by Dunn, Matt
I’m in Tesco’s with Mrs Barraclough, my stone-deaf eighty-something-years-old ex-upstairs neighbour. Even though I don’t live in the flat beneath her any more, I still take Mrs Barraclough shopping every Wednesday, ever since she became too frail to do it on her own, and – more to the point – since the list of old-lady essential items like Vaseline, tissues, and tins of sweets that I used to pick up for her became somewhat embarrassing for me to buy on my own.
I did try and get her to do her regular shop on-line at one point, but seeing as the operation of something as simple as her hearing aid is beyond her, suffice to say it didn’t work out. Plus, I suspect she quite likes being driven round Brighton in my Mini, although simply getting her in and out of the passenger seat takes almost as long as the rest of the trip round Tesco’s.
To be honest, I like her company too. My parents aren’t around any more, and I don’t have any aunts or uncles, so she’s the nearest I’ve got to an elderly relative. And what’s more, she’s particularly made up when I tell her that Sam and I are getting married.
‘That’s wonderful news, Edward,’ she says, planting a somewhat spiky kiss on my cheek as we inch our way along the tea and coffee aisle. ‘I didn’t think you young people got married any more.’ There’s a pause, as Mrs Barraclough lowers herself slowly down to pick up a packet of her favourite Cadbury’s Options hot chocolate off the bottom shelf, and then: ‘Samantha’s not in the family way, is she?’
‘No, Mrs B. Sam’s not pregnant.’
‘Pardon?’ Mrs Barraclough squints at me, not having realized her hearing aid popped out as she bent over.
‘We are not having a baby,’ I half shout, causing a young couple to look at us strangely.
‘Well, congratulations,’ she says, popping the earpiece back in.
‘Thank you,’ I say, peering at the next item on Mrs Barraclough’s list, which seems to say either ‘toilet water’ or ‘tonic water’ – her spidery handwriting can be somewhat hard to decipher sometimes – but I’m guessing it’s the latter, given that the word ‘gin’ is written underneath it. ‘You will come to the wedding, I hope?’
‘Of course I will, Edward. Especially if your friend is going to be there.’
‘Which friend is that, Mrs B?’ I say, teasing her.
‘You know,’ she says, ‘TV Stan.’
Mrs Barraclough is a huge fan of Dan’s, and never misses a re-run of Where There’s a Will. Unfortunately, the other thing she never does is get his name right, which is a source of constant irritation to him – and constant amusement to me – although it’s his own fault for introducing himself to her as ‘TV’s Dan Davis’.
‘Of course he will. And I’ll make sure he saves the last dance for you.’
Mrs Barraclough chuckles at the thought. ‘Will the ceremony be at St Andrew’s?’ she asks, pointing through the supermarket window at the church opposite.
‘Er, no. We’re, um, not having a church wedding.’
Mrs Barraclough’s face falls. ‘Oh.’
‘Well, we just . . . I mean, Sam feels . . .’ This is a tricky one, since I know Mrs Barraclough goes to St Andrews every Sunday, and I don’t want to get into any sort of religious discussion. Plus, to be honest. I still haven’t quite got my head round the fact. ‘We just wanted to do it sooner rather than later, that’s all.’
Mrs Barraclough regards me curiously. ‘Are you sure Samantha’s not . . .’ she lowers her voice, ‘with child?’
‘Yes. I’m sure.’
‘Well, when is it?’
‘Two weeks this Saturday.’
‘Two weeks this Saturday?’ Mrs Barraclough twiddles the knob on her hearing aid again, as if she’s unsure she’s heard me properly.
‘That’s right.’
‘That is rather soon, isn’t it?’
For a second, I’m worried she’s going to enquire about Sam’s reproductive state again, and think about trying to explain, but I’m meeting Dan later, and I’m not sure I’ve got the time.
‘We just didn’t want to wait.’
Mrs Barraclough smiles. ‘You young people. It’s always rush, rush, rush. Back when I was courting, you’d have to be walking out with someone for months before you could even hold hands. Nowadays . . .’
‘Sam and I have been dating for quite a while, now, Mrs B.’
‘So? You were with that Jane for an awful lot longer, yet you didn’t get married to her.’
‘Yes, well, she ran off before I had the chance,’ I blurt out.
‘Pardon?’
‘I . . . er . . . said Stan will look forward to that dance.’
‘Me too,’ says Mrs Barraclough, before realizing that I’ve just managed to change the subject. ‘I’m sorry, Edward,’ she says, resting a bony hand on my arm. ‘I don’t mean to lecture you. It’s just that marriage is such a big thing. And some things are worth waiting for.’
I pat the back of her hand, but don’t say anything. After all, how can I be rushing into something with someone I’ve waited all my life for?
7.33 p.m.
I’m in the Admiral Jim with Dan, telling him about Sam’s preference for a low-key wedding, and still feeling a little depressed about it. I’ve already filled him in about my encounter with Jane yesterday morning, although I’ve decided not to tell him I ended up inviting her to the wedding. Mainly because I can’t quite believe it myself.
‘Yes, well,’ says Dan, brushing some crisp crumbs from the front of his ‘iPhone Therefore I Am’ T-shirt. ‘Lucky escape, if you ask me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s bad enough that you’re getting married in the first place. But having to go through all that church bollocks – you know: will some joker shout out during the “anyone here know any reason why the two of you shouldn’t be wed” bit; are you going to faint; some small baby squealing from the pews so loudly you can’t hear yourself think . . . Much better you just go and sign a bit of paper. After all, that’s exactly what you’ll be doing a few years down the line when you want to get out of it.’
‘Very funny, Dan. But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘She doesn’t even want to wear a dress.’
‘Really?’ Dan leans forwards in his seat. ‘Fantastic. Hence the reason she doesn’t want to be in a draughty old church, I’ll bet.’
It takes a few seconds for me to realize what he’s going on about. ‘No, Dan, she will be wearing a dress. Just not the big meringue number.’
‘Oh.’ His face falls. ‘Right. But I suppose you should be happy. I mean, this is all going to keep the cost down, and therefore leave more to spend on the party afterwards. And besides, I didn’t know you were a Jesus-freak. Though now I think of it, those sandals you wear in the summer are a bit . . .’
‘I’m not. I mean, I don’t believe, I don’t think. But it means something, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’
‘To some people. Haven’t you ever gone out with anyone religious?’
He thinks for a moment or two. ‘Does shouting out “oh God” in bed count?’
‘Dan, please.’
‘Sorry, Ed. But if you’re not, why are you so bothered?’
I stare into my pint glass. ‘I don’t know. It’s just the way it’s done, isn’t it? Registry offices always seem so, well, formal, and a thing like this shouldn’t be formal. It’s a celebration, after all. And what girl doesn’t want a big wedding? So if Sam doesn’t see our wedding like that, then maybe it’s a reflection on me. Maybe she feels I’m not her ideal partner, and therefore in order not to spoil her real big day, she’s planning, well, a smaller big day instead.’
I brace myself for Dan’s usual long-winded response, but instead, all I get is one word.
‘Nah.’
‘Nah?’
‘It’s actually better, if you think about it.’
‘How do you work that one out?’
‘Less chance of her suffering from PND.’
I sip my beer and wait for D
an to continue, but as usual, he makes me ask.
‘What’s PND?’
He smiles. ‘Post nuptial depression.’
I stare at him, waiting for the explanation, but he just grins maddeningly back.
‘Which is?’ I almost shout.
‘It’s quite common, apparently,’ says Dan, sagely. ‘Most women get depressed afterwards. Even the ones who aren’t marrying you.’
‘Just try to explain, please, without insulting me.’
Dan looks uncertain for a moment, as if he knows that request is going to be beyond him. ‘Think about it. Apparently, most women have been dreaming about their wedding since they were old enough to know what one was. Then there’s months of military-style precision planning leading up to the big day itself, where the bride’s the centre of attention . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘And then she wakes up the next day, and she’s plain old Mrs Edward Middleton. What’s she got to look forward to? Years and years of normal, boring married life. And to you.’
‘Sod off!’
‘I’m serious. The wedding itself is such a lavish event, of course married life can’t possibly live up to it, hence the post nuptial depression.’ He helps himself to a handful of crisps from the bag on the bar. ‘So like I said, look on the bright side. At least Sam’s not going to wake up the next morning and feel depressed. Until she remembers what she’s done, of course.’
I stare at him in amazement. ‘Where do you get this stuff from?’
‘I’m quite widely read, you know,’ he says, shoving the crisps into his mouth.
‘Really?’ I say. Although I suppose that between Cosmopolitan, Heat and the Sun, Dan does pretty much have it covered.
‘Yes, really.’ He takes a mouthful of beer. ‘So you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, at least the registry office option means you can do it sooner rather than later which is what you want, isn’t it?’
‘Registry office?’ says Wendy, appearing behind the bar. ‘I thought you’d be doing the big church thing.’
‘So did he,’ says Dan. ‘But Sam doesn’t want one. And Ed’s worried that it means something.’
Wendy shrugs. ‘All it means is that Sam wants a registry-office wedding.’
‘But why wouldn’t she want the whole church experience? I thought that was what all women wanted.’
‘And some men, apparently,’ says Dan, under his breath.
Wendy shrugs again. ‘Not necessarily. Don’t worry about it, Edward. And remember, it’s Sam’s day, not yours. So I’m afraid if she doesn’t want a big one—’
‘Which she obviously doesn’t,’ interrupts Dan, ‘if she’s marrying you.’
‘Then what she says goes,’ continues Wendy, ignoring him.
As she heads off to serve some other customers, I sigh. ‘Maybe Wendy’s right,’ I say. ‘Although . . .’
‘Although what?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Come on, Ed. Tell your uncle Dan.’
‘It’s just what you said earlier.’
Dan looks at me blankly. ‘Sorry, mate, you’ll have to refresh the old memory.’
‘Sam and I have lived together for, what, a year now?’
Dan makes the ‘how would I know?’ face. ‘If you say so.’
‘So what if she wakes up the next morning expecting to feel different and, well, doesn’t?’
‘Huh?’
‘You know – she might expect marriage to make our relationship better. Different, somehow. And apart from the ring on her finger, it won’t be. We’ll still be in the same flat, doing the same things . . .’
Dan frowns. ‘So?’
‘So it was easy in the olden days. No one lived together before they were actually married so the first day of married life was the start of a new chapter. A new experience. Some of them hadn’t even had sex until the wedding night.’
Dan laughs. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘I’m serious, Dan. Which is why I need to make sure things are different.’
‘And how are you going to do that?’
‘I don’t know. But maybe I was hoping that a big wedding might kick-start all that. As opposed to us just turning up, signing a bit of paper, and going back home again.’
Dan laughs. ‘Listen, Ed. It’s simple. You think she’s going to get bored and leave you after the wedding, then don’t get married.’
‘But then she might . . .’
‘Leave you?’ Dan finishes off the last of the crisps, scrunches the packet into a ball and lobs it towards the bin on the other side of the bar, punching the air in celebration when it drops in. ‘There, my friend, is the conundrum.’
‘So what do I do?’
‘Well, like you said, you’ve just got to make sure you do take it to the next level. Kids, and everything else.’
‘What’s everything else?’
Dan thinks for a second. ‘Just kids, really.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
As I put my head in my hands, Dan leans across and nudges me. ‘Relationships are all about levels, Ed. There’s the superficial level . . .’
‘The one yours never get beyond, you mean?’
‘Precisely,’ says Dan, without a hint of irony. ‘Then you start going out with someone, and then they move in. Before you know it, you’re engaged, married, and . . . Game over.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘And who initiates all these changes? The women. And why? Because they want babies.’
‘It’s not as simple as that, surely? I mean, Jane didn’t.’
‘Yes, but think back. Jane was the one who suggested moving in with you.’
‘So she could save on the rent.’
‘And then moved out when you didn’t want to take things further. And wasn’t it Sam who suggested you move in with her?’
‘Well, yes, but that was kind of a misunderstanding.’
Dan rolls his eyes. ‘That wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last. And now Sam’s asked you to marry her. Trust me – it’s only a matter of time before you hear the patter of tiny feet. Or possibly not so tiny, given how fat you used to be.’
‘But how can I tell?’
‘I suggest you ask her.’
I let out a short laugh. ‘What, go up to Sam and say “Why exactly do you want to get married to me?”’
Dan nods. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, because . . . because it’s just not the done thing, is it?’
‘Listen, mate, like you said, Sam asked you, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘And why do you think that was?’
‘Because she loves me.’
Dan laughs. ‘So? I love my car, but I’m hardly going to get down on one knee in front of it, am I?’
‘Only because one of your exes might jump into the driver’s seat and floor the accelerator while you’re there,’ suggests Wendy, who’s been ear-wigging from the other end of the bar.
Dan sticks his tongue out at her. ‘So why change the status quo, unless she’s got an ulterior motive?’
‘Such as?’
‘You’re sure she’s not pregnant?’
‘Yes!’ I shout, even though I’m starting to feel anything but. ‘Dan, people do get married for other reasons, you know.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, to demonstrate their commitment to each other – something I wouldn’t expect you to understand. And remember, Sam’s a lot more straightforward than Jane ever was. I mean, Jane tried to get me to propose to her by dumping me. Sam just came out and said it. And that’s refreshing.’
Dan shudders. ‘Scary, if you ask me. Maybe she’s trying to get her hands on your money.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I haven’t got any left after our little trip to Tiffany’s.’
He picks his beer up and takes another mouthful. ‘Ed, think about it. Jane also left you because you got fat, stopped caring about what you wore, had dodgy teeth, a naff haircut, and all that stuff, but mainly becau
se you became complacent about you and her. And that’s why, in a way, you feeling so insecure about Sam is a good thing.’
‘Huh?’
‘Because if you’re always worried she’s going to leave you, then you’re going to have to work doubly hard to make sure she doesn’t.’
Dan sits back in his seat and looks pleased with himself, as if he’s just explained the theory of relativity in a new way, then his face falls as I shake my head in disbelief.
‘Yes, but, that’s not a good thing, is it? Living life in a constant state of stress?’
He smiles. ‘Welcome to marriage. But at least she’s focussing on the being married part, not the getting married bit. Which you’ve got to agree, can only be a good thing.’
‘But . . .’ I stop talking, because much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. We sit there in silence for a while, before Dan clears his throat.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘Why do people get married?’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘No. I’m serious.’
‘Do you mean me and Sam? Or anyone?’
‘Well, you and Sam, for starters. I mean, I know you’ve said she’s not eating for two. . . .’ He scratches his head, as if he can’t conceive there’d be another reason. ‘Although thinking about it, she’s done that ever since I’ve known her.’ One of the things Dan’s most impressed about Sam is that she’s got a healthy appetite, unlike some of the stick insects he usually dates. ‘For example, why did you say yes so quickly? Did you feel you might lose her otherwise?’
I have to wonder where there’s a little bit of truth in that, because one of the reasons Jane dumped me was my ‘inability to commit’, apparently. Although it was only my inability to commit to her, as it turned out. ‘Not really. I just . . . I mean, we . . . To tell you the truth, I don’t know if there’s one specific thing. It just kind of seemed right. So when she asked me, I didn’t have to think about what my answer would be, you know?’
Dan shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t know. Explain.’
I stare thoughtfully into my pint glass as I try and put it into words. ‘I guess I knew I’d never meet anyone better.’
I daren’t look across at Dan, sure he’s doing his usual mime of sticking his fingers down his throat as he usually does whenever I’m discussing anything to do with emotions, but when I finally glance up at him, he’s gazing at me intently.
