At the Wedding

by Matt Dunn

  ‘No. Not that. It’s just . . .’ Liam ducked down behind Jed, then peered round him towards the far end of the bar. The woman from the gym had just come in, though she’d looked somewhat reluctant to enter, seeing as she was hanging on to the arm of the man Liam recognised as Darren and trying desperately to put the brakes on his determined striding through the bar.

  ‘Which one is he?’ Darren bellowed, and the woman couldn’t help but make eye contact with Liam.

  ‘Shit,’ said Liam again, under his breath, to Jed’s obvious confusion.

  As Darren stormed over towards them, Liam tried to make himself look smaller in the hope he wouldn’t be spotted, but to no avail.

  ‘Which one of you two jokers is it, then?’

  Jed had already hopped off his stool and was holding a hand out for Darren to shake, and too late, Liam realised Jed must have assumed he was asking who was getting married.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ he hissed, but Jed seemed not to have heard him.

  ‘This is the guy, is it?’ bellowed Darren.

  ‘It’s . . .’ The woman was doing her best to pull him away, with little success. ‘No.’

  Darren glowered menacingly at the two of them. ‘Who’s . . .’ He frowned, as if trying to remember something. ‘Big Brother?’

  ‘That would be me,’ said Jed, getting as close to the wrong end of the stick as was possible. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Married to this slag!’ he said, jabbing a thumb back over his shoulder to where the woman was cowering behind him.

  ‘Oh-kay . . .’ Jed had narrowed his eyes, perhaps not sure he’d heard what everyone else in the bar had heard.

  ‘Did you hear what I said? She’s married. To me!’

  ‘Right. Well, I’m looking forward to joining you both this evening.’

  ‘What?!’ Darren was turning redder than even Liam’s back was, and Liam couldn’t work out how on earth he was going to diffuse this situation. Though running away might be an option. And certainly a better one than referring to the ‘arrangement’ he’d been told about earlier. Which he was beginning to suspect was possibly a little more one-sided than he’d been led to believe.

  ‘You know.’ Jed mimed putting a ring on his finger, which hardly struck Liam as the most appropriate gesture. ‘And are you friends of Livia’s or . . .’ Jed shook his head. ‘Sorry. Silly question. You must be. Otherwise I’d know who—’

  ‘What are you going on about?’

  ‘You are here for the wedding?’

  The woman had put her hand on Darren’s arm, but he’d shaken it off angrily. ‘What wedding?’

  ‘My wedding?’ said Jed, looking a little confused himself now.

  ‘You’re getting married?’

  ‘I am,’ said Jed, proudly. ‘In about . . .’ He raised his hand to check the time on his watch, but before Liam could react, Darren took a step back to avoid Jed’s anticipated punch and – with a loud ‘And you still shagged her?’ – swung his own fist. Right into Jed’s face.

  As Jed staggered backwards, Liam leapt off his stool and jumped onto Darren’s back. Which turned out to be a mistake when Darren threw him off onto the nearby sofa and stuck a finger in his face with a brusque ‘Don’t!’ – an instruction Liam was happy to follow. In any case, Patrick had moved to stand in front of Jed and was doing his best to ignore Izzy’s excited chanting of ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

  ‘What was that for?’ Jed had collapsed onto a stool, one hand over his eye.

  ‘Sleeping with my wife!’ said Darren.

  ‘Sleeping with your wife?’

  ‘Her!’

  ‘I guessed that’s who you were referring to, but I can assure you I didn’t . . .’ With his good eye, Jed glanced over at where Liam was still horizontal on the sofa, so Liam gave a couple of barely imperceptible shakes of his head, and mouthed, ‘Please.’

  ‘I mean, didn’t know that was your wife,’ he said, giving Liam a side look he’d seen a hundred times before. ‘So it’s hardly fair to, you know . . .’ He gently fingered the area around his eye, wincing as he did so.

  ‘Yeah, well, I can’t smack her in the face, can I?’ Darren looked at him as if daring him to challenge his logic, so Jed shook his head.

  ‘No,’ Jed said. ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘Actually, you can’t just smack anyone in the face . . .’ suggested Patrick, and Darren glared at him.

  ‘Unless you’re a boxer,’ Liam interjected.

  ‘Did you want some too?’

  ‘Already had some, thanks,’ said Liam before he could stop himself, though fortunately Darren must have thought he was referring to their earlier tussle.

  ‘Right. Well.’ With that, he gave them all a menacing glare, grabbed his wife by the arm and marched her off out through the bar, and for a moment, Liam thought about giving chase. Avenging his brother, just like Jed had always stuck up for him when he was picked on as a child. But fighting was so . . . childish; and besides, the guy had been very big. Plus Liam still hadn’t found a date for this evening, and while it might not matter if Jed turned up with a shiner in terms of his chances later – surely Livia was a dead cert – Liam didn’t want to risk his own. No, best to let this diffuse the natural way.

  He hopped up off the sofa, found a serviette, grabbed a handful of ice from the bucket behind the bar and made a cold compress. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to Jed, who pressed it gratefully against his eye.

  ‘I’d ask you what all that was about, but I don’t think I need to.’

  Liam shrugged guiltily. ‘How was I supposed to know she’d tell her husband?’

  ‘But you knew she had one?’ said Patrick.

  ‘Well, sort of . . .’

  ‘The wedding ring was probably a good giveaway . . .’ Jed stopped talking, as if he’d suddenly realised something, and Liam took the opportunity to slip an arm round his shoulders.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘Seriously. You could have dobbed me in and—’

  ‘What kind of brother would I be then?’ Jed gingerly removed the cold compress from the side of his face. ‘Anyway. How do I look?’

  Liam examined his brother’s eye, which had begun to swell rather impressively. ‘Well, as long as you present the other side in any photos . . .’

  ‘Liam . . . !’ Jed shook his head, then caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, wincing at what he saw. ‘Livia’s going to kill me.’

  Liam made a sympathetic face. But the truth was, Livia would probably kill him instead.

  ‘How do I look?’ Livia was frowning at her reflection in the mirror, so Rachel smiled encouragingly.

  ‘Like the most beautiful bride ever.’

  ‘And the biggest.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Rachel took a step backwards and regarded Livia’s stomach. ‘As long as you manage not to stand side on in any of the photographs, you should just about get away with it.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ Livia’s laugh sounded a little hollow, so Rachel leaned in to give her a hug.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Liv?’

  ‘Because I don’t know if Jed is.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I thought it would be such an amazing thing to do, the two of us getting married here, with all of our best friends – that it would be fun, and something we’d remember forever, but now I feel a bit . . .’

  ‘Deflated?’

  ‘If only,’ said Livia, miserably, glancing down at her belly. ‘If this is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, then I don’t hold out much hope for the future.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s going to be a great evening. And an even greater story for your grandchildren.’

  ‘I’m just worried . . .’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘That I’m forcing Jed into doing something he doesn’t really want to do. Like he’s going to be going through the motions late
r. And I’ll be standing next to him knowing . . .’ Livia sighed. ‘Well, that he’s feeling resentful.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it?’

  Rachel reached up to reposition a strand of Livia’s hair. ‘Yes. It is. Jed loves you. And even if he is doing this for you, the fact that he is . . . doesn’t that tell you something?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Livia, unconvincingly. ‘This . . . the baby . . . maybe it’s all too much for him. Maybe it’s all too much for me.’ She took a deep breath and fixed a smile on her face. ‘Sorry. Ignore me. I’m just being an idiot.’

  ‘Speaking of idiots . . .’ said Rachel, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject.

  ‘You mean Rich, right?’

  Rachel made a face. ‘Maybe not,’ she said. As the afternoon had worn on, while she’d been feeling increasingly embarrassed about what she’d done with Jay, she’d also begun to feel mortified she’d given in to Rich’s request so easily. ‘I told him I’d give him a second chance. But it’s his last chance. So he’s back on for this evening.’ She smiled flatly. ‘I hope that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course!’ Livia had taken her hand and was giving her a supportive squeeze. ‘Your plus-one can be anyone you choose. Though the whole point of the “plus” in “plus-one” is that they’re supposed to add something, right?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ Rachel paused as she desperately tried to think of a justification, not wanting to admit that, just as she’d given the robber permission to take her phone earlier, she’d virtually invited Rich by WhatsApp. ‘He did fly all the way out here. At the last minute. At his own expense. And after I as good as cheated on him . . .’

  ‘He doesn’t know that, does he? And in any case, you were on a break – or rather, a break-up.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk like that. You deserve better, remember. Much better.’

  ‘But . . . what if I can’t get better, Liv. Can’t find better? It’s all right for you – you’re about to marry the love of your life. But what if all my life deserves is Rich?’

  ‘The right person’s out there for you. You just need to—’

  ‘Find them? Maybe I already have.’

  ‘Yes. This afternoon.’

  Rachel felt herself start to colour. ‘No, that was just—’

  ‘Just what? Hot afternoon sex with your knight in shining armour?’

  Rachel fanned herself with her hand at the memory. ‘Who I’ll probably never see again. Besides, Rich promised things would be different. That he’d change.’

  ‘People don’t change, Rach. They . . . compromise.’

  ‘Well, Rich said he’d compromise, then.’

  ‘It’s not Rich I’m worried is compromising.’

  ‘Well, maybe I need to. Perhaps my expectations were just a little high.’

  Livia was giving her a look, and Rachel opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, this evening would be a perfect opportunity for her to debut the new Rachel. The confident one. The Rachel who had Rich paying her respect. Looking out for her. Looking after her. Because that was what she was going to make sure happened.

  ‘I just think he deserves – we deserve – another chance,’ she said. ‘And one more won’t hurt him.’

  ‘It might hurt you,’ said Livia, then she sighed. ‘Hey, just ignore me. After all, what do I know? I had to propose to my boyfriend to get him to marry me, so . . .’ She gave Rachel’s shoulder a rub. ‘You do what you think’s best.’

  Rachel forced a smile. She didn’t know what was best. And she was starting to suspect she never had. ‘Anyway, today isn’t about me,’ she said, aware the knocking at the door she could hear was probably Patrick, and as he knocked again, Rachel made a ‘scared’ face, hoping Livia knew it was aimed at her. ‘Time to go?’

  Livia nodded. ‘You better go and find Rich.’

  ‘Will do.’ Rachel hugged her friend, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Good luck!’

  ‘You too!’

  Rachel made the ‘scared’ face again, though this time because it was how she was feeling, then she let Patrick in, slipped out of Livia’s room and headed back to hers to find Rich, but apart from the contents of his carry-on – which were strewn around the room as if a five-year-old had been playing dress-up with Rich’s clothes, then left them where they’d taken them off – there was no sign of him.

  She thought for a moment. Where was Rich? At the bar, probably, with Liam and Jed, joining in with the Dutch courage attempt. And talking them into buying the beer, no doubt.

  She hurriedly got changed, anxious to get there before Rich got too drunk despite his earlier promise, then made her way down to the lobby. Jed, Izzy and a man she recognised as Liam were at the bar, Liam with his arm round Jed’s shoulder – though who was supporting who she wasn’t sure – while Izzy, for some reason, was dabbing concealer onto Jed’s face. Concerned, Rachel made her way out onto the terrace, checking the poolside bar, but Rich was nowhere to be seen so she headed back inside, walked over to where the others were sitting and cleared her throat.

  ‘Hey, Rach!’ said Jed, enveloping her in a huge hug, though careful to keep the made-up side of his face away from her.

  ‘Jed,’ she said, then she leant over and kissed Izzy on both cheeks. ‘And Izzy,’ she said, doing her best not to run the two words together. ‘How lovely to finally meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ said Izzy, beaming at her.

  ‘And you must be Liam,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m . . . mmph!’

  Liam had kissed her full on the lips, and Rachel had to fight the impulse not to wipe her mouth.

  ‘Looking hot!’ said Liam, with a grin.

  ‘That’ll be the fact that it’s twenty-six degrees out . . .’ Rachel felt herself colour. ‘Oh. I mean, thanks.’

  Liam winked at her. ‘Any time.’

  ‘Lovely dress,’ said Izzy, admiring Rachel’s outfit.

  ‘Very posh,’ said Liam.

  ‘Jigsaw. I wouldn’t normally shop there, but it was fifty per cent off.’

  ‘Really?’ said Liam. He was staring at her as if he was imagining the dress was a hundred per cent off, and she blushed.

  ‘You look lovely too, Izzy.’

  ‘This old thing?’

  ‘Who’re you calling old?’ said Patrick.

  Jed was looking a little pale, so Rachel gave him a supportive pat on the arm, then noticed the lump on the side of his face. ‘What on earth happened to you?’

  ‘He, um . . .’ stuttered Liam, but Jed silenced him with a look.

  ‘Just a little accident. Nothing worth mentioning.’

  Rachel frowned. By the look of amusement on Izzy’s face, she suspected there was a lot more to it than that, so she made a mental note to quiz her later.

  ‘You ready?’

  Jed made the same face Rachel had just done in front of Livia. ‘As I’ll ever be! How’s Liv?’

  ‘Looking gorgeous. You’re a lucky man.’

  He grinned sheepishly. ‘So everyone keeps telling me.’

  ‘And he’s beginning to believe it,’ said Liam. ‘Aren’t you, bro?’

  Jed rolled his eyes and Rachel laughed. ‘Anyone seen . . . ?’ But before she could ask about the whereabouts of her boyfriend, Rich appeared through the hotel’s front door, a bottle of beer in his hand, and by the looks of him, it wasn’t his first. With a polite ‘Excuse me’ she headed across the lobby to meet him.

  ‘Rich?’

  ‘All right, Rach?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, frowning at the way he was dressed, in a pair of jeans that had seen better days and a wrinkled, untucked shirt. He’d never been the snappiest of dressers, but quite frankly, if she’d seen him looking like this on the street, she’d probably have given him some loose change. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, Rich. You.’

  ‘I, um, just popped outside.’
>
  ‘What for?’

  ‘I was hot, wasn’t I? Needed to get some air.’

  Rachel decided not to point out it was hotter outside, though Rich was the kind of person who’d never wear a jumper indoors, simply so when he went outside he could ‘feel the benefit’, so maybe this was some kind of reverse-cooling technique.

  ‘Some air?’

  ‘Yeah. Plus it was silly to come all the way here and not see some of the city, you know?’

  ‘And you’ve done that now, have you? By “popping outside”?’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway, you had your hands full with Livia.’

  ‘While you had yours full with a drink?’

  Rich glanced down at the bottle as if it was the first time he’d seen it. ‘Thought it was time to sample some of the local brew.’ He took a swig, then tried unsuccessfully to stifle a burp. ‘Not quite London Pride, but it’ll do.’

  He offered her the bottle, and Rachel shook her head slowly, suspecting if he carried on like this, the visit she’d planned to the Picasso Museum tomorrow morning might be a solo one.

  ‘What happened to our little chat?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The bit about not getting drunk?’

  ‘I’m hardly drunk. Not yet, anyway . . .’ Rich winked at her, and flashed her one of his smiles – something Rachel used to think was quite charming, though right now she was about as far from charmed as anyone could get.

  ‘Aren’t you going to go and get ready?’

  ‘I am ready, aren’t I?’

  Rachel took his arm and led him away from the front desk. ‘You can’t go to a wedding like that. Where’s your jacket?’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ He reached up, hooked a finger into his shirt collar and tugged it to one side to get some ventilation. ‘I’m sweating like a pig already.’

  ‘But . . . your shirt?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You might have ironed it.’

  ‘I did. Well, the collar and cuffs, at least. Didn’t want to waste valuable drinking time, did I?’

  ‘Why would you only—’

  ‘That’s all you see when you’re wearing a jacket. No point in all that wasted effort if no one’s going to see it, is there?’

  Rachel sighed. Not for the first time, she was doubting her earlier decision. ‘But. You’re. Not. Wearing. A. Jacket.’