by Marina Ford
“What sort of—” I began, and he swung forward a trolley with a silver cover over a plate. He lifted the cover with panache to reveal steak and chips, and I stared. There was a little paper flag stuck onto a toothpick, stuck into the top of chip-mountain. It had writing on it, so I plucked it out and read:
Joe, this is to let you know I paid for the room, meals included. Please accept this for an apology. I’m really sorry I can’t be there. I hope you have a great weekend. Please give my best to the bride and groom. Harry.
“Sir?”
I realised I hadn’t moved or said anything for at least a full minute. I put the flag down and said, “Thank you.” I tipped him, rolled the trolley into the room myself, and closed the door.
It was the most confusing steak I’d ever eaten. It tasted of nothing. I kept staring at the little flag and thinking, What the . . .
The hotel phone rang. It startled me out of my thoughts. It was Frank.
“Joe?” he cried, excited. “Is that you?”
“I’m in my room. Eating lunch. Everything okay?”
“Perfect! Gabriella just rang to tell me she’s picked you up. She said you were tired. Will ye be okay for a piss up tonight?”
Yes. Alcohol. Yes, my heart cried.
“I’ll be sure to take a nap to be ready for it.”
“Fantastic! Tomorrow’s the day! I’ll ring you later. Bye!”
I remembered now that perhaps I should have a conversation with him about this whole wedding business. Gabriella was a charming character, but this marriage was, surely, rushed. Not that I’d know anything about it, since I wasn’t likely now to ever find myself in a situation to get married. Perhaps Gabriella was pregnant. They’d had enough sex to produce a small army of children, after all. My thoughts immediately travelled to being a godfather. Would they ask me? Would I say yes? I would probably say yes. And then what if something happened to Frank and Gabriella? I’d be stuck with a child.
Courage flooded my wounded breast. I imagined myself heroically stepping up to the task. Single-parenting the shit out of that child. Of course, the poor thing would have to live in the death trap that was Chloe’s and my flat, surrounded by statuettes of butts and my naked self-portraits . . . No, that wouldn’t do.
Eventually, I fell asleep, having, in my imagination, grown into a respectable King of Suburbia, polo neck sweater and pipe in mouth and all. Harry would see me and collapse in jealousy and regret and then I would take him back, magnanimously . . .
When I awoke from my nap, the night lights of Vegas created a surreal cityscape out of my room’s window. It took me half an hour to quite believe I was really here. It was a moment before I remembered the rest. I was here alone. The big bed I was in would continue feeling big and Harry-less. As would the rest of my life.
A massive empty hole opened in my gut. It was a pull of longing so sharp, it suddenly brought tears to my eyes.
“Shit,” I muttered, and tore out of bed.
Finally finding a charger, I plugged my phone in and then took another shower. There were several messages from Frank on there, about how he and Gabriella would be waiting for me in the lobby.
When Frank spotted me, downstairs, he stretched his arms wide, and gave me the biggest smile imaginable. I ran into his arms and he squeezed, hard.
“Okay, you sorry bastard!” he cried. “We’re going to party like the world’s ending. Are you ready?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That’s what I like to hear! Gabriella! Gabriella, darling, light of my life, are you ready?”
Gabriella, beaming happily at me, nodded.
“And this”—here Frank, with his arm around my shoulders, presented another woman—“is Gabriella’s friend, Rachel. She arrived two days ago. Isn’t that sweet? Warms a fellow’s heart right up, it does. Rache, this is my best mate, my best man, the best man, Joe. And I know what you’re thinking: he’s a looker. But he’s also never swung your way in his life, have you?” He shook me. I could tell he was overexcited by the amount of bollocks he spoke. Rachel, a dark-haired beauty with too much makeup on, raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.
“You’re the gay, then?” she said, in the worldly tones of a brothel madam. “I prefer partying with gays. You guys are more fun, anyway.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that “compliment,” so I just let it hang. Frank turned us around and cried, “To the bars!”
Apparently Napoleon, when he met opposing French forces in the field, had such great power of personality that men from the opposing camp would just drop their weapons and join him. It sounds improbable until you meet a man like Frank Brodie.
As the four of us left the hotel together, I knew what Frank wanted. In my frame of mind, I was in just the right mood to help him do it. He wanted to loudly and exuberantly celebrate his approaching nuptials. I wanted to drown out thoughts of Harry. The recipe for both contained two vital ingredients: loud music and masses of alcohol.
Five hours later, we came out of a bar drunk and in the company of ten other people who decided to join our group and demanded to be part of the wedding. Frank became “Frankie Boy”; two men attempted to carry Gabriella upon their shoulders like an Egyptian queen; and one very well-groomed, very WASP-y young man elaborated extensively on the subject of how “adorable” my accent was.
When we woke up in the morning, it was in Frank and Gabriella’s room. The scent of chlorine in my hair informed me I’d gone swimming at some point. There were sixteen of us, and besides Frank, Gabriella, and Rachel, the rest of the cast didn’t look familiar to me at all.
With heavy heads, we went down to have our breakfast. Rachel looked like death. Gabriella blinked hard and tried to smile at Frank, who was still bursting with energy and seemed to feel extra charged by the success of the night. Of the four of us, he was the only one who didn’t appear worn by the long night—normally with his sand-coloured goatee and his enormous smile, he bore a strong resemblance to Robin Hood; now he managed to somehow look like Robin Hood after a successful robbery.
“It’s the sort of thing,” he said, enthusiastically, “you’ll tell your grandchildren about! That night Grampa set Vegas on fire! Ha! Coffee anyone?”
After breakfast, Gabriella had to go and buy something to wear for her wedding, so she took off with Rachel and I was left alone with Frank.
It was, I reckoned, the only opportunity I would get to talk to him about this venture. Not being the sort of guy who ever talked people into or out of anything, I wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the subject, but Frank neatly brought me there himself, when he asked, “So! Out with it! What do you think? Isn’t she the sweetest thing you ever saw?”
I wondered how he could sound so certain, so absolutely delighted with another person, without a hint of doubt or fear. Was it because he’d not faced as much abandonment as I had? Was it like a self-fulfilling prophecy, whereby he was certain of love and acceptance, and consequently got it? Was it because he was white and straight?
I couldn’t understand it. A pang of jealousy hit me, and I had to turn away and mutter, “She’s lovely, of course.”
“Eh?” he said, laughing. “What’s with you? You know she won’t replace you in my heart! Nothing ever could!”
Idiot. I had to smile though.
“I know,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’ve known each other less than two months, Frank. What’s with the rush?”
“Oh, Joe!” He beamed at me. “I cannae tell you! I just want . . .” He seemed like he would burst searching for the right word. “I just want, you know? I could die in a plane crash on the way back to England. We could both drown in our bathtubs tomorrow! I could fall into a manhole! I could be bitten by an exotic spider smuggled into the country in a crate full of durian! Who knows how long I have left? I want to do everything I want to do, before I die.”
How does one argue with that?
“Now,” he said. “Let�
�s go and look at some of those shows we talked about. I’m thinking Le Rêve. You?”
I’d heard it said that Frank became this way after he lost his leg, but in fact I’d known him before the accident and after, and there was little difference. Even at the beginning, with the shock of the lost limb, and the getting used to a new way of moving, the prosthetic hardly slowed him down at all.
Around noon, Frank and Gabriella went off to make last arrangements (or so they claimed), and so Rachel and I got lunch together at the Grand Lux Café. With nothing else to talk about, I asked her about Gabriella.
Rachel was picking on a tiny salad, while I tried to get my hands around an enormous burger. I was feeling a little sorry for her, so I moved the plate with my chips closer to the middle of the table.
“Gabriella’s such a meek little thing,” she told me. “I never thought she’d end up married to that Scottish weirdo. Or any Scottish weirdo, for that matter.”
From all Frank had told me about her, she seemed anything but meek to me.
“Is this out of character for her, then?”
“Out of character!” Rachel threw back her head and laughed. “Oh God, if you only knew! She teaches in Sunday school. She volunteers in a woman’s shelter. Before she met McPreposterous, she used to dress like a Puritan. I was the one who dressed her up to go out with him. She was shaking like a leaf. Her parents disapproved of course, but I couldn’t look on while they sent her on dates with all these wankers who kept telling her how biblically speaking her role in life was to give birth to their children. So I thought I’d encourage her to try something new. We signed her up to this website, and I picked him out for her. I thought I’d mix it up a bit for her. You know? Give her a bit of a taste for the wilder life? Little did I know!”
I was so astonished by what she said that for a moment I could do nothing but stare at her. “Are you serious?”
“Oh yes.” She stuffed her mouth with a bunch of chips. “Oh!” she said, noticing what she’d just done. “Oh, don’t let me have any more of those. I’m not supposed to eat carbs!”
I pulled the plate with the chips back to me.
“So,” I said, “this is unusual for her?”
“Unusual! It’s like she’s possessed! Her parents are going to kill them both for this. But then, you know, she’s had such a dull life so far, and there are such things as divorces, nowadays, right? Who can it harm? Let her go a bit wild. She’s had no youth to speak of. Might as well do it now, while she’s still reasonably young. Plus, while I do think McChaos is certifiable, he is sort of fun to be around, isn’t he? Not to marry, of course, but for a proper night out.”
I tried to get my head around this. All I could think was: this was a catastrophe waiting to happen. It must be stopped. I know they say opposites attract, but within reason, surely. Maybe Gabriella thought that he wasn’t like this all the time, that he’d calm down eventually. But he was like this. All the time. She needed to know. Someone needed to tell her. I imagined three months from now, some bloke named, I don’t know, Joshua, whom she’d known at Bible camp and whom her parents loved, coming in and then Frank getting a phone call like I had at Heathrow, all about how They wore me down and I owe it a go. Fuck this.
Determined to have a talk with her, come what may, I left Rachel, excusing myself with the lie that I needed to make an urgent phone call. Then I ran out to Gabriella and Frank’s hotel. Gabriella was in her dressing gown, with her hair standing on ends, when she opened the door to their room.
“Is Frank here?” I asked.
She was pink to the roots of her hair. “He’s gone out to fetch, er . . . I was . . . napping. Before the wedding, you know?”
He was obviously on a condom run. “Mind if I come in?”
She opened the door wider. It was as though a hurricane had swept through the place. Pillows, duvets, chairs, tables, all strewn around the enormous suite in mad disarray. I could hear water running in the bathroom. She excused herself and rushed to turn it off.
“Frank’s going to rent us a limousine,” she said with a small giggle when she came back and saw me pick up a brochure off the table. “I told him I’ve never been in one, and so he decided that I must.”
Well, that sounded about right. I put a chair back on its legs and offered it to her. I paced to the window and then back. With all the hurry, I didn’t have time to think of the words to say or how to say them. She seemed so innocent and happy, it made me sick to my stomach to ruin this day for her. But people should be honest about their expectations, because (as I’d just learned) sometimes they are way too keen to fool themselves into thinking they’re all on the same page.
“So, how is it going? Have you got a dress yet?” I asked.
Gabriella was not the sort of woman who understood awkward conversations. Whatever gambit you threw at her, she was ready to smilingly pick it up and continue on your chosen path. So, though we knew each other barely at all, she said, “No! Do you want to help me pick one? I’ve been with Rachel, and there’s so many lovely plus-sized options here, you know? But I haven’t yet seen The One, if you know what I mean. What are you wearing?”
I hadn’t thought about it. Before the trip, Harry had raised the question of suits, but I’d never gone so far as to think of acquiring one.
Harry would have been prepared. He’d have had a suit for me too, knowing him.
I had a sudden flash in my mind of him and Kieran, suited and handsome, side by side, in a church. I grabbed the back of a nearby chair, hard.
“Oh, sorry!” she said, hastily. “I didn’t mean to— Oh, are you all right?”
I turned away, cleared my throat, and said, “Yeah. Fine. Sorry.”
She watched me, concerned. “Can I get you anything?”
“Jet lag,” I said, waving my hand. “It’ll pass.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She waited for me to say something more. I remembered why I was here. I cleared my throat again.
“Ah, I just— I thought I’d check in with you. Sometimes Frank can be, er, a little reckless, I suppose. I thought I’d check that you’re really okay with getting married so suddenly.”
“‘Reckless’?” she said, with a laugh. “Have you ever met Frank? Of course it’s reckless. It’s how he does everything. Like the world’s on fire and he only has a few seconds to get things done.”
She knew her Frank Brodie well.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s—that’s true.”
“He’s so enthusiastic about things,” she continued, enamoured. “So full of vivacity and life. I feel so blessed to have met him.”
“I spoke to Rachel, though, and she told me that this wasn’t like you. I just think that sometimes it’s very easy to get swept up in one of Frank’s schemes, and that this one is maybe a little too wild, if you see what I mean. I wanted to check in case you’ve changed your mind or . . . or thought the better of it.”
“Isn’t that sweet of you!” she said, with a giggle. “I mean,” she sobered up a little, “it’s not that I’m taking marriage lightly, you know. I’m not. And yes, sometimes it is difficult to keep up with him. But . . .” here she leaned in forward, as if confiding a secret, “he chose me!”
For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she went on, “Only think of all the girls he could have picked, and he picked me! He’s so . . . so exciting and full of life and I’m this . . . this nobody. Nobody has ever looked at me the way he looks at me. Like I’m special and precious and—and worth doing all this for!”
I shouldn’t have come. This was none of my business.
“So if he wants to marry me,” she continued, “I’m not going to stop him. Unless . . .” she paused and her eyes widened, “unless he sent you here to talk to me? Did he want you to talk me out of it, to save face?”
“What? No!” I said, panicked. “Good God, no! I haven’t seen him since you two left to—” I looked her up and down, involuntarily “—to, er, make arrangements. Listen, no
, he wants to marry you today. I mean, he’s going to marry you, unless you stop him. He’s extremely determined, trust me. I was just worried that perhaps the whole thing’s a bit hasty.”
“Ah.” She seemed relieved. “Well, yes, it is. It is hasty.”
She raised her shoulders, as though an excited thrill had passed through her.
Perhaps some people simply belonged together, and were impossible to tear apart. Like Gabriella and Frank. Or Harry and Kieran.
I turned to her and smiled as best I could. “It’s going to be epic.”
She beamed back at me. “I know.”
If you’d asked me, when I first met Frank, what his wedding would be like, I’d have described pretty much the scene that ensued. A bride he barely knew but who was enchanted by his weird, frantic energy. She, dressed in a glittery silver dress, he in a purple suit for some reason. A chapel in Vegas. An Elvis impersonator chaplain—Frank insisted he had to have one and in fact had to buy the costume and dress a poor but very game chaplain in it to make this particular dream come true—and afterwards a piss up to end all piss ups.
At dawn he had arranged for a helicopter flight over the Grand Canyon—a wedding gift for his bride—and by that time none of us had slept a wink, and we were all of us plastered.
The helicopter pilot was telling us about the sights below through the heavy headset, but we were all so tired and drunk and giggly that I don’t think we heard a word the poor chap was saying.
Frank had his arm around Gabriella, who looked like she’d gone to heaven and from now on there’d be nothing but bliss for the end of her days. Rachel fell asleep on my shoulder. I watched the red, orange, and deep brown of the canyon below, stretching as far as the eye could see.
I thought of Harry.
Five Months Before the Big Day
“Are you sure this is big enough?” I ask, dryly.
I’m still half-asleep, but Harry’s already up and about. I can smell the coffee from the kitchen; the shirt he’s wearing is ironed, but as yet unbuttoned; and he’s hanging up an enormous five-month calendar on the wall opposite our bed. Unlike ordinary calendars, this one ends on August the twenty-eighth. Or, as he calls it, the Big Day. Where he managed to find a printer desperate enough to produce this calendar, I don’t know. But each day is filled with a multitude of tasks, with a little tick box next to each task, and the whole thing is framed with pictures of us from the past four years. I admit, it’s adorable.