At the point in the ceremony where the registrar asked for the rings, two small children, who Eve assumed were the niece and nephew of the couple, threw a tennis ball up the aisle to each other, a nod to the fact the Wimbledon final was on that afternoon. As the ball reached the top, the groom split the ball open to reveal the rings. It was a fun touch that had everyone smiling.
The guests then padded across the lawn to the Princess of Wales Conservatory for drinks and canapés while the Orangery was transformed for their dinner. The vast glasshouse was filled to the rafters with plants and trees, and even ponds replete with lily pads and trailing trellises of lavender. The jazz band had set up again and toes were tapping along to their music.
Eve breathed in the medley of sweet scents, and closed her eyes.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Faye said, handing Eve a glass of champagne she’d just taken from a passing waiter. ‘Bit different to my wedding to your dad that involved a pie in a pub after the church. Is this like something you’d like for your wedding?’
Eve raised one eyebrow at her mother. ‘Did you really just ask that?’
‘Darling, you’re thirty. I think it’s possibly time you loosened up a little bit. You’re hardly on the shelf yet. Have you had any joy on finding the plus one for Adam’s wedding? Did you meet anyone nice at Tanya’s wedding?’
A quick flashback of the table of doom made Eve shake her head with an unintended force. ‘No, not at all. Except, well, Ben was there.’
Faye’s head snapped round to face her daughter. ‘Ben? As in Ben, your Ben?’
‘He’s not my Ben.’
‘But Ben. Ben Ben?’
‘He now just goes by the one name, yes.’
‘And how was that? Seeing him again?’
Excruciating. Heart-wrenching. Emotional. Tormenting. ‘Annoying. He was immensely irritating.’
‘So there were no old feelings there at all?’
‘None.’
‘That’s good. If it’s true.’
‘It is true!’
‘Well that’s good then. No point revisiting old wounds. Onwards and upwards. There seems to be lots of nice men here today, would you like me to circulate round the room and find one for you?’
‘Oh my God Mother, absolutely not. I am more than capable of finding my own partner, if there comes a time when I want to.’
‘Darling, when your father died I had no choice but to pick myself up, and believe me, it’s a lot harder doing it at sixty than thirty. You and Ben were over four years ago, that is more than enough time for you to move on and find someone new.’
Eve couldn’t explain it. She knew that it looked like she had spent the last four years pining for someone she’d had a six-month relationship with, but it wasn’t like that at all. She’d fallen for him the moment they met in their first year of university, twelve years before. She loved the way his lip curled when he laughed, his streak of mischief and game-playing, the way his forehead got a crease in the middle of it when he concentrated, the way he made her feel as though she was his soul mate, his partner in crime, the only one that really got him. Their bond was so strong that neither of them wanted to spoil it by adding sex into the equation. A quick fumble after a night in the union could have ruined everything, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Girlfriends, boyfriends, they all came in the front door and out the back for both of them, but the bar was set high, and no one measured up. The window in which both were single, living a few streets away from each other, came in their mid twenties. Fuelled by strong cider and a realisation of it being a case of now or never, they chanced it. And it worked. It really worked. Until he disappeared.
‘Faye! You came, oh it’s so nice to see you. You’ve lost weight, it really suits you, you look much better! Look Thomas, it’s Faye!’ The bride’s father was pulled over to them by a woman Eve assumed correctly was his formidable wife Judy, who was decked out in a royal blue trouser suit with orange accessories. ‘I think the last time we saw you was the funeral wasn’t it? Ghastly business. And this is little Eve, oh my goodness! Thomas, look, it’s Eve, don’t you look like a painting, you know the ones with women with the long red hair. I must admit, we did feel a bit sorry for you when you had such bright ginger hair as a child but you’ve grown into it, it really suits you now.’ Judy was smiling brightly, looking from Faye to Thomas to Eve, to get one of them to agree with her. The three of them just smiled back politely.
‘What a lovely wedding,’ Eve said, of the opinion that pretending Judy’s proclamation didn’t happen was the best course of action. ‘Really beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ Judy replied graciously, as though the whole thing was her creation. ‘It really is, isn’t it? But Faye tells me that you’re not married yet?’
Eve smiled and gave her head a little shake.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much—’
Eve was sorely tempted to interrupt with ‘I’m not,’ but felt she couldn’t stop the bride’s mother in full flow.
‘Just take Leila, she made a living from writing about being single, and look at her now, happily married. Your time will come, I’m sure of it.’
‘That’s what I’ve just been telling her,’ Faye agreed to a chorus of middle-aged nods.
Judy and Thomas moved away after that, but not before Judy squeezed Eve’s arm and gave her a wink.
‘Weddings are perfect breeding grounds, excuse the wording,’ Faye started, ‘for new relationships. Why don’t you cast your eyes around and see if there’s anyone that does take your fancy? Leila’s brother is over there and he must have some interesting friends, he’s a solicitor I think.’
‘Mum, just stop it.’
‘Only saying.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Ok then, subject closed. Anything new with you?’
‘I saw a clairvoyant last weekend and she said that someone with the letter B is going to factor in my future.’
‘You saw a clairvoyant? That doesn’t sound like you.’
‘I was forced into it. Basically it was Ayesha’s hen do, do you remember Ayesha from university? And she had a séance.’
‘A séance? For a hen do? I had an afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches.’
Eve ploughed on. ‘And the fortune teller, or whatever you call them, said that someone with a name beginning with B was going to factor hugely in my life, and would make me very happy. But I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘Don’t be so quick to dismiss it my darling, I had a medium tell me twenty years ago that I’d end up finding nirvana with an incredibly handsome man with big muscles twenty years my junior, so there’s hope for all of us.’
Eve shook her head resignedly. Her mother’s dating status was getting less palatable by the minute. ‘Anyway, I’m not taking any notice of what the medium said, it’s all a load of rubbish.’
‘Would it hurt though?’ her mum asked. ‘I mean, even if there’s just a small chance she’s right, it might be quite fun to seek out a B, it’d be like a treasure hunt.’
‘With a human being as the prize. That’s a bit odd.’
‘Well you haven’t had much luck with the other names. Why not give it a go, see if you can track down this elusive B that’s going to make you happy? Do you think it might be Ben?’
‘Not you as well! No, I don’t and anyway, a few minutes ago you told me not to look back.
‘B, B, B … oh, Ann’s son’s single and he’s called Bertie.’
‘Oh good, it must be him then.’
‘No need to sound so sarcastic darling, I’m only trying to help. Ooh, this is quite exciting!’
Violet must be laughing in her wingback chair watching Countryfile right now, Eve thought. Imagine sending people off on wild goose chases just by making a few good guesses. Right now, that pregnant lady was probably up a ladder, roller in hand repainting her nursery, Becca would be cancelling her order of proper chairs for the ceremony, Samantha, might not even take that job now because of the
contract; it was crazy how much power a little old woman yielded when she spoke confidently. Of course, there was no truth in it. There couldn’t be.
For the most part being single is absolutely fine with me. More than fine. I like it. I like not having to call ahead to someone to check whether it’s ok if I go for a drink after work, I like the smaller grocery bills, and not having to hide the occasional splurge on a new bag or eyewateringly expensive lipstick just because the name Yum Yum appealed to my childish side. I enjoy having a whole bed to myself, to sleep in, to eat in, hell, I even like cutting my toenails on the bed – there, I said it. I like that all clothes in the laundry basket are mine and mine alone, and the same goes for the big bar of Fruit & Nut in the fridge. But do you know when’s not a good time to be single? Guess. No, it’s not on New Year’s Eve as the clock strikes and everyone, and yes, I mean everyone, is seeing in the new year by exchanging saliva, and no, it’s not even Valentine’s Day, when you can’t see your colleagues at their desks over the massive floral declarations of love, although as a hayfever sufferer, that’s annoying for a whole heap of other reasons. No, I’ll tell you when it’s incredibly rubbish being single. At a wedding.
If it’s not the undisguised looks of pity from your coupled-up friends and the quiet click of the tongue and head-on-the-side from well-meaning relatives, it’s the fact that you’ve royally screwed up the table plan by coming alone so one table has to be boy-girl-girl. Or, even worse, being seated away from your family and friends and placed on the singles’ table together with every other poor sod who couldn’t find a plus one in time. In the past I’ve even been put on the kids’ table and the old people’s table, so unusual was my single status to the bride that she literally didn’t know what to do with me. I’ve also been known to linger longer than is normally socially acceptable in the toilet around the time of the bride’s bouquet-throwing, which, quite frankly, is an outdated custom that needs to stop. Now. Herding together all the spinsters so everyone can take a good look at the unmarried ones before expecting them all to lunge desperately for a bunch of flowers that decrees they will be the Chosen One next. Bleurgh. And you know that moment a minute or so into the first dance when the newlyweds realise that they can’t sustain the slow excruciating shuffle they are doing for a second longer so they beckon all other couples onto the floor to join them? Yeah. That moment. That’s definitely a crap time to be single too.
Chapter 14
Earlier that day, the glass door had been held open by a young scrawny fellow whose security uniform looked two sizes too big. He seemed friendly enough, smiling and doffing an invisible cap at Eve, but he wasn’t Clive. Dawn, the receptionist, told her that Clive had asked for the day off to have some medical tests, and the agency had sent his replacement.
Half of Eve was relieved that Clive had managed to decipher what the hell she was getting at yesterday, and the other half was utterly embarrassed in case it was a complete false alarm and she’d sent him off to have his bits prodded on the advice of a batty old lady who liked bright colours. Not that she would prefer for there to be something sinister lurking just to save her discomfort. It was probably a complete coincidence that the other ladies at Ayesha’s hen do had their premonitions come true, but either way, Eve was glad Clive had gone to be checked out.
‘Jack’s here!’ Becca shrilled from the living room as soon as she heard Eve shut the front door in the hallway. Eve dropped her bag in the hall and hurried into the lounge to greet Jack. She’d only seen him a handful of times since Christmas, and he was one of those twinkly-eyed souls that lit up a room with their charm and good nature.
‘Hello stranger,’ Eve said, giving Jack a big hug. ‘It’s great to see you. Are you staying long?’
‘I’ve got a work thing tonight, but can I treat you both to dinner tomorrow to hear all the news?’
‘Oh God,’ Eve batted his invite away with her hand. ‘You don’t want me there as a third wheel, you two lovebirds go and enjoy yourselves.’
‘Well, actually there’s a chap from the American base that we’re working with who’s in London tomorrow night, so I’ve invited him along too.’
Becca started jumping on the spot. ‘Guess what his name is? Guess! Jack tell her! I’ll tell her, Eve! It’s Blake, it’s flippin’ Blake!’
Jack was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking bemused at his fiancée’s hysterical hopping up and down. She was like a demented lemming. ‘It’s him, Eve, it has to be!’
‘He’s American.’
‘Yes, so exotic,’ Becca said hugging herself, mistaking Eve’s sarcasm for unbridled joy. ‘I can’t wait for us to meet him!’
Eve turned to Jack. ‘Answer honestly, on a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that this American GI Joe is going to be my soul mate?’
‘I’m no good at this sort of stuff Eve, I don’t know. He’s a good bloke, keeps his guns really clean.’
‘Oh good, because that’s the main thing I’m looking for in a life partner.’ Eve crossed her arms. ‘I’m not coming.’
If Becca’s bottom lip protruded any more they’d all trip on it. ‘You have to, come on Eve, it’ll be fun, and if Blake isn’t The B it doesn’t matter, although I know that he is.’
‘I suppose Becca’s told you then, about the ridiculous weekend we’ve just had?’ Eve asked Jack as she slumped onto the sofa and patted the seat next to her for him to do the same.
‘She has. I’m glad I’ve got her granddad’s stamp of approval, even if I am sitting on a hay bale at my own wedding.’
Eve laughed, she’d forgotten that part. No doubt at some point in the next few weeks she’ll be called upon to find, and pay for, said hay bales and arrange for their delivery. That’d be something to look forward to.
‘So, Eve and Blake, Blake and Eve.’
‘Don’t you start Jack,’ Eve said. ‘I’ve had enough of that from this one.’ She pointed to Becca who had come back in the room with three cold beers and a big bag of crisps.
‘You’re not a believer?’
‘I don’t know what I am. It all seems highly implausible, so I’m keeping an open mind.’
‘So you’ll come to dinner tomorrow?’ Becca said hopefully.
‘No, as much as I’m sure this Blake friend of yours is great, I’m still going to sit this one out.’
‘You can’t argue with fate Eve, I mean what are the chances of Jack being sent to London with a bloke called B just a few days after you get told you’re going to marry one?’
‘She didn’t say I was going to marry B, just that he was going to make me happy. In my vast experiences of marriage – purely as an onlooker – marriage and happiness are rarely the same thing. Present company very much excepted. And whilst Jack, I think you’re great, I don’t want to marry an army man. Or an American, unless he’s Jon Stewart. And as an American army man, he’s not right on both counts.’
Duly chastened, Becca knew when defeat had to be conceded and reluctantly changed the subject back to hay bales.
***
‘Morning Eve.’
It was the first time Clive had ever used her name.
‘Morning Clive. Good to see you back.’
‘I, um, told my wife about what you said,’ he said quietly, motioning for Eve to stand aside to let some people behind her through. ‘She made me go for some tests yesterday, and they think it might be, you know, bad, but they think they’ve caught it in time. We’ll know more next week, but if you hadn’t have said nothing the other day, I’d be none the wiser, so, cheers.’
‘No problem Clive, hope it all sorts itself out.’ She didn’t know what else to say, so reverted to a tried and tested back up.
‘Fabulous day for it.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Fabulous day for it.’
Eve took the stairs so she could send a WhatsApp to Becca at the same time.
‘Fine, I’ll come to dinner tonight and meet Blake. What’s the worst that can happen,
eh? Where and when?
Blake’s brutal haircut was army regulation and could in no way be held against him. But it unfortunately highlighted his head’s similarity in shape to an avocado. It was tricky for Eve to look him in the eye as he was talking as her gaze kept wandering upwards to where his scalp sort of tapered into a point.
‘So, what do you think of London?’ Eve asked brightly. It seemed unfair to write off a potential perfect match on such flimsy criteria.
‘I’ve only seen this restaurant and the embassy so far, but it seems, well, a bit dirty if I’m being honest with you.’ Oh Blake, Eve thought. The pointy noggin she could just about overlook, but unkind words about her beloved city? He had crashed and burned, and their bruschetta starters hadn’t even arrived. He was also calling her Ma’am, which, the first time he did it, Eve thought was a joke, but by the fifth time, she realised that it was just how he talked to women. It also concerned Eve how little Becca seemed to grasp his unsuitability for her, as she was still giving little shoulder jigs of excited encouragement out of the corner of Eve’s eye. Were her friends so desperate to see Eve happily coupled up, that they’d accept any man with the right initial? Making her excuses the second the bill was paid, Eve left.
A Beautiful Day for a Wedding Page 11