The Good Bride Guide

by Matt Dunn

  ‘Oh,’ I say, as breezily as I can manage. ‘Well, that I can explain.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ I say, although whether I actually want to is another matter, but seeing as my mum wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me, I don’t really have the choice. When I’ve finished, the policewoman looks me up and down.

  ‘What a shame I’m not single myself,’ she says, dryly. ‘Otherwise I’d be first in the queue.’

  ‘Really?’ I look at her closely. Although her tightly clipped hair makes her look a little stern, she’s actually quite pretty, in an authoritarian kind of way. And the uniform’s definitely a turn-on.

  ‘Oh yes. In fact, I’m surprised no one’s snapped you up already. Particularly given the fact that your mum’s reduced to finding you dates on Darwin Road.’

  I’m just about to answer, although not particularly politely, when fortunately I’m interrupted by my father’s loud ‘Excuse me’ from where he’s sitting on the bench at the far end of the room. ‘Are you charging her?’

  The policewoman looks at him briefly, before going back to her form. ‘I’ve told you once already, Mr Grant. She’ll probably get off with a caution.’

  ‘Because if you’re not charging her, then she’s free to go, surely?’ he says, appearing at my shoulder again. My dad never misses an episode of The Bill, and his knowledge of police procedures is probably second to none.

  ‘As soon as I’ve finished filling this in.’

  ‘Haven’t you got something better to do? Any real criminals to catch?’

  The policewoman puts her pen back down, and stares at my dad. ‘Kerb crawling is a real crime, Mr Grant. Now I suggest you go and sit down and wait until I’ve finished.’

  ‘Which will be when?’

  ‘A lot longer if you keep interrupting me.’

  I lead my dad back over to the coffee machine and buy him a cup of decaff, which he drinks in an anxious silence while we wait, although when my mum finally appears, he seems almost disappointed that she’s not wearing handcuffs, or at least some of those plastic garden tie-things that they seem to use nowadays. In fact, given how relaxed she seems, you’d be forgiven for thinking she’d had a day out at a health spa.

  ‘Sue,’ says my dad, rushing over to meet her, and enveloping her in a huge hug. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ she says, brushing him off awkwardly.

  ‘What were you doing? You know, there?’ He says this last bit in a whisper, conscious that the desk sergeant is watching from the window.

  My mum shrugs. ‘I was picking up some picture frames from the wholesalers, so I thought I’d take a short cut along Darwin Road. And when I saw all these girls hanging around on the pavement, I thought, well, one or two of them might be available.’

  ‘Mum, they’re all available. By the hour. They’re ladies of the night,’ I say, trying to phrase it in terms she’ll understand.

  She makes a face. ‘How was I supposed to know that? It was lunchtime.’

  ‘By the way they dressed, perhaps?’

  She thinks about this for a second. ‘I suppose some of those skirts were rather short for the time of year.’

  ‘Well, we’re just pleased to have you back,’ says my dad, putting a protective arm around her shoulders, before leading her outside. ‘Aren’t we, son?’

  As I follow them out of the building and along the street to where their car’s parked, I can’t help but look at the two of them fondly – by the way my dad is hanging on to her, you’d think he hadn’t seen her for a five-year stretch.

  ‘Listen,’ says my mum, when we get to where my dad’s parked the car. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking. While I’ve been inside.’

  I roll my eyes. My mum’s actual time ‘inside’ has amounted to all of an hour and a half.

  ‘What about?’ asks my dad.

  ‘This whole “find Ben a bride” thing. And the fact that despite our best efforts, we’ve not found a single woman who’s been suitable.’

  ‘Or even a married one,’ jokes my dad.

  ‘And I just feel, Ben,’ she says, rubbing my arm in what I assume is supposed to be a comforting fashion, ‘that you should think again about your back-up option.’

  ‘Amy,’ says my dad, somewhat unnecessarily.

  ‘But I ... I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, because I just don’t think you should ever go back.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to go backwards before you can move forwards,’ says my dad cryptically.

  When I get home later, the first thing I see is the huge unopened box of condoms, which seems to be rubbing my single status in my face. And it makes me think that maybe he’s got a point.

  Chapter 25

  It’s Friday lunchtime, and Ash and I are playing tennis at the courts on the seafront. We’ve long stopped keeping a tally as to who’s won the most times – in fact, the only thing we both know is that whichever one of us you ask will think it’s them. Despite his size, Ash is pretty skilful, and the only chance I’ve got of beating him is to try to run him around the court. Trouble is, because he’s so handy with the racquet, that’s not always so easy to do.

  I love tennis. And it’s not that I’m very good, rather that I can kind of lose myself in it. And although I often actually lose too, I don’t care. As long as I’ve played a decent game, I’ll remember it more for that stunning backhand winner I played in the second set, rather than the overall score.

  But for some reason today, I don’t hit any backhand winners, stunning or not, and Ash wipes the floor with me. And I don’t know what the cause is, but I just feel a bit lethargic. Perhaps it’s because I’m getting worn down by this whole process. Maybe it’s that I don’t feel I can ask my mum and dad to keep looking for me, particularly given my mum’s brush with the law yesterday. Or maybe it’s as simple as the weather, given that there’s a light drizzle falling, which has the effect of slowing the tennis balls down a bit, thus giving Ash those valuable extra few milliseconds to get to what would otherwise be my winning shots. But whatever the reason, it can’t prevent me from feeling a little depressed.

  ‘What was up with you?’ says Ash, shaking my hand across the net.

  I shrug, and pick up one of the soggy yellow Dunlops. ‘Who knows? Balls a bit heavy, perhaps.’

  Ash puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk off the court. ‘Well, you’re bound to meet someone eventually.’

  ‘No, the tennis balls . . .’ I look up, and see that he’s joking. ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get your head together soon. It’s nearly that time again.’

  I can only assume he’s talking about the club championships. Ash and I played together last year, and we lost in the first round. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘You are still up for it?’

  I sigh. ‘I don’t know, Ash. Maybe I better just face it. Some people are good at doubles, some are better at singles. And I’m starting to worry that maybe I’m more of the latter.’

  ‘You are still talking about the tennis, right?’

  I walk over to where I’ve left my bag and slump in the white plastic chair. ‘What if it is me, Ash? I mean, when I think about all the relationships I’ve had that haven’t worked, there’s one common factor – yours truly.’

  ‘Nah. You’ve got to be true to yourself,’ says Ash, attempting to sit in the chair next to me, but giving up when he’s unable to wedge himself in between the arms. ‘And so if none of these women have been right, then, well, they’re not right.’

  I reach into my bag and extract two cans of Coke. ‘Maybe some men are meant to be alone,’ I say, handing one to Ash. ‘Like Cliff Richard.’

  ‘Or my weird uncle Raj, who we never talk about,’ grins Ash, opening his can and taking a swig. ‘But then again, that could be because of his prison record.’

  ‘But what I don’t get is, well, the difference between Cliff and your uncle Raj and me is that I
desperately want to be with someone, one hundred per cent. I want the whole nine yards, the two point four children, the . . .’ I stop talking, having run out of numbers to make my point.

  ‘The Hundred Years War?’

  I pick up a tennis ball and throw it at Ash. ‘So why have I never even come close to finding it?’

  ‘Maybe because you’re dating nutters?’ he says, no doubt referring to my recent experience with Linda, which I’ve had to come clean about. ‘Or maybe you’re looking too hard.’

  ‘How can you look too hard? Surely the harder you look, the more likely you are to find it?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, you might not be able to see the wood for the trees.’

  ‘Huh? What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Er . . . I’m not sure.’

  ‘And besides, I haven’t been looking too hard. If anything, quite the opposite. I mean, I waited around in almost all of those relationships to see if they’d turn into something more permanent, and they didn’t.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s your problem,’ says Ash, leaning his racquet against the net and attempting a couple of half-hearted stretches.

  ‘Thanks, Ash. You’re being extremely helpful today.’

  ‘All I’m saying is, perhaps this isn’t something you can force.’

  I take a mouthful of Coke, frowning at him over the top of the can. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Maybe it just, you know, happens.’

  ‘Just happens?’

  ‘Yeah. Look at me and Priti. Now, I’d be the first to admit that I’ve been lucky there . . .’

  ‘You’re telling me.’

  He ignores me. ‘But it just kind of happened. You know – once we’d been put together, we both knew it was right. From day one. So for you to try to make it happen – maybe that’s just the wrong approach.’

  ‘You’re saying that now?’

  Ash grins, guiltily. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But I can’t wait, given the alternative.’

  ‘Why not? And what’s the alternative?’

  ‘Nothing, Ash. The alternative is nothing. And I don’t want nothing.’

  And this is the problem, I realize, as Ash stares at me, trying to work out whether I’ve said something significant or I’m just using poor grammar. Because I’m worried the longer I wait, one of two things will happen. Either I’ll leave it so late that I’ll never meet anyone, and then I’ll be even more lonely, or I’ll start to get desperate, and so I’ll end up compromising, and ultimately that’ll make me even more unhappy.

  ‘Well, maybe your focus is too much on the marriage aspect,’ he says eventually.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘If you start looking at every single woman you meet with a view to getting down on one knee, it might just be a little . . . off putting. For them.’

  ‘But that’s what makes it so unfair. I thought that was what women wanted. When did it all change? I mean, read any of those bloody books that my dad used to force on us at school, and they’re all about the same thing – women trying to find a husband. In fact, if Mister bloody Darcy and his mates are to be believed, they often proposed even before meeting the girl, or after just one dance at one of their fancy soirées they’d be chasing the dad the next morning to ask for the girl’s hand in marriage. They wouldn’t even consider ‘walking out’ with someone unless marriage was on the cards. And yet now . . .’ I stare up at the sky in frustration.

  ‘Yes, but they actually had something to offer, don’t forget. Money, a country house, an estate.’

  ‘I’ve got an estate.’

  ‘You’ve got an estate car, Ben. Besides, nowadays, we can’t just swoop in, lay our cards on the table, and expect the woman to accept our opening offer. We have to start from a position of strength, and then slowly convince her that we’re her best bet. And if you’re not starting from a position of strength any more . . .’

  ‘Why can’t I just find someone who likes me for me?’

  ‘You’ve already had someone like that, don’t forget.’

  ‘Yes, but that was a me that I’m not any more,’ I say. ‘If you see what I mean. And like I’ve told you a billion times, Amy just wasn’t right.’

  Ash picks up his bag and stuffs his racquet inside. ‘Ben, maybe Amy wanting to marry you is about as right as you’re going to get. Did you ever think about that?’

  Chapter 26

  Thanks to Ash’s comment, I don’t think about much else for the rest of the day, and when I get to my art class that evening, Terry asks how I’m getting on. And against my better judgement, I tell him.

  ‘Your whole approach is wrong, Ben,’ he says, when I’ve eventually finished. ‘You shouldn’t be getting married because you feel you should.’

  ‘I shouldn’t?’

  ‘Nah. Do it because you’re ready.’

  ‘But . . . I feel that I should. Be ready, that is.’

  ‘That’s not the same thing.’

  ‘But . . . I’m not getting any younger,’ I say, trying to ignore how lame that actually sounds.

  Terry shakes his head wistfully. ‘Doesn’t matter. Age, I mean.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Simple.’ Terry motions for me to sit down. ‘Because what you have to realize is this. All men are like taxi drivers.’

  ‘Taxi drivers?’

  ‘When it comes to women, at least. And I should know.’

  ‘Huh? I can guess the “pick them up” bit, but . . . Charging them for a ride? They give you a tip? No – surely that’d be the other way round?’

  Terry laughs. ‘No, what I mean is that most men drive around all their lives picking up fares – or rather, girlfriends. Some they take for a short ride, some go on longer journeys, but inevitably, they drop them all off somewhere, without giving much thought to where it is they’re going themselves. Then at some point in time, they suddenly decide that they’re tired of driving around, so they simply turn off the “for hire” sign and go home – but with their passenger still on board. And whoever’s in the back of the cab at that particular time is the one they marry.’

  ‘So what does that mean? For me, I mean.’

  ‘Simple. For men, it’s all a matter of timing.’ Terry stands up and walks over to the window to check on his cab. ‘Some women get bored of being driven around aimlessly, or being stuck in traffic, never reaching their destination, so they stop the cab and get out early. Others who try and force the issue are chucked unceremoniously out of the back of the cab. The clever ones are those who hang in there quietly on the back seat, waiting for you to turn off your meter.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is, we never know if she’s the one. It’s more a case of when.’

  Terry beams at me, as if I’m his star pupil. ‘Exactly.’

  I stare back at him. ‘But that means if I split up with Amy, but I’m suddenly desperate to get married, then maybe I was too hasty. And if that’s the case, then surely it’s her I should be marrying.’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘But how can I be sure Amy’s the right one?’

  ‘You can’t,’ says Terry. ‘But the problem is, you’re never going to know until afterwards anyway, so you might just as well go ahead with it.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It’s a leap of faith, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yeah. Like when you do that team-building bollocks, and they make you close your eyes and fall over backwards, in the hope that the rest of your team will catch you.’

  ‘But that’s –’ I try to find a better word than ‘stupid’, but fail – ‘stupid.’

  Terry shrugs. ‘It’s just the way it is.’

  ‘But surely, if you’re, you know, in love, then you’re not taking that much of a risk?’

  ‘Aha!’

  ‘Aha what?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that love comes after marriage, doesn’t it?’

  ‘
Does it?’

  Terry perches on the corner of the windowsill and folds his arms. ‘Oh yes. If you’re lucky, that is. And remember, marriage alters people, particularly women.

  So the girl you thought you knew and loved beforehand suddenly becomes a different person. They’re not your girlfriend any more, they’re your wife. And that’s a change in status that makes people behave differently.’

  ‘But I lived with Amy. For a few weeks, at least. So I’ve got a good idea of what she’d be like.’

  ‘But not as husband and wife.’

  ‘Why does that make a difference?’

  Terry sighs. ‘It just does. It’s all to do with the ring on your finger, although it might as well be through your nose, given how much they think they can use it to control you.’

  ‘So I won’t really know her until we’re married?’

  ‘Oh no,’ says Terry, bitterly. ‘In actual fact, you never really know someone until they’ve left you. Because that’s the time you find out how nasty, vindictive, and money-grabbing they really are.’

  I have to admit, I’m a little confused. On the one hand, Terry is telling me that there’s no possible way that I can prepare myself for marriage until I actually go ahead and take the plunge, and it’s only after I’ve actually done it that I’ll know whether I’ve made the right decision or not. And on the other hand, he’s always painted such a bleak picture that it makes me wonder if it’s the kind of thing I really want to be doing at all.

  ‘Besides,’ continues Terry. ‘You’re trying too hard.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re trying too hard. You should just let it happen.’

  I look at him sceptically, wondering whether he and Ash have been comparing notes. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your whole approach. It’s no wonder you haven’t had much luck.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Speak to most people. Ask them how they met their partners. It’s not from grilling every single person they meet to find out if they could be the one.’