by Lynda Renham
‘Do you come to Ronnie Scott’s a lot?’ he asks simply.
‘Oliver doesn’t like jazz, so no not really.’
‘But you do?’
‘Yes I do,’ I smile.
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘We both like jazz don’t we?’
He pulls his phone from his pocket and turns it on. It bleeps immediately.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘I think we missed something of an opportunity somewhere along the line,’ he says adding softly, ‘C’est la vie.’
Before I can respond his phone rings and lights up with Andrea’s name, and he shrugs apologetically. I turn my Blackberry on which also rings with a voicemail message. Before I can check it, my phone rings again and Oliver’s name flashes onto the screen and I also find myself thinking c’est la vie.
I ask the cab driver to stop the cab at the end of my street. I know it’s stupid, I’m sure Oliver isn’t looking out of the window but if he is, and sees me saying goodnight to William, well let’s be honest, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I fumble in my bag to William’s chuckling.
‘Don’t start. I’m paying,’ he says, putting his hand on mine.
I sigh.
‘I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that,’ I say before I can stop myself.
‘Paying for cabs? I’ve been doing it for years. I can’t be bothered to drive around town …’
‘Putting your hand on mine,’ I say softly.
I won’t see him again I’m sure. I really can’t imagine Oliver and me having dinner with Mr and Mrs Ellis, aka William and Andrea, or out for an evening bowling with Andrea and William can you?
‘Right,’ he says quietly, removing his hand.
The cab driver clears his throat.
‘I should go,’ I say lifting the door handle. ‘Thanks for a wonderful evening.’
I’m about to open the taxi door when I feel his arms around me and his lips crushing mine. My body melts and I just drown in the kiss which feels so perfect that it can’t possibly be right. I can’t think and my body arches towards him. He releases me and I open my eyes to find myself looking straight into his.
‘C’est la vie,’ he whispers. ‘I always leave things too late.’
He opens the door for me and I sit feeling like Kate Winslet on the life raft, calling to Jack in the film Titanic and wanting to scream come back, come back.
‘Maybe one day we’ll have a coffee for old time’s sake,’ he says.
I nod. For the first time in my life I can’t speak. If I attempt to I am sure it will not be anything coherent. I climb from the cab and before I can say goodbye the door has closed and the cab is pulling away. I watch it until it disappears around the corner and make my way slowly to the entrance of our flat.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Cock it,’ yells Muffy, skidding towards me as her foot lands on a stray heated roller.
‘Oh, there it is,’ says Wes, who had agreed to be my hairdresser for the day, at an exorbitant fee I might add.
‘Have you seen my pink lipstick?’ Muffy asks, limping around the room. ‘Christ, I think I’ve got three degree burns from that bloody thing Wes.’
Wes winds the stray roller into my hair and surveys me.
‘Right, I’ll have a tea darling while they do their magic,’ he says, disappearing to the kitchen. I feel so sick I’m sure I will throw up all over the wedding dress. It hangs outside my mum’s wardrobe and the veil and wedding train lie on the bed in my parents’ spare room.
‘Are you doing my make-up Muffy?’ I ask anxiously. ‘How much time do we have?’
Muffy flops onto the bed and sighs.
‘About three hours, plenty of time. I’m bloody exhausted and your parents have got the heating up so high. I feel like I’m going to pass out, and my foot is throbbing like buggery.’
‘Mum can you turn the heating down?’ I yell, feeling perspiration running from my armpits. I sniff under my arms and groan.
‘I’ll have to shower again,’ I moan.
‘Just do the arms and spray with loads of deodorant,’ says Muffy, falling back onto the bed.
Her hair is freshly washed and hangs beautifully in gorgeous waves. Wes is going to put it in a chignon at her neck and dress it with the pearls we had bought at Victoria’s Bridal. I feel sure she will look a hundred times more stunning than me, and I really don’t mind. I finger the pearl earrings and necklace that sit in the white satin of a box that Oliver had given to me last night.
‘I want you to know that you have made me the happiest man in the whole world,’ he had said.
I had opened the box to find the pearls.
‘I want to see you in only these on our wedding night,’ he had said huskily.
I fiddle with them and jump at a knock on the door.
‘What was that?’ calls Dad from the other side.
‘I asked if the heating could go down,’ shouts Muffy.
What the sodding hell is my dad doing here? Why isn’t he at the church making sure everything is going okay? He knows I don’t trust that bloody Douglas, who is no doubt already pissed on rum. He’s another one into the pirate malarkey. If he and Oliver had their way I swear we’d have been dressed as bloody pirates for the wedding. God, I hope he hasn’t got Oliver playing that stupid pirate game. When those two get together they get so immature.
‘Christ Dad, why are you here?’
I open the door where he is hovering outside.
‘I didn’t know if you’d be dressed,’ he says. ‘Didn’t like to come in.’
He’s wearing his dressing gown and slippers. I nearly faint at the sight. This is a disaster, a complete and total disaster.
‘Why aren’t you dressed?’ I yell. ‘You should be dressed and checking everything is okay at the church, Mum, where are you?’ I shriek.
‘I was practising my speech, and anyway I’m taking you to the church in the car,’ says Dad frowning, ‘but not for a few hours yet.’
‘Oh no,’ I cry.
‘Christ Binki, take a Valium or something. You’re overstressing,’ says Muffy forcing herself from the bed.
Mum bounds up the stairs, panic written all over her face.
‘You know what Douglas is like, he’s worse than Oliver with his pirate stuff. They’ll get playing that stupid bloody strip the pirate game to see who can destroy the boat first and capture the woman and then Oliver will never get ready and …’
‘Good God, what on earth are you on about,’ says Mum. ‘What boat and what woman?’
Oh for God’s sake.
‘It’s an online game,’ sighs Muffy. ‘All very boring, the woman strips every time you hit the boat, you know, men’s stupid games.’
‘I’ve never seen that one,’ says Dad.
‘And you never will,’ says Mum firmly. ‘Now, what’s the panic?’ she asks breathlessly. ‘Does the dress not fit?’
‘What is Dad doing here in his dressing gown,’ I say, sounding hysterical. No, that’s not true. I am hysterical.
‘Well, he lives here dear,’ says Mum.
For God’s sake have they gone totally insane? They’re too young for dementia so it has to be insanity doesn’t it?
‘I know he bloody lives here but today he is supposed to be at the church, checking everything is okay, preferably in a wedding suit as opposed to his sodding dressing gown. I don’t trust Oliver’s best man, I told you that,’ I snap, bursting into tears. ‘It’s my wedding day, the happiest day of my life,’ I sob.
‘Yes, one can see that,’ says Muffy dryly.
‘It’s all going wrong,’ I say. ‘I knew it would. Oh God, give me the bloody chocolate teapot Muffy.’
She holds her hands up in front of me like a traffic policeman.
‘Now calm down Binki. You said no matter what happens or how much you beg I was not to give you the chocolate teapot. Not until after the ceremony. You’ll overdose when you’re this stressed.’
‘I don’t care what I said,’ I say wal
king menacingly towards her. ‘Give it to me now.’
‘Christ,’ says Muffy backing away. ‘She’s bloody possessed.’
‘Bernard, get dressed now and down to the church,’ instructs Mum. ‘And make sure you’re back here by twelve.’
‘But …’ interrupts Dad.
‘Now Bernard,’ she says firmly.
‘Right,’ says Dad disappearing down the hall.
‘Can you turn the heating down?’ yells Muffy. ‘I swear the Sahara is cooler than in here.’
Mum grabs my arm and sits me down.
‘Now listen to me dear. You have three hours. Your dad will be back in plenty of time. Douglas phoned to say everything is fine his end. The buttonhole flowers are all ready, there have been no problems. You just have to make yourself beautiful. Now, do you want Sylvia to come round and help, she just phoned and …’
‘No,’ I yell.
‘That’s just as well because I told her we had a houseful as it was.’
‘Hello Mrs Grayson, do you have any Earl Grey sweetie? I can’t possibly drink PG Tips,’ calls Wes.
‘Just coming dear,’ calls Mum. ‘Are you okay if I go down to the kitchen, you won’t do anything stupid will you?’
Do something stupid? I’m already doing something stupid. I’m bloody marrying Oliver aren’t I?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Meanwhile back at the flat
‘Arrr, the hair of the scurvy dog me matey?’ suggests Douglas, pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge along with a slab of cheese.
‘This and some cheese on toast will do the trick.’
‘Put that back you wanker, that’s for when we move into the new house.’
‘The cheese or the champagne?’ laughs Douglas, making Oliver’s head thump even more. ‘Or maybe both, I have to give it to you; you two know how to live.’
‘Don’t get anything down that shirt either. That’s all we need right now,’ groans Oliver.
‘You need to chill out mate. Christ, if this is what marriage does, you can keep it.’
Douglas puts the bottle back and rummages through the cupboard for a bottle of rum while Oliver drops two more Alka Seltzer into a glass.
‘I blame you for this hangover. What the fuck did you lot put in my drinks last night?’ he asks while throwing a carefully aimed parrot at Douglas.
Douglas laughs.
‘Don’t ask me mate, buggered if I can remember. After that fourth vodka and fifth lap dancer I’d had it. Christ, that brunette was a goer. Wore me out she did. I won’t be doing anything for a while.’
Oliver buries his head in his hands. He’d never had a hangover like this in his life. What the hell had he been thinking of? He’d promised Binki he wouldn’t drink too much and he’d probably drunk more than he ever had in his whole life. Will he ever learn? The last time he had drunk too much look what had happened? He thinks back to that lunchtime on Christmas Eve and feels that small tingle of excitement that always follows memories of that day. It was a mistake but he hasn’t forgotten the mind blowing sex. He loves Binki, but she certainly lacks something in that department. He seriously hopes after the wedding and once they are settled in the new house things will pick up in that area. If not he may have to convince her to seek some kind of help. He can’t spend his married life spicing it up by thinking about a one-night stand, or in this case a one-afternoon stand. It’s not his fault he knows that, because Christ, when she does explode she’s like a firework display, so he’s doing everything right. She’s just not very adventurous and he can’t for the life of him understand why the pirate fantasy doesn’t work for her. Amanda had been dead keen to try on the outfit. God, what is he doing? The last person he should be thinking about right now is Amanda. He does miss her tight little arse walking past him at the office though. He shakes his head to push the memory from it and feels his head thump.
‘Bloody good night though wasn’t it?’ laughs Douglas, giving up the search for the rum and filling the kettle instead.
‘Black coffee for you sonny boy. Need you looking like something on earth to meet the old ball and chain.’
‘It’s not a bloody prison sentence,’ Oliver snaps throwing back the Alka Seltzer.
‘Trust me there won’t be nights again like last night and while I remember you need to get that lap dancer’s phone number off your iPhone, and her text message.’
‘Shit,’ mumbles Oliver, scrambling for his phone. The flat intercom buzzes and Douglas goes to answer it.
‘Maybe it’s her, one last quickie,’ laughs Douglas.
‘Christ, I didn’t did I?’ Oliver groans.
Douglas opens the door to the florist holding boxes of carnations.
‘Great, shove them in the kitchen will you.’
The fragrance from the flowers makes Oliver feel nauseous, and the text from the lap dancer doesn’t help either. Christ, he hopes nothing happened with her. It’s no good asking Douglas, his memory of last night is worse than his own. Still, this is what happens at stag nights isn’t it? It’s bloody expected that the groom will end up wasted. That’s one good thing. If he was that pissed then the chances of him having done anything were pretty slim.
‘Jesus, I’m going to throw up,’ he declares, rushing to the bathroom.
‘Best thing mate, get it out now. You’ve got a few hours yet before your life is over.’
Oliver retches over the toilet bowl still holding his phone. It bleeps and he glances at the screen and sees it is a text from Amanda. Great, just what he didn’t need today.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘God, I want to cry,’ says Muffy. ‘You look like a real princess. You really do.’
Even I don’t recognise myself. Muffy has performed miracles with make-up. I have acquired high cheekbones and thick long black lashes, and if I don’t resemble Grace Kelly I certainly look like a film star. I only wish I could look like this every day, not wearing a wedding dress obviously, that would be a bit weird, I mean looking glamorous like Andrea always does.
‘I look amazing,’ I say, my voice sounding miles away and not belonging to me at all.
‘It’s all down to Touché Éclat darling,’ says Muffy.
The dress fits to perfection. The lacy sleeves stand out against my pink painted fingernails. Wes has done wonders with a few heated rollers and a styling brush. I look stunning and I find myself thinking how I wish William could see me. Mum spreads the train around me so Dad can take photos. Muffy stands beside me and we hug for a picture and she then kisses me on the cheek.
‘I’d better go. Come on Bella or else the bride will be there before us.’
Mum gets all tearful.
‘I’m so proud. Now don’t rush her down the aisle Bernard. Take your time,’ she sniffs.
‘The car is here. We’ll go when you’re ready, okay?’ says Dad. ‘I’m just going to check I’ve got everything. You just close your eyes and relax. It’s going to be wonderful.’
I take Dad’s advice and close my eyes, except for the occasional peep at myself in the mirror. I tell myself I’m getting married. It only seems like a few moments before Dad says,
‘Ready, love, we should go.’
I look up at him in his smart new suit and smile.
‘I think so,’ I say.
God, I’ve never been so unsure of anything in my whole life.
‘This is the first day of the rest of your life,’ smiles Dad.
Shit and double shit. This feels like the last day of the rest of my life, the last day of being Binki Grayson and the beginning of the rest of my life with Oliver and lots of mini Olivers or Olivias. But it is the right decision isn’t it? He’s a good man. I’m thirty, and how many good men are there out there? Apart from the odd few with bloody warts on their noses, or God forbid, warts somewhere else, and the divorced and desperate men. What’s left at my age? No, Oliver is the right one. He’s stable and in a good job, unlike William, who never knows what will happen from one day to the ne
xt. One day he could have work and the next … What am I doing? I shouldn’t be thinking about another man on my wedding day. I’ve chosen the right man. He loves me and I love him. I can sort out the being in love thing afterwards. There are loads of books I can read and maybe Oliver can see someone about his pirate fetish. That’s not normal but everyone has their oddities, right?
All the neighbours are standing at their gates as I walk towards the white Rolls-Royce.
‘Congratulations darling, good luck’, they cheer.
Dad helps me into the car and folds the train around me before climbing in.
‘Alright love?’ he asks.
I nod while wondering if it is normal to feel so unsure on the most important day of your life. I glance down at my engagement ring and finger the pearls in my ears.
‘I feel a bit sick,’ I whisper into my dad’s ear.
‘I’ve got some water, will that help?’
I nod and he hands me a bottle of sparkling water. Great, the last thing I want to do is go belching down the aisle isn’t it? I shake my head and hand it back.
‘How about some nice calming music?’ says the chauffeur. ‘I have it especially; you’d be surprised how many nervous brides I’ve had in this car.’