by Dunn, Matt
Despite my childish outburst last night, I’ve realized I’ve got no choice but to go along with her wishes and make the best of this whole registry office thing, and so have decided I won’t mention it again, even though when I pop back for lunch, I catch her reading what looks like one of the wedding magazines I brought home the other day, although she slides it hurriedly underneath a copy of Health and Fitness when she hears me come in.
6.53 p.m.
When I get home this evening, Sam’s peering intently at her laptop, which is open on the kitchen table in front of her. ‘Still working?’ I say, nodding towards the screen.
‘Just sorting out a few things.’ She punches the ‘sleep’ button, and smiles up at me. ‘Speaking of which, here’s something you might be interested in.’
I stare at the scrap of paper she’s just handed me. ‘What’s this? A phone number?’
‘For Billy. One of my clients works for Shelter. She thinks there might be a place coming up in one of their hostels.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Sam frowns at me. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t think Billy has a phone. Or the best phone manner.’
She sighs. ‘It’s for you, Ed. Seeing as you’re so good at giving people rings, why don’t you give them one and see if you can’t get him in?’
‘Ha ha,’ I say, leaning down and kissing her. ‘Very funny.’
‘You’d be doing him a favour.’
As I think about it, I realize that I wouldn’t just be doing him a favour, I’d be doing myself one too. By saving myself ten pounds a week on Big Issues.
‘And you think they’d be okay with him? I mean, his dietary requirements are, well, special.’
Sam smiles wryly. We both know I’ve left the word ‘brew’ off the end of that sentence. ‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘Okay. I’ll give it a go.’
Whether I can convince Billy to give the hostel a go is another thing entirely.
Saturday, 11 April
9.06 a.m.
I roll over in bed, surprised to see that Sam’s already up and pulling on her tracksuit. Groggily, I assume it must be Monday, and have a moment’s panic when I see the time.
‘Relax,’ she says, sitting down on the bed next to me to put her socks on. ‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I pull the duvet back over my head, then sit up again suddenly. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Client meeting,’ says Sam, leaping up from the bed, before disappearing into the bathroom.
‘On a Saturday?’
‘Sorry, Edward,’ she shouts, above the noise of the sink tap. ‘Couldn’t be avoided.’
‘Will you be long?’ I say, a little put out. Sam hasn’t had a Saturday client since we’ve been together.
‘An air show,’ she says, although once I’ve allowed for the fact that she’s talking to me while brushing her teeth, I realize she actually said ‘an hour or so’.
‘Want me to come and meet you afterwards?’
There’s the sound of gargling, and then, after a very ladylike spit, ‘No, that’s okay. I might just go straight to the gym.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I say, half-heartedly. ‘I could do with the exercise.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ says Sam, quickly. ‘Besides, don’t you have to meet Dan this morning?’
‘Dan? What for?’
She pokes her head through the doorway and raises both eyebrows. ‘Our division of labour?’
‘Ah. Yes. Of course. I hadn’t forgotten,’ I say, although in truth, I had. The memory of my and Sam’s conversation last night about her organizing everything up to and including the wedding, and me sorting out everything afterwards – which really just includes the reception and the honeymoon – having been dulled a little by the bottle of wine I’d consumed during the course of the evening.
Sam doesn’t say anything just lowers one of her eyebrows, then disappears back into the bathroom.
10.02 a.m.
I’m just walking out of the door when my mobile rings. It’s Dan.
‘Something’s just occurred to me,’ he says. ‘What’re you getting married in?’
I look at my watch. ‘Fourteen days, four hours and fifty-eight minutes. Why?’
‘No, you Muppet. I mean, what will you be wearing?’
I shrug, which is a pretty pointless gesture down the phone. ‘I don’t know. A suit, probably.’
‘Which suit?’
‘The Paul Smith.’
‘But it’s black.’
‘So?’
Dan sighs loudly into the handset. ‘It’s a wedding, not a funeral, mate. And in any case, you can’t get married in an old suit.’
‘Why not? Is it bad luck?’
‘Only for those of us who happen to be caught in the same photograph as you.’ He sighs again. ‘Come on. The Lanes. Now,’ he orders, referring to Brighton’s trendiest – and most expensive – shopping area.
‘Okay, okay.’ I pat my wallet gingerly, my credit card still tender from my trip to Tiffany’s. ‘See you in ten.’
10.51 a.m.
‘What’re we doing in Moss Bros?’ whispers Dan, trying to fit a cummerbund round his ‘Bed Taker’ T-shirt. ‘I thought you weren’t doing the traditional dress thing.’
‘We’re not.’ I turn round to face him from where I’ve been adjusting my cravat in the changing room mirror. ‘I just wanted to see what it looked like, that’s all.’
‘I think the word you’re looking for . . .’ Dan picks up my top hat from the chair, and places it on his head in a jaunty Daniel Day Lewis in Gangs Of New York kind of way. ‘Is ridiculous.’
I snatch it back from him. ‘Do you mind?’
He grins. ‘You’d never get me in one of these penguin suits,’ he says, tugging annoyingly on the tails of my jacket. ‘Besides, is this really how you want to be dressed in your wedding photos?’
‘Well, one of us should at least look like we’re getting married. And if it’s not going to be Sam . . .’
Dan shakes his head. ‘If you feel that strongly about it, why don’t you just do it? Show her who’s boss. Remember, women are like cars.’
‘Huh?’
‘You’ve got to put your foot down every once in a while.’
‘Very funny, Dan.’
‘I’m serious. It’s good for them. Cars and women.’
‘Sam already knows who’s boss, and it’s not me. Besides, this is her big day, and I’m afraid what she says goes. So me turning up dressed like this . . .’ I sigh loudly, and reluctantly unbutton my waistcoat.
In the mirror, I can see Dan making the ‘L for Loser’ sign on his forehead with his finger and thumb, although he pulls his hand away when he realizes he’s been spotted. ‘Well, if you can’t be the boss . . .’ He walks over to the designer suit rail at the far end of the shop, and selects a dark grey suit with a ‘Hugo’ label hanging from the jacket. ‘Be the Boss.’
11.26 a.m.
After a slightly embarrassing incident in the travel agent’s, when I ask for a brochure for Lake Como, and Dan thinks I’ve said Lake Homo, I’m waiting outside HMV, where Dan is trying to get his money back on the DVD he bought yesterday. After five minutes, he comes back out.
‘Everything okay?’
‘They wouldn’t give me the fiver back, but they eventually let me exchange it,’ he says, holding up a small plastic HMV bag. ‘I had to threaten them with the trades descriptions act, and everything.’
‘What was the problem?’
‘Let’s just say it didn’t quite do what it said on the tin.’
‘What didn’t?’
‘The DVD.’
‘I’m sorry, Dan. What DVD?’
‘The one I’ve just exchanged.’
‘And what was it?’ I ask, patiently.
‘Something called The Birds.’
‘And?’
‘It was a horror film.’
‘Ye-es?’
; ‘What do you mean, “Ye-es?”’
‘I’m sorry, Dan. You’ve lost me.’
‘With a title like that, what would you expect it to be about?’
‘Well . . . birds.’
‘Precisely. But instead, it’s about actual birds. And not, you know . . .’
‘Women?’
‘I know!’ says Dan. ‘Kind of ruined the mood with my date last night, I can tell you.’
It takes me about two minutes to stop laughing. ‘You thought it was a porno?’
‘Might have done.’ Dan turns away, as if he’s looking to cross the road, but in reality he’s trying not to let me see he’s embarrassed. ‘Especially since it was directed by someone called . . .’
‘Hitchcock is one word, Dan. Not two.’ I shake my head slowly. ‘How could you not have heard of it? It’s a classic.’
‘So? So is Shaving Ryan’s Privates.’
I manage to compose myself. ‘Yes, Dan. You’re right. Easy mistake to make. But why on earth did you go to all that trouble for a fiver?’
Dan reaches into his pocket, and removes what looks like a bank statement. ‘I had a bit of a shock this morning.’
‘What’s this?’
He shrugs. ‘I never normally open them, to be honest. But what with being unemployed and all that, I thought I’d better check just how healthy the old finances were.’
‘And?’
He unfolds the piece of paper, and hands it to me, pointing to a figure at the bottom. ‘See for yourself.’
‘Six hundred and fifty-two pounds?’
Dan grimaces. ‘Exactly. I can’t believe that’s all I’ve got left. I mean, I’m hardly extravagant, but . . .’
‘Dan.’
‘What?’
‘This is your credit-card statement,’ I hand the piece of paper back to him, ‘not your bank statement.’
‘Ah.’ There’s a pause, and then, but brighter this time, ‘Ah.’
As I try hard not to laugh again, Dan stuffs the statement back into his pocket, then pretends to be interested in the contents of his HMV bag.
‘So, dare I ask what other X-rated “classic” you got in exchange?’
Dan doesn’t say anything, but just reaches into the bag, hands me the DVD, then nudges me suggestively.
It’s Fiddler on the Roof.
1.11 p.m.
Dan’s kindly agreed to hide the suit for me until the wedding, so at least I’ll have something to surprise Sam with on the day. When I get back to the flat, she’s sitting at the kitchen table, talking into her mobile, although she snaps it shut when I walk in through the door.
‘How’d it go?’
‘Great.’ I walk over and kiss her. ‘You?’
‘Yes. Good.’ Sam pulls out the chair next to her, and indicates for me to sit down. ‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So did you and Dan have any thoughts? About the reception.’
‘The reception?’ Damn. In all the excitement of buying only my second-ever designer suit, that had completely slipped my mind. ‘Of course.’
‘And what were those thoughts, exactly?’ she asks, when I don’t enlighten her further.
‘Well, that we’d have one, obviously. And, you know, after the ceremony,’ I say, although I can’t help feeling the word ‘ceremony’ still seems rather inappropriate, given that we’re just going to be signing a bit of paper.
Sam folds her arms. ‘And I suppose you want to have it at the Admiral Jim?’
‘What?’ I look up suddenly, remembering the conversation I’d had with Wendy about precisely that the other day. ‘Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but now you mention it . . .’
‘I was joking, Edward. Over my dead body,’ she says, her tone making it plain that it would be the most ridiculous idea in the world. ‘You spend enough time in there as it is.’
‘Is that a bit of wifely nagging I can hear?’
‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’ Sam retrieves a large spiral-bound notebook from her rucksack and opens it at a new blank page. ‘So, as you were saying . . .’
‘Yes, well, I, er . . .’ I smile back at her, desperately trying to think of somewhere appropriate, then suddenly realize this might actually be my opportunity to do something on a grander scale – grander at least than the registry office. And in fact, where’s the best place for a grand reception in Brighton? ‘I thought we might, you know, have it at the Grand.’
‘The Grand Hotel?’ says Sam, more than a little surprised. ‘On the seafront?’
‘Why not?’
‘But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘That’ll cost a fortune. And you’ve already . . .’ Sam stops talking, and fingers her engagement ring.
‘Oh.’ I swallow hard. I hadn’t thought of that, particularly in the light of the four hundred and twenty-nine pounds I’ve also just spent on my new suit. ‘I mean, so? I can afford it. And you’re worth it,’ I add, sounding like a bad shampoo advert. ‘And seeing as the wedding’s going to be so low-key, please let me do something that shows everybody how much I love you.’
Sam puts her notebook down and takes my hand. ‘Edward, I know how much you love me. And I love you the same way. Surely that’s what’s important? Not some big, ostentatious party.’
‘Yes, but I want this wedding to be a celebration. Part of it, anyway. And so if we can’t do the church thing, then at least let me have this?’
Sam opens her mouth as if to say something, but then evidently thinks better of it. Instead, she just leans over and gives me a hug. ‘Okay, then.’
‘Great. So don’t you worry about it. Dan and I will make the arrangements.’
‘Are you sure?’
I kiss her on the forehead. ‘Positive. I’ll go and speak to the hotel tomorrow.’
‘No, I meant about getting Dan involved.’
‘Why not? In fact, I’ll get him to arrange the whole thing. It’ll give him something to do given his current unemployed status, plus hopefully it’ll help him get into his best-man role.’
Sam looks a little unsure. ‘Here’s hoping. And has he arranged anything else? For the stag night, I mean?’
I walk over and open the fridge, on the off-chance that there’ll be something unhealthy in there for lunch. ‘I don’t know. Probably the usual strippers or something.’
‘Or something?’
‘Yes, you know Dan.’
‘Which is exactly what worries me.’
‘Don’t worry. He’s promised he’ll look out for me on the night.’
‘Hmm,’ says Sam. ‘The only person Dan ever looks out for is himself. Are you sure it’s such a good idea?’
I shut the fridge door again. Everything in there is a little too green for my liking. ‘Sam, Dan’s not going to let me get into trouble. He knows how important all this is to me.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Sam turns her attention back to her notebook, and uncaps her pen. ‘So have you thought any more about who you want to invite?’
‘Well, like I said, Dan’s taking care of that. But it’s men only, I’m afraid. After all, you wouldn’t want me turning up and crashing your hen night, would you?’
‘To the wedding, Ed. I’ve done my family, so who else do you want to come?’
‘Oh. Right.’ I puff out my cheeks while I think for a second or two, then catch sight of my reflection in the window and decide it’s not the most attractive of looks. ‘Just the usual lot, really.’
Sam raises one eyebrow. ‘The usual lot. Which would be?’
‘Dan, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ says Sam. ‘Although he’ll already be there, as your best man.’
‘Oh, of course. Well, there’s Mrs B and Wendy – plus Andy. Assuming she can find someone to mind the Admiral Jim.’
‘They’re not shutting it in your honour?’ Sam smiles. ‘What about Natasha?’
‘She doesn’t know the first thing about running a pub . . . Ah. You mean the wedding. Well, put her down
as a provisional, but I better check that with Dan first.’ Dan and Natasha had a bit of a thing a couple of years ago. And since she’s threatened to cut off his ‘thing’ if she sees him again, I better tread carefully.
‘Good point. And speaking of which, is he bringing anyone?’
‘Doubtful. Taking a girl to a wedding would be a little bit too much commitment as far as Dan’s concerned.’
Sam sighs. ‘I hope he’s not going to spend the whole time trying to get off with the bridesmaids. Should I have ugly ones just in case?’
‘Might be a plan. Or we can just invite Polly. That should keep him on his best behaviour.’
‘Isn’t that a bit cruel?’
I’m just about to say that I’m joking, of course, when I stop myself. It’s a brilliant idea. Firstly because it’s bound to keep him in line for the day, and secondly, because if my suspicions are correct, there’s still an awful lot of unfinished business there.
‘Actually, no. I see it more as doing him a favour. Then at least he can put it to bed once and for all. Sorry. Bad metaphor. But he just hasn’t been right since he tried to get back together with her last year, and maybe this will be a chance to kill or cure.’
‘Fine.’ Sam adds Polly’s name to the rather short list. ‘And how about Jane?’
‘Jane? My J . . . I mean, my ex Jane?’
‘Is there any other?’
For a moment, I wonder whether she knows about our coffee the other day, or even that I’ve already invited her. Maybe Jane just ‘happened’ to bump into Sam, and has mentioned the fact herself. But surely Sam would have told me. Unless she’s testing me.
I know this is one of those questions, where there’s an awful lot riding on my choice of answer. I also know that I need to give it some thought, as although my first answer might well be the correct answer, I’ve got no real way of knowing what the correct answer is until I see Sam’s reaction to whatever it is I say.
I suppose an option would be to try and work out what the right answer is and then say the opposite thing, because experience has shown me that that more often than not that is the correct thing to say. But what on earth is the right answer to ‘Do you want to invite your ex-girlfriend to your wedding?’ ‘Yes’ might well mean that of course, why not, you and I have no worries, I’m over her, and we’re friends now and that’s it – or it might mean that I still need her in my life, and I deem her important enough to want her at what’s supposed to my current girlfriend’s big day. ‘No’, of course, would seem the safer option, although that could be deemed as meaning that I still have feelings for her, and therefore her being at the wedding might give me second thoughts, which I don’t want to risk. Trouble is, I don’t know if it’s actually a trick question, and if so, have I blown it already by not saying ‘no’ – or ‘yes’ – immediately?
