At the Wedding

by Matt Dunn

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Things are always in the last place you look, aren’t they? So if we can work out where the last place he’d be is, then . . .’

  ‘Liam, that’s . . .’ Patrick thought for a moment, then he fished around in his pocket for the GoCar’s keys. ‘You stay here at the hotel and think about that, and call me when it occurs to you. And, of course, call me if he comes back.’

  ‘Duh!’ said Liam.

  ‘And make sure Livia doesn’t . . . or just make sure she’s okay. And whatever you do, don’t tell her he’s missing.’

  As Patrick hurriedly collected his key card and wallet from the table by the door, Liam stuck his hands into his pockets. ‘Where are you going?’

  Patrick tapped a finger against the side of his nose. ‘To the only place I can think of that he might actually be.’

  He led Liam out of his room, then rushed downstairs and headed back outside, grateful he hadn’t returned the GoCar yet. While he still didn’t know where Izzy was, any problems the two of them were having would just have to wait. Besides, she was a big girl. She could take care of herself. And, thankfully, she didn’t have his credit card.

  Patrick thought back to his earlier ‘cold feet’ comment. He’d meant it as a joke. But as he knew from his own situation, sometimes all it took was the tiniest thing to push people overboard: Liam taking the mickey – or even the ring – might have been the last straw that broke the camel’s back, if you excused the mixed metaphor. Not that he’d thought Jed had been anywhere near breaking point, but appearances could be deceptive. He’d learned that from his wife.

  He remembered his own wedding, all those years ago, when he was full of hope – or naivety, as he now thought of it. He’d been nervous enough then, even had second thoughts himself, and that was when he’d wanted to get married, when he’d been planning it for months, when he’d been looking forward to finally getting a ring on Sarah’s finger. Whereas Jed . . . he’d had this sprung on him. Probably thought he didn’t have any choice. Didn’t want to let Livia down – especially given the fact she was pregnant. The fact that they’d all flown out for the event probably just added to the pressure. And sometimes, people just . . . snapped.

  Of course, this might all be his fault. Say Livia had come clean, as per his advice. Told Jed it was all just a show. He might have interpreted that to mean it was a farce, and if that was the case, then he wouldn’t feel so bad about standing her up. Missing it. Letting her down. Because actually, it wouldn’t be letting her down at all. He might even see it as serving her right.

  Patrick pulled his phone out and dialled Jed’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail, so instead he jumped into the GoCar, switched on the navigation screen, typed in Jed’s possible location and pressed ‘Go’. Patrick had never been a betting man, but if all this had happened to him, he knew where he’d probably be right now.

  So that was where he headed.

  Chapter 6

  Rachel almost skipped towards the Metro, trying – and failing – to prevent the Cheshire-cat grin from creeping back onto her face, something that people had been noticing, and that one or two had even given her a wide berth because of. She’d just slept with Jay. Who she’d just met. And in the afternoon. What had she been thinking?

  In actual fact, she hadn’t been thinking. Not with her head, at least. If nothing else, she’d proved that Rich’s comment about her not being impulsive was rubbish: asking Jay to lunch had been impulsive. Going up to his flat afterwards had been impulsive too. The couple of times she’d been impulsive while she’d been up there had made four. And then, as she’d left, she’d even thought about asking Jay to the wedding later. Though Rachel wasn’t that impulsive. Unfortunately.

  So, instead, she’d left him sleeping peacefully in his bed, retrieved her clothes from the various parts of his flat she’d been shocked to find them in and dressed herself as silently as she could. Then – careful not to wake him – she’d snuck out of his flat and out of his life.

  She knew Jay was possibly as embarrassed as she was, and probably wouldn’t have come this evening anyway, but that was okay. He lived in Barcelona, she lived in Brighton, and EasyJet wasn’t that easy – even though she had been. No, all it had been was a holiday romance. Or not even that – a fling. Which, Rachel suspected, was precisely what she’d needed after being chucked.

  Maybe she shouldn’t tell Livia. As her maid of honour, what she’d just done hadn’t quite lived up to the title. But Livia would want to know how her sightseeing had gone, and Rachel doubted she could lie about it, or pretend to have been on the open-top bus for all this time. In any case, the fact that her smile would have to be removed surgically would probably give the real story away.

  Funnily enough, she felt like crying too, her emotions (like her clothes) all over the place. She’d never had a one-night stand before (although technically it had been a one-afternoon stand, and they hadn’t actually been standing, except for that bit against the bathroom door en route to the bedroom). Never slept with anyone on the first date. It had taken her a month to finally sleep with Rich (and now she thought about it, it hadn’t been worth the wait), so this afternoon had been completely out of character. Maybe it had been the emotion of being robbed, or the half a bottle of cava, but Rachel hadn’t been able to help herself.

  Twice.

  Although why shouldn’t she have? She was (technically) single; Jay was too (or so he’d said, and she believed him: she’d used the opportunity while retrieving her clothes to do a quick recce of his flat, and it was definitely a single man’s apartment – a girl could tell these things, usually from the lack of dusting or the unhealthy contents of the fridge). In any case, there was no law against that sort of thing, otherwise (according to Livia) Jed’s brother would already have been sent down for a long, long time. Besides, it was never too late to change. And god knows, Rachel felt she could do with a little excitement in her life.

  Suddenly, she felt upset for a different reason, wishing she had invited Jay to the wedding. Then again, Livia might have been mad at her – and how would she have explained who on earth he was to Jed, or Liam, or Patrick, or even Izzy, without embarrassing the both of them? Also, how did she know it was really over between her and Rich? Yes, they’d had a big row over coming here, which had ended with him telling her it was probably best they split up, but he might have meant temporarily, simply to get out of having to come here. Perhaps, like Livia had suggested, he would be waiting for her at the airport tomorrow, a huge bunch of flowers in one hand, that cheekily winning smile on his face, begging her to forgive him, and if that were the case . . . Rachel had watched the ‘we were on a break’ storyline from Friends often enough to know that argument rarely stood up.

  The thought of Rich finding out made her feel even more guilty. Sleeping with someone else on what was supposed to have been a weekend away with your (admittedly ex-) partner? That, apparently, was what people like Liam did (though – also apparently – not necessarily with the ‘ex’ part). And no one thought very highly of them, did they?

  The more she thought about it, the more Rachel felt ashamed and stupid. And while asking Jay to the wedding might have given some sort of validity to what they’d just done, she didn’t have his contact details, and even if she did go back and ask him, surely it would seem a little false? No, she should have said something earlier, woken him up with the briefest of goodbye kisses, invited the kind of throwaway comment you made at the end of embarrassing situations like that – a way to part without any awkwardness. A ‘see you around’ when you knew you probably wouldn’t ever see the other person again, mainly because you’d never seen them around before.

  Not that she’d mind going looking, though Rachel doubted she’d be able to find his flat again – it was taking her long enough to find the Metro station. No, in her heart, she knew that was that. It had been fun, but that was all it was. And all it ever would be.

  Finally, gratefully, Rach
el spotted the red-and-white ‘Metro’ sign and headed down the steps. She bought herself a ticket, swiping through the barrier just as her train arrived – so she hurried over and leapt into the carriage before the doors could close.

  As the train sped away, she sighed, then let out a giggle and had to put her hand over her mouth. The sex had been good. Much better than it had ever been with Rich. And while maybe that had partly been due to the excitement of the nature of their liaison, Jay had also known which buttons to press. Whereas Rich? There were times he’d miss the entire keyboard. He’d asked her once what her favourite position in bed was, and Rachel had had to stop herself from saying, ‘You on your side, so you don’t snore.’

  A nearby seat became available, so Rachel sank onto it gratefully and – embarrassed – peered furtively up and down the carriage, sure that everyone could tell she’d just had sex. People had a look, didn’t they? And though that look was sometimes hard to define, it was exactly the same as the one on her face, the one she could see oh-so-clearly in her reflection in the train window.

  She glanced up again in time to see a pair of large men, dressed in street clothes but with tennis-racquet holders slung over their shoulders, making their way along the packed carriage towards her, and instinctively she clutched her bag a little more tightly. Jay had warned her about the thieves on the Barcelona Metro system – they’d been bad enough on the street – and he wasn’t here to save her this time. But instead of trying to snatch her belongings, the men stopped in the space in front of the doors, opened their bags and, to her surprise – though Rachel hadn’t really expected them to start rallying – produced a pair of violins.

  ‘Buenos tardes, señores y señoras,’ said the larger of the two. ‘Un poco de música para todos . . .’

  Rachel’s Spanish hadn’t improved, despite her liaison with Jay, though she recognised the word for ‘music’. The men were buskers, and as they launched into an almost comically poor violin-duet version of ‘Gangnam Style’, she relaxed a little. The two of them made a funny pair – the fatter one playing animatedly, adding the odd musical embellishment, tapping his feet to the rhythm, even singing along with the chorus, whereas the other one seemed simply to be going automatically through the motions, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here . . .

  Rachel suddenly sat up straight. This had been her and Rich: she’d been the fatter one, as it were, always putting in the extra effort, trying to make the relationship something it wasn’t, while next to her, Rich had been simply turning up (unless the football was on), not expecting much, taking what he could get, relying on his charm, the same expression on his face, the same boredom in his eyes.

  Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Rich had simply been going through the motions. So why had she been experiencing all the emotions? All at once, she felt dirty. But not about what she’d done with Jay – rather what she’d been doing with Rich. Why had she put up with a situation like that for so long, when being on her own would at least have given her self-respect?

  She retrieved her mobile from her bag and saw a message from Livia, who was trying to track her down. Just heading back now, she texted back, then she put her phone away, remembering she wouldn’t even have it if weren’t for Jay’s athletic chasing-down of the robber, and a wave of excitement rippled through her at the memory. Almost immediately, it pinged again – Livia’s reply, she assumed, though when she checked it, she saw a series of texts from Rich, and Rachel stared at the screen for a second or two before deleting them unread. Probably just some rude response to her football stadium picture earlier, especially since she’d blocked him on WhatsApp, and she’d hate for some sarcastic comment from him to interfere with the buzz she was experiencing.

  The buskers finished playing, and with a loud ‘Gracias!’ made their way up and down the carriage, each brandishing a Starbucks paper cup for collecting money, but when they appeared in front of her, Rachel could only dismiss them with a shy smile. Neither of them seemed that bothered, and Rachel tried not to draw too many parallels. Thinking about Rich was the last thing she wanted to do right now.

  The train arrived at her stop, so she got off and hurried back to the hotel, deciding she would tell Livia her news. Her face was flushed, but she could blame that on the sun. As for the broad smile on her face . . . she had no one to blame for that but herself. And a certain someone called Jay.

  And the realisation made her smile even broader still.

  ‘Looks like my sightseeing suggestion did the trick?’ said Livia. She and Rachel were stretched out on adjacent sun loungers, under an umbrella at the far end of the pool, watching a group of excited Spanish children playing some sort of piggy-in-the-middle game in the water with a small rubber ball. At least, Livia was watching the children. Rachel seemed miles away. And had a huge grin on her face.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Rachel.

  ‘You seem a lot happier than when you arrived. I’m guessing you had a good time.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Rachel, with a giggle.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  Livia regarded her friend pointedly over the top of her sunglasses, then repositioned them on her nose. ‘Men, eh?’ she said; then, when Rachel didn’t take the bait, added, ‘Did you really have no idea?’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Rich.’

  ‘Can we not talk about him, please?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Livia paused as the ball suddenly landed by their feet, and Rachel picked it up and lobbed it back into the water, to a chorus of gracias.

  ‘Seriously, though. I thought things were going okay?’

  ‘“Okay” would be putting a bit too much of a positive spin on it. And if you think about it, even “okay” isn’t that great, is it?’ Rachel grinned. ‘Maybe he just didn’t want to come to your wedding.’

  ‘Thanks very much!’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean weddings in general. They can make people think about their own relationships a bit, can’t they?’

  ‘Maybe he worried it would give you some ideas.’ Rachel mimed sticking her fingers down her throat, and Livia laughed. ‘All I meant was . . . weddings can be hard for couples, can’t they? Especially if they’ve been together for a while. And especially if they’re not on the same page, relationship-wise.’

  ‘I’m not sure Rich and I were even reading the same book.’ Rachel stuck a leg out into the direct sunlight, then hastily pulled it back in again. ‘The truth is, things had been a bit rocky recently, but I just thought that was how it was. Sure, Rich has his faults – everyone does. And I’m hardly perfect. But by the time you get to my age, life has kind of taught you perfection doesn’t exist. Therefore, what’s the point in going after it? You might as well just find someone whose faults don’t annoy you that much, and stick with them.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Livia made a face. ‘I can’t wait to be married now.’

  ‘Sorry!’ They lay there in silence for a moment, then Rachel sat up. ‘Liv, can I ask you something?’ she said, adjusting the height of her sun lounger.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘When did you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That Jed was the one.’

  Livia hauled herself up into a sitting position. ‘The moment I saw him.’

  ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘You just . . . feel it, I suppose. And when that happens with someone, there’s not a lot you can do about it. Except hope they fall in love with you.’

  ‘What if they don’t?’

  Livia rubbed her stomach, then rolled her eyes at Rachel’s horrified expression. ‘Not like this. God no! That’s the worst thing you can do to anyone, including your baby. No, falling in love and falling pregnant . . . it’s a different kind of fall. Plus there’s something you can do to prevent the second one. But nothing you can do about the first.’ She smiled. ‘Did you love Rich?’

  Rachel thought about it. Then thought some more, and Livia let out
a short laugh.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

  ‘It’s just . . . I mean, “love” – that’s a pretty strong word, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘There were things about him I . . . not loved, exactly. But like I said earlier, didn’t piss me off. Too much.’

  Livia laughed again. ‘But there were things about him that did?’

  ‘Yeah. Like his devotion to a bunch of men in shorts running around a football pitch for ninety minutes every week. The fact that he’s the only man in the world who irons his underwear, and they’re briefs. Or how his answer to me complaining he always left my toilet seat up was to pee with it down, which – trust me – is a lot worse. Blaming the fact that I was shouting at him on my period, even though it was always because he was being a twat. Not listening to me, then swearing I hadn’t told him the thing he hadn’t listened to. Always assuming I’d be the designated driver because, and I quote, I “need the practice”. Mansplaining all the time, even when it was something I know a lot more about than he does. Forgetting my birthday, then sulking because I didn’t make a big enough deal about his. Thinking that a bunch of flowers from the petrol station would do for Valentine’s Day, or buying one from the supermarket but forgetting to remove the “Reduced” sticker from the cellophane. Snoring. Stealing the duvet. Expecting a medal for making me a cup of tea, even though he’d always forget I don’t take sugar. Eating with his mouth open. Talking while he was eating. Spending his evenings on his phone, instead of me. And don’t get me started on his internet browsing history.’ Rachel paused for breath, then smiled grimly. ‘So yes, I suppose there were. Are.’

  ‘Well, in that case, you should be pleased you’ve split up.’

  ‘I’m . . .’ Rachel looked like she was thinking about it. ‘Not displeased. Just a bit disappointed. And hoping there is, in fact, more to life than marriage and kids – no offence – while a little worried that I’m one failed relationship closer to becoming that single old cat lady that people avoid in the street.’