by Matt Dunn
‘Duh. Sweating? Pig?’
Rachel gave him a look. She was starting to think that might be an accurate description. ‘Rich, you can’t turn up to Jed and Livia’s wedding looking like—’
‘Hello? It’s a wedding. It’s going to be all about the bride. No one will give a toss what I look like, will they?’
Rachel gritted her teeth. Rich’s habit of ending every sentence with a question bugged her at the best of times, and already this evening wasn’t looking like being one of the best of times. ‘I will.’
Rich opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it hurriedly, perhaps finally remembering their earlier conversation. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, as if she’d just asked him to do something completely unreasonable. ‘I’ll wear a jacket. But just for the ceremony, mind.’
‘And your shirt?’
He glanced down at the wrinkled garment, pulling the front taut to smooth it out, then made a face when he let go of the material and it assumed its earlier condition. ‘It’s so bloody hot it’ll smooth itself out eventually,’ he said, adding an accusatory ‘Especially if I’m wearing a bloody jacket!’
He gulped down the rest of his beer, and Rachel winced as this time he didn’t even try to stifle his burp. ‘Anyway,’ he said, peering at the now-empty bottle. ‘Did you want to get a drink before they come down?’
Rachel looked at her watch. They had twenty minutes, and a drink might be good – if only to relax her around Rich.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, and Rich smiled.
‘Great. Get us another one while you’re there, love?’
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’
‘It’ll be my last one.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise. I won’t touch another drop. Until the champagne later. You know, just to toast the bride and groom.’ He leant over and kissed her on the cheek, then glanced at his watch before moving towards the door.
‘Where are you going now?’
‘Off to sort myself out. There’s an H&M round the corner. You get the drinks in; I’ll be back before you know it.’
Rachel gave him a look, then with a sigh she went over to the bar and ordered a glass of wine for herself and another beer for Rich, bristling slightly when she discovered he’d charged his earlier drink to her room bill rather than paying for it himself.
She sat in the lobby, sipping her drink while she waited for him to come back, though by the time she’d finished a good half of the glass, he still hadn’t appeared. Maybe he was having a problem finding a jacket. Perhaps she should have gone with him. Or maybe he’d snuck past her and was already in the bar, downing a sneaky beer while she sat here . . . But no – Rich had promised. Knew what was at stake. And he’d hardly have made the effort to come all the way out here only to fall at the first hurdle, surely?
With a frown, Rachel carried the drinks back into the bar, but there was no sign of him there either. Jed was waving her over to where he, Liam and Izzy were sitting, so she walked across to join them.
‘That for me?’ said Liam, staring thirstily at the bottle of Estrella.
‘No, it’s . . .’ Rachel peered around the lobby. ‘I mean, yes,’ she said, handing him the bottle. ‘Seen Rich, by the way?’
‘He’s not with you?’ said Liam, and Jed rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry. He’s obviously not. Maybe he’s still watching the f— Oof!’
‘The foof?’ Rachel frowned. Liam was rubbing the spot on his side where Jed had just elbowed him in the ribs. ‘What are you talking about?’
Rachel peered at Jed, then at Liam, and as Liam looked like he was desperately thinking of something to say, Izzy piped up. ‘He asked us not to say anything, Rach, but he said something about wanting to watch the match.’
Rachel glared at her. ‘I take it he wasn’t referring to Jed and Livia’s?’
Izzy pursed her lips. ‘I guess not.’
‘And did he say where . . . ?’
‘There’s an Irish pub across from the hotel,’ said Jed. ‘They’ve got Sky Sports.’
Liam nodded. ‘And do an all-day breakfast. Which, if the picture of it in the window is actually what you get, it’d take all day to—’
But Rachel didn’t hear the rest of Liam’s sentence, as she’d already spun round on her heel.
She strode out through reception, marched determinedly across the street and pushed her way in through the pub’s heavy wooden door. Once her eyes had adjusted to the gloomy interior, she spotted Rich, sitting at the far end, a half-drunk pint of Guinness on the counter in front of him, his eyes glued to the huge TV screen in the corner, and Rachel felt her heart fall so heavily she was surprised he couldn’t hear the thud. This was why he’d been so happy when she’d told him she had to go and help Livia get ready: it had given him a chance to watch the football. She suspected half-time had been when he’d come back to the hotel to get ready – and his sweating hadn’t been because he was hot, but because he was desperate to get back to the game and she’d almost caught him.
Rachel balled her hands into fists, surprised to find she was more angry than upset. Livia had been right. People didn’t change. At best, they compromised. And by the looks of Rich, he wasn’t even prepared to do that. She scowled at him from across the room, hoping he could feel the daggers, then spun around, headed back to the hotel and ran up the stairs to her room. How could she have been so stupid? What was the phrase he was so fond of repeating whenever his beloved club lost in some competition and she suggested he follow one of the other teams instead? ‘You can change your job, your house, your wife and your car, but never your football club.’ Well, that was obviously how Rich felt about things. And the last thing Rachel wanted was to always take second place to bloody Arsenal.
Grabbing his bag, she scooped up the remainder of his clothes and stuffed them back into the wheelie, realising why he’d left them in such a mess: he’d probably been worried about missing the start of the second half. Well, things were really going to kick off between the two of them now.
Dragging his suitcase behind her, Rachel headed downstairs and – pausing only to have a quick word with the receptionist – hurried back outside, crossed the street, marched into the pub, and made her way right up to where he was sitting. She cleared her throat, and Rich glanced momentarily away from the screen, raised his eyebrows in a ‘hey, Rach’ kind of way, then turned his attention back to it, before double-taking so hard Rachel wouldn’t have been surprised if it gave him whiplash.
‘Oh. Hi. I was just . . .’
‘That’s okay,’ said Rachel, sweetly. ‘What’s the score?’
Rich gave her a look as if to suggest she already knew it.
‘Oh – present for you!’ she said, patting the top of his suitcase as if it were an obedient puppy at her heel.
‘What’s that?’
‘Your bag.’
‘I can see that, can’t I?’
‘Well, why did you ask what it was, then?’
‘No, I meant, what are you doing with it?’
Rich was finding it hard to stop watching the game, and this fact was only making Rachel more determined to do what she knew she had to. ‘I’m not doing anything with it. Not any more, anyway.’
‘Eh?’
‘I’ve packed all your things.’
‘What for? Are we moving rooms?’
‘One of us is.’
Rich sighed. ‘Look, if this is about me leaving my stuff everywhere, it’s because you’ve taken all the hanging space.’
‘Is that really what you think?’
Rich was giving her a look to suggest that yes, actually, it was, and Rachel wanted to scream. So – and because he’d just turned his attention back to the television – she did.
‘Christ, Rach! What was that for?’
‘For being stupid.’
‘Eh? How was I—’
‘Me, I mean.’
‘You?’ he said, looking at her blankly, and Rachel screamed agai
n.
‘For god’s sake, Rich!’
‘Calm down, will you?’
‘Calm down?’ Rachel stamped her foot angrily. As far as she knew, no one in the history of the world had ever calmed down simply by being told to calm down, and she was no exception. ‘Rich, just . . . don’t bother.’
‘Huh?’
‘Coming. To the wedding, or even back to the hotel.’
‘Yes!’ said Rich, doing an exaggerated fist pump, and while Rachel initially couldn’t believe he could be so heartless, she soon realised it was actually because his team had just scored. ‘I mean, what?’
‘Because you won’t be able to,’ she continued, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve told the desk staff you’re not staying there any more, so not to let you in.’
‘What did you do that for?’
Rachel flicked her eyes at the TV. ‘Why do you think? One weekend. That’s all I wanted. Just you and me, acting like a proper couple, watching a real couple go and do something meaningful. One Saturday when I didn’t have to play second fiddle to a group of overpaid men running around in shorts who, quite frankly, don’t even seem to be that good.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Not fair?’
‘No. Arsenal won the Cup in—’
‘For god’s sake, Rich, I don’t care about your stupid football team. Who you seem to care about more than you do me.’
‘Rach, don’t be like that.’
‘Why not? Give me one good reason. You promised, Rich. No football. No getting drunk. And here you are, doing both those things! And trying to hide them from me.’
Rich’s expression suggested he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. ‘Look,’ he said, eventually. ‘I don’t know whether it’s your time of the month or something, but let’s just get through this evening. We can talk about this tomorrow. On the plane, maybe?’
An excited commentary, in Spanish, had suddenly begun from the TV, and Rachel could tell Rich was having to fight very hard not to look round at it. A fight that, perhaps unsurprisingly, he lost. And in that moment, Rachel knew this was one fight she wasn’t going to.
‘What plane?’
‘Our plane.’
‘Our plane?’
‘You’ve got my return ticket.’
‘You didn’t book one?’
‘Well, no,’ said Rich, falteringly. ‘On account of you already having—’
‘You’re seriously expecting to fly back with me tomorrow, using a ticket I paid for, when you’ve let me down, lied to me, didn’t even have the decency to come out here with me in the first place, and then, when you finally got here, decided you’d rather sneak off to the pub to watch the match than spend time with me?’
‘Erm . . .’ Rich was looking at her as if he’d finally realised he’d overstepped the mark, whereas, to her surprise, Rachel was feeling strangely happy. Perhaps, she realised, because she finally knew she’d be better off without him. Especially since he’d just glanced round at the TV again.
‘And you can’t even tear your eyes away from the football for two seconds, to try to save a two-year relationship?’
Rich was looking at her, his mouth open, and for a moment Rachel feared he was going to try to explain that he’d had a relationship with his beloved Arsenal for much longer than that. Fortunately, he didn’t. Because if he had, she’d probably have punched him.
‘Well?’
‘Come on, Rach.’ He nodded at the TV screen. ‘It’s nearly over.’
‘No, Rich. It is over.’
‘Where do you expect me to go?’
‘I don’t care,’ said Rachel. ‘Home, maybe?’
‘But, like I said, I don’t have a return ticket.’
‘No, Rich. This time, you don’t.’
Then – with an exaggerated fist pump of her own – Rachel swivelled smartly around, marched out of the bar and made her way back to the wedding.
‘You ready?’
Patrick smiled, and Livia looked up at him nervously. ‘As I’ll ever be.’ She held up her crossed fingers, then made a face. ‘I didn’t tell him, Patrick. That the wedding isn’t strictly legal. I couldn’t.’
‘I don’t think that matters.’
‘Why? What’s he said? Or isn’t he going to turn up?’ She grabbed both arms of her chair to steady herself, and Patrick moved quickly to her side.
‘Oh no,’ he said, helping her up. ‘He’ll be there.’
‘Because he has to be?’
‘Because he wants to be.’
‘You’re sure?’
Patrick nodded. ‘This is Jed we’re talking about. When has he ever let you down?’
‘I don’t want him to be there because he’s worried he’s letting me down. I need him to be there because he wants to be. Wants to get married. To me.’
‘He does. It just . . . hadn’t occurred to him that he did.’
‘I’ll take that. I suppose.’
‘Hey!’ Patrick took her face gently in his hands. ‘For someone who’s about to get everything they ever wanted, you don’t seem all that excited.’
‘I am. It’s just . . .’ Livia sighed. ‘This wasn’t how I pictured it.’
‘Life seldom is.’
‘No, but . . .’ Livia thought for a moment, and Patrick kept quiet, trying to work out whether this was last-minute nerves or something more serious than that. ‘I planned all of this thinking it’d make Jed and me closer, you know? Hoping we’d have an amazing weekend, and instead . . .’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I think I’m just feeling a little disappointed.’
‘In Jed?’
‘In myself. For not managing today a little better.’
‘And better would have been?’
‘Jed and I not spending most of the morning sniping at each other, or him doing his best to avoid me for the rest of the day.’
‘Welcome to marriage!’
‘Ha ha.’ Livia smiled, though there wasn’t a lot of humour behind it. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Of course not. Well, a bit. But marriage, life, married life . . . it’s complicated. There are some things you just can’t control. Even you. So you’ve got to let them go, and . . .’
‘Keep your eye on the prize?’
‘Exactly.’
Livia puffed air out of her cheeks, then she glanced at her watch. ‘Any last-minute tips?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘Don’t trip over your dress, repeat what the official says, and—’
‘No. For marriage.’
‘I’m the last person to—’
‘You had twenty good years. And a lovely daughter. You must have done something right.’
‘Evidently not. I’m never getting married again . . .’ He hesitated when he saw how Livia’s expression had fallen. ‘But you and Jed totally should.’
‘Even so, I’d rather not learn from my mistakes, so . . .’
‘ . . . you want to learn from mine?’ Patrick let out a short laugh. ‘Liv, every relationship’s different. Because everyone is different – you just need to look around you. So there’s no generic advice I can really give you that . . .’ He stopped talking for a moment. ‘Actually, there is.’
‘Which is?’
He gently rested a palm on Livia’s belly. ‘In a few months, something’s going to happen to you both that’s the most bewildering, wonderful, tiring, rewarding, amazing, frustrating thing that can happen to anyone. And no one teaches you how to be a parent, which is possibly just as well, because there’s no one way of doing it. Right now, you and Jed are a couple. Soon, you, Jed and little Patrick here,’ he said with a wink, ‘are going to be a family. And that’s the best, most precious, most special, most valuable thing in the entire world. Never forget that, and I think you’ll be okay.’
‘Wow. That’s . . . something to think about.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Patrick tapped his watch and motioned towards the door. ‘So – and I’ve said this to Jed too – the most im
portant thing you need to do is ensure you don’t fuck it up.’
Livia laughed. ‘Right. And how do I make sure of that?’
‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here with Izzy, would I?’ He patted his pockets, retrieved Livia’s key card from the slot on the wall, then opened the door. ‘But just promise me something.’
‘What?’ said Livia as she followed him out into the corridor.
‘When you work it out, let me know, will you?’
‘Deal!’ She smiled. ‘Things clearer with Izzy?’
‘I think so. We had a . . . talk, this afternoon, and . . . she and I . . . let’s just say we reached an understanding.’
‘I heard you. Twice!’
Patrick blushed. ‘Says the woman who almost blew the door off her room earlier!’
Livia burst out laughing. ‘Well, good for you.’
‘She told me she loved me, though.’
Livia made a face. ‘Oops. Awkward.’
‘Except it wasn’t.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ Patrick pressed the lift’s call button. ‘Mainly because I had to hightail it out of there to come and get you. Besides, she’s young. She doesn’t know what love is. Not real love, anyway.’
‘And what is “real love”, exactly?’
‘Something you have to be a lot older than twenty-two to know about.’ He jabbed impatiently at the button again. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to get into right now. ‘Like you and Jed have.’
‘Here’s hoping.’ Livia mimed biting her nails, and then, as the lift doors pinged open, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For doing this. For trying to put me at ease with that rather unkind reminder about my earlier, ahem, gastric issues. And for doing whatever it is I’m sure you did to make Jed see sense.’
‘I didn’t make Jed see anything he couldn’t already. I’m sure of that. All I did was . . . remind him.’
‘Even so.’
They stepped into the lift, Patrick checking his reflection in the mirror on the back wall and hastily wiping off the traces of Livia’s lipstick, then – suddenly all serious – they rode silently down to the ground floor. As the doors opened, following Patrick’s formal ‘Shall we?’ they linked arms, and he walked her through reception, smiling proudly at the other hotel guests and the handful of staff who were grinning inanely at them as they passed. After a quick peek through the doors – to make sure Jed was actually there, though Patrick didn’t dare tell Livia that was why he was looking – he turned to her one final time.