At the Wedding

by Matt Dunn

‘I know, but . . .’ The assistant was watching them interestedly, so Livia took Jed by the arm – rather firmly, he felt – and steered him away from the counter. ‘They make some really nice rings for men nowadays. And the one I’ve picked out for you is . . .’

  ‘You’ve already chosen one?’ Jed found himself struggling to keep his voice down. How could Livia have forgotten the watch incident? ‘Christ, Liv. I wouldn’t buy you anything like this without you seeing it first, without at least discussing it, and now you feel you can just choose me a ring and expect me to wear it every day of my life without me even having a say in terms of what it looks like?’

  ‘Jed . . .’

  ‘What’s happening to you? I get that you usually know best, but this is like you don’t even know me.’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘I don’t want one!’ he said, realising he was a foot stamp away from doing a pretty good impression of Barney’s earlier tantrum. ‘I’ll lose it. Or I’ll scratch it. And I don’t want to go through the hassle of taking it off every time I want to do anything.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like . . .’ Jed’s mind went blank. He supposed he could possibly say DIY, but Livia already complained he didn’t pull his weight around the house, so that was a whole can of worms he didn’t want to open. ‘Everything!’

  ‘You could wear it round your neck.’

  ‘What, like those African tribeswomen? How big a ring were you planning on—’

  ‘Not like that. On a thong.’ She caught sight of his expression. ‘A piece of leather. Not a pair of my pants. Though it’s a free country.’

  Jed pursed his lips. Under normal circumstances, Livia’s comment would have made him smile, but this was a million miles from normal circumstances.

  He peered round the shop’s luxurious interior. It was full of couples, choosing presents for each other, perhaps, or gifts for family members, or maybe doing exactly what he and Livia were doing. Though, tellingly, none of them were having an argument.

  ‘Well, it’s a no from me, I’m afraid. Which should be good news for you, because it means you can spend double on yours.’

  ‘But what are we going to exchange?’

  Jed threw his hands up in the air, perhaps a bit too vigorously given how Livia’s face had fallen. ‘Vows?’

  Livia put a hand on her stomach, and looked around for the nearest chair, though she shrugged off Jed’s attempt to help her towards it. ‘Why wouldn’t you want to wear a wedding ring?’ she said, lowering herself onto the plush leather sofa in the corner of the shop. ‘Are you ashamed of being married to me?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s just . . .’ Jed took a deep breath, but Livia leapt in before he could collect his thoughts.

  ‘Or are you worried it’ll cramp your style when you go out on the pull?’

  ‘Liv, don’t be like that.’ Jed looked at her imploringly. They didn’t argue much, but whenever they did, this was Livia’s sure-fire way of winning. Not by shouting the loudest, but by making him feel bad. And even after ten years, he hadn’t developed a strategy to deal with it.

  ‘Why are you being like that?’

  ‘I’m going through with the wedding, aren’t I?’

  Almost as soon as the words had left his lips, Jed knew he’d made a mistake, particularly given how Livia’s eyes had widened. And while she was never normally that emotional, the way the pregnancy had stirred up her hormones meant he’d probably just lit a fire it would take a good while for him to extinguish. If he even could.

  ‘Going through with the wedding?’ she said softly, her voice cracking a little.

  ‘Well, yes.’ He sat down gingerly next to her on the sofa, hating the fact that he’d hurt her, desperate to make things right, to explain – not that he had the faintest idea how. ‘Seeing as you rather painted me into a corner with this whole Barcelona business . . .’

  ‘Is that how you feel?’ she said, sounding like she was on the verge of tears, and he frowned. Surely Livia could see that was what she’d done. Possibly what she’d even relied on to get him to say yes.

  ‘Haven’t you?’

  Jed was arguing, though he understood it was pointless, knew how this was bound to go: Livia would pick on something he’d said – a word out of place or a thoughtless utterance – grab on to it with both hands, then beat him into guilty submission with it until he’d lost the will to resist. But how could he possibly explain the real reason – that he was afraid of letting her down as her husband? Because if he wasn’t confident he could fulfil that role, how on earth could she rely on him to be a good father?

  ‘Okay, Jed.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘Maybe I did – what was it? – “paint you into a corner”.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jed, before realising from Livia’s tone that this wasn’t exactly going to be an admission of guilt. And certainly not an apology.

  ‘And do you want to know why I “painted you into a corner”?’

  Jed had to stop himself from flinching at Livia’s aggressive use of air quotes. ‘That wasn’t what I—’

  ‘Why I had to paint you into a corner? To force you to marry me?’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘Because we’ve been together ten years, Jed. Ten years. And not once have you thought that I might like to make things a bit more permanent. Not for one moment did you consider that I might not want to be the world’s oldest girlfriend . . .’

  ‘You’re hardly—’

  ‘ . . . or unmarried mother.’

  ‘Liv—’

  ‘But no, despite all our friends tying the knot, and me dropping the kinds of hints that even Stevie Wonder could see, you never once thought to ask me. Even after you got me pregnant.’

  Jed bit his tongue. The baby had been Livia’s idea too – and while he’d been more than happy to go along with it, right now he knew better than to remind her of that.

  ‘And this is typical of you,’ she continued. ‘Not thinking about anyone else. Happy to just keep bumbling along while it suits you. As long as good old Jed’s life isn’t being interrupted or inconvenienced in any way; as long as you can go down to the pub every Wednesday night with that idiotic brother of yours . . .’

  Jed opened his mouth to object, but to be fair, Livia could have chosen a number of much worse adjectives than ‘idiotic’ to describe Liam, and they’d all have been appropriate. Besides, he was pretty sure she hadn’t finished.

  ‘Well, I’ve got news for you.’ Livia had folded her arms. ‘Things are going to change. Things have to change. Because in a few months you’re not going to know what’s hit you. And if you – if we – don’t have all our ducks in a row by then . . .’

  Jed was nodding furiously. Why couldn’t Livia see that this was his problem? As they’d witnessed all too vividly with Oliver and Sally, having a child changed your relationship, exposed the cracks, put you under pressure. Jed was already worried he wouldn’t measure up when the baby arrived. Factor in that marriage was bound to change them too, change him – and not for the better – and they might as well say their goodbyes now.

  He glanced anxiously around the shop; although they were still talking in whispers, they’d become stage ones, and several disapproving glances were coming his way. Even though the other customers might not speak English, given that an extremely agitated, upset-looking, heavily pregnant woman was sitting next to him – and becoming more agitated and upset by the second – Jed could see why they might be glaring daggers at him.

  ‘Liv, please. Let’s not do this here.’

  ‘One thing I wanted. One thing. To be your wife,’ she said, too upset to pay attention to him. ‘And you didn’t – or wouldn’t – do anything about that. Couldn’t even tell. So I was the one who had to get down on one knee – and in my condition – and do you know how many of my friends have had to do that? None,’ she added, before giving him a chance to answer. ‘So I’m sorry if you showing the world that you’re my husband is such a horrendous thing that
you can’t even bring yourself to wear one small piece of jewellery . . . No, hang on, why should I be surprised? You didn’t want to get married in the first place, so why on earth would you want to broadcast the fact?’

  ‘Liv . . .’ Jed imagined that was probably a rhetorical question, and even if it wasn’t, he couldn’t think what an appropriate answer might be. ‘It’s not that,’ he said eventually, after a pause so long he’d started to doubt his initial assessment.

  ‘Well, what is it, Jed?’ she snapped, all attempts to keep her voice low long-forgotten. ‘Why on earth do you find the idea of marrying me so . . . horrible?’

  ‘I don’t. I just . . .’ He reached out to take her hand, to hold her close, trying to find the right words to soothe her, but Livia was already shaking him off angrily.

  ‘Just leave me alone!’ she shouted.

  And as she hauled herself up and stomped out of the shop, Jed knew better than to follow her.

  Livia was striding purposefully down Passeig de Gràcia, though with no idea where she was headed. Surprised to find herself on the verge of tears – Livia had never been a crier – she made herself do some of those breathing exercises she’d learned at her antenatal classes, until the urge had disappeared. So much for her brilliant plan to surprise him like this, and for this weekend to be one last big hurrah before the baby arrived.

  Had she got him all wrong, thinking he’d appreciate all of this, just like he used to appreciate all the other times they’d been crazy and spontaneous? How could anyone not love the idea of a small, intimate ceremony followed by dinner with their closest friends, at a lovely old hotel in a city you couldn’t fail to have a good time in, where the sun shone, the beer was cheap and cold (even the non-alcoholic version, in her case), and – to add a drop or two of poignancy to the mix – the city where they’d met . . . and on their tenth anniversary? Why it was all going so wrong was beyond her.

  While her earlier conversation with Patrick had made her feel a little guilty, Livia hadn’t felt guilty enough to tell Jed the truth – not that at the jeweller’s had been the appropriate time. Nor would any time this weekend, she suspected. No – they’d go through with tonight’s ‘ceremony’ as planned, then later, perhaps much later, certainly not today, she’d ’fess up and they’d have a laugh about it like they always did, and make plans together to go and do it all over again, but for real this time.

  She hoped.

  A woman pushing a pram was heading towards her, and Livia couldn’t help but take a peek inside. There, peacefully sleeping, dressed up in the cutest of white outfits, was the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen. She felt her stomach lurch – her child, maybe sensing another nearby, perhaps wanting to say hello – and found herself surprised to feel quite emotional. In three months she’d be a mother. Though hopefully not a single one, after her and Jed’s little bust-up.

  The woman looked at her stomach, smiling broadly before heading off along the street, and Livia felt a weird mix of contentment and nervousness envelop her. Soon she’d be a member of a club that, a year or so ago, she’d suddenly found herself so desperate to join. And while Jed had assured her she’d be a good mother, that she was good at everything she set her mind to, Livia had her doubts. Knew she’d be calling on Jed a lot. Was convinced she’d be needing him more than ever if she wanted to avoid bringing another Barney into the world. Which was why she was so keen to get married. To (hopefully) guarantee that Jed would be there for her. And to convince her that everything would be okay.

  She shuddered briefly. She’d known Sally and Oliver back when they weren’t even ‘trying’ – though they’d admitted they weren’t trying not to – and they’d been totally different people. The life and soul of any party, able to start one almost out of nothing, always the last man and woman standing – yet now? This morning was the first time Livia had seen either of them for the best part of a year. Though by the looks of them, they’d aged about five times that much.

  She’d managed to keep a straight face in front of them, in front of Jed, but secretly she suspected she’d been just as appalled as he’d looked. Because parenthood was like when you were facing a wild animal, wasn’t it? Show the first sniff of fear and you were in trouble. So Livia had put up with the tantrum, ignored the snot, not screwed her face up at the screaming, and reminded herself theirs would be different. In a mantra. Over and over and over.

  She slowed her pace and looked back over her shoulder, a little surprised not to see Jed hurrying after her, especially since given her current size, she wasn’t that difficult to catch. Although maybe he’d come out of the jeweller’s and simply headed in the wrong direction. It wouldn’t be the first time. Jed was one of those rare beasts – a man who’d actually admit he had a poor sense of direction. Luckily for the both of them, Livia was a dab hand with a map.

  A bridal boutique on the opposite side of the street caught her eye, so she crossed the road, intending to admire the stick-thin, faceless mannequins in the window. And though the figures themselves were perhaps a little scary, the dresses on display were . . . ‘amazing’ didn’t quite do them justice: intricate, ornate creations in the whitest of whites, beautifully sculpted at the waist – though obviously not designed for someone whose current favourite T-shirt (a present from Jed) had a caption on the front which read Does My Mum Look Big In This?

  The shop was busy, and as Livia peered into the expensively decorated interior she was surprised to find herself feeling a little jealous. To the left, a young woman was trying on a dress in front of a huge mirror, her girlfriends snapping away excitedly on their phones, occasionally stopping to sip from glasses of cava, all of them with the broadest of smiles on their faces. In the far corner, an older lady and a girl Livia assumed must be her daughter were sitting at a desk leafing through a catalogue, the looks of delight on both of their faces something to behold. At the back, a strikingly beautiful woman was standing, motionless, in an equally stunning creation, while an assistant fussed around her, pinning and clipping parts of her dress – a first fitting, Livia guessed – and as she watched them, she was surprised to find her jealousy being replaced by anger. This was what she was forgoing, thanks to Jed’s thoughtlessness. What she was missing out on, because her boyfriend hadn’t even thought she might want just one day where she was a little bit more special than everyone else.

  Okay, so parading around looking like a meringue, paranoid someone was going to spill something on a dress that probably cost more than their car and that she’d only ever wear the once probably wouldn’t be top of her bucket list, but even so, there was a principle at stake here. If you thought about it (and Livia had thought about it), all she was asking of him was that he wear one tiny piece of jewellery – and under his shirt on a piece of bloody string, if he wanted – so why was she the bad guy all of a sudden?

  Suddenly feeling a little light-headed in the afternoon heat, Livia lowered herself onto a nearby shady bench, looked at her watch, then caught herself. Keep your eye on the prize, Patrick had always told her – and right now, she was almost in danger of forgetting that. If Jed didn’t want to wear a ring . . . he was right, she could spend the money on herself! So she’d calm down, go back to the jeweller’s, collect her ring, then head back to the hotel and get on with the day as planned. In a few hours, she’d be married. How they did it . . . well, surely the important thing was that they did it. And they would.

  Assuming Jed wasn’t in a taxi right now, heading for the airport.

  ‘I take?’

  The man had spoken in heavily accented English, and Rachel looked up with a start. He was a little older than she was, she guessed, well built, olive-skinned, dressed in a shiny black tracksuit and matching baseball cap, and more than a little sweaty. Although the sun was hot – and after several hours of sightseeing, Rachel was sure she wasn’t smelling like a rose herself.

  ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ she said, politely but curtly, then she repositioned herself, trying desperately to
get the whole of the stunning cathedral in the background, though as she’d found out at the stadium earlier, selfies weren’t always that easy to take, especially when you were trying to include something as impressively large as Barcelona’s most famous building, the Sagrada Família. But this was the last stop on her bus tour before she headed back to the hotel, and Rachel was determined to have at least one other photo that included her, to prove she’d actually been here and not just uploaded a random selection from Google Images to her Facebook page.

  ‘I take,’ insisted the man, maintaining eye contact as he knelt down to tighten the laces on his pristine Nike trainers. ‘Then it will be a photo of two beautiful things. Not half of one.’

  Rachel blushed. As cheesy as it was, the compliment was welcome after what had been a harrowing dumping (assuming it was a compliment, and not just something lost in translation).

  ‘Well . . . yes, then. Thank you.’ She handed the man her iPhone and pointed to the camera button on the screen. ‘Here. You just have to—’

  ‘Is okay,’ said the man. ‘I know where to touch.’

  I’ll bet you do, thought Rachel, noticing the glint in his eye. But, she reminded herself, she was only here for the weekend, and a holiday fling was the last thing she was after – especially with someone whose everyday wardrobe evidently came from whatever the Spanish equivalent of JD Sports was.

  ‘Is new iPhone, sí?’ he continued, examining her mobile, and Rachel smiled politely. She’d only got it yesterday from the Apple store round the corner from her office – to cheer herself up, though she’d hesitated when she realised it cost more than the whole of her forthcoming weekend in Barcelona would.

  ‘Right. I mean, sí,’ Rachel said, wishing he’d just get on with taking the photo, then she felt a little ungrateful. The man was doing her a favour, after all, and besides, if you counted her row-mate on the flight this morning, two men had begun talking to her out of the blue so far today, and although neither of them were her type (and actually, she wondered if the man on the plane was anyone’s type), she supposed it was better than nothing.