Ian opened on a jovial tack as they waited to be served at the bar.
‘Women – can’t live with them, can’t live without them.’
Keith nodded.
Ian added, ‘Kate’s been like a bear with a sore head since we changed the wedding to April. I can’t seem to say anything right. You’re married, aren’t you? Can’t you tell me what to do?’
‘Oh, you don’t want to take any advice from me,’ said Keith. ‘I did everything wrong. I got divorced thirteen years ago.’
Ian mumbled an apology. He’d had no idea.
‘It’s not exactly something I like to talk about in between goals,’ said Keith. ‘Even though she said that one of my problems was that I keep everything bottled inside.’
‘Me too,’ said Ian, relieved it might be safe to say more after all. ‘Kate says she just can’t read me. I tell her there is nothing to read.’
‘They’re funny, women,’ said Keith.
Ian agreed.
They ordered drinks and drank in silence.
‘I just want to get things right,’ said Ian. ‘I’m not used to not knowing what to do. I mean, in the office, I know exactly what’s expected of me. I come in, I do my work, and I go home. It’s when I get home that everything goes wrong. I don’t know what she wants any more.’
‘And you’re expected to guess, right?’ Keith observed.
‘Exactly.’
‘I know how that feels. They’re just not like us, women. Sometimes you have no idea whatsoever that something’s going wrong until they serve you with the divorce papers. Want to know how my marriage ended?’
‘If you want to tell me.’
‘On a mini-break in France of all things. She booked this weekend in Paris for my birthday. Now, I wasn’t bothered about going to Paris. It’s a girls’ place, really. Snooty people and fancy food. If I could have chosen where we went for my birthday, I’d have picked Barcelona or Dublin – somewhere the people know how to have a laugh – but I suppose Mel must have wanted to go to Paris, so that was where we were going to go. Anyway, it was quite exciting to go on the Eurostar, I suppose. And the hotel was nice. Right by the Eiffel Tower.’
‘Where I proposed,’ said Ian.
‘I reckon we must have seen at least three proposals while we were up there.’
‘Popular place.’
‘I can’t even see it without feeling ill,’ said Keith. ‘That weekend in Paris will haunt me for the rest of my life. I thought it was going well. We hadn’t had a row since we got on the train at Southampton to go up to Waterloo. I thought that perhaps this was all that we’d needed – just a couple of days away from the stress of the shop and my work. We could just be ourselves again. Then Mel insisted that we had dinner in this place called La Coupole. It didn’t sound like my cup of tea, but Mel said it was a Paris classic.’
‘We went there,’ said Ian.
‘Massive place. Took us ages to get served. And then, when we got out, we couldn’t find a taxi. It was three o’clock in the morning by the time we got back to our hotel. It was a hell of a walk, but Mel didn’t seem too bothered. As we walked through the hotel lobby, though, she saw the news on the screen above the front desk.’
‘What news?’
‘Only that Princess Diana had had a car crash. Couldn’t have been worse as far as Mel was concerned. You see, she always thought that she and Diana were kindred spirits. They were about the same age. They got married on the same day.’
‘You got married in 1981?’
‘I know,’ said Keith. ‘Don’t look old enough, do I? Anyway, because of that, Diana was really special to her. She took it quite personal when the truth came out about Camilla. There was no chance that car crash wasn’t going to affect our weekend. Mel went from being all happy and romantic to weeping like a bloody banshee, right there in the hotel lobby. She wasn’t the only one. Some American woman came in and burst into tears like that too. It was bloody crazy. Before you knew it, there were four women weeping in that lobby. Mel refused to come upstairs. She clung on to that American woman like they’d just heard that somebody dropped the bomb on Southampton. I couldn’t get near her. It was like she couldn’t hear me. And then I made the stupid mistake of telling her that she was making a show of herself.
‘Well, Christ, she soon snapped out of it then. She told me I was an unfeeling bastard. She said that as far as she’d been concerned, this weekend in Paris was make or break for her and me, and I’d just shown why we had to get a divorce.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I tried to talk her out of it. I apologised and apologised, but she told me there was nothing I could do. The following day, she took some flowers to the spot where the crash happened. She wouldn’t even let me go with her. She said that there was no point because I would never understand.
‘It really shocked me. I mean, I knew that we’d been arguing a lot, but I thought it was just a phase we’d get through. I’d been with Mel since I was thirteen years old. We’d been married for sixteen years. She was my best friend. And now she was saying I didn’t understand her. She was coming out with all this stuff that she said she’d been sitting on for years. Everything I did frustrated her. Even the way I blew on my tea.’
‘I’ve never seen you do that,’ said Ian.
‘Exactly. I had no idea. I suppose the thing is that when you’re talking to a woman, you can’t take what they say at face value. All those times I asked Mel if it was all right if I went out with the boys and she said, “Do whatever you want,” I should have realised she was telling me, “No.” Communication is the key in all things. Don’t be afraid to ask for clarification. Again and again and again.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Ian, taking a thoughtful sip on his pint. ‘I didn’t think it would be so hard.’
‘When you get it right, it’s worth it,’ said Keith. ‘I still bloody miss my wife. I wish I’d made more effort. I wish I’d had a clue . . .’ He clapped Ian on the back and left him to contemplate the wisdom of his words.
Ian finished his pint. He liked Keith. He was a good bloke and Ian felt much better for having talked to him. That night, he would ask Kate whether it was all right to invite Keith to the wedding. He would definitely be getting him along to the stag night.
Chapter Forty
26 March 2011
After three weeks of daily hospital visits, Elaine’s radiotherapy had finished. It had been a long three weeks that had taken it out of just about everyone in the Williamson family, but though Elaine was tired, she was determined to make good on her promise to throw her all into organising her daughter’s wedding.
‘You don’t need to do anything, Mum,’ Kate had insisted. ‘Just rest and get stronger.’
Elaine would not be put off. ‘Organising this wedding is good for me,’ she said. ‘I have to focus on the future. Tess will help me, and so will your dad.’
It seemed Kate’s wedding had become a totem for the entire Williamson clan, as if a successful wedding would represent triumph over the C-word, even though the definitive all-clear was still a long way off.
But as Diana could have told them, with just over a month to go, there was a great deal to be done before victory was assured. The RSVPs were coming in thick and fast. Elaine was as efficient as any professional travel agent as she booked friends and relatives into hotels handy for the wedding venue. A menu had been chosen. A band had been booked, as had a hairdresser and a make-up artist. Elaine was on top of it all. However, much to Kate’s chagrin, there was still much that required her opinion.
Choosing flowers, for example, was an urgent item on the wedding agenda. Kate had delegated most of that task to her mother, but Elaine insisted that Kate herself had to have the final choice from the three schemes she had shortlisted out of hundreds. So, on yet another Saturday morning, Kate had to drive to Washam again and accompany her mother to the florist’s, where she flicked through a book of bouquets with about as much interest as she perused the coffee
menu at Starbucks. They all looked pretty much the same to her. She just picked out the very first bouquet that wasn’t as big as a bush.
‘That’s quite a small bouquet,’ said the florist. ‘You want to be certain that it will be in balance with the size of your skirt. What’s your dress like?’
‘A tent,’ said Kate.
‘It’s pretty classical,’ said her mother. ‘It has a nipped-in bodice with ribbons down the back and quite a big skirt.’
‘Do you have a picture?’ the florist asked.
Kate shrugged. It hadn’t crossed her mind.
‘I have one,’ said Elaine. ‘I downloaded it from the Internet.’
Elaine and the florist pored over the tiny picture of Kate in her dress, while Kate continued to flick through the look book.
‘In that case,’ said the florist, ‘the Wilhelmina bouquet is going to be nowhere near large enough. You also need something with some trail to it. This posy is really for younger bridesmaids or brides who are going to wear something very simple. You also need some width to balance your hips.’
‘My bloody hips,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘All this focus on my body . . . I’m starting to feel like last place in America’s Top Model.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The florist physically backed away from Kate’s upset. ‘I meant the skirt, not you.’
Outside the florist’s, Elaine took Kate to task.
‘You didn’t seem very happy in there. Do you want to try another florist? That one comes highly recommended for round here, but I’m sure we can find someone else.’
‘That florist will be fine,’ Kate assured her. ‘I’m just not very excited about flowers, that’s all. I’ve got lots of other things to think about, like how I’m going to be able to leave my office for two weeks after the wedding. This new job is too big to mess with just because I’m getting married. Then I’ve got to think about selling my flat and looking for a new place so that Ian and I don’t start our married life commuting between our two places. Flowers are the least of my concerns. Please, you do it.’
‘OK,’ said Elaine. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure,’ Kate snapped.
Elaine looked as though she had been slapped.
‘I’m sure, Mum, really,’ Kate softened her tone. ‘Thank you. I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done.’
‘Do you want to stay for lunch?’ Elaine asked.
‘I’ve got to get back to Ian,’ Kate lied.
Kate didn’t tell Ian that she was going to be back in London that night. She said that she was staying with her parents. Her parents thought she was rushing back to be with him. The truth was, she wanted to spend a night alone in her single-girl flat. She was supposed to have put it on the market, in readiness for merging her finances with Ian and buying their first family home. She hadn’t, using the estate agent’s suggestion that she give the place a lick of paint first as her excuse.
There was just a month to go before the wedding and Kate didn’t feel ready at all. It was everyone else who seemed to be getting excited. Kate tried to console herself with the thought that this was just a taste of what Kate Middleton must be feeling. She could only imagine the vested interests that poor girl was juggling, and of course poor Kate Middleton would never have a night on her own again. From now on security guards would be a regular feature in her life. And paparazzi. And the public.
Kate drew the curtains on her bachelorette bedroom and was grateful for her anonymity. She lay down on her bed and relished having a whole double mattress to herself again. If she could just have twenty-four hours’ peace, then maybe she would feel less stressed out about the whole wedding thing. Maybe she would be able to go back to Ian’s flat and feel happy to see him, rather than irritated that he wasn’t having to spend all his free time choosing cakes, picking flowers and learning how to pee.
For good measure, Kate decided to turn off her phone. But just as she reached for the ‘off’ button, Helen called. Helen wanted to know if Kate was having a hen night.
‘You’ve got to have a hen night,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to give me my instructions for weeks.’
‘I don’t really feel like it,’ said Kate. ‘I’ve got a load of work to do if I’m going to be able to take off for a two-week honeymoon without my new firm thinking I’m a waste of space. Plus, apart from you and Anne, I don’t think I have a single girlfriend who isn’t pregnant, breastfeeding or on some ridiculous diet that means she can only drink slimline tonic water without the gin.’
‘I can drink,’ said Helen. ‘In fact, I’m on a diet that says I can’t have any food, but I can have as many G&Ts as I want.’
Helen’s joke failed to raise a smile at Kate’s end of the phone.
‘Your mum wants you to have a hen night,’ she tried instead.
‘How do you know?’
‘Your sister told me. She wants you to have a hen night too. You can’t not have a hen night, Kate. It isn’t right. At least let us take you for a spa day.’
‘Oh, Helen, I don’t have time.’
‘Rubbish. Saturday after next. You’re not needed at the office every weekend. You deserve some chill-out time. Plus, you have no idea how much I had to go through to get Mark to have the children on his own for a whole day.’
‘You’ve already planned it.’
‘Of course it’s already planned.’
Kate could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. ‘There’s a great place on the A3. Your sister will drive your mum up. I’ll bring Anne down from London. We’ll get facials. We’ll get our nails done. We’ll eat macrobiotic food and drink a secret stash of champagne. It will be brilliant.’
‘OK, OK.’ Kate agreed to a spa day.
‘Attagirl. We can’t wait to treat you.’
Kate knew she should be grateful, but as she put down the phone, she realised that inside she was resentful of yet another claim on what little free time she had left before she was Ian’s wife. Would there ever again be a moment when she didn’t have to take someone else into consideration before she made her plans for the day?
Chapter Forty-One
2 April 2011
Ian was of the same opinion as Kate when it came to stag and hen dos. He could take them or leave them. He certainly didn’t need to have a weekend in Benidorm to set himself up for marriage.
‘I’ve already done all that,’ he explained to Kate. ‘That kind of stag weekend is for a man who’s never lived on his own. I’ve had all the lost evenings I’ll ever need.’
His best man, Tim, had other ideas, however, and insisted that Ian at least set aside a whole day for the festivities, which would start with an hour of karting, followed by a visit to a brewery, followed by dinner at a restaurant with a steak-heavy menu and some top-heavy staff.
‘I’m going to hate every minute of it.’ Ian winked as he set off.
Down in Southampton, Ben’s stag do would be following a similar pattern. Unlike Ian, Ben would have leaped at the chance to spend a weekend in Spain with his closest friends, but Diana vetoed that particular idea very early on. Ben didn’t even bother trying to argue his case. Diana only had to say one word to put an end to the discussion: ‘Lucy.’
As far as Diana was concerned, her fiancé was still on probation and would be until the day they said their vows (and possibly beyond). So Ed, the best man, had to put away the Club 18–30 brochures – ‘You are still just under thirty,’ he’d pleaded – and make do with a day in Southampton. Just the day. Not even the full twenty-four hours. Diana was of the opinion that Ben should end his stag do at home, where she could make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit in the night. A dead groom did not fit Diana’s plans.
Ed agreed to Diana’s parameters, but she was still furious when she learned that he had arranged Ben’s stag do for the weekend before her hen party, meaning that while she was away the following week, Ben would get that precious whole night to himself after all. How could she keep an eye on him when she was
off on her own shindig?
‘I can’t believe Ed’s done that!’ Diana had raged.
‘He didn’t know,’ Ben swore. ‘He just picked the night that was most convenient for the biggest number of people.’
Diana was slightly mollified when it was explained to her that since she and Ben had many friends who were couples, having the hen and stag dos on separate weekends would save those couples from having to find babysitters. They could take it in turns to stay home with the children instead.
So Ben got his stag do on the weekend of Ed’s choosing. In order to get some sense of what else the unsavoury Ed was planning, Diana insisted that she drive her fiancé to the converted warehouse on the edge of town where the boys would be blasting each other with paint pellets.
‘Make sure you keep your face covered,’ she reminded Ben. ‘I don’t want anything to ruin the pictures. If you come back with red blotches on your face, I will kill you. And no shooting at his family jewels,’ she added to Ed, ‘or I will have yours on a skewer.’
Ed promised he would take care of Diana’s interests.
‘Don’t let him drink so much that he has to go to hospital, and it goes without saying that there will be no strippers.’
‘No strippers,’ the entire stag party confirmed.
All the boys were on their best behaviour in front of Diana. The moment she left, however . . . To kick-start proceedings, Ed had Ben down half a pint of vodka in one. Ed then made it his mission to aim exclusively at Ben’s nuts once they were inside the paintballing range. He started firing before Ben was even strapped into his body armour. And as for the ban on strippers . . . what was Diana thinking? A minibus had been hired to take the boys straight from the paintballing range to Southampton’s premier lap-dancing establishment, where the lads feasted on chicken nuggets washed down with champagne, while watching three dancers cavort exclusively for Ben’s pleasure.
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