by Clare Pooley
“Why?”
“You know, walking through life in such a happy-go-lucky way, seeing everything so simply and two-dimensionally,” said Hazard. “Yellow car.”
“I know you don’t mean to, but you make him sound like an imbecile,” said Monica. And he didn’t mean to, of course he didn’t.
Monica slipped off her high heels and rested her narrow feet on the dashboard. Just that one casual movement showed Hazard how much she’d changed.
“I’ve changed quite a lot since I met Riley,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.
“Well, don’t change too much, will you?” said Hazard. Monica said nothing.
They drove for another hour, the roads becoming narrower and less busy, and concrete giving way to nature.
“Hey, according to Google Maps we have reached our destination!” said Monica, as they drove into the kind of perfectly formed village that would give a Hollywood location scout paroxysms of excitement. Bells were ringing joyfully from the honey-colored stone church. “I didn’t think the Church did gay weddings yet.”
“They don’t, but they did the legal marriage yesterday at the town hall, and this is a blessing. I imagine it’ll look just like a traditional wedding, just slightly different words,” he replied.
They parked the car and followed the well-dressed crowd toward the church entrance.
FIFTY-FIVE
Monica
Monica stopped in at the portaloos on the way into the reception, to check that she didn’t have mascara running down her face. She’d blubbed just a little bit in the church, at the sight of the two brides, both dressed in floor-length white. Weddings always did that to her, even those of people she didn’t know. It was mainly happiness for the couple, of course, but she was uncomfortably aware that it was mixed in with a tiny bit of envy and regret.
Hazard was waiting for her as she came out, and they walked together into the marquee. The entrance was decked with white roses, and on either side a waiter stood holding a silver platter bearing glasses of champagne. Monica and Hazard took one each.
“I thought Riley said you’d quit drinking while you were in Thailand,” said Monica. Or had Alice told her that? She was sure someone had, anyhow.
“Oh yes, I did,” replied Hazard. “I was drinking way too much. But it’s not as if I’m an alcoholic or anything. I can have just one or two drinks, on special occasions. Like this one. I’m all about moderation, these days.”
“Quite right,” replied Monica, who thought staying in control an underrated art form. She was liking Hazard more and more. “Don’t forget you’re driving us home, will you?”
“Of course not,” said Hazard. “But it’s several hours before we’ll be leaving, and it’d be rude not to join in, don’t you think?” And he raised his glass at her and took a large gulp. “What do you reckon’s on the dinner menu? Chicken or fish?”
“Judging by the crowd, I’d opt for fish. Poached salmon,” she replied.
Monica was really enjoying herself. Hazard kept up a hysterical running commentary on all the other guests, despite the fact that—with the exception of Roderick and the brides—he knew none of them. They shared stories of weddings they’d attended in the past, both the wonderfully romantic and the totally disastrous.
It was so much more relaxing being on a date with someone she wasn’t dating. At every previous wedding she’d attended, she’d found her imagination fast-forwarding the relationship she was in. She’d make mental notes of how her wedding would differ, which of her relatives might make photogenic (but not too photogenic) bridesmaids, and who he might choose as best man. She’d give him sidelong glances during the service, to see if he was overcome with emotion and having the same thoughts as her.
With Hazard, it was just—fun. She was really glad she’d come.
They were at the same table for dinner, although it was huge and round with a giant floral display in the middle, so Monica couldn’t talk to Hazard and could only see him if she craned her neck around the flowers. There was a dinner menu in the center. Poached salmon. She did love being right. She caught his eye, pointed at the menu, and gave him a wink.
The meal seemed to go on forever, as each course was interspersed with speeches. Monica was doing her best with the men sitting on either side of her, but was rapidly running out of small talk. They’d done how they each knew the happy couple, wasn’t the service lovely, and weren’t house prices in London astronomical, and then ground to a halt.
She was getting increasingly worried about Hazard, because she was pretty sure that he’d accepted a glass of white wine from a waiter, and then a glass of red, and it looked as if they were topping both glasses up regularly. She tried to catch his eye, to give him a meaningful stare and remind him about the drive home, but he seemed to be deliberately avoiding her gaze. The girls on either side of him kept tipping their heads back and laughing uproariously. One looked as if she had a hand resting on his thigh. He was obviously being hilarious. But it wasn’t hilarious. It was irresponsible and selfish.
As the meal, finally, drew to a close, and people started wandering away from the table, Monica went and sat down in an empty seat near Hazard, clutching her glass of sparkling water, as if to prove a point.
“Hazard,” she hissed at him, “you’re meant to be driving us home, not getting drunk.”
“Oh, Monica, don’t be such a killjoy. It’s a wedding. You’re supposed to get drunk. That’s what weddings are for. Let your hair down for once. Live a little,” he said, draining another glass of wine. “Monica, this is . . .” he said, waving in the direction of the blonde sitting next to him, with lips that had definitely had something artificial pumped into them. She obviously hadn’t heard the sartorial advice about only displaying legs or cleavage.
“Annabel,” she finished for him. “Hi.” How was it possible to draw out a two-letter word for so long? She waved at Monica with only the tips of her fingers, as if Monica didn’t deserve a whole hand. “Hazard? I’ve got some Charlie in my bag if you fancy a quick snifter?” she said, not even bothering to hide the conversation from Monica, or to include her. Did she think Monica was too square to take drugs? Well, she was, but that wasn’t the point.
“Now you’re talking, gorgeous,” said Hazard, pushing back his chair and standing up, rather unsteadily. “I’ll follow you; apart from anything else, it’ll give me more opportunity to check out your gorgeous arse.”
“Hazard!” shouted Monica. “You’re the arse. Don’t be such a bloody idiot!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Monica, stop being such a bore. Why don’t you go and de-stress in a haberdashery? You are not my mother, or my wife, or even my girlfriend. And thank fuck for small mercies.” He left, weaving through the crowd after Annabel’s capacious backside, like a rat following the Pied Piper. Annabel shot Monica a look over her shoulder, tossed her head, and brayed, her lips peeling back to reveal overly large teeth.
Monica felt as if she’d been slapped. Who the hell was that? He certainly wasn’t the Hazard she’d thought she knew. Then she remembered. He might not be the Hazard she’d got to know recently, but he was one she’d seen before, the one who had barged into her in the street and called her stupid bitch. The one who meddled with her life, then crashed her Christmas lunch, expecting a round of applause. And how dare he bring up her haberdashery obsession? She’d totally forgotten about writing that in the book. That was a low blow. She didn’t want to be here any longer. She just wanted to go home. Monica took her mobile out of her bag, found a quiet corner of the marquee, and called Riley.
Please answer, Riley, please answer.
“Monica! You guys having fun?” he said in his wonderfully upbeat voice.
“Not really, no. At least I’m not. Hazard’s having rather too much fun, actually. He’s completely plastered. And not slowing down, either. I don’t know how to get home. Hazard’s too
drunk to drive, and I don’t know how to. I can’t leave the minibus here. They need it first thing tomorrow for an outing. What am I going to do?” Monica hated asking for help, and particularly hated acting like a damsel in distress. It went against all her feminist principles. Her mother would be turning in her grave. If she ever managed to get herself out of this damn tent, she was going to book a course of driving lessons.
“Don’t worry, Monica. You stay there, I’ll jump on the train and come and get you. I can drive you and the bus home. Just text me your address and I’ll get a taxi from the station. It’ll take me a couple of hours, but the wedding will go on for a while longer, won’t it?”
“Riley, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you. I have no idea what’s gotten into Hazard. I’ve never seen him like this,” she said.
“I guess that’s the problem if you’re an addict. Once you start, you just can’t stop. He was doing so brilliantly, too. Nearly five months, totally sober,” said Riley. Monica’s stomach lurched. She was such an idiot.
“Riley, I had no idea. He told me he could handle it. I should have stopped him,” she said.
“It’s not your fault, Monica. I’m sure he deliberately misled you. And himself probably. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should have warned you to keep an eye on him. Still, at least he’s not hoovering up the cocaine again,” said Riley. Monica said nothing. There didn’t seem to be any point. “Look, the sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll get there. Hold tight.” And he hung up.
Sometimes, there is nothing lonelier than a roomful of people. Monica felt like a child, with her nose pressed against a window, looking in at a party she wasn’t party to. Hazard was dancing, showily, in the center of the dance floor, with women sticking to him like those flies on Julian’s ghastly flypaper. She felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Might I request the next dance?” It was Roderick, Daphne’s son. Hazard had introduced them in the church.
Monica, who’d always felt it impolite to turn down anyone who plucked up the courage to ask you to dance, nodded mutely and allowed herself to be led up to the floor where Roderick, ignoring all the conventions of modern dance moves, threw her around in a clumsily energetic version of 1950s rock and roll. This gave him plenty of opportunities to rest a clammy hand on her back, shoulder, or buttock. She felt like a show pony at a gymnastic display.
Hazard, who was obviously finding her predicament hilarious, gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up through the crowd. Roderick leaned over and whispered in her ear, his breath hot and sticky, smelling of whiskey mixed with strawberry pavlova.
“So, are you and Hazard an item?” he asked.
“God, no,” replied Monica. Roderick took such obvious strength of feeling as a green light and clutched her bum even more enthusiastically.
* * *
• • •
RILEY PICKED HIS way carefully through the thinning crowd, a surefooted interloper among an unpredictably lurching mass. Monica was the only person sitting at a large, round table, like the sole survivor of a shipwreck, stranded on a desert island. Hazard was circling the tables like a shark, picking up abandoned wineglasses and draining them.
“Riley!” Monica shouted over at him, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at the newcomer. Riley smiled, and it was like the sun bursting through the storm clouds.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you,” said Monica.
FIFTY-SIX
Hazard
It was like coming home. Hazard had forgotten how much he liked this feeling. From that very first sip of champagne, he’d felt his jaw unclench, his shoulders relax, and all the edges fall away. After months of dealing with every emotion with the focus on sharp and the definition high, the booze overlaid everything with a fuzzy filter that made it all softer, kinder, and more manageable. He was wrapped in a feather-down duvet of lassitude.
By the time he’d drained the first glass he really couldn’t remember why he’d fought this sensation for so long. Why had he thought the booze was his enemy, when it was his very best friend?
The minute he’d discovered in the car that Monica was unaware of the extent of his addiction issues, the thought had been planted: Maybe, just for today, since it’s a special occasion, I could have a drink. Just one. Two, tops. After all, it’s been months. I’m better now. I know better. I can be sensible. It won’t be like before. I’m a different person.
All through the wedding ceremony those thoughts had gone around and around his head on a loop. So, as soon as they’d walked into the marquee, and a waiter had been standing there with glasses of champagne on a silver platter, he’d just taken one. Just like everyone else. How he loved the thought that he was just like everyone else. He’d told Monica that he wasn’t “an alcoholic” and was really good at moderation, and as he’d said it aloud he’d started to believe it. After all, alcoholics slept on park benches, smelled of wee, and drank methylated spirits, and he wasn’t like that at all, was he?
He’d drunk way more than he’d been meaning to, but it didn’t really matter. It was just for today. He could go back to being good again tomorrow. What was that expression his mother had always used? Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Although she’d been referring to an extra slice of Battenberg cake.
On that basis, the cocaine had seemed like a blessed opportunity, and a few lines had thrown a buzz and a wave of confidence and invulnerability into the mix. He was a superhero. He noted that he hadn’t lost any of his flirting expertise either. He was on fire. This was the first wedding he’d been to where he hadn’t already slept with at least two of the congregation. Perhaps he should rectify that.
Hazard spotted a familiar figure. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. That was far more likely than Riley actually being here. After all, he’d got Monica confused with his mother earlier. Hazard sniggered to himself. But it was Riley. Why the fuck had he shown up, raining on Hazard’s parade?
“Hazard, mate, it’s time to go home,” he said.
“Don’t ‘mate’ me, Riley. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m the cavalry. Come to take you home.”
“Well, you can get back on your bloody horse and ride the hell off. I’m having fun with my new friends.” And he waved over at what’s-her-name and the other one.
“Well, I’m taking Monica home. And the minibus. And this party’s winding up, so unless you want to spend the night with your new friends, I suggest you come with us. Your call, mate.” Riley was sounding a bit pissed off. Riley was never pissed off. Monica, however, was always pissed off, and she was standing next to Riley like the bloody vicar’s bloody wife, looking at him like he was a choirboy who’d pilfered all the Communion wine. He was really fed up with all this bloody disapproval.
Hazard did a quick mental calculation. Or as quick as his mental capacities would allow after what he’d put them through over the previous few hours. If he stayed here, he would have to bank on the blonde taking him home with her. Not only was he having problems remembering her name (Amanda? Arabella? Amelia?), but he knew that her main attraction was the drugs she had in her handbag, and he was pretty sure they were, by now, all but gone. He had better, much as it pained him, do what he was told. So, he followed his goody-goody friends, as meekly as a superhero on cocaine could manage.
* * *
• • •
AN HOUR INTO THE JOURNEY, and the effect of the last line of coke that he’d snorted, a couple of hours previously, was starting to wear off, leaving Hazard feeling twitchy and anxious. And now he wasn’t able to maintain the delicate balance of upper and downer, all the booze he’d drunk was making him feel woozy and drowsy, although he knew from experience that sleep would elude him for hours.
He lay down across three of the seats in the back of the bus and watched the Dementors approaching. He r
emembered this feeling too. What goes up must come down. Every light has a shadow, every force a counterforce. This was payback time.
He felt someone, Monica, throwing something over him—a blanket? A coat?
“I think I love you, Monica,” he said. He was pretty sure he’d been really horrible to her. He was a truly evil person who didn’t deserve any friends.
“Sure, Hazard. The only person you love is yourself,” she replied, which wasn’t true at all. The only person he’d never been able to love was himself. He’d spent months building up his self-esteem brick by brick, learning to respect himself again, and in one day it had all come tumbling down.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I thought I could have just one.” And that was the problem. He always thought he could have just one. After all, other people seemed to manage it. But he never could. It was all or nothing with Hazard. Not just with the booze and the drugs, but with everything. If he found something—anything—he liked, he always wanted more. It was what had made him such a successful trader, a popular friend, and a terrible addict.
He could hear Monica and Riley chatting in the front. He could remember when he used to be able to chat like that, about the weather, the traffic, the news of mutual acquaintances, but right now he couldn’t imagine how. An unwelcome thought muscled its way in among all the other unwelcome thoughts. Where were his keys? He checked his pockets. He knew they’d be empty.
“Monica,” he said, trying not to slur. “I can’t find my keys. I must have dropped them in the placebo.”
“Gazebo,” corrected Monica.
“Don’t be such a peasant,” he replied.
“Pedant,” she said.
He heard her sigh. It was the sort of noise his mother would make when he was little and had forgotten his homework or ripped his trousers.
“Don’t worry, Hazard. You can sleep on my sofa. At least that way I can keep an eye on you.” For a while everything was silent, except for the rhythmic scraping of the windscreen wipers and the gentle hum of the tires on the tarmac.