The Vintage Summer Wedding

by Jenny Oliver

  ‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’ Bald Bruce mused from the driver’s seat as he snaked his way to her house at a fifteen mile per hour crawl. ‘Been anywhere nice?’

  ‘Just London.’

  ‘I don’t get to the city much. The wife does, loves the theatre. Sees everything. How’s your dad?’

  ‘Fine, I think,’ she said, drumming her fingers on the leather seats, then throwing five pounds fifty at him as he was still pulling up outside her indecently drooping roses and legged it barefoot up the path.

  ‘Hi, honey. Seb?’ She called to what seemed like a strangely empty house. ‘I’m home. Sorry I was late. I—’

  Seb was sitting on the sofa in the living room, tie off, collar undone, glass of something clear on the table. From what she knew they owned, it was either water or vodka and it was lacking the off-white colour of their tap water. His hands were clasped in front of him.

  When he looked up, his eyes were flat and hard and she felt like one of his pupils hauled into his office, not sure what their crime was but running through a list of excuses in their head, ready for any eventuality.

  ‘Luke rang.’ Seb said, his voice bland.

  ‘Who?’ As soon as she said, it she rolled her eyes at herself.

  ‘Seemingly your date for this evening.’

  Anna licked her lips.

  ‘You left your phone. In your hurry to get home, you left your phone at wherever it was you’d arranged to meet.’

  ‘We didn’t—’

  ‘He wanted to check that you were OK, not too ill.’

  ‘I erm—’ She ran a hand over her now-feverish forehead.

  Seb rubbed his hand over his face, then picked up the glass and slumped back, his legs spread wide. ‘He had a great time, Anna. Great time telling me all about Tinder, your date, how he admired that I let you stay free to casually date. How he always knew I’d work out a way to keep a woman. He fucking loved it.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She stayed where she was. Felt every muscle in her body tighten, her shoulders go back, her chin rise, her spine instinctively arch.

  ‘No?’ He glanced up. ‘Doesn’t really matter how it was, does it? He got what he wanted out of it. I imagine you did too. You look very glam. Did you get your fix? Did you have a good laugh about boring Pleb dragging you back to the country? Because I’m assuming it was all my fault? No Anna blew every penny we had and then lost her job? No both of us having too good a time that we couldn’t afford it any more? Couldn’t afford the lifestyle and the holidays? He said you were really sick, Anna, he said you were having such a good time reminiscing that you must have been really sick to have to run off.’

  ‘He was winding you up, Seb. ’

  ‘Yeah, and fucking good at it he is too. Did you say Yes to him on Tinder?’

  He was talking with a really flat voice, like the recorded voice at the station. Like, ‘You have arrived at Nettleton. Bad things will happen here. You have been warned. You will ruin your relationship. Are you sure you want to get off?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Yes or no.’

  ‘Yes. But you know what it’s like. I was bored, Seb. It’s boring here. We don’t do anything because there’s nothing to do. I was chatting to Hermione, and it was just another experiment. It was something to do.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘I don’t have anything I want to do here.’

  ‘Oh fuck that, Anna.’ He took a gulp of what she’d now decided was definitely vodka from the gloopy shine in the glass. ‘Hermione, of course. She’d have loved this.’

  ‘It was an experiment. You encouraged it before. With Jackie and Doug.’

  ‘Give me a break. This was behind my back, and with—’ He closed his eyes. ‘Luke Lloyd, of all people, Luke Lloyd. Why would you do that to me?’

  Anna picked at the stitching on her bag.

  ‘You just blatantly lied. I mean, who else have you been dating that I don’t know about?’

  ‘No one.’ She scoffed. ‘And I didn’t lie. I just…’ She searched for a word. ‘Omitted.’

  He paused. She could feel the blisters on her heel burning. She wiped away the dampness that was appearing on her face, the heat that had been building in the room all day engulfing her like a huge, flumpy duvet.

  ‘Like you omitted your swanky new job in New York?’ he said, looking up at her under half-closed lids.

  She was too surprised to reply.

  Seb stood up, knocked back what was left of the glass and scooped his jacket up off the back of the armchair. ‘Good luck with that by the way, sounds right up your street. I assume, from the sounds of it, that you’ll be taking it? Can’t be hard for you to compare New York City to cornfields. Pretty hard for me to compete.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the look on his face.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked, bemused, looking at her as if who he saw he wished was invisible, before walking past her, swiping his money and keys off the table by the door and walking out, but still carefully closing the door behind him so as not to rattle the stained-glass panel that was loose.

  Chapter Nine

  When Seb hadn’t come home by ten o’clock and Anna had exhausted every range of excuses about why this wasn’t her fault, practised speeches that she would make in apology and imagined herself just throwing herself at him in an out-of-character, movie-inspired leap that would have them whirling through the house knocking vases off sideboards with gay abandon, she went to look for him.

  He wasn’t in any of the places she thought he might be sulking in isolation ‒ the stile in the corner of the field opposite, the allotment shed that his grandfather owned, the bench in the village square ‒ nor was he sitting stubbornly in the car, so finally she went to look for him in the pub.

  In London, Anna made a point of going into pubs alone because she was determined not to inherit her mother’s hang-up about walking in and believing the whole place took a collective in breath of horror at the idea of a woman alone in a public house. But in Nettleton, that was exactly how it felt. The almost familiar faces at the bar did seem to pause, the sound did seem to drop as she stood alone on the threshold, she thought she saw a woman in the corner nudge her partner on the arm.

  When she spotted Seb’s brother, Jeremy, at the bar, it was almost a relief.

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ he smirked, propping himself up in a casual lean, ‘Isn’t this a bit beneath the great Anna Whitehall?’ he asked, sweeping a hand around the place and his mate smiled into his pint.

  ‘Hi, Jeremy.’ She sighed, wishing that perhaps she wasn’t wearing the cashmere lounge pants that Seb said made her arse look like a ninety year old’s. ‘Have you seen Seb?’

  ‘Why, have you lost him?’ Jeremy’s eyes twinkled.

  ‘No, he’s just not answering his phone.’

  ‘Had a row?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why isn’t he answering his phone, then?’ Jeremy raised a brow as he sipped his bitter.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She sighed again, hand on her hip, tongue pressing against the back of her teeth.

  Jeremy shook his head and drained the rest of his pint. ‘These are not good wifely answers.’

  A couple walked up to the bar and as the man nudged her out of the way so he could have a look at the beers on tap, she took a stumbled step forward and said, exasperated, ‘Can you just tell me if you’ve seen him.’

  ‘Have I seen Seb?’ Jeremy mused as if it was a great philosophical question. ‘Now you come to mention it, I may have seen him earlier with Jamie.’

  Anna pounced on the news. ‘You did?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He cocked his head and she felt him toying with her.

  ‘Where were they going, Jeremy?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he smirked, tapping his nose.

  She sighed and he grinned. ‘D’you know what?’ she said after a second, ‘No, actually I wouldn’t. I just wanted to know if he was alive or not.’ She pulled her ha
ir back from her face into an elastic band and started to turn and leave.

  But then Jeremy said, ‘Oh, he’s alive all right. Very, very alive. Most alive I’ve seen him in years.’

  She waved a hand in dismissal. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘No? You sure? I’d want to know if it was me.’

  She took a step away, ‘I’m not playing this game, Jeremy.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He chuckled and turned back to the bar, pouring a handful of peanuts into his mouth and laughing with his friend as she started to walk away.

  Just as she got to the door though, she paused when she saw someone familiar sitting in the booth on the far side of the bar, white hair swept back from a dirty-tanned face, thick black horn-rimmed glasses, his paper held low so he could see her. She looked at the door and then back at the booth. After a second’s hesitation she started to walk towards him, down the opposite side of the bar where she had been chatting to Jeremy, past the woman who had nudged her partner and was now pretending not to look up as if some Z-list celebrity was in the vicinity. Anna decided they must have been to school together, she looked about the right age.

  But then the woman stopped her as she saw Anna coming closer and said, ‘You’re Anna Whitehall, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it’s me, I’m back.’ Anna held her arms wide. ‘Gawp all you like. Yes, it’s me. I’m Anna Whitehall. Yes, I was forced to come back. No, I never made it big. Yes, I’m here.’ She sighed, almost about to give a twirl, ready to say more and involve the whole pub, but the woman cut her off.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself. My kids are in Razzmatazz or, I should say, were in Razzmatazz.’ She looked at the man sitting next to her. ‘She’s the reason they’re not doing it any more. Just went in and told them they were all crap and then quit.’

  Anna, shocked by the revelation that this woman didn’t know her from Adam and inwardly cringing at her spiel, opened her mouth to reply but the woman wouldn’t let her.

  ‘I was told you were a top dancer. We trusted you to teach those kids and now—’ She held her arms out wide as if there was nothing. ‘Shocking. Shocking behaviour,’ she said and turned her back on Anna who mumbled an apology and scuttled to the corner where the man was still watching over his paper.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she muttered, sliding into the seat opposite him.

  ‘Still causing trouble wherever you go, I see.’ He folded the paper and smiled. ‘About time you said hello to your old dad.’ Then he did a surreptitious check over towards the door.

  ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘No, not at all. What are you doing here on your own?’

  ‘Looking for Seb. ’

  ‘Why, have you had a row?’

  ‘Oh god! No.’

  He took his glasses off and folded them into his top pocket. ‘I like Seb. ’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘He’s gentle, kind. I like him. Don’t mess it up.’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘I know you.’

  ‘Clearly you don’t,’ she snapped.

  Her dad leant back, folded his arms across his chest and laughed, ‘Always the same. Always quick with an answer. You are allowed to relax, Anna.’

  ‘How am I meant to relax when the first thing you say to me is not to fuck up my relationship.’

  ‘Don’t swear, you sound like your mother. And calm down. Relax.’

  ‘I am relaxed.’

  ‘You’re not, you look ready to bolt. Sit back. Go on, sit back, lean against the wall. Slump. That’s more like it!’ He snorted a laugh as she curled herself back awkwardly and tried to suppress her own smirk. ‘Now, what do you want to drink?’

  ‘Urgh, nothing from here.’ She glanced over at the bar. ‘It all tastes like cat’s pee.’

  Her dad ignored her and called over to the blonde behind the bar. ‘Babs…’

  ‘What can I do for you, my lovely?’ Barbara leant over the edge of the bar, wafting a cloud of Rive Gauche their way.

  ‘A Guinness and she’ll have a dry white wine,’ he said, gesturing to Anna. ‘And, Babs, the good stuff, not the old crap you’ve got behind the bar.’

  Barbara raised a brow, clearly dubious about wasting the good stuff on Anna, but her dad winked and handed Barbara three crisp fivers saying, ‘And have one for yourself while you’re there.’ Which seemed to soften her.

  When it arrived, the wine was sharp and crisp, a New Zealand Sauvignon that tasted like liquid gold. ‘Very nice.’ Anna said after one sip.

  Her dad looked up over the rim of his Guinness and grinned. ‘You see, honey, you’ve just got to know how to ask.’

  ‘Or to be an old alcoholic regular,’ she said, a brow raised.

  ‘Never have been good with people, have you? Never seen the subtleties.’

  Anna made a face and went back to her wine.

  ‘But it’s there.’ Her dad carried on. ‘I’ve always known it is.’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  He leant forward as if whispering a secret. ‘Your soft side. The bit you got from me.’

  ‘Oh shut up.’ Anna rolled her eyes and crossed her legs to the side so she could survey the pub rather than have direct eye contact with her dad.

  ‘You mark my words, it’s there.’ He did a little laugh and then his phone beeped a text that distracted him for a moment. While reading it, he said at the same time, ‘Go easy on those kids. That little group. I saw them perform last year in the square. They made your granny laugh, god rest her soul.’

  ‘I’m not doing it any more, so it doesn’t matter.’

  Her dad wasn’t listening. ‘She always liked watching you dance when you were a kid. Wasn’t such a fan of all that pressure, mind you. She’d pull me aside and say, Patrick you be careful, Mona is going to ruin that kid.’

  Anna swallowed and tried not to listen. There weren’t many people that she remembered adoring, but her granny was up there at the top of the sparse list. They’d make Eccles Cakes together when her mum needed a break or her parents were rowing and she’d be marched up the road and deposited at the yellow front door of her granny’s house with its curling paint and knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Anna would stand on a stool and squash the fruit into the rounds of pastry with her little hands while her granny would pinch them shut and she’d watch as she scored the tops. They’d eat them piping hot and burn their chins when the fruit rolled out, while her granny watched Neighbours and Anna would curl up next to her and just smell the warmth and the safety. And when Anna said things like, ‘I’m going to be a prima ballerina when I grow up. Just like Mum.’ her granny would pause and say, ‘You know I always like watching the corps de ballet. Like seeing them move in unison.’

  ‘Do we have to talk about this now?’ Anna put her wine down on a frayed coaster. ‘I haven’t seen you for six months and you’re straight in with this.’

  ‘And I’d say, no, it’s OK, she’s OK. She loves it.’ Her dad went on. ‘And she’d say, she loves the idea of it. Very perceptive, your grandma. You should have seen her more before she died.’

  Anna found she suddenly couldn’t get air in further than her breastbone so had to look to the ceiling to try and take a breath. She felt her dad watching her, felt like her emotions were under scrutiny, so she glanced back his way and said, ‘Mum says she’ll pay for the wedding only if you don’t come.’

  She fired the words at him like arrows. Ping, ping, ping, bullseye. You have won this round, Anna, congratulations. Your prize is the fleeting look of devastation in your father’s eye.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said after a second to compose himself and another sip of his drink. He coughed. ‘She never fails to surprise me. She’s a wily old cow, my god.’ He ran a hand over his mouth, rasping over a couple of days’-worth of white stubble. Then he held both hands up as if in surrender. ‘And I certainly don’t have the cash to match that offer. What are you going to do?’

  Anna hadn’t expected to feel quit
e so dreadful. She suddenly wished the words were on a fishing line and she could just reel them back in. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided.’

  He nodded. ‘You should do what you can to get the best. She can give you the best.’ He smiled softly and took another sip. ‘And you always have liked the best.’

  Anna twirled the stem of her glass around in her fingers. ‘It’s not getting the best, Dad, it’s getting something. There’s no other way.’ An image of Nettleton village hall did a little dance in front of her eyes.

  Her dad paused, then leant forward and said, ‘There’s always another way, sweetheart.’

  Anna glanced away, her cheeks flushing pink and, just as she did, she saw Hermione Somers-Brown strut into the pub.

  ‘Hermione?’ she said, shocked.

  Now Hermione was someone for whom the whole pub paused. Paused to drink in the skin-tight snakeskin trousers, the fluorescent-yellow silk vest, the loops of Chanel pearls and the beautiful, caramel blonde hair piled into a candyfloss blob on top of her head.

  A model-like pout on her lips, Hermione sashayed through the onlookers, one red wedge mule in front of the other.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Anna asked, a feeling not unlike relief that her friend had realised how in need she was and travelled from London to the sticks to see her.

  ‘She, darling, is here for me,’ she heard her dad whisper across the table.

  ‘You’re what?’ Anna looked between them, at the slightly guilty quirk of Hermione’s lips and the absolute smug delight on her father’s face. ‘Urgh, no way?’ Anna sneered.

  ‘Yes way, my sweet.’ Her dad laughed and then, giving Hermione a quick peck on the cheek, disappeared to the loo while Anna just stared at her friend, horrified.

  ‘Er, hello! What the hell are you doing?’

  Hermione flicked a strand of hair out of her face and shrugged, ‘He was on Tinder.’

  ‘So? So what? Are you dating?’

  Hermione thought about the question for a second and then drawled, ‘I wouldn’t call it dating as such.’ Then she smirked the corner of one slicked-red lip. ‘How’s Luke?’