At the Wedding

by Matt Dunn

  ‘I do,’ he said, ‘if you’ll excuse the phrase. Will you please put something on so we can talk properly?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Izzy retrieved a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it round her torso, though it still didn’t leave much to the imagination. ‘Where have you been?’ she said, flopping onto the bed and looking at him accusingly.

  ‘I see I don’t have to ask you the same question.’ He nodded at the pile of shopping bags on the chair in the corner, and Izzy rolled her eyes at him.

  ‘It’s what I do, remember?’

  Patrick frowned. It was looking like it was the only thing she did.

  ‘Well, while you were out indulging in yet more retail therapy, I was off trying to find Jed, because he and Livia—’

  ‘Christ, Patrick. Change the record. It’s all “Jed this”, and “Livia that” . . .’

  ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re here for their wedding.’

  ‘Well, you are. I don’t seem to be included.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Livia’s hardly said two words to me since we got here. Rachel obviously didn’t even want to share a taxi from the airport this morning. Fuck knows where Jed’s been all day.’ She shook her head. ‘None of them seem to like me very much, for some reason.’

  ‘That’s not true. They just don’t know you,’ said Patrick, though he wondered whether he did either. ‘Livia was saying how . . . nice you seemed.’ Izzy made a face at the word, so Patrick changed tack. ‘And Liam seemed quite . . . taken by you.’

  ‘That’s only because he wants to fuck me,’ said Izzy, and Patrick had to stop himself from flinching. ‘I’m serious,’ she continued. ‘It’s like they begrudge me for going out with you, as if I’m encroaching on their territory. Or leading you astray or something, when normally you’d think the opposite was true.’

  Patrick didn’t say anything. He wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Izzy said. ‘Livia and Rachel both seem jealous of me simply because I’m younger than them, as if that’s something I’m doing on purpose just to rub their faces in the fact they’re the other side of thirty. Jed and Liam . . . To be honest, they seem to be jealous of you a bit.’

  ‘You just think that because you haven’t spent that much time with them. Any of them.’

  Izzy glared at him. ‘Can you blame me that I’d rather be off doing something I enjoy? Everyone’s just so . . . smug. Like they resent me for trying to crash this cosy little group you’ve all got going. As if I’ve got no business trying to join in. How do you think that makes me feel?’

  ‘Maybe if you just tried—’

  ‘How?’ snapped Izzy. ‘You boys . . . it’s easy. A few beers, and you’re all best mates. Women aren’t like that. We – some of us, at least – can be real bitches. Even Livia, who’s got everything anyone could ever want, seems to see me as some sort of threat, like Jed’s not going to be able to take his eyes off me throughout the ceremony, perhaps because I make her look like an elephant . . .’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not—’

  ‘That’s how it seems to me!’

  Izzy was shouting now, so Patrick sat down on the bed next to her and took her in his arms. He’d feared this conversation might make things worse, but now all he wanted to do was to make Izzy feel better.

  ‘Well, I don’t care what they think.’

  ‘This isn’t about you,’ said Izzy, incredulously. ‘You’ve got Liam and Jed looking at you as if you’ve won the lottery, and Rachel and Livia as if you’ve lost your mind, but good on you anyway. It’s only upside for you. Whereas I have to sit there feeling like an outsider. An interloper. As if I don’t belong. And quite frankly, I’m starting to believe that they might be right.’

  ‘Izzy, I—’

  ‘And then, when I do come back, thinking you’ve probably done your little tour now, so we can at least have a bit of time together before the others spend the rest of the evening freezing me out, you’re off on some mercy mission.’

  ‘That wasn’t quite how . . .’

  ‘Yes it was. Liam told me where you’d gone. Once he’d finished staring at my tits. Again.’

  ‘Yes, well, I didn’t have a lot of choice.’

  ‘You did have a choice. You could have let them sort themselves out for once, and actually worried about me.’

  ‘But I felt—’

  ‘Responsible?’

  ‘Well, yes. Seeing as I introduced the two of them. And Liam’s hardly able to tie his own shoelaces, let alone—’

  Izzy let out a frustrated scream. ‘There you go. You spend all your time worrying about Jed and where he is, and rushing off like some knight in shining armour to sort out Livia’s problems, or treating Liam like he’s the black sheep of your family rather than Jed’s . . . You’re not their dad, Patrick. And you’re certainly not mine.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be anyone’s dad.’

  ‘Well why do you always make me feel so stupid?’

  ‘How do I—’

  ‘By always trying to educate me. Can’t we just have some fun, instead of thinking a walk down the street means learning who designed it, or a visit to a gallery is all about finding out about the paintings. You can just look, you know, and enjoy things without knowing what the architectural style is or . . .’ She glanced exasperatedly round the room, then grabbed a leaflet about the Picasso Museum’s current exhibition from the bedside table and waved it in his face. ‘Whether an artist painted something when they were depressed.’

  ‘That’s not what Picasso’s Blue Period actually refers to.’

  ‘There you go again! You can’t help yourself. Not everything is an opportunity to better yourself. You don’t have to be reading a book while you sit by the pool. You can just . . . sit. So enough of showing me this building, or telling me about that architect, or introducing me to some artist, or taking me to a fancy restaurant because some chef I’ve never heard of does something amazing . . . It’s as if I don’t know anything. And I know lots of things. Just different things.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘And do you really think I want to be reminded about the life you’ve had before? The things you’ve done with your wife? What are you trying to do? Have another “go” with me, careful not to make the mistakes you made with her, desperate to stop history from repeating itself, simply because you still can’t believe she left you?’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘I’m not Sarah. I’m completely different to her. A different model. A different generation. So don’t expect me to behave in the same way. Don’t try and make me do the same things. Because if you do, this just isn’t going to work.’

  ‘Right.’ Patrick was stroking her hair, trying to calm her down. ‘I’m . . . sorry?’

  ‘Are you asking me or telling me?’

  ‘Telling.’

  ‘Right.’

  Patrick hesitated. He’d been intending to have things out with her, but now he’d been painted as the bad guy. And the weird thing was, Izzy had a point. That lecture he’d given Livia this morning, the talk he’d just had with Jed – well, Izzy had effectively done the same thing to him, and as the saying went, if you can’t take it, you shouldn’t expect to be able to dish it out. Besides, all this trying to ‘better’ her was hardly giving her a chance to be herself. And Patrick was beginning to suspect that there was a lot more to Izzy than he’d first thought.

  He stared at her, dumbstruck, for a moment or two, before realising it was his turn to say something, though ‘I apologise, Izzy. I had no idea this was how you felt’ was the best he could come up with.

  Izzy pushed him down onto the bed, climbed on top of him, hooked her legs around his waist then rolled the two of them over so he was on top. ‘Yes, well, that’s because you didn’t ask me.’

  ‘Okay. Point taken.’ He bent down to kiss her, and Izzy responded enthusiastically. ‘I’ll do more asking and less telling in the fut
ure.’

  ‘Good.’

  With that, she undid her towel, wriggled it out from between the two of them and reached down for his belt buckle again, and Patrick felt helpless to resist. That drink with Jed might have to wait.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Rich?’

  ‘All right, Rach?’

  Rachel glared at him. She knew better than to assume he was enquiring about her well-being. And anyway, her shock at seeing him – combined with the day’s earlier events – meant that she’d struggle to answer that particular question truthfully.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was invited, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Well, yes, but . . . I mean, I thought you and I . . .’ Rachel was struggling to find an appropriate response to Rich just showing up, still not quite believing her eyes. Though maybe Livia had been right. He had seen what he’d been missing. And so he’d booked a last-minute flight to come and try to win her back. ‘How did you . . . ?’

  ‘Same as you. Plane.’ Rich jabbed a thumb up at the sky. ‘Cost me a bloody fortune, last minute.’

  ‘But . . .’ Rachel stared at him, dumbfounded. Now wasn’t the time to point out that it wouldn’t have if he’d come with her that morning as originally planned. ‘What was all this “I don’t like where we’re going” stuff?’ she said, suddenly wondering whether she’d overreacted, and he had simply meant Barcelona. Though if that were the case, surely there was even less of a reason for him to have just turned up?

  He shrugged, as if that simple action would excuse all the nasty things he’d said about her. ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘Yes, that!’

  ‘Don’t mind me. I was just a bit . . .’ Rich shrugged again. ‘You know.’

  Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t know.

  ‘C’mere, babe,’ he said, advancing towards her with his arms wide open, and – more because she was too stunned to resist – Rachel allowed herself to be hugged. He smelled of beer, and she couldn’t help wondering whether he’d needed a drink to get through the flight, or to pluck up the courage to apologise. Not that he had apologised. Yet, at least.

  To her relief, Rich let her go after the briefest of embraces – he’d never been one for public shows of affection, and while she’d always thought it a little strange, as if maybe he was embarrassed of her, right now she found herself feeling strangely grateful. ‘Where’s the happy couple?’ he said, peering round the hotel’s reception.

  ‘Livia’s. . .’ She glanced back over her shoulder, but Livia had made what was probably a tactical escape. And as for Jed? Well, now she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him at all. ‘Dunno. They’ll be pleased you made it, though.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You don’t seem that pleased. To see me. After I’ve made all this effort.’

  He flashed her one of what Rachel had always thought of as his getting-away-with-murder smiles, and she looked at him incredulously. Rich was the bad guy here, and yet (and yet again) he seemed to be expecting a medal simply for doing what he was originally supposed to have done.

  She folded her arms and stared at him until his expression started to waver. ‘Hold on. You’re telling me that, after I booked and paid for a surprise weekend away in Barcelona for the two of us to come and celebrate my best friend’s wedding, which you used as an excuse to dump me, so I had to come on my own and suffer the embarrassment of being the only single person here, I should then be grateful to you for having an attack of conscience and actually showing up?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘What was it? Did you miss me? Or were you just bored because there wasn’t a game on today?’

  ‘There is, actually.’ Rich glanced at his watch. ‘We’re playing City at half three. Well, half four, Barcelona time. Should be a good match, because—’

  ‘Rich!’

  ‘Anyway, Rach, that’s not fair.’

  ‘Not fair?’ Rachel was conscious she was close to shouting now, and a few people were looking in their direction. ‘What would you know about fair? You abandoned me, Rich. Said some really nasty things.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve said I’m sorry, haven’t I?’

  ‘Actually, no, I don’t think you have.’

  ‘By coming here. Turning up.’

  ‘And what did you think? That I’d be so happy to see you that . . .’ She hesitated, trying to formulate her argument, desperate to make Rich understand, hoping against hope that he’d actually come to apologise, to convince her he could change, to admit he’d got her all wrong – though the fact that she was more angry than pleased to see him said a million times more than she could right now. ‘You let me down, Rich. Hurt me. And I can’t just . . . mmph!’ She stopped talking, though only because Rich was crushing her against his chest, as if she was a child with a grazed knee, and a hug would make everything okay. ‘Why did you come?’ she said, pushing him away angrily.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Like I said, I was invited.’

  Rachel bit off her first response of ‘was’ being the operative word.

  ‘So it wasn’t that you missed me? Realised you couldn’t live without me? And that you’d said some awful things that you were desperate to take back?’

  ‘Um, yeah.’ Rich was staring at his shoes like a scolded schoolboy. ‘All of that stuff.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say that, then?’

  ‘You know what I’m like.’

  Rachel scowled at him. She knew exactly what he was like. And she also suspected now was the time to put her foot down if she wanted him to change. ‘Well, it’s not good enough!’

  ‘Bloody hell! Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.’

  And got into someone else’s, Rachel thought, and the memory made her blush.

  ‘Listen,’ Rich continued. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘I’m not sure you can.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’m going.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Rachel said, suddenly worried she’d overstepped the mark, then she realised Rich had meant going to the wedding and not ‘back home’.

  ‘ . . . think I’ll be forgiving you any time soon,’ she added, quickly.

  ‘Suit yourself. So . . .’

  Rich was holding his hand out, and Rachel stared at it. Did he expect her to just shake hands, and everything would be okay again? Besides, the trouble was, Rachel wanted more than ‘okay’.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘The key?’

  ‘What key?’

  ‘To our room.’

  ‘Our room?’

  Rachel stared at him, open-mouthed, and Rich nodded. ‘I thought I’d be staying here.’

  ‘You are. Right here, in fact,’ said Rachel, then she glared at him in a ‘don’t you dare follow me’ way, turned around smartly and headed for the lift.

  ‘But . . .’

  She could sense him hot on her heels, but the last thing she was going to do was turn round and show weakness. ‘But what?’

  ‘Your message.’

  ‘My . . . message?’

  ‘That WhatsApp. This morning.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Why else d’you think I nearly killed myself trying to get to Gatwick? And like I said, paid through the nose to get here.’

  Rachel froze. Surely Rich hadn’t misconstrued her revengeful Wish you were here as her actually wishing he was? But if he had – and it was a big ‘if’ – and he’d rushed to the airport and jumped on a plane to come and see if she’d take him back, then (and although Rachel knew it wasn’t the longest of lists) it was quite possibly the most romantic thing he had ever done for her.

  She jabbed at the lift button, her head spinning. While she knew she should still be angry at him, had every right to feel resentful that he could say those things, abandon her, then expect her to forgive him, he had gone to all this effort to be here with her and paid for it, an
d she knew he’d probably be expecting to pay for it for a while. An apologetic Rich would be a super-attentive Rich, and that was all she’d ever wanted. Besides, what was her alternative – sit at the table this evening pretending to have a good time while ignoring him?

  An anxious throat-clearing from behind her made her spin round – Rich, with his most contrite expression, a bit like an adorable puppy you’d just caught chewing through your charger cable – and she felt something soften inside. Maybe it was the guilt of what she’d done earlier with Jay, or more likely the probability she’d never see him again, but Rachel suddenly found herself considering giving him another chance. And because it would be his last chance, she suspected she could milk it for all it was worth.

  ‘There would be conditions.’

  ‘Anything,’ said Rich, eagerly.

  ‘One – if you ever speak to me like that again, ever tell me that I’m . . . what was it . . . ?’

  ‘Boring. And that you needed to get out more. And—’

  ‘I wasn’t actually looking for you to answer in such detail there, Rich.’

  ‘Sorry. You asked, though, didn’t you?’

  ‘As I was saying . . .’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘ . . . then that’s it. End of. Finito.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Two – no getting drunk this evening.’

  ‘Rach, it’s a wedding . . .’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ said Rachel, in a tone that suggested no arguing.

  ‘’K,’ Rich said, begrudgingly.

  ‘And three – you pay more attention to me than your stupid Gunners.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And four.’

  ‘Four?’

  ‘Delete that photo I sent you.’

  ‘There was a photo?’ Rich pulled his phone out and began scrolling through to her message, so she snatched it from him and quickly hit delete.

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Right. So?’

  Rachel paused for effect, wanting to convey that she was weighing up some momentous decision, a bit like how she’d seen Livia look at a third chocolate croissant at breakfast this morning before demolishing it in two bites. ‘Fine,’ she said, eventually. ‘But you’re sleeping on the couch.’