At the Wedding

by Matt Dunn

  ‘Go on, then,’ he said, letting go of her, and as Izzy scampered off towards the pool, he caught Livia staring at him disapprovingly. ‘I know, I know,’ he said, resignedly.

  ‘She seems very . . .’

  ‘Young?’

  ‘I was going to say “keen on you”, but now you come to mention it . . .’ Livia laughed. ‘What does Sarah think?’

  Patrick shuddered. ‘As you can imagine, my forty-something ex-wife absolutely loves the fact I’m seeing someone not much older than our daughter.’

  ‘And Anna?’

  ‘Is actually fine with it. Though that could be more down to the fact that she gets to use Izzy’s staff discount at Selfridges.’ Patrick grinned sheepishly. ‘But the heart wants what the heart wants.’

  Livia glanced out to the pool, where Izzy had already stripped off to what could be either her underwear or a bikini – it was hard to tell given how little of it there was – and stretched herself out on a sun lounger. ‘You sure your heart’s the part of your body that’s making the decisions?’

  ‘Hey, I’m not making any decisions. It’s just a bit of fun.’

  ‘Does Izzy know that?’

  ‘How could she not?’

  ‘Because you haven’t told her?’

  He nodded out at the pool, where Izzy had begun doing some strange yoga poses. ‘She may be young. But she’s not so innocent. And she’s smarter than she looks.’

  ‘Thank goodness. Oh, I’m sorry, did I say that out loud?’

  ‘Yes. You did.’

  ‘Patrick—’

  ‘And here’s Jed!’ Livia’s fiancé, sweating heavily, had just appeared through the hotel’s front door, and before Livia could say any more, Patrick had waved him over enthusiastically. ‘You’re just in time.’

  ‘For what?’ puffed Jed.

  ‘Stopping Livia from giving me a lecture about Izzy.’

  ‘As if,’ protested Livia.

  Jed burst out laughing, and when Patrick couldn’t help but join in, Livia wasn’t sure whether it was at her expression or from his happiness at escaping a talking-to.

  She’d have to find an appropriate moment later, she knew. Because this was the thing about men. Sometimes, they just needed telling.

  Liam’s sixth sense had just begun to fire, and when he opened his eyes, he almost fell off his sun lounger in surprise. The girl doing some weird stretching exercises two sunbeds away was stunning. Maybe a little younger than he’d normally go for, but hey, he was on holiday.

  He pretended to be asleep for a while, enjoying the show, then, as she unhooked her leg from around her neck and pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her bag, he sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and cleared his throat.

  ‘Did you need a hand?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘With the sunscreen. If there’s anywhere you can’t, you know . . .’ He cracked his knuckles in the way a masseur might, then fixed his winningest smile on his face. ‘Reach.’

  ‘It’s a spray,’ said the girl. ‘It reaches everywhere.’

  ‘Lucky sunscreen.’

  She regarded him over the top of her expensive-looking sunglasses – Dior, Liam noted, though they could be fakes: the city’s streets were full of vendors selling knock-offs. But as he used the privacy of his own five-euro mirrored ‘Ray-Bans’ to give her the once-over, he quickly decided there was very little fake about this girl. He stretched his arms exaggeratedly, using it as an opportunity to both show off his physique and check out the surrounding sunbeds. It was still early, and many of them were still empty, which would suggest she’d chosen to sit near him on purpose.

  ‘You here on holiday?’ he continued.

  ‘Just for the weekend.’

  ‘Me too.’

  The girl looked at him for a moment – or maybe through him. It was hard to tell, given the way her eyes, and a lot of her face, were obscured by her oversized shades. Maybe she was star-struck – it happened from time to time – or simply playing it cool. Then again, she could just be admiring her reflection in his lenses. Liam was sure if he looked like that, he would be.

  ‘Here for a wedding, actually,’ he added, after a pause that had given her more than ample opportunity to reply.

  ‘I’m guessing it’s not yours?’ She sprayed a couple of puffs at her chest, and began to massage the lotion into the top of her breasts – something Liam would have bet money on her doing on purpose. Not that he was complaining.

  ‘God no!’ he said, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘I’m Liam, by the way.’

  ‘I know.’ The girl had lowered her shades and narrowed her eyes at him, so Liam gave her his best TV smile. ‘We’re here for the same reason.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ It took a moment to work out what she’d meant, but once he had, Liam almost rubbed his hands together. This was an opportunity if ever he’d seen one. An open goal, waiting for him to step up and tap the ball into the back of the net – like he’d done so many times before. ‘And you are?’

  ‘With someone.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Hey.’ He held both hands up, trying not to make a show of his disappointment. ‘I was just being sociable. I’m the best man.’

  ‘Really.’ The girl gave him another look, as if to say, ‘I doubt that,’ but Liam decided he’d soldier on regardless. Just because she’d said she was with someone didn’t mean that someone was here. Or that she’d stay with them, once Liam had a chance to work his magic.

  ‘I thought you might be one of the guests. It’s my job to look after everyone. Make sure they have a good time.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t need anyone’s help for that.’

  I bet you don’t, thought Liam. ‘So, who’s the lucky man?’

  ‘Jed, isn’t it? I would have thought, as the best man, that would have been something you’d have known?’

  ‘No, I mean your lucky man?’

  The girl took her sunglasses off, put the end of one of the arms in the corner of her mouth and began sucking it absent-mindedly. ‘Why do you assume it’s a man?’ she said, suggestively.

  Liam swallowed audibly. ‘I just . . . I mean . . .’ He shut his mouth, conscious he was doing his best impression of a goldfish trying to breathe out of water. ‘Not that there’d be anything wrong with—’

  ‘In any case, I’m the lucky one.’ The girl was rubbing lotion onto her thighs now, and Liam was finding it hard to concentrate. ‘So you’re Jed’s brother.’

  ‘I am. Younger. Which means he’s my big brother . . .’ he said, with a wink, and the girl smirked.

  ‘You did well, keeping all this from him.’

  ‘Oh, I’m good at keeping secrets.’ Liam paused to give his remark time to sink in. ‘Besides, there was no point telling him. He might have said no, if he’d had a chance to think about it. Then we’d all have had a miserable weekend.’

  ‘Not very loyal of you, though.’

  Liam shrugged. ‘There’s loyalty, and there’s being a part of playing the world’s best prank on someone.’

  ‘Prank?’

  ‘There was no way Jed wanted to get married. And now – well, he doesn’t have the choice, does he? Especially with Livia up the duff!’ Liam grinned. ‘My speech’ll almost write itself. And think of the mileage I’ll get out of this in years to come.’

  The girl shook her head slowly, and Liam told himself it was probably in admiration at how they’d all got one over on Jed. ‘Right,’ she said, then she slipped her sunglasses back on and reclined on her sun lounger, so Liam tried to act as casually as he could and did the same on his.

  In truth, he was finding her distracting. She really was quite sexy, with a small tattoo on her hip that disappeared into her bikini bottoms and that he’d be keen to have a closer look at. Maybe this evening. And maybe with her girlfriend . . . First, though, there was the small matter of the no-man’s-land stretch of empty sun lounger between them he had to deal with, so he nodded at her bottle of sun
screen.

  ‘Could I get some of that?’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘On my back.’ Liam took the opportunity to peel his T-shirt off, flexing his biceps and pulling his stomach in as he did so. ‘If you wouldn’t mind . . .’ he said, flipping over to lie face down on the next-door bed.

  ‘Sure.’

  The girl regarded him for a moment, picked up the bottle, leant so close that Liam could smell the coconut from the Hawaiian Tropic she’d been coating herself with, and made a few artistic sprays over his torso, then started to giggle – not quite the reaction he’d been hoping for. Even so, the effect of her almost touching him was . . . anyway, Liam was glad he was lying on his front.

  ‘You never did tell me your name.’

  ‘It’s Izzy.’

  Liam frowned. Either her voice had suddenly dropped a couple of octaves, or the shadow he could feel looming over him belonged to . . . well, Liam was pretty sure it wasn’t her girlfriend – or if it was, he’d better get out of here fast.

  He whipped his head round so quickly that, for a moment, he feared he’d cricked his neck, though when he removed his sunglasses, he was relieved to see someone he recognised. ‘Patrick?’

  ‘Hey, Liam.’ Patrick was reaching down to shake his hand, so Liam reached up awkwardly, trying to ignore the feeling he’d been caught with his trousers . . . if not quite down, he’d certainly been about to unbuckle his belt. ‘Nice to see you.’

  ‘I’d forgotten you were coming.’ Still not daring to turn over, he guiltily shook Patrick’s hand, wincing a little at Patrick’s perhaps-firmer-than-it-needed-to-be grip, and glanced across at Izzy. ‘Sorry. I didn’t put two and two together.’ Or rather, you and you together, he thought.

  ‘Sweetheart?’ said Patrick, bending down to kiss Izzy on the lips, and Liam wondered whether he was marking his territory.

  ‘Hey, baby,’ said Izzy, and Liam hid a smile. Patrick was the last person anyone would refer to as ‘baby’, and by the look that flashed across his face, he knew it.

  ‘We’re all checked in, but I just need to go and sort something out. Back in fifteen.’

  ‘Take your time,’ said Izzy, stretching out languorously on her sun lounger. ‘I’ve got Liam to keep me company.’

  ‘Okay.’ Patrick hesitated for a moment, then he leant down and kissed her again. ‘Careful you don’t get burnt,’ he said.

  Though it wasn’t until he’d gone that Liam realised Patrick might not have been referring to the sun.

  ‘Have you left anything for the other guests?’

  Livia was smiling at the piled-high plate a freshly showered Jed had brought back from the breakfast buffet, so he made a show of how heavy it was, then looked pointedly at the pile of used crockery in front of her. ‘And how many visits have you made to the buffet table already this morning?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ Livia reached over and helped herself to a piece of one of his pastries. ‘You look like a condemned man who couldn’t decide what to have for his last meal, so he chose one of everything.’

  ‘Condemned man, eh?’ Jed gave her a look as he sat down at the table, and Livia narrowed her eyes at him.

  ‘Not funny,’ she said, unable to stop her mouth turning up at the corners.

  ‘I’ve been for a run. A long one.’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’

  ‘Plus, in the spirit of equality . . .’ He leant over and kissed her stomach, and decided to try a variation of last night’s joke excuse. ‘I’m eating for two.’

  ‘Well, you both need to hurry up. We’ve got things to do.’

  He indicated his plate again. ‘So have I.’

  ‘Have you even said hello to anyone yet?’

  ‘I have. Though they’re lucky I’m still speaking to them, after this little stunt.’

  ‘If by “this little stunt”, you’re referring to our wedding, then . . .’

  Livia looked hurt, and Jed immediately felt awful. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said, quickly and through a mouthful of croissant. He reached over and took her hand, then let it go when he realised that would only slow his eating down. ‘How on earth did you convince them to keep it from me?’

  ‘Liam’s good at keeping secrets. You have to be, when your love life’s as complicated as his is.’ Livia nodded towards the pool area, where Jed’s brother, his tongue almost hanging out, was trying his best to engage a sunbathing Izzy in conversation. ‘Though it seems I could say the same about Patrick.’

  ‘I know! She’s gor—’ Jed caught himself. Livia was already sensitive enough about her appearance without him making her think he was lusting after Patrick’s admittedly very lithe twenty-something girlfriend. ‘Got to be, what, half his age?’

  ‘And IQ.’

  ‘I take it you don’t approve?’

  ‘It’s not really for me to approve or not, is it?’ said Livia, and Jed was about to reply with a ‘quite’ until he suddenly realised she hadn’t finished. ‘Although I don’t know what on earth he’s thinking,’ she added.

  ‘Maybe he isn’t?’

  ‘Isn’t what?’

  ‘Thinking.’ Jed drained the remainder of his orange juice. ‘He probably just wants a bit of fun.’

  ‘A woman his age wouldn’t be?’

  Jed paused, half out of his seat on his way to refill his glass. ‘Wouldn’t be . . . ?’ he said, sitting back down again reluctantly.

  ‘Fun.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Jed stared at his plate. He could speak, or he could eat, and Livia’s tone was telling him the second option was the sensible one, especially if they did have, as she’d said, things to do.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘I think . . .’ He changed tack quickly. ‘I mean, I’d imagine Patrick thinks that someone his age might make a few more . . . demands.’

  ‘Demands?’

  Jed swallowed hard. Livia had that amused look on her face that usually preceded a lecture, and while that might give him the time he needed to clear his plate, it wouldn’t perhaps be the best way to start their wedding day. ‘You know,’ he said, as casually as he could, filling his cup from the pot of coffee the waiter had just deposited on their table. ‘He might be thinking that he doesn’t want to get married. Again. At least not yet. And that someone his age might be desperate to . . . well, desperate to. Get married. Before, you know, it’s, um . . .’

  ‘Too late?’

  Livia had raised both eyebrows, and they’d stayed up, which made her look like she was a victim of a bad Botox session. It also meant he was expected to explain himself, so he took another bite of croissant and chewed slowly, as if to indicate he was thinking. ‘Yeah,’ he said, washing the croissant down with a mouthful of coffee, though he feared he’d made a mistake almost as soon as the word had left his mouth. He hadn’t wanted Livia to make any comparisons to their situation, but he remembered that was always going to happen. As a man, you could comment on the simplest of things and get caught out: yesterday he’d remarked, offhandedly, that Livia seemed to be enjoying her lunch – a throwaway line, really – and she’d funnelled that into asking him whether he was implying that she looked fat. Though, in retrospect, his ‘You are fat’ in reply – meant as a get-out-of-jail-free card for Livia to be able to eat as much as she wanted while pregnant – perhaps hadn’t been the smartest of responses. ‘Because they might be worried that they’re, er, in danger of, um, being left on the, you know, shelf . . .’

  ‘Right,’ said Livia, in a way that suggested he wasn’t.

  ‘Plus Patrick’s quite a catch, isn’t he?’ he continued, quickly. ‘I mean, he doesn’t look like he’s nudging fifty. And he’s loaded.’

  ‘Maybe I should be marrying him, then?’

  ‘Maybe you should!’ suggested Jed, though he quickly added: ‘Put yourself in their shoes before you judge people. Everyone’s relationship works differently, remember. Look at Rachel and Rich.’

  ‘Bad example.’

  ‘Why?’ said Je
d.

  ‘They’ve split up.’

  ‘Ah.’ Jed peered around the courtyard, checking Rachel wasn’t in earshot. ‘And was that a mutual decision, or . . . ?’

  ‘When is it ever?’

  ‘Poor Rachel. And, um, where is she?’ he asked, grateful for the opportunity to steer the subject away from himself. ‘I didn’t see her in the cab with Patrick and Izzy. Then again, she might have been hidden underneath Izzy’s shopping bag.’

  Livia smiled both briefly and politely, as if to both acknowledge and dismiss his attempt at humour. ‘Sightseeing.’

  Jed glanced back out through the doors, to where Liam appeared to be blatantly staring at Izzy. ‘As Liam appears to be.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t run in the family.’

  ‘She’s hardly my . . . I mean, I wouldn’t . . .’ Jed stopped talking, realising there wasn’t much he could say that wouldn’t get him into trouble, and he suspected he’d already had a lucky escape. Besides, Livia looked like she’d been joking. He hoped.

  He began buttering his second croissant, wondering whether now was the time to try to talk to her about his feelings regarding their upcoming nuptials, but he hadn’t even got as far as the first L of ‘Listen, Liv . . .’ when a blood-curdling scream coming from the direction of the hotel’s reception made her expression quickly morph into a look of terror. Jed feared some mad person had just run into the hotel, so he instinctively grabbed the nearest item of cutlery to defend her with – though in retrospect, when he glanced down, he realised he probably wouldn’t have much success with a dessertspoon.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Livia, under her breath, so Jed took her hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sally!’

  He followed Livia’s gaze through the open glass doors and towards the reception desk, where a woman Livia’s age was holding the source of the noise – a very boisterous, violently wriggling blond child, perhaps around two years old (Jed’s lack of experience of all things paternal made it difficult for him to tell). Behind them, an extremely stressed-looking man who Jed recognised as Sally’s husband Oliver was struggling with what looked like enough luggage for a rock band on a round-the-world tour.

  ‘You didn’t tell me they were coming too!’