My One Month Marriage

by Low, Shari

  Stay cool, Verity told herself. Act nonchalant. Casual.

  Her gob didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Any plans for the weekend?’ She’d overheard a conversation in the ladies’ toilets a couple of days before that hinted he was now seeing one of the teachers in the nursery section of the school. Something about Tinder and a random hook-up, but she wasn’t sure she’d picked it up right. That night she’d signed up to the app, swiped through every guy who lived in Glasgow, searching for Ned, but come up blank.

  Ned shrugged. ‘Nothing much. I was going to go to the gym now, but I’ve decided my need for a beer is far greater.’

  Ah, so the hook-up story definitely couldn’t have been about him or he’d probably be going off out on some random date. She’d thought it was pretty far-fetched and that had been confirmed when she’d failed to find him on the dating app. Why would a guy like Ned Merton have to use an app to get a girlfriend? She’d deleted her profile, case closed.

  And now he was suggesting a drink.

  Excellent.

  Again, stay cool. Think this through.

  Okay, so he’d spent the night with her sister. The memory of it still gave her a burning sensation in her chest. After a dinner and several hours of festive drinks in a packed bar, she’d given up and suggested they go home, only for Zoe to jump, giggling, into a taxi with Ned and off they went. Zoe had texted her the next morning to say thanks for a great night and let her know that Ned had stayed over. Thankfully it seemed like that had been a one-off. Zoe hadn’t mentioned him again since the Christmas Day conversation with Marina and Yvie. Meanwhile, Ned had made a couple of casual ‘How’s Zoe doing?’ enquiries over the last month, so they clearly weren’t in contact. That had to mean they weren’t into each other, otherwise, they’d have gone out again. And if they weren’t into each other, then maybe there was still a chance that she didn’t have to spend half her life talking herself out of her attraction to him.

  ‘I was just thinking the very same thing.’ She wasn’t. She’d made plans to meet Yvie for some pasta at their favourite Italian restaurant later. Nothing a quick text wouldn’t sort.

  ‘I like your thinking. Wine bar? Head off in half an hour?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Nonchalance on the outside, internal organs doing a Mexican wave on the inside.

  In the staffroom, she straightened her skirt, gave her face a quick once-over with a bit of Max Factor, unleashed her ponytail so that her flaming hair fell loose around her shoulders and added a spritz of the Dior perfume that Zoe had bought her for Christmas. Zoe always went for extravagant gifts, whereas Verity preferred something a bit more practical. The waterproof toilet bags she’d bought all her sisters would come in handy for holidays.

  Ned was waiting at the front door half an hour later and they both jumped in Verity’s Volvo, chatting about school politics and gossip all the way into the west end of Glasgow. Not that it was easy to concentrate on what he was saying. This was the first time they’d been alone together outside school and her senses were in thrill overload.

  ‘There’s a space,’ Ned pointed out, as they turned into Byres Road, directing her to a slot right outside Oran Mor, a beautiful historic church that was now a bar and restaurant, famed for its theatrical performances. One of the most popular recurring events was called A Play, a Pie and a Pint, and featured an eclectic range of themes and talent, from the famous to the obscure. Verity had been to many of them and loved them all.

  Inside, they found a booth, and Ned got the first round in, while she fired off a text to Yvie.

  Something’s come up. Have to cancel tonight. Sorry.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, as he sat down with their drinks.

  She could see two women at the next table watching him out of the corners of their eyes and no wonder. He’d changed into jeans, and he was wearing a pale grey shirt under his dark Crombie coat, his black hair short at the sides, longer on top. Verity had always thought that if she had to name a celebrity she bore any kind of resemblance to, it would be Christina Hendricks. Ned? Definitely a bit of a Ben Affleck.

  ‘Fine!’ Her voice was just a little higher than normal. ‘Just, eh… asking my sister to pop in and feed my cat.’

  Damn! Why did she say that? She didn’t even own a bloody cat.

  This is what happened when someone who had the romantic life of the last woman on earth was finally unleashed on something that came close to a date.

  ‘Zoe?’ he immediately asked.

  ‘No, Yvie,’ she blustered, kicking herself for bringing up the subject of her sisters. Tonight should be all about the two people here, sitting at this table.

  “This is a bit different to our last night out,’ Ned said, and she thought she could see a tiny flinch of embarrassment. And no wonder. It was probably the excess of alcohol consumed that had caused the whole debacle. Zoe had been so forward with him that night, the poor guy hadn’t stood a chance. Perhaps he’d realised it was a mistake, and now, tonight, they were rectifying it. Having a do-over. And this time, it was the two who were best suited who had finally managed to get it together. Maybe it was time to forgive Zoe, now that things had worked out the way they should have done in the first place.

  ‘Does she ever mention me?’

  The chill started somewhere in the pit of her stomach and began to work its way outwards.

  ‘Zoe?’ she asked, stating the obvious.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ned said, and suddenly it was obvious. He wasn’t embarrassed because he’d ended up with the wrong sister last time. He was embarrassed because he was blatantly using Verity to get information on Zoe’s feelings towards him. How could she have got this so wrong? And how should she respond? What she wanted to do was get up, leave and tell him where he could stick the cucumber from her gin and tonic. But then… she had to work with him every day. Maybe she was being too hasty. Perhaps he was just trying to ascertain whether there were any residual feelings that would cause a problem if something were to develop here. Further clarification was required.

  ‘And you’re asking this because…?’

  He had the decency to look even more embarrassed. ‘Look, I know it’s pretty pathetic, but I’ve texted and called to ask her out a couple of times and she’s knocked me back. I get that she’s just out of a relationship—’

  ‘Tom was the love of her life,’ Verity blurted, before she could stop herself. It gave her a twinge of satisfaction that the drop of his eyebrows suggested this was a bit of a blow.

  ‘So you don’t think there’s any hope? She hasn’t said anything at all?’

  Verity made a split-second decision. Sod it. Rip the Band-Aid off. With any luck, he would go along the same train of thought as Zoe and decide that the best way to get over someone was to get together with someone else. Preferably someone who was sitting right in front of him. She didn’t even stop to question why she was still interested in him despite the fact that she was very clearly second choice.

  ‘No. Look, I’m sorry but… do you want me to be honest?’

  ‘Yes. No. Okay, but only if you think my ego can take it.’ He knocked back a slug of his Peroni, then shook out his shoulders like a boxer preparing for a fight. ‘Right, on you go. I’m ready.’

  Was she really going to do this?

  ‘The thing about Zoe is, well, she’s always been a bit high maintenance when it comes to men. She likes the Master of the Universe type. You know, slick marketing guys or loaded businessmen that show up in their Porsche to collect her and who only fly first class. That’s the kind of life she has always aspired to and she doesn’t really settle for anything less.’

  Yes, she was doing it. She was telling a huge fib to make her sister sound like a superficial, shallow cow who couldn’t possibly be interested in a bloke who earned less than forty grand a year and drove a five year old Fiesta. The truth was, Zoe’s boyfriend before Tom had been the plumber who’d fitted her new wetroom and the one before that had been a long-distance relationship w
ith a skint surfing instructor she’d met in Cornwall.

  Verity told herself that Zoe never had to know what she was saying. Besides, that wasn’t the purpose here. The point of this was to close down the Zoe question in Ned’s mind, so he could move on. Besides, if Zoe had any interest in him, she’d have acted on it, so she obviously wasn’t into him at all. By nipping this in the bud, Verity was doing them both a favour, really.

  He exhaled long and hard, like he was still in that boxing ring and had been dealt a blow to the solar plexus. ‘Ouch. Well, if I was looking for some brutal honesty—’

  ‘Sorry,’ she blurted. Okay, she might have gone too far. She could backtrack or… ‘But it’s better you know so that you don’t waste your time.’

  The women at the next table were now doing a really crap job of pretending that they weren’t trying to suss out what was going on here. By the doleful look on Ned’s face, it would seem like they were having some kind of lovers’ tiff and no doubt the onlookers were hoping that they’d get a chance to swoop in and console him.

  Get to the back of the line, ladies. I’m way ahead of you.

  Reaching across the dark wood table, she put her hand on his and spoke with a voice that oozed sympathy. At least, she hoped it did. Sympathy had never been one of her strengths. That was Yvie’s job and she was damn good at it.

  ‘I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear. But look on the bright side – it’s Friday night and we have beer and gin. How bad can it be?’ She rounded that off with a wide smile and a squeeze of his hand. Oh, the irony. She was trying to get him to forget Zoe by saying something that came straight from the Zoe Danton book of life. Look on the bright side. Count your blessings. Let’s party our way out of this. Never once had any of that come naturally to Verity. Well, maybe it was time she took a leaf out of her sister’s book of positivity and enjoyment of life.

  It seemed to be working. The shoulders at the next table sagged with disappointment as Ned’s eyes locked on hers, then he put his hand on hers, making a three hand pile-up, leaned forward and grinned. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said, casting off his cloak of ‘woe is me’. He was stopped from saying anything further by a loud ring coming from right behind him.

  Her mind attempted to send him subliminal messages. Don’t answer it. Don’t spoil the moment. This is it. The start of something. We’d be great…

  He was leaning back again, fishing in the pockets of the jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. Eventually, he located his phone, pulled it out and stared at the flashing name on the screen.

  Don’t answer it. There’s no one you want to speak to right now. No one – NO ONE – is more important than what’s happening here in this moment.

  His mind clearly wasn’t receiving the communications. He looked up, caught her eye again, then broke the gaze as he gestured to the phone he was now turning around in his hand so that she could see the name flashing up on the screen.

  ‘It’s Zoe.’

  9

  Yvie – A Month After Sushi-gate

  Yvie picked up the phone on the first ring.

  Kay’s weary sigh was the first thing she heard. ‘Is that the family and friends’ twenty-four hour helpline?’

  ‘It certainly is. Here to solve your problems and we take payment in cheap wine. How can we help you this evening?’

  ‘I need a team of extraction specialists to storm the building and come save me from this place. Babs has just tried to sneak Cedric out of the ward. She claims she was taking him to the canteen for a romantic dinner.’

  ‘Oh, feck. She’s almost three times my age and she has more gumption than I’ll ever have. And more flexible hips too, now that she’s had the op.’

  Kay’s chuckles made Yvie smile. Her pal didn’t do that enough. Between the stress of the long hours, bringing up her six year old son, Chester, (even with her mum’s help) and an ex-husband whom she claimed had the habits of a killer whale – only surfaced now and then, blew his top, then drifted off whenever he pleased – she didn’t get much time for enjoying the more carefree things in life.

  ‘Anyway, I’m free for extraction services this evening and willing to oblige.’

  ‘Really? I was kidding. I was just calling to check in and say enjoy yourself because I thought you were meeting Verity for dinner?’

  ‘She bombed me out. Got a better offer.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone and Yvie knew what was coming.

  ‘Don’t say it!’ she warned.

  ‘How about if I say it really fast and you can take the phone away from your ear until I’m done?’

  Yvie knew that resistance was futile. Better to get it over with. ‘Okay, go.’ She stretched her arm, moving the phone handset at least two feet away. Nevertheless, she could still hear every word Kay was saying.

  ‘You really need to stop letting people take the piss! Verity and Marina are grown women who can handle their own problems without calling you up every bloody night to moan. And don’t get me started on your mum. Does anyone ever ask how you are? No, they bloody don’t. It’s time you start putting yourself first and stop allowing your whole existence to be about supporting everyone else. Oh, and you need to get a life. And have sex. End of sermon.’

  Yvie returned the phone to her ear. ‘Sorry about that. I just nipped to the loo,’ she joked.

  She could picture Kay shaking her head. This was a conversation they’d had at least once a fortnight since the beginning of time. Except, she hadn’t thrown in the standard line of…

  ‘Seriously, Yvie, come on. They think they can just snap their fingers and you’ll come running every time.’

  There it was. That old, familiar but admittedly true, chestnut.

  There was no point even delving into this argument because Kay was absolutely correct. However, saying that she needed to stop being everyone’s emotional crutch and doing it were two very different things. Besides, wasn’t that what family was for? And, for the purposes of that viewpoint, she was overlooking the fact that the only person who ever reciprocated any kind of interest or care was Zoe. There were givers and takers in life. They’d all long conceded that Marina and Verity paddled in their mum’s side of the gene pool, while Zoe and Yvie clearly had some kind of regressive gene that facilitated concern for others.

  ‘I know. You’re right. I’ll start establishing some kind of boundaries, I promise.’

  ‘You do?’ Kay sounded genuinely surprised, probably because Yvie usually ignored her complaints about the Danton family taking advantage.

  ‘I do. And I’ll… Oh, bollocks, I need to go – Verity is on the other line.’

  ‘Aaaaghhhhhhh…’ Kay was still screaming in frustration when Yvie disconnected her.

  ‘Hey, luvly, what’s happening?’ she asked, in the same soothing voice she used for a patient that was one the edge of a serious crisis.

  ‘YOU WILL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE THIS.’

  It took Yvie a moment to compute. It was Verity’s voice, but Verity – like Marina – never swore. Not ever. She said some pretentious twaddle about it showing a lack of vocabulary. Honestly, sometimes Verity treated them all like they were her pupils and only just stopped short of telling them to sit up straight and get their Janet and John books out. Thus, whatever had riled her to expletive levels had to be monumental.

  ‘What? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m not talking about it on the phone. Can you meet me like we’d planned?’

  Kay’s words rang in her ears. They snap their fingers and you jump. Or something like that. Guilty as charged. She should take a stand. Say no. Stick to her guns and refuse to be anyone’s fallback plan. But then her eyes fell on the Weight Watchers 350-calorie lasagne that was sitting on the kitchen counter, and her mind went straight to the menu at Gino’s trattoria. Bruschetta. Chicken arrabbiata. The most exquisite focaccia she’d ever tasted.

  ‘Sure. I can be there in fifteen minutes.’

  �
�I’ll see you there.’ Not even a ‘thank you’. Kay was so right, but she didn’t care. Who was going to be there for her sisters if she didn’t rise to the task?

  Microwave meal shoved back in fridge, she summoned an Uber and headed downstairs when she heard it beep its horn outside. The roads were quiet – the Friday-night rush hour long over, the taxis carrying revellers on nights out only just beginning to crawl round the 20mph zone in the city centre. Gino’s was in the Merchant City, a cosmopolitan, trendy area packed with upmarket bars, restaurants and boutiques. Yvie had discovered it because it was at the end of a gorgeous street of shops and salons that she loved to go to on her day off.

  Gino himself was in his seventies now but he still had the gregarious, smooth charm of someone half his age. He’d come over to Glasgow when he was fourteen to work in his uncle’s ice cream shop for the summer. The week before he was due to return to his village in a remote area of Cassino, two months wages in hand, he’d met a young girl called Alice, his first and only love. They’d married fifty years ago, had three children and eventually inherited his uncle’s shop. His hard graft and good business sense transformed it over time into a thriving restaurant that became one of the legendary eating establishments in this area of the city. Tonight, he welcomed her as he did all his regular customers – like she was a long-lost relative coming with news that she’d just won the lottery and was prepared to share it.

  ‘Yvie, my darling!’ he bellowed, making everyone within earshot – which included most people in his postcode area – smile. ‘I thought you cancelled your table, bella, no?’ Bugger. That small but pertinent detail had slipped her mind.

  ‘I did, but we’ve had a change of plan. Do you still have a table free? If not, it’s no problem. It’s my fault for cancelling.’