by Emlyn Rees
‘OK,’ I tell her, ‘I want someone who’s funky, not boring, and who’ll become a great mate.’ I think on this more. ‘He – it should definitely be a he for the reasons you’ve already outlined with Sky – should be the kind of guy who’ll chat with me in to the small hours and make me howl with laughter. Preferably, he wouldn’t be in a profession or in the City!’ because I get enough of that at work. He should be creative, but not pretentious. Maybe a musician, or an artist, or—’
‘Or Jack,’ Chloe says.
‘What?’
‘Jack. I mean, that is who you’ve just described, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ I say, then thinking, ‘Well, yeah, but not really . . . though, generally, yeah . . . someone like Jack would be perfect.’
‘You can’t just try and conjure up another Jack, Matt. It won’t work He’s gone.’
‘I don’t mean an exact clone of Jack,’ I point out. ‘I just mean someone who’ll be as much fun to live with as he was.’
She shakes her head. ‘You can’t plan life like that, Matt. It doesn’t work It’s like with H and Sky and anyone else you might be planning to slot in to your life. People have minds of their own. You’ve got to respect that and realize that they’re not going to fall in to line just because it suits you.’
‘I hardly think the two are comparable.’
‘Who?’ Chloe demands. ‘H and Sky? They’re more similar than you think’ She takes the bottle of Diet Coke from the table and, swigging, looks me over for a moment. She puts the bottle down. ‘It’s a matter of how you see them, Matt.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, stiffening, ‘and how exactly do I see them, Chloe?’
‘Home truth?’ she checks, cocking her head at me.
‘Home truth.’
‘As pawns.’
‘Pawns?’ I ask, gobsmacked.
She lights a cigarette and blows smoke across the room. When she speaks, she’s emphatic. ‘Yes. Look at the facts. You want to manipulate Sky in to a situation whereby you can get your Tantric rocks off, and, of course,’ she adds with a smile, ‘learn the finer points of yoga, whilst simultaneously relieving your mortgage payments. And with H, you went about setting her up in exactly the same fashion, double-booking the stag and hen so that you could make your move. Just because your motives with H were emotional doesn’t make them any less cynical. You were interfering with other people’s lives to make your own better.’
I sit here stunned. ‘You’re . . . you’re meant to be my friend,’ I stutter. ‘I told you that stuff about the double-booking because I wanted to show you how much H meant to me. Not so . . . not so you could turn it round and use it against me.’
Unimpressed, Chloe picks up the Diet Coke bottle and takes another swig.
‘And I’m not a control freak, either,’ I snap, snatching the bottle from her and filling my glass.
‘From what you’ve told me about H, you don’t know the first thing about her. Or care . . .’
‘Care?’ I splutter, spilling Coke down my shirt. ‘How can you say that? I’m in love with her. Or I was. Or I was heading that way, anyway . . .’
‘No, Matt,’ Chloe asserts. ‘You thought being in love was the next life stage you should be going through. It was like buying a flat to you, or getting a promotion at work. I’m not saying you’re not heavily into H; you obviously are. But love? Come on, you can’t be serious. You’d only just started getting to know her.’
‘Good God,’ I gasp, swivelling round to face her and sitting back against the arm of the sofa. ‘This is rich coming from you. Who was it who got me to go over to their flat to make their new boyfriend jealous?’ I demand. ‘If that’s not being manipulative, I don’t know what is. Manipulation,’ I carryon, warming to my theme, ‘is a practice indulged in by every person on this planet every day of their lives. It’s an essential component of the human condition.’
‘Granted,’ she responds. ‘But giving Andy some food for thought and potentially screwing up the weekend for a dozen people are two very different things. I’m simply suggesting that you should be a little bit less ambitious, and perhaps give a little bit more thought to why exactly you’re manipulating someone to begin with. Take Andy. He had potential. Right from the word go.’
‘As did H,’ I protest.
‘Yes, but I already knew Andy quite well. It’s not like we’d only just met. All you had to work on with H was a drunk hump. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, Matt, but it might have been more shrewd to get to know her a little better before throwing yourself in up to your neck.’
I stare at her agog. My mouth is open, but for once I can’t think of a single thing to say.
H
Saturday, 15.35
I hope Amy has more of a sense of reality than I do.
‘Ready?’ she asks, turning round to look at Susie and me. I have to say that despite my allergy to all things wedding, she looks stunning. I don’t know how she manages to look so different considering her wedding dress is just that: a wedding dress. But she does. She has a radiance about her, and a sense of excitement which is so unlike the Amy I know, I want to pinch her just to check that she’s real and she’s not an impostor from one of her bride magazines.
She shakes out the train of her dress.
‘Don’t tread on it, you two,’ she warns Susie and me, raising her eyebrows before turning back to face the vicar.
And then we’re off. The church doors are open and we’re walking up the aisle. I suppose I haven’t wanted to think about it too much, the actual service, but now that it’s happening, I feel very odd. As if I’m on TV.
There’s a blur of faces and hats on both sides of me, until Chloe leans out of the aisle in slow motion and points a camera in my face. The flash blinds me for a second and I pull up my arm, my bouquet in front of my face. I haven’t seen her since she ceremoniously dumped my brother’s best friend. And although she’s bosom buddies with Jack and Matt, I wouldn’t give her house space and she knows it. Which probably explains why she’s trying to trip me up. I scowl at her.
And I look ahead and I can see Jack turning round. He looks grey and clammy, as if he’s about to puke. He sort of half-grimaces and then turns back to face the altar, his shoulders tense as a plank.
But I’m not interested in Jack. I’m interested in the immobile figure beside him.
Turn, I plead in my head.
Turn round and see me.
Because I need to see his face.
I hadn’t even noticed the organ playing, but I do notice the silence as we all stop at the end of the aisle and the vicar starts to speak. I can see Amy’s eyes shining as she looks at Jack and he reaches out for her hand, his fingers catching hers, but still I’m staring at Matt.
He’s stepped back and he’s at a slight angle and he straightens up, staring towards the ceiling and taking deep breaths.
Maybe he’s nervous too.
It’s an odd thing, sex. Because as soon as you’ve had sex with someone, they never look the same to you again. I suppose it’s because you’ve seen what their bug-eyed face looks like right up against yours, or how they look when they orgasm, or how they look when they sleep.
But looking at Matt, I’m reminded of the very first time I saw him in Zanzibar with Amy and how gorgeous I thought he was.
It seems such a long time ago.
As the introduction to the first hymn starts, I watch as he reaches for his order of service and even though he’s close enough to touch, it feels as if I’m looking at him through the wrong end of binoculars.
I look down at the words, feeling horribly self-conscious as Amy’s voice echoes in my head.
It was last night and Amy was sitting on her bed at her mother’s house, one knee tucked under her chin as she finished painting the last of her toe-nails.
‘So how are you feeling about seeing Matt?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ I lied. Because I didn’t feel fine. About anything.
‘Shit!’ she said, s
uddenly.
‘What?’ I asked, looking at her in the round mirror, the tweezers I’d been using hovering above my eyebrow.
‘Matt,’ she said, looking up at me. ‘I forgot to tell you. He knows about Laurent.’
I turned round to face her, my stomach lurching. ‘How?’
‘Stringer was in the steam room with us.’
I think back to Leisure Heaven and the guy with the towel over his head and I feel something inside me shift in horror.
‘That was Stringer?’
Amy obviously clocked my face, because she leaned back, opened the drawer by her bed and pulled out two cigarettes. She lit them both, handed one to me and beckoned me over to the window.
‘Yes, the heavy breather. He heard you raving about Laurent and told Matt . . .’
I could see our reflections in the open window, Amy’s wedding dress hanging on the wardrobe behind us, like a ghost.
‘I guess that’s why he was so horrible to you,’ said Amy, blowing smoke out in to the garden, before adding, ‘I can’t believe I’m getting married tomorrow and my mother still doesn’t know I smoke.’
I inhaled on my cigarette, barely hearing her.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, peering at me.
‘Yes,’ I said, vaguely.
‘Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought it might be better if you knew.’
But now, as Susie and I sit down in the front pew, I just feel embarrassed and slightly sick.
Matt knows that I slept with Laurent. Right after sleeping with him. No wonder he was cross. If he’d done the same to me, I’d have gone nuts.
But maybe he meant it when he said that the sex didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe he genuinely didn’t enjoy it.
So why do I feel so vain? Why is my ego shouting out: look at me, fancy me in my girlie dress, with flowers in my hair.
But it’s all a load of bull.
I’ve ruined everything because I negated Matt and me with Laurent.
And what was that all about? I feel hideous thinking about it. Because the sex wasn’t as good as it was with Matt, if I’m really honest. Matt was more fun and Laurent more romantic maybe, but I made a huge mistake thinking that Laurent was exotic. He wasn’t exotic at all. The only thing that was different about him was that he wasn’t one of Amy’s mates and he wasn’t another standard London bloke, like Gav.
I look at Jack and Amy. They look like little kids, staring wide-eyed at the vicar, nervous in front of the congregation, but even though everyone is watching them, they seem totally wrapped up in each other.
And I can feel tears pricking my eyes. Because despite my cynicism, looking at them both now, with Jack almost strangled by his cravat, it’s obvious to everyone that they love each other. And all this time, I’ve been secretly terrified of this happening, that Amy getting married would mean that I’d lose her and that I’ll be alone without an ally in the world. But this doesn’t change a thing. She’s Jack’s soulmate. They’re in this together and all this time, me bellyaching hasn’t even touched it.
I look up at the stained glass as they make their vows, my eyes filling with tears. Because I’m happy for them, but so sad for me.
It was supposed to be me up there with Gav, not Amy and Jack. But now he’s about to make this same commitment to someone else. And looking back at the petals of the carnations in my bouquet, I realize it’s never going to be me and Gav. He’s gone. Finally gone.
Maybe Gav’s what all this has been about. Sleeping with Matt and Laurent, being angry and cross with every man unfortunate enough to stumble into my path. And then there was Ben, who was completely spot on: I have made my job the be all and end all of everything. And whilst I want to be successful and make the most of all my hard work, surely it can’t be at the expense of my life.
I’ve been so busy and so angry and it’s all because I haven’t wanted to let Gav go. And as I sit in the pew, with the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows in dusty, coloured streaks, I watch Jack and Amy kiss as man and wife and I finally say goodbye.
Susie
Saturday, 20.00
Amy bunches up her dress, shuffles backwards and with a giggle lands on the toilet seat.
‘Strumpet,’ I tease.
‘That’s Mrs Strumpet to you.’
‘Amy?’ It’s H outside.
‘We’re in here,’ she calls, flushing the 100. I follow her out and stand looking at her in the mirror. Her tiara is wonky, she’s got lipstick marks on her cheeks and there’s mascara smudged under her eyes from where she cried at Jack’s speech, but it doesn’t matter a bit. She still looks beautiful.
She grabs H and me in a hug and she looks at us all, reflected in the mirror.
‘You were fabulous today,’ she says.
‘Don’t!’ I say. ‘You’ll set me off.’
‘And me,’ says H.
Amy pulls us both in tight. ‘You are my special girls,’ she says, kissing us both on the cheek, but the moment is interrupted by Jack.
‘My wife,’ he shouts, bursting through the door and throwing a fist into the air. ‘Where is my wife?’
He stops as he sees us all.
‘Well, ha-ll-oooo, ladies,’ he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.
He looks absurd and absurdly happy at the same time and I can’t help but laugh as he holds out his hand to Amy.
‘Excuse me, girls,’ she laughs, her eyes locked with Jack’s. ‘It looks like I’ve just been asked to dance.’
Jack whisks her off her feet and she squeals as he pulls open the door and carries her through it. I’m about to follow them when H stops me.
‘Susie?’ she says.
I turn around to face her.
‘Um,’ she hesitates. ‘I just wanted to say, if I don’t get another chance, good luck in the States.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, genuinely surprised by her sincerity.
‘When you’re back, I thought maybe we could hook up for a drink or something?’
And I smile at her, because I doubt that it will ever happen, but I hear what she’s saying.
‘OK,’ I nod. ‘That’d be great.’
And we look at each other for a moment as the water passes under the bridge between us.
‘Let’s go boogie,’ I say.
‘I’ll be out in a moment,’ she says and I nod.
The disco is about to start in the main hall and the microphone squeaks as the DJ announces himself.
I walk over to the present table to check on Torvill and Dean. I’ve wrapped their bowl in a big pink bow and there’s a plastic bride-and-groom decoration embedded in their gravel. I’m sure they’ll be safe with Jack and Amy.
‘There you are.’
I turn round and see Stringer grinning at me.
‘Hello,’ I say, reaching up to kiss him. ‘How are you?’
‘Knackered,’ he says, taking both my hands and holding them out. ‘Susie, look at you,’ he says. ‘You look fabulous.’
I curtsey, delighted by his compliment, because although I say it myself, I do feel more like a princess than I’ve ever felt.
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I say, fiddling with his tie. He’s changed in to a suit, having been racing round with the caterers. ‘You did so well with the meal.’
‘I can relax a bit,’ he says. ‘Just a few more things to sort out.’
‘No way,’ I say, hearing ‘Tainted Love’ starting up on the disco. ‘Come on, this is one of my favourites. You’re dancing with me.’
‘You can’t dance to this,’ he protests, as I drag him along by his tie, but Stringer has obviously been to ballroom lessons and can dance to anything. I’ve never known anyone with so many swanky moves.
‘So?’ I ask, as he rocks me back and forth. ‘How did it go with Karen?’
He grins widely as I twirl under his arm.
‘It goes,’ he says.
I tease him with a discreet pelvic thrust and he laughs and looks up at the ceiling
.
‘Yes, even that goes,’ he says, ‘thanks to you.’
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ I giggle. ‘And Karen?’
‘She’s wonderful,’ he says, happily. ‘I hope you get to meet her one day.’
‘Maybe I will. You can write to me in California and tell me all about her,’ I say. ‘You can write can’t you?’ I check.
And with that he picks me up and twirls me round so hard, my head spins.
Matt
Saturday, 23.55
I watch Jack and Amy tripping the light fantastic with a bunch of other couples on the dance floor. It’s the last dance and the scene is suitably serene. Jack and Amy are looking wonderful, Amy’s parents are looking on in admiration, and Jack’s divorced parents are even looking one another in the face. The lights are low and, for the first time this evening, the local DJ has managed to restrain himself from bellowing encouragement over the music.
That said, sitting here at the edge of the dance floor, fumbling with the bottle of champagne that Stringer was kind enough to get one of his members of staff to fetch for me a couple of minutes ago, I find I’m bizarrely detached from the whole situation. Like one of the goldfish Susie gave Jack and Amy as a wedding present, I feel there’s an invisible barrier preventing me from doing anything other than looking on. I can’t quite put my finger on why. I mean, I should be on a high. I didn’t let Jack get too trashed at the pub last night. I got him to the church on time. I remembered the ring and I didn’t drop it. Even my speech went down well – remarkable, considering the fact that I only got around to writing it after Chloe left on Thursday night. Maybe it’s what she said to me and what I’ve thought about it since that’s left me feeling so odd.
She was right. About everything: my attitudes towards Sky and H and my addiction to mapping out my life without knowing what the terrain really looks like. I did call Sky yesterday, but it was a courtesy call, letting her know that I wasn’t going to ask her to move in. The reason I gave her was that I’d changed my mind about getting a lodger at all. And it was the truth. And it still is. I’m not going to get a lodger. I checked out my finances yesterday after the favourable result we obtained in Tia Maria Tel’s case. With the raise I’m pretty much guaranteed to get as a result at my upcoming pay review, I’ll be able to cover the mortgage comfortably on my own. Money wasn’t the reason I decided against a lodger, though. It was down to what Chloe said. About my being too dependent on other people for my happiness. I came to the conclusion that the best way to get on with my own life was by living on my own terms: alone. Just me and whatever the future holds in store.
