Read by Clareine Cronin
My arrival was carefully planned. I wanted to slip into the church quietly, after most people had already arrived, but didn’t want to get there too late. So just to be safe I caught an early train then hung around in the station cafe for a while. As I entered the churchyard one of the ushers – no-one I recognised – came towards me.
“Bride or groom?” he asked as he handed me an order of service. The ribbon binding it was exactly the same shade of blue as his tie.
I paused for a moment. “Bride,” I told him. If anyone asked, I could always say there had been a mistake.
We entered the church together and both scanned the wooden pews. It was hard to see much – my eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dim light – but it was obvious that one side of the church was much fuller than the other.
“Would you mind sitting on the groom’s side? Space is tight and since you’re on your own …”
“No problem,” I said. He pointed, and I checked the row carefully before I squeezed past the middle-aged couple on the end and sat down. It’s not that I would have minded sitting next to someone I know – a distant relative, or one of our mutual friends – but they might have found it awkward sitting next to me, and I didn’t want to cause trouble. This was Dave’s special day, after all.
Dave and Emma’s special day, I should say. And Emma is lovely, just lovely. I’ve only met her once, the time Dave bought her along to Sal’s birthday drinks, and she didn’t really talk to any of us that night. But sometimes you just get that feeling about someone. They met not long after we broke up. She was waitressing in some Mexican restaurant, apparently. God knows why Dave was even there – he can't stand Mexican food – but he was, and Emma spilled a pitcher of tequila sunrise all over him, then apologised so endearingly that Dave asked for her number. Or so the story goes.
She entered the church a few minutes after I sat down, and everyone turned to look, as if they were watching a tennis match. Her dress was really flattering. So many girls her shape would have tried to give themselves a waist, and squeezed themselves into something that didn't quite fit. Not Emma. Her dress just hung there, straight down. It's a style that wouldn't have worked on me at all, but for her it was definitely the right choice. You could tell she'd really tried with her hair, too.
It took me ages to choose my own outfit for the wedding. I went with a simple blue shift dress in the end, one I've had for years. I had to have it let out a bit, but it looked fine. It was only on the way to the church that I remembered it was one of Dave's favourites.
After the service we all hovered around the churchyard waiting to be told what would happen next, and I chatted with Dave’s cousin Mary. We swapped news – her new boyfriend, my new job – then we both joined the queue to offer congratulations to the happy couple. I watched them both while we waited. Emma’s clearly a hugger, which I wasn’t expecting; Dave can’t stand public displays of affection. He was still shaking the hand of the man in front when it was my turn to receive Emma's hug. When she finally let go, I stepped towards Dave.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he whispered in my ear, as my lips brushed his cheek.
I stepped back and looked at him, my arm still resting on his. Don’t worry, my eyes said. I'm not here to make a scene.
“Congratulations, both of you,” I said, but Emma was already hugging someone else. I gave Dave's arm one last affectionate squeeze, then went to find a drink.
*****
At the reception, I found myself sitting with a group of Emma’s work colleagues. We made polite conversation about summer holidays and mortgage rates as we worked our way through filo-wrapped salmon and a flinty white Burgundy. When the waiter came to top up our glasses I covered mine with my hand.
“I’m driving,” I lied, and let him take my glass away, replacing it with a tumbler of sparkling water. I probably shouldn’t have had the first glass, really. But it was a special occasion, after all. It’s not every day you watch the love of your life get married.
I’m joking, of course. Dave isn’t the love of my life. We dated for a few years – well, quite a few, actually – just after we both left university. But it was a mutual decision to end things; we both realised we'd just sort of grown apart. It happens to lots of couples, I suppose. And far better to call it quits than to marry your first serious boyfriend and then spend the rest of your life wondering who else might be out there. Of course we said we'd stay friends, and we did for a while. But then he met Emma and we just drifted out of contact.
It was nice of them to invite me to the wedding. I told Dave that, when we caught up for a drink a few months ago. The drink was his idea; he suggested it when I rang to RSVP. We were chatting, and I mentioned in passing how long it had been since I'd seen him. We'd already been talking about how his office was quite close to mine – well, we're on the same tube line, which is practically the same thing – so he suggested a drink after work one night. For old times’ sake. We went to a wine-bar just off Charlotte Street.
“Are you sure Emma won't mind if I come to the wedding?” I remember asking him. “Most brides wouldn’t be happy with an ex hanging around on the big day.”
“Yeah. Em’s different though.” Dave had said. “I’m lucky like that.”
I told him yes, he really was very lucky, and that Emma was too. Then I went to the bar to get us another bottle of wine.
What happened next wasn't anyone's fault, really. It was just one of those things. We were both a bit drunk, and he'd caught me on a bad day; I'd had a huge row with mum on the phone that morning, plus I'd come straight to the pub from a meeting with a really stroppy client. Dave must have had his reasons too, I suppose. Nostalgia, maybe, or pre-wedding jitters. We didn't really talk about it.
Dave's friend Steve was at the wedding. He came and sat with me after the speeches, when the rest of my table were all up on the dance floor. I always liked Steve. He can be a bit of a lad sometimes, but he is one of Dave's oldest friends, and he has a heart of gold, really. It was good of him to come over.
“You weren’t in the bridal party?” I asked.
He grimaced. “Yeah. Well, Dave did ask me to be his best man, but then Emma put her foot down. Didn’t trust me to organise a stag do, she said. So I was demoted to usher.”
I recognised his blue tie then, and asked why I hadn't seen him in the church yard. He took a swig of his bourbon and coke.
“The others were all from Emma’s side,” he said. “So they put me on car-parking.”
His drink sloshed all over the table as he plonked the glass down.
“Bollocks. Guess I need another one of these,” he said, and looked at my glass. “What are you having? G and T? Vodka and lemonade?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaving him to decide exactly what I was saying yes to. “I’ll get them, though.” I was on my feet before he could stop me. Even if he hadn't been manning the carpark, Steve never would have bought my line about driving. He knows me too well.
When I came back with our drinks we clinked glasses and he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“So, how long do you give them then?”
“Oh, come on, Steve,” I remember saying. “She can’t be that bad.” But he kept pushing for an answer.
“All right,” I finally said. “Three months. I give them three months.”
Steve laughed at that. We chatted for a while longer and then he left.
“We'll have a dance later, yeah?” he said as he went, but I slipped off home before he could come back. I'd been about to go anyway.
I thought about it on the train home, and I’ve decided that's what I'll do. I’ll give it another three months before I tell them. I’ll be showing by then, of course. I suppose I could have said something earlier, before they’d gone through with the wedding. But Emma is lovely, she really is, and it seemed such a shame, especially after she’d gone to all of that effort, what with the blue ribbons and the matching ties and everything else. So yes. Three months it is. I never bought them a wedding present, after all. So at least I can give them that.
(c) Caroline Hardman, 2018
Caroline Hardman is a London-based writer whose short stories have been published both online and in print by Open Pen, Arachne Press and others, and performed at spoken word events.
Clareine Cronin trained at Drama Studio London. Stagework includes Susan in The Future (Pentameters), Tanya in Paper Thin (Barons Court Theatre) & Eva in Tough Luck (Hen and Chickens). Screen credits include Tiz in Forna, Teresa in Making It Mean Something and The Bill. She's also an experienced corporate roleplayer. www.clareinecronin.com
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