest. I sigh and admit, ‘I am the epitome of a nice girl. Or at least I was before –’
‘Before?’
‘Before the divorce.’
‘Is Peter nice?’
&n
bsp; ‘He’s dashing, which was the nearest I could find to nice at the time.’
Craig laughs. ‘Would you like to have a rest?’
Seriously? I’d like to stay in his arms until Cadbury’s discover a recipe for calorie-free Dairy Milk, but I understand that the answer required is that I would like to sit down for a breather. He releases me and I feel bereft. At night-time I sometimes sneak into the twins’room and, from the doorway, I watch them sleeping. I derive an unimaginable amount of solace and joy from those secret midnight moments of watching them breathe. It’s such an honour to bring life on to the planet and I can spend hours simply appreciating their lives. I always find it difficult to close the door and walk back to my room. A similar feeling sweeps me when Craig drops my hand and walks from the dance floor back to our seats. I don’t want to let go.
I need to fill the temporary void so I keep talking. What was I chatting about? Oh yes, Peter.
‘I had him fooled. Or maybe I was just a fool.’
‘What do you mean?’asks Craig. It’s admirable that he’s not shying away from the sore topic of my ex.
‘Peter thought he’d bought nice. He thought I was nice.’
‘You are nice, Rose. So I assume you’re saying that was all he thought you were. He missed all the other bits.’Craig pours us both another glass of wine and we clink glasses.
‘Exactly,’I murmur.
‘Didn’t he see that the quirky thing about you, the big, well-guarded secret that stays hidden under all your obedience, and your sincerity and your ferocious work ethic, the fact that there is a heart that beats at a rate of knots, a head that is full of dreams and hopes and an unquashable sense of optimism and joy? You are not dull, Rose.’
I do not know what to say. I stare at Craig and I’m amazed. Not only because he’s really never looked more gorgeous, and commanding and adult, but because I want to know how he could possibly have guessed? I’m not sure my own sister knows I think of myself that way. How does Craig know? It appears he can read my mind too, because he goes on to answer my unarticulated question.
‘If anyone ever took the time to scratch the surface they’d discover Rose the comedian, Rose the idealist, Rose the believer in true and everlasting love. Rose who privately, and rightly, holds the belief that she is rather thrillingly special. So special in fact that she never felt the need to parade her uniqueness, her intelligence or her depth the way so many lesser mortals feel inclined.’
I realize that Craig’s glass is empty, which might explain his vociferous compliments. But does it explain his insight? How long has this man been thinking about me? How carefully has he been listening to me? Is there a hint that he agrees with me? No doubt Connie would scream ‘stalker’and run a mile, but I am delighted. Craig has just articulated things that I’ve barely acknowledged to myself.
‘I guess the thing was, you didn’t need outside acclamation because you only needed Peter to recognize your talents and strengths,’said Craig.
I stare at him warily. How much do I want to say about Peter? He is, after all, a parent at the school that Craig heads. Is it fair of me to prejudice Craig’s views? On the other hand, if Craig is going to become my friend then it might be reasonable to expect that I won’t be singing Peter’s praises day and night.
‘Peter didn’t see any of my talents, well, at least not beyond jam-making. When I tried to show him that I was anything more than efficient or reliable, he didn’t want to know. Passions aren’t his thing. He likes cold. He felt he had been duped by me. He thought he had married a pleasant, nice lady who would be no trouble, in the way that his father had married a pleasant lady and had enjoyed a life free of squabbling, noise or strong feelings. But I turned out to be more trouble than he imagined. I expected rather more of him than he was prepared to give when the boys were born. And besides, by then he’d fallen in love with Lucy.’
‘So it wasn’t as clear cut as that he left you for another woman?’
‘Not really, although it’s the story I feel most comfortable with. There was another woman and he did leave.’
‘The marriage was already over?’
‘The truth is somewhere in between.’
Craig nods as though he understands the complexities and nuances of a marriage that was dead years ago. I think it’s impossible for him to do so but I appreciate his effort for trying at least.
‘We’re having the conversation that we’re supposed to have six months down the line, not on a first date,’I point out. I wonder if I ought to be more reticent.
‘That’s weddings for you. They make you think about the big stuff, or at least they ought to.’
‘What will we talk about in six months?’I make the joke in an effort to break the all but overwhelming tension. I don’t consider that my question might appear pushy.
‘We’ll probably be picking out wallpaper,’says Craig, not showing any signs of being shoved.
I wonder if I ought to be scared, very scared or delighted, extremely delighted by this comment. With other men I would comfort and torture myself by believing it was an off-the-cuff and meaningless remark. But I know Craig doesn’t do off-the-cuff and meaningless.
I glug back more wine and observe, ‘It’s nearly speech time. Are you giving one?’
‘I’m just reading telegrams. John is the funny man.’
I scan the room and my eyes settle on John; he is supposed to be sitting on the top table but he’s alone at a side table.
‘He doesn’t look that funny right now,’I point out.
Craig follows my gaze. John is slumped almost face down on to the table. His weary demeanour is in stark contrast to the other guests. Everyone else in the room appears animated and exhilarated.
‘Oh God, he must have drunk too much. He tends to when he’s emotional. Jen will kill him if he messes up the speech. Can you excuse me?’
This mini crisis is rather timely. I need a little bit of thinking space for a minute or two. Craig leaves our table and heads over to drooping John. I watch as Craig gently shakes his friend, they swap a couple of sentences and Craig pours John a glass of water. I think the rescue mission may take some time, so I turn to the man next to me and start to make conversation.
38
Saturday 11 November
John
Craig’s nose is almost touching mine. I wish he’d stop shaking me. If he doesn’t I might throw up, and he won’t want vomit in his face, no matter how good mates we are. I’ve drunk enough to throw. Fuck it, I haven’t drunk enough. It’s not possible to drink enough. I need to keep on and on and on and…
‘John, drink some water.’Craig firmly pushes a glass towards my hand. I try to grasp it but it slips through my fingers. He guides it to my mouth. ‘Mate, I’ve never seen you this wasted.’
I can’t decide if Craig is in awe or shock. My tongue feels fat in my mouth and I’m struggling to move it in the directions necessary to articulate a response. This must be how those people with nut allergies feel. Poor sods. I stare at Craig. I’m trying to convey the fact that I’m going to be just fine and the speech and everything, well that’s going to be just fine too. Except I doubt I’m doing much in the way of reassuring, considering I can’t actually speak right now.
‘Jussneedafewminutes. Itsabloodysilly time forspeeshes. Aferdinner. No one canssstaysober.’
Craig tuts and holds the water glass to my mouth so that I can gulp from it. I’m grateful, and too wasted to care that we must look like a couple of benders or a special care patient with hospital staff.
‘Sorry.’
Then everything turns black.
When I come round I am sat on a chair in the bog. Craig is stood next to me; he has his hand on my shoulder, presumably to stop me slouching forward and knocking myself out as I fall on to the tiled floor. I wonder if I managed to crawl in here on my own or whether he had to drag me.
‘Must be something I’ve eaten,’I mumble.
Craig tuts, it’s a very articulate tut. It
’s rammed full of disapproval and despair.
‘Drink this,’he instructs.
This time I successfully take hold of the glass and even manage to glug back the water without spilling too much of it down my suit. As soon as I finish Craig refills the glass from the faucet and hands me it once again.
‘I’ll be sick if I glug too much water too quickly.’Craig points to the floor. Both our shoes and trousers are splattered with puke. ‘Mine, I presume?’
‘You presume correctly.’
‘Sorry, mate.’
‘Yes. You should be.’
The chunder, although clearly a pity for our shiny shoes, has helped to make me feel considerably better. I stagger to my feet and while the room is swaying, it’s not doing a breakneck speed spin, which was the case when I was sitting at the table in the reception room. It’s a posh gig, so the bogs aren’t gross, but there are always nicer places to hang than next to the urinals. I want out of here. I splash some cold water on my face, and Craig and I move on.
The bogs spill out on to a carpeted foyer. The carpet is red and heavily patterned; it’s a little threadbare in places but you’d only notice if you were crippled with shame and insisting on staring at the floor rather than meeting your mate’s eye. I force myself to look up and notice that the chandeliers are stunning. The echoes of elegance, a tribute to more graceful and sophisticated eras, mock me. I’m too shabby to be here. At least, I’m too shabby to be here like this. Fuck, I’m Tom’s best man. He’s expecting me to do a speech.
‘John, you are Tom’s best man, he’s expecting you to do a speech,’says Craig. He’s scowling. Normally temperate, he doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s naffed off.
‘I know that, mate.’
‘I can’t do it.’He sounds panicked. ‘I haven’t prepared anything.’
‘I know that, mate. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve been worse.’
Craig looks doubtful. ‘How much have you had to drink?’
I don’t know the exact answer. I started this morning. A couple of jars before the ceremony, with Tom, to calm his nerves and that. And he gave me a hip flask, with my initials on, by way of marking the occasion. Bit over if you ask me but Jen had read about it being the thing to do, in one of her girly wedding magazines, and she wanted him to give me a gift so give me a gift he did. Came in useful. We filled it with whisky and I had the odd nip while we were waiting for the photographer to wrap up the ‘watch the birdie’bit. Hell, that seemed to take an age. Ended up draining the flask. Then on to the reception, where I’ve been steadily drinking ever since. Or maybe not so steadily. I think I’ve gone through a couple of bottles. Thing is, I don’t normally do grape, I’m more of a grain man myself, so I switched again when the beef arrived. Big mistake mixing the two.
