by Adam Croft
At the wake, I’m left talking to a couple of distant relatives — Stan and Vera, apparently, although I haven’t the foggiest who they are — while Tom circles the room with Mum, meeting anyone he didn’t get to speak to before the service. Everyone seems enraptured by him. It’s plain to see why his boss likes to make sure he’s out there on the ground, speaking with the clients and spurring employees on. I can easily see how that might be a huge benefit in a business situation. He must be worth his weight in gold.
Once they’re done, Tom joins me and sits at the table with the Stan and Vera.
‘You okay?’ he asks me, rubbing my forearm.
‘I think so, yeah,’ I say. ‘You?’
Tom purses his lips and nods. I can see tears forming at the edges of his eyelids.
‘You sure?’ I ask.
‘I’ll be okay,’ he replies, sniffing and wiping his eyes. ‘It’s just really nice to hear so many people saying such nice things about her. She was clearly an amazing woman. I just wish I’d met her and spent time with her.’
I smile. ‘She was very popular.’
‘So it seems. I can see how much she meant to everyone. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must all feel. Some of the stories family and friends have told me… What a woman.’
Tom forces a smile, kisses me on the forehead, and heads to the bar.
‘He seems so lovely,’ Vera says. ‘You’re very lucky to have him.’
‘A proper old-fashioned gent,’ Stan chimes in. ‘Not many like him around anymore. You want to hang onto that one.’
As I gaze across the room at Tom, watching him work his charms on the bar staff, I think I know exactly what they mean.
‘Grace,’ a voice says from behind me. I turn around. It’s Cath.
27
‘You made it in the end,’ I say, as Cath sits down next to me.
‘Of course. I was at the service, too, but at the back. I had to rush off for a doctor’s appointment. I thought I’d best pop back for some of the wake, too. Say hi to everyone.’
I smile at her, but something seems off. She’s looking at me as if I’ve just fallen out of the sky.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.
‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’
‘Sorry, Cath, I’m not quite sure what’s going on.’
‘Yeah. Ditto.’
‘Alright. Let’s wind back a bit. You’ve totally lost me. Am I meant to know about some sort of issue or problem?’
‘You tell me,’ Cath says, shrugging and leaning back in her chair. ‘I’ve not been able to get any sense out of you since before Christmas.’
I blink a few times, unsure quite what to say. ‘Cath, I don’t think I’ve even spoken to you since before Christmas.’
‘Yeah. Exactly,’ Cath replies.
‘I mean, we’ve had a lot going on. What with Christmas itself, Nan dying, work. We quite often go a few days without talking and it’s never caused an issue before.’
‘No, but then again you’ve never deliberately ignored my messages before.’
My eyes and mouth widen. ‘Sorry, what? I haven’t ignored anything, Cath. I’ve not heard hide nor hair from you since Brighton. What am I supposed to have done?’
Cath pulls her mobile phone out of her handbag, unlocks it, taps the screen a few times then hands it to me. I can see, quite clearly, a series of messages on the screen from her to me.
‘Cath, this is the first time I’ve seen any of those. Look,’ I say, taking my own phone out and bringing up the message thread. ‘I didn’t receive any of those.’
‘Well I sent them. You can see them here. You didn’t even reply when I said Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.’
‘Is that why you came here today?’ I ask her. ‘Because you thought I was ignoring you?’
Cath’s face drops. ‘No, Grace. I came here to pay my respects to your Nan and to give my best wishes to your grieving family. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with you?’
‘I’m sick of being accused of things I haven’t done, that’s what. I didn’t get any messages, alright? Why the hell would I ignore you?’
Cath looks at me and moves her jaw a little, as if in consideration, before tapping her screen a few times, then looking back at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Has it come through?’
‘Has what come through?’
‘The message I just sent you. Show me.’
I sigh in disbelief, then show Cath my phone.
‘See? Nothing. There’s obviously some sort of problem with the phones. Now, do I get an apology or what?’
Cath glances at me out of the corner of her eye as she navigates out of my Messages app and into my phone’s settings. I can’t quite see what she’s doing, but a few seconds later her face turns white and she moves her eyes slowly up to meet mine.
‘What? What is it?’ I ask.
‘You blocked me,’ she says, her voice almost a whisper.
‘What? No I didn’t. Give me that.’
I snatch my phone back and look at the screen. There, bright as day, is a full list of all the phone numbers I’ve ever blocked. It’s just the one. It’s Cath’s.
28
‘I didn’t do this, Cath. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know how to block a number. It’s obviously some sort of mistake. Why the hell would I do that?’
Cath performs a faux shrug. ‘I don’t know. Because I was happy? Because I was about to get married and start the rest of my life and you were jealous?’
‘Oh, come on. We spoke about that. We cleared the air. We had a great time in Brighton. Why would I then decide I didn’t want to talk to you anymore? It’s ridiculous. It doesn’t make any sense at all.’
‘I don’t know, Grace. I said sorry to you, I really made an effort with Tom. I even invited him to the wedding, for Christ’s sake. If you’re still coming, that is.’
‘Of course we’re coming! Cath, I didn’t block your number. I swear I didn’t.’
I glance over at the bar, but there’s no way I’m vocalising that suspicion. Cath’s already conveyed her concerns about Tom, and I don’t want her barking up that particular tree again.
‘Maybe it’s just a glitch,’ I say. ‘There’s got to be a way of doing it accidentally. I don’t even know how these things work, Cath. There’s literally no reason why I’d do something like that. Think about it. It doesn’t make any sense. If I’d gone to the effort of blocking your number, why would I be talking to you now, begging you to believe me?’
‘Well if it wasn’t you, who was it?’
‘I… I don’t know.’
‘Because I hate to bring all this back up again, and I’m not accusing anyone of anything, but doesn’t Tom work in IT security?’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘I’m just saying he’d know what to do, that’s all. Like I say. Not accusing anyone of anything. Just food for thought.’
‘Seriously, Cath. You’re not trying to bring this up again, are you?’
Cath says nothing as Tom rejoins us at the table, having bought another round of drinks.
‘Hi Cath. Didn’t know you were coming today.’
Cath looks at him for a moment before smiling. ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ she says.
I had sincerely hoped you weren’t going to be a problem too, Cath. Grace has many foibles — we’re working on those — but one of them is her forgiveness, particularly when it comes to you.
You hold a special place in her heart. I can’t see why. You’re lazy, ineffectual, self-centered and, quite frankly, turgid. To think that everyone else cares about your pathetic wedding, which you couldn’t even be bothered to organise yourself, is the height of piteousness.
I could see the look in your eyes. You thought you’d got it all sussed, didn’t you? You thought I hadn’t heard, didn’t know what you were talking about. It’s dangerous to assume everyone else has the same level of intellect as you, particular
ly when you’re as daft as a brush.
You weren’t meant to come back. Not like this. You were meant to slowly drift away on a bed of non-communication and happily wedded bliss. I had a whole plan for the wedding day, too. Just an extra little spanner in the works to bring you crashing back down to earth, knock you down a peg or two. Now that’ll have to go on the back burner.
It’s not over yet, though. Far from it. If you’re going to be a problem, I’m going to have to take action.
29
Thursday 6 February
I placated Cath by deciding not to start an argument, but telling her I’d bear her suspicions in mind. The last thing I want is to push her away again.
With the funeral out of the way, it feels as if life is finally starting to get back to normal. We’ve got Cath’s wedding coming up, but other than that things are starting to settle down. Until, that is, Tom drops another bombshell on me.
‘I’ve got to go away. For work,’ he says, over dinner.
‘Oh. When?’
‘Next Saturday. The morning after the wedding. Early.’
‘Where?’
‘Japan.’
‘Wow. Okay. How long for?’
‘Only a few days. Not long.’
I nod. ‘Is this to do with the big project and the guys that got sacked?’
‘No, that was China. This is a new client we’ve just taken on. A big one, actually. They want me to go over to meet the team. Should be a hell of a lot easier than the China one, to be honest. Fairly straightforward. It does mean I’ll have to be up really early on the Saturday, though, so I won’t drink at the wedding. I’ll drive.’
I shouldn’t, but I do feel a little disappointed at this. I’d been looking forward to us both being able to have a drink and let our hair down. Tom rarely drinks, and it’s always fun to see him relaxing a little when he’s got a beer or two inside him.
‘Do they often tend to give you such little notice?’ I ask.
‘Not always. It depends on the situation, to be honest. Sometimes we know in advance. Other times they’ll tell us they want us there the next day. Money talks, unfortunately. And with what these guys are paying us, if they say “jump” we ask “how high?”. Just the way it is.’
‘Well I hope they’re paying you handsomely for it.’
‘Oh yes. If all goes to plan, there’ll be a nice little bonus in it for me. Then I can get caught up on the mortgage money and even give you some in advance for the next few months,’ he says, almost as if he’s read my mind.
‘That’d be good. Things are getting pretty tight on that front.’
‘I know,’ he says, holding my hand. ‘But we’ll get through it. We always will.’
30
Friday 14 February
It’s the morning of the wedding and Tom’s trying to perform two jobs at once: getting dressed into his suit whilst simultaneously attempting to pack his case for his trip to Japan tomorrow.
He’s got an early flight, so will be up at the crack of dawn to head to the airport. I tried to suggest we could still get a taxi to and from the wedding and he could at least have one or two drinks, but he was steadfast in his refusal.
‘I don’t much fancy a hangover,’ he said, almost pointedly, as we discussed it a few days earlier.
Somehow, we make it on time. There aren’t any official bridesmaids as such, but a few of us have been provided with matching dresses and are told to stand and look pretty in photographs. Ben’s brother is the best man. I almost don’t recognise him at first. I must have only met him two or three times in my life, and then only ever briefly.
Everyone is seated well ahead of time, each and every flower and order of service is perfectly crisp and aligned, and there’s not even a speck of dust where it shouldn’t be. Cath looks radiant in her dress as Ben waits at the front.
Once the formalities are over, we’re shuffled off outside, back into the cold again, for photographs. The photographer makes a big song and dance about us trying not to look like we’re freezing, telling us none of us will remember how cold it was when we’re looking back at the photos. I’m pretty sure we will. I’ve a feeling I’ll still be thawing out my toes in thirty years’ time. The photos take longer than they should, because the poor photographer has to keep going inside to find people who should be in the next shot, but who’ve gone inside to keep warm or get drunk.
When that’s all over and done with, we all head inside and congregate before the sit-down meal. By this point I’ve already had three drinks (Why do weddings always have to drag on like this?) and I’m desperate to get some food inside me. I’ve not eaten since breakfast, and we’re now well beyond lunchtime.
When we finally do sit down, Ben stands straight back up again and taps his fork on the edge of his wine glass, signalling that everyone should shut up and listen.
‘Firstly, thank you for coming here today to share our special day with us, everyone. I just wanted to let you all know that we know you’re all hungry, so we’re going to get the food out of the way first, then we’ll crack on with the speeches afterwards.’
There’s a loud cheer and a round of applause at this, and the best man looks a little put out that he’s just been demoted to being less popular than a pork chop.
The food, when it comes, isn’t great. It’s better than nothing, though, and I make sure I fill myself up from the basket of bread rolls as it might be a few hours until the evening buffet is served up. Maybe they’ll have bags of crisps or nuts behind the bar.
And then, once the dreadful speeches are out of the way and everyone’s had enough of pity laughing, we’re told to either stand up or sit down around the edge of the room so they can clear the tables ready for the evening reception.
‘Alright?’ Tom says, sitting down next to me on a chair at the side of the room.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ I reply. ‘Shouldn’t have had so much to drink before the food. Feeling it now.’
‘You only had a couple, didn’t you?’
‘Three,’ I say. ‘Must have been the emotions and stuff, too. Big day.’ Three vodkas and Cokes wouldn’t normally hit me that hard. ‘Oh. Plus the Prosecco and wine from the table.’
‘You’ll be alright. Wait for your food to get down, and you’ll get a second wind for the evening bit.’
An hour later, I’ve had another three drinks. They seem to just keep appearing. Tom’s doing his usual social bit, circling the room and talking to everyone, introducing me to a new person every fifteen minutes, having gone via the bar to get them a round of drinks and — of course — one for me too.
I politely try to join in the conversations with random work colleagues of Ben’s who I’ve never seen before and never intend to see again, occasionally checking my watch to see when the buffet food’s coming out. I need to soak up some of this alcohol.
By the time the DJ turns up and starts to play some party music, I’m feeling much brighter. I’ve gone past the stage of feeling tipsy and am now in full-blown party mode. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does I love it.
I’ve just finished boogieing away to Shakira when I come over to the side of the room and hold my hands out to Tom.
‘Come and dance!’ I shout, over the sound of the speaker just a few feet away from us.
‘I’ll be alright,’ he says. ‘I’ll sit here for a bit.’
‘Come on! Don’t be such a spoilsport. Everyone else is dancing. Apart from the old fogeys. Are you an old fogey?’ As I say the words, a part of my brain tells me I’m being an idiot, but I quickly hush it up.
‘I’ll join you a bit later,’ he says, standing up and talking into my ear. ‘I think you’ve probably had a bit too much to drink.’
‘You’re only saying that because you’re being all sober and boring.’
‘Someone’s got to drive us back. Plus I’m up first thing tomorrow for my flight. Let me get you a soft drink or something, yeah? You don’t want to make a fool of yourself.’
I s
hrug, then turn and go back to the dance floor as Tom goes to the bar.
A couple of minutes later, he’s signalling to me with a glass of Coke. I decide to cut my losses and head over to him.
‘Get this down you,’ he says. ‘Might give you a fighting chance. The caffeine content will help too.’
I pick the glass up, take the straw out and down the entire drink in one. The bubbles burn my nose as I try to adjust, and a few seconds later I feel a strange kick. If I didn’t know Tom better, I’d have thought that was another alcoholic drink. And not a weak one, either.
‘You’re stumbling around and getting some strange looks from people, Grace. Maybe it’s best we get you home.’
‘Don’t be stupid, I’m fine. Everyone’s having a good time. We’re just dancing.’
‘You’re slurring.’
‘No I’m not. I’ve not even drunk that much.’
‘Yeah, well it seems to be affecting you. You know I don’t like it when you drink too much. I’ve told you before.’
‘Well then maybe you shouldn’t have kept plying me with drinks all day and night, eh?’ I say, over the thump of the music.
‘I’m just trying to look after you, Grace. I’m trying to keep you happy.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘And I love you for it.’ I lean in to plant a sloppy kiss on his forehead, but miss my mark completely. The next thing I feel is a searing pain in my elbow as I land on the floor.
31
‘Tom, I said I’m sorry.’
I’m surprised by how much I need the support of the walls as I make my way into the house, and I’m now starting to feel incredibly sick.
‘Yeah, well you should be. You made me look like a right twat.’
‘I think it’s me who looked like the twat,’ I say, hiccuping as I speak and trying to hold on to my stomach. ‘Tell me the truth, Tom.’
