by Jessie Jones
(Secretly, of course – because who would ever admit this) I owned every Mariah and Celine single going, so consequently I considered myself a connoisseur of romance. In my expert opinion, standing in that cold registry office, listening to an annoyed registrar rush through the ceremony as if he was commentating on the final furlong of the Derby did not constitute romance. No one else seemed bothered though. Everyone beamed as Dad kissed Mitzy, but I looked on guiltily, feeling genuinely glad that Dad and Mitzy seemed so happy but wondering if I was betraying my mum, whose image was still lodged in my mind.
The second he finished, the registrar ushered us out as if he had twenty weddings outside, circling in a holding pattern. Out on the steps the photographer – i.e. Dad’s mate Wayne who had a flashy camera – snapped the happy couple. I was fumbling to open my little box of confetti when he called out, ‘Right, let’s have the groom’s family.’
What family? I thought, looking around anxiously for any long-lost brothers/sisters/cousins.
‘That means you, Dayna, you plonker,’ Wayne said, to much laughter.
I stood awkwardly next to Dad. Mitzy reached over and pulled me in so I was standing between them – she was really trying and, despite my mixed emotions, I was still determined not to spoil things and I smiled my toothiest smile. When Wayne had finished clicking I turned to Dad and said, ‘Congratulations. I hope you’ll be really happy.’
‘Ahh, come here and give us a hug,’ he said, grabbing me and pulling me into him. I knew what his game was. He didn’t want me to see him crying. I could feel him though. His body was shaking in that way blokes’ bodies do when they’re trying to stifle the sobs. He held me for a moment, then he whispered something in my ear. ‘You’re a very special girl, Dayna. She’d be very proud of you, you know.’ So he was thinking about Mum too. I was stunned. He hardly ever talked about Mum and he hadn’t mentioned her in ages, but there we were sharing a moment that only we could. That set me off. Fat tears just spilled out, but as soon as they started, he pulled away, clapped his hands together and shouted, ‘C’mon, you lot, we’ve got a party waiting,’ leaving me standing like a lemon on the town-hall steps.
Blokes, eh? I was fast discovering that they were all pretty much the same. They pull you in, turn you to mush, then whip the rug out from under you.
Dad had turned his swanky limo into a people carrier on the ride to the reception. It should have been just him and his bride canoodling in the back, but Stella, Mitzy’s sister, and I were plonked on the little fold-down seats in front of them. Stella was eyeing me up and down and then decided to make some small talk.
‘You look nice, Dayna,’ she said at last. ‘Doesn’t she look nice, Suzie?’
I’d never met her before so I had no idea if she was being sincere, though going by her tone I suspected not. But I didn’t challenge her, mostly because I was surprised to hear her call her sister Suzie. ‘She calls you Suzie?’ I blurted out.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Can I?’
‘Of course. All my friends do,’ she laughed. ‘Only Michael calls me Mitzy.’
Hmm, I thought, and only you call him Michael.
Whatever, I was just relieved I’d never have to call her by that daft name again.
‘What do you do, Dayna?’ Stella asked, carrying on with the small talk.
‘I’m a beauty therapist,’ I told her.
‘Oh,’ she said, clearly unimpressed. Small talk over, it seemed.
Looking at them, I couldn’t believe they were sisters. Suzie (how I loved having a normal name to call her!) was into girly stuff, pop music and romantic movies and had subscriptions to Heat and Hello!, whereas Stella had a head full of grey and gave every impression that she wouldn’t even line her cat litter tray with anything as trashy as a celebrity mag. They were, quite simply, chalk and cheese.
‘What do you do?’ I asked her.
‘I’m in retail. But I’m also studying body language,’ she announced.
That threw me. I was just about to ask her what that entailed when I realised Suzie had burst out laughing. ‘You should see the look on your face, Dayna!’ she said between giggles.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, trying desperately to think of something intelligent to say to Stella, who was glaring scarily at Suzie.
‘Don’t worry, Dayna,’ Suzie said, wiping a tear from her eye, carefully so as not to smudge the beautifully reapplied mascara. ‘Stella works on the till at WH Smith.’
I looked awkwardly from one sister to the other, feeling the tension in the car thicken.
‘Oh, go ahead and mock,’ Stella sniffed. ‘You always do.’
‘Sorry,’ Suzie said, trying to set her face to serious but failing dismally, ‘sorry. It’s just, well, it just sounds funny, that’s all.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything funny about a psychology degree.’
‘Stella’s doing one of those Open University things,’ Suzie explained.
‘Oh, that sounds interesting,’ I said, trying to sound genuine because now I was feeling a bit sorry for her.
‘It is,’ Stella informed me. ‘Our physical behaviour, the way our gestures belie what we’re actually saying, is very complex. Body language affects everything we do.’ She was on a roll now. ‘It can get you a job or lose you one. It can stop wars as well as start them. All sorts of things. And she who understands body language has a clear advantage in life.’ She said the last bit with another glare at her sister.
‘Go on, then,’ Suzie challenged, ‘what does my body language tell you right now?’
‘It tells me you’re looking for a fight, but I’m not going to give you one. Not today, anyway.’
‘Wrong. I’m not looking for a fight. I’m actually just desperate for a ciggie.’
‘No smoking in the car,’ the driver snapped, shooting us a look over his shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ he added, not sounding very sorry at all.
‘You should give up,’ Stella said haughtily. ‘Apart from everything else, it’s bad for your skin. It’s terribly ageing.’
I wanted to laugh then. Stella was hardly setting her baby sister a great example. Put it this way: she wasn’t going to get a job as the face of Olay anytime soon.
Clearly the two of them didn’t get on and whatever truce they’d called for the wedding day didn’t look as if it was likely to last. Stella stared out of the window, seemingly fascinated by the crummy shops we were driving past, like they were Bond Street’s finest. I couldn’t stand it and felt that I had to say something to lighten the mood. It was a bloody wedding, after all.
‘So … Stella …’ I began, trying for breezy, ‘are you the oldest or have you and Suzie got any other brothers or sisters?’
She didn’t answer.
On the other side of the car Suzie burst out laughing again. Me? I suddenly wished I’d declined Dad’s offer of a lift and caught the bus.
Suzie finally pulled herself together enough to answer on her sister’s behalf. ‘No, Dayna, there’s just the two of us,’ she said, ‘and I’m the oldest by five years.’
Who needed the car’s heater on? My blushes warmed us all up nicely.
The reception was at the Regency Rooms, one of those places which has seen better days, but isn’t quite ready to give up the ghost. Dad and Mitzy had chucked a lot of money at the do, though, and it struck me as amazing how a decent caterer, a good, noisy band and some eye-popping disco lights could paper over the cracks in a venue. That was my second life lesson that day. The first, obviously, being never to calculate age by counting wrinkles and grey hairs. Or, rather, to keep my big mouth shut.
There’d only been ten of us at the registry office, but there were over a hundred at the party. It was noisy, crowded and … loads of fun. Yes, contrary to all my expectations I had a pretty good time. I danced, I ate heaps, I had a few – quite a few – drinks and I talked to lots of people I hadn’t seen for years. And I watched my dad look happier than I’d ever seen him. He was mingling, laugh
ing and dancing like Justin Timberlake – well, he had the energy, if not the moves. That put the final seal on my change of heart towards him and Suzie. His joy was infectious and how could I not feel it too? Did I say I had a good time? Make that a great one.
It had nothing to do with meeting Archie, of course.
It happened when I was looking for an escape. I was taking a breather from dancing and sat down at the nearest table, finding myself next to Stella, who clearly wasn’t in the party spirit.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked. ‘A Bacardi Breezer, perhaps?’ I figured that suggesting a brightly coloured teenage drink might make up for my earlier mistake. Judging from the grouchy shake of the head she gave me, it didn’t.
I quickly got up and headed for the bar. I didn’t need another drink, but I did need to get away from the Face of Death. Being an expert in body language, my sprint to the bar would probably have told her that I didn’t relish her company.
As I waited for the barman, I noticed a guy sitting at a stool, cradling a bottle of beer. I didn’t know him, which I guessed made him one of Suzie’s family or friends. He had a chiselled, tough guy’s face and a number-one cut to go with it. A bit scary at first sight, but I couldn’t miss his eyes: as blue and luminous as sapphires.
He turned his head slightly and gave me a sideways glance. He cracked a smile and suddenly he didn’t look so scary and tough. Just gorgeous. I smiled back, then turned my attention to the barman.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ chiselled stranger asked.
‘It’s OK, thanks,’ I replied. ‘It’s a free bar.’
‘I know,’ he said, waggling his beer bottle at me, ‘but we can pretend it isn’t and that I’m a really generous bloke.’
I laughed then and let him order me a JD and Coke.
‘Who’re you here with?’ I asked.
‘Wayne,’ he said. ‘Said he needed a hand with the photos, like he’s David Bailey or something. Given he’s got just the one camera, I’m feeling a bit redundant.’
‘At least you’ve got access to the bar,’ I consoled.
‘Uh-huh, but I hate weddings when I don’t know anyone. The bride’s a looker. though, isn’t she?’
‘Mmm, do you think?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, if you’re into older women. Which I’m not.’
‘What sort are you into, then?’ I asked, honestly not fishing. How could I have been, given that if they’d held a Miss Frump competition that day, I might have edged Stella out of first place?
‘Your sort, actually,’ he said, flashing me that winning smile again. ‘Yeah, I’m not too fussy.’
I was about to punch his face when he laughed. ‘Only joking. You look great,’ he said.
Liar, I thought. ‘I look like shit actually and we both know it,’ I told him.
‘No way. I love the hat. Nice … er … feathers,’ he said.
I cringed with embarrassment, wanting to take it off, but knowing that if I did, I’d look worse.
‘People always go a bit over the top at weddings, don’t they? Look at that little trio.’ He nodded in the direction of the dance floor where Suzie’s three best friends were so spangled up they made the disco ball seem shy and retiring.
‘At least they’ve made an effort,’ I said in their defence, even though I had to squint every time I looked at them.
‘True,’ chiselled stranger said looking back at me. ‘So whose side are you on then? Bride or groom?’
‘Groom’s,’ I told him.
‘Ah, Mikey. I’ve heard all about him from Wayne. Bit of a lad, he tells me.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard the same,’ I smiled enigmatically. I didn’t want to give away who I was exactly. If he had something to say about Dad, I wanted to hear it.
‘If all the stories are true, I don’t understand why he’s getting hitched,’ he went on. ‘Must be because she’s loaded.’
‘Is she?’ I gulped. I knew she’d done OK out of her divorce, but loaded? It was news to me.
‘Didn’t you know?’ he said. ‘She’s well loaded. Her ex owns a big print outfit in the East End. She wiped him out when they got divorced.’
‘Well, we don’t know the facts, do we?’ I said, jumping to Suzie’s defence for the first, though, it turned out, not the last, time. ‘People always gossip when a couple split up. She doesn’t seem the money-grabbing type.’
‘They never do. At least she isn’t taking Mikey on for his bank account. Mind you, he must have something or else she wouldn’t be marrying him, I suppose. How do you know him?’
‘Oh, you know, from, er, around,’ I said. Yes, I know, I should have been honest with him, but, for all his good looks, he was beginning to get on my nerves. He was shooting his mouth off to a complete stranger – not the most admirable quality in a man.
‘I’m not getting married. Ever,’ he announced with a laugh. ‘Now I’ve said it you can’t go accusing me in five years’ time of not being upfront.’
Tosser, I thought, who’d marry you anyway?
I was trying desperately to think of something sharp to reply with when he slid off his bar stool and said, ‘Just going to the loo. Keep an eye on my beer, would you?’
Spit in it more like, I thought as he walked away. Who the hell did this guy think he was? But something kept me at the bar. The hypnotic effect of those eyes? Perhaps. But mostly it was Stella. I was about to head back for the dance floor when she sidled up to me.
‘Are you having a nice time?’ I asked, trying to make polite conversation.
‘Lovely, thanks,’ she lied without even trying to sound convincing.
We stood in silence for a bit. I felt so awkward that, more for something to do than anything, I knocked back my drink in one, willing it to magic me into an interesting, more talkative person. What it did was make the room spin. A sure sign that I was reaching my limit.
‘I couldn’t help noticing you chatting to that chap,’ Stella said, smirking slightly. ‘And, well, he may not have noticed, but to anyone versed in body language it’s perfectly clear that you … like him.’
‘I do not,’ I protested. ‘I actually think he’s a complete –’
She cut me off with a snort. ‘The way you leaned your body towards his. It’s all basic stuff, you know.’
‘I couldn’t hear him properly,’ I argued. ‘It’s! Very! Noisy! In here!’ I shouted to reinforce my point.
‘But I did notice that he was resisting all your cues,’ she went on, ignoring – or perhaps not hearing – me. ‘His stance spoke a thousand words.’
‘Well, why don’t you condense it to about ten, then, and tell me what they are?’ I said, adopting the fuck-you stance of hands on hips, jaw thrust forwards.
‘Don’t be so defensive,’ she said. ‘I just noticed how closed his posture was, that’s all. He never turned his shoulders square on to you and he maintained folded arms throughout your conversation. Also, he resisted eye contact. He was constantly looking over your shoulder at the dance floor.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.’ I couldn’t listen to her rubbish for another second. ‘The reason he was looking at the dance floor was because we were talking about the people on it, you know, dancing.’
She gave me a condescending smile. ‘I know the truth can be painful, but believe me it’s better to know it. I really don’t think you’re his type.’
Well, of course, my back went straight up. ‘I know I’m his type as a matter of fact,’ I announced. ‘Why else would he have asked me out for a drink next week?’
As soon as the lie was out I regretted it. Partly because of the pettiness of trying to get one up on an obviously lonely and miserable woman like Stella, but mostly because the subject of our conversation chose that moment to return to the bar.
‘My ears are burning,’ he said. ‘Talking about me?’
Luckily Stella kept her trap shut. ‘I’d better go and check if my cab’s here. I’m catching the train back to Leeds tonight.’ As she turned to
go, she looked at chiselled stranger and said, ‘It was nice to meet you …’
‘Archie,’ he said, filling in the blank.
‘Who was she?’ Archie asked as she walked off.
‘The bride’s sister,’ I told him.
‘Her sister?’ he echoed disbelievingly.
We both looked at the dance floor where Suzie and Dad had joined her three mates. The five of them were dancing about like … It wasn’t pretty.
‘It’s like Dirty Dancing out there,’ Archie observed, clearly thinking along similar lines. ‘Your dad’s giving it the full Patrick Swayze.’
I laughed and somehow choked at the same time. Did he say dad? He knew who I was. Had he known all along?
‘You’re a wind-up merchant,’ he went on. ‘How long were you going to string me along?’
By way of an answer, I did my goldfish impersonation, i.e. mouth opening and closing, no words coming out.
‘It’s cool,’ he said, smiling. ‘Teach me to be less gobby with strangers.’
‘How did you know?’ I managed to ask.
‘Checked you out with Wayne on my way to the loo. Wasn’t going to waste any more time talking to you without knowing who you were. I mean, you might have been attached, married, whatever.’
Was it the drink? Or his smile? His eyes? Yes, he was annoyingly cocky, but I was beginning to like him. And at least he hadn’t overheard me lying to Stella.
‘He told me plenty about you,’ he went on. ‘Didn’t mention you were a mind-reader though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You told that woman I was taking you out for a drink …’
Oh no. I felt myself redden up again.
‘… And that’s exactly what I was planning to do. Uncanny.’
Yep, the goldfish thing again.
‘You know, you look gorgeous when you blush.’ He reached out and stroked my cheek.
I didn’t know whether to melt into his touch or give him a slap. Given that I was beginning to have trouble standing, I went with the melting option. That’s when he leaned forward and kissed me. Hard and long. He was very possibly the best kisser ever. To be honest, I couldn’t tell. I’d reached that stage of drunkenness where your lips go numb.