The Accidental Honeymoon

by Portia MacIntosh

  I nod my head. With just a few sentences, Sue has left me absolutely speechless.

  ‘Here,’ she says as she hands me £10 and the beach dress she expects me to go home in. ‘Give us that hoodie, I’ll take it to Jack.’

  Sue gives me a kiss on the cheek before heading downstairs.

  For a second, I just sit on her bed in my underwear, thinking about every word she just said to me. Is that really what people here at home think of me?

  Reluctantly, I pull on the long, bright-yellow dress and head downstairs. Jack is waiting for me by the front door.

  ‘I thought it best I wait here,’ he whispers. ‘Before I kill Roberto Senior.’

  ‘Bye,’ I call into the living room.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Jack asks once we’re outside.

  ‘Bad mood,’ I tell him bluntly.

  ‘Come on,’ he says as he grabs hold of my hand, ‘let’s walk home. You can tell your hubby all about it.’

  ‘Sue told me I’m stuck up now, and that I look down on people,’ I tell him as we stroll through Brightside, which is surprisingly alive with people considering it’s nearly 2 a.m.

  ‘Is it because you told her that dress is disgusting?’ He laughs as he nods towards my outfit.

  I laugh, but it doesn’t do much to lift my mood.

  ‘Georgie, you’re not a snob. They had a Call of Duty poster on the wall in their living room. They named their children Sonique and Roberto Junior. Sue owns that dress. If you’re a snob, then I’m a snob.’

  ‘Then why do you call me princess?’ I ask.

  Jack doesn’t reply. Instead, we temporarily pause our conversation as we walk past a gang of lads who are smoking at the side of the road. All six of them are dressed in almost identical navy-blue tracksuits, but a variety of interesting hairstyles, neck tattoos and caps give them their individuality.

  I was hoping we might be able to walk past them unnoticed and without trouble, but this is Brightside, and I notice the skinhead staring at us as we walk.

  ‘All right love,’ he says, throwing his cigarette down, walking along behind us. He has skin so pale it’s almost transparent and you’d be forgiven for thinking the veins in his neck are showing, but they’re actually just tattooed on. He must be the leader because the rest of his gang follow closely behind him.

  In no mood for trouble, I decide to ignore him and thankfully Jack does the same.

  ‘I’m talking to you,’ the skinhead snaps at me.

  I stop dead and turn around to face him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why don’t you ditch the big lad and come smoke a little weed with us,’ he suggests. What a romantic, and you’ve almost got to admire the balls on him, talking about Jack like that. Then again, he has strength in numbers.

  ‘Hey, watch it,’ Jack says, squaring up to him.

  These puny little boys may not be even half his size, but there are six of them. He may have them outgunned but they’ve got him outmanned, and I don’t want him getting in trouble on my behalf.

  ‘Ooh, Yankee Doodle Dandy,’ the skinhead teases.

  I take Jack by the arm and usher him away, but this only makes the skinhead angrier. The problem is that I’m already in a bad mood, and I’m certainly not in the mood for this shit tonight.

  ‘Oi, do you know who my dad is?’ the skinhead calls out as he follows us closely, like he’s some kind of Brightside celebrity or something.

  ‘I don’t,’ I reply. ‘Do you know who your dad is?’

  And there it is. I stare at Jack and give him a look, a look that says: ‘Did I really just say that out loud?’ His eyes widen, but he smiles at me – I think he’s impressed.

  ‘What the fuck did you just say, love?’ the skinhead asks me as he gets right up in my face. Jack tries to get between us but four members of the gang hold him back – yes, it takes four of them.

  ‘You know, I don’t usually hit girls,’ he says, and even though I’m terrified, I don’t let it show.

  ‘Really? Well, that makes you the odd one out on this estate then, doesn’t it?’ I reply.

  The skinhead laughs, but his smile soon dissolves and a look of pure rage spreads across his face.

  ‘You asked for this,’ he tells me as he makes a fist.

  I quickly close my eyes, just in time before I hear the sound of knuckles smashing into cheekbone. But I don’t feel a thing. I open my eyes and see the gang running off and making whooping noises, but it’s only when I turn to look at Jack clutching his face that I realise he’s been hit.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I walk through my bedroom door with a bag of frozen peas in my hand and my tail between my legs.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, probably for the millionth time.

  ‘Georgie, seriously, it’s not your fault,’ he insists, taking the bag of frozen peas from me, holding it below his left eye.

  ‘It’s almost exclusively my fault,’ I point out, getting in bed next to him. ‘If I hadn’t provoked him, he probably wouldn’t have hit you.’

  ‘No, he probably would have done much worse. There’s no way they were going to let us just walk away. I don’t know how we’re going to explain the bruise,’ he laughs.

  ‘We don’t need to explain anything,’ I tell him. ‘Make-up is a magical thing.’

  ‘I don’t think wearing a little make-up would usually bother me so much, but I did wear a skirt a couple of nights ago.’ He laughs. ‘But if you think you can do it so no one can tell, that would be great. Just maybe in the morning, when the swelling has gone down.’

  Sitting next to one another in bed, I gaze into his eyes.

  ‘How’s it look?’ he asks, removing the bag from his face.

  I use a thumb to lightly brush droplets of water from his cheek.

  ‘You’re going to have quite the black eye,’ I tell him. ‘Chicks will dig it.’

  ‘Well, so long as chicks dig it,’ he says sarcastically.

  It’s approaching 3 a.m., and time both of us got some sleep.

  ‘Look, we’ve been sharing a bed for a few nights now, we’re grown-ups, I clearly do what I like in my sleep – and we’ve kissed. I don’t think these are necessary any more.’

  I grab the stuffed animals one at a time and throw them on my bedroom floor. Jack had my back tonight – he had it earlier in the day, too. I guess this is my way of saying I trust him.

  ‘Ah yes, that kiss. That kiss was quite the public display of affection,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I’ve kissed anyone like that in front of an audience before.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve kissed anyone like that before, full stop,’ I admit.

  ‘What?’ Jack sounds confused. ‘You were engaged to be married. No one takes such a big step with someone who doesn’t light a fire under them.’

  ‘Finding someone you love who loves you back is hard. You make sacrifices,’ I explain.

  ‘You don’t sacrifice passion,’ he tells me. ‘What was your sex life like?’

  I feel my eyes widen at his question.

  ‘Come on, we’re married,’ he laughs. ‘But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  It’s been so long since I had someone I could talk to – really talk to – the ability to open up isn’t coming so easily. But what do I have to lose by talking about it?

  ‘I mean, he was cheating on me with his assistant, so something was up,’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘Our sex life was… adequate. We did it. It wasn’t anything special, but it wasn’t bad.’

  Jack raises his eyebrows, like he knows there’s more I’m not telling him.

  ‘Well, OK, he was pretty selfish. It was always all about him. He liked to receive but he wasn’t big on the giving, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘And you put up with that?’ he says in disbelief.

  ‘Well, yeah. I loved him. I always assumed he just wasn’t a very sexual person. I didn’t realise he was doing all that stuff with someone else. I guess he didn’t have the energy
or the inclination to do it with me after a hard day at work.’

  I pull a face. Now I think about it, I suppose the signs he was cheating on me were there all along. It was just so much easier to pin them on other things – well, no one wants to believe they’re being cheated on, do they? It’s the kind of thing that happens to other people, not to you.

  ‘Were there… fireworks?’ he asks tactfully.

  ‘Erm, well, not as such. But statistically they say most women can’t, right?’

  ‘Incorrect – don’t you read magazines – or the internet? Some women have a tougher time during sex. But that’s not the only route to the destination. Come on, you know this?’

  ‘I know I know this,’ I admit. ‘But no one wants to believe their fiancé doesn’t want to get them off.’

  ‘Georgie, one day you’re going to find a man who loves you, who you have amazing sexual chemistry with. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply solemnly. I appreciate the thought, but this is coming from a man who has admitted he’s never had a meaningful relationship

  ‘So,’ he starts, changing the subject. ‘What’s on the agenda tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow we’re going for our nineteen-twenties outfits fitting,’ I remind him. ‘Because we’ll ruin Fliss and Dougie’s wedding if we don’t look stupid. I suppose it’s nice of her, to have them made for us, but… I dunno.’

  ‘I know what you mean, don’t worry. It all feels so forced and reluctant.’

  ‘Exactly. I feel like – especially when it comes to money – Fliss likes to feel she’s doing you these huge favours, but she kind of resents you for it.’

  ‘They love flashing their cash, don’t they?’ he laughs. ‘And Dougie’s dad, with his “‘Rari” – I cringed so hard.’

  ‘Yeah. The best way to deal with it is to put up with it, swallow your pride and give them the gratitude they crave. They’re not bad people, it’s just their priorities are all wrong.’

  ‘Well, we’d better sleep,’ Jack points out, checking his watch. ‘Another day, another weird wedding event. This is not what I had in mind. I thought we’d just be drinking and hanging out with crazy old family members.’

  ‘That will come in time,’ I laugh. ‘Sweet dreams.’

  ‘Goodnight, princess.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Being fitted for a custom-made dress is everything I imagined it to be. I’m standing here, on this sort of podium thing, while a very stressed-out lady called Annie, with no fewer than four tape measures around her neck, takes my measurements.

  When Jack and I arrived, we were separated and shown to opposite ends of the shop for our fittings.

  I’m drinking a latte, much to Annie’s annoyance, as I always seem to be holding my cup in the hand that is most in her way at any given time. As I go to take another swig, my cup is snatched from my hand.

  ‘Good morning, Auntie Di,’ I say brightly. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t drinking that.’

  ‘You can drink it after,’ she says.

  Fliss walks in not far behind her, sucking at the straw of an iced coffee as she scrolls wildly at something on her phone screen.

  ‘Hey,’ she says blankly, far too engrossed in whatever is on her phone.

  ‘Hey, Fliss,’ Annie chirps. ‘So, I’ve taken Georgie’s measurements, and I have an idea for the dress. I can show you if you’d like?’

  ‘Can you show me?’ I ask her. ‘I’m the one that’s going to be wearing it.’

  ‘Yes, but Felicity is paying the bill,’ my auntie reminds me. I feel my eyebrows shoot up. I’m not going to be allowed to forget this grand gesture in a hurry.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Fliss insists. ‘You can show us both.’

  ‘So, I’m thinking a knee-length, gold, flapper-girl dress, with lots of fringing,’ she says, grabbing a sketch from the table to show us what she has in her head.

  Fliss grabs the piece of paper quickly and looks at it.

  ‘This is almost nicer than my dress,’ she says. ‘I want a gold dress.’

  ‘Felicity, darling, you’re getting married – your dress needs to be white,’ her mum reminds her.

  ‘I guess,’ she says reluctantly. She sucks on her straw for a few more seconds. ‘OK, sure. Make the gold dress for her.’

  Oh, how kind of her. That’s such a Felicity thing, to be jealous of another girl’s dress on her wedding day. If she had her way, she’d wear all the dresses, and everyone else would be wearing black plastic bin liners.

  ‘Can I step down now, please?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ Annie replies. ‘All done.’

  I step down and climb back into my high heels.

  ‘Your style has changed quite a bit,’ Fliss observes. ‘When we were at school, you were kind of kooky and alternative. Then, you go to LA and come back like the leader of the WI, and now…’

  ‘And now?’ I prompt her.

  ‘You look fresh off the pole,’ my auntie chimes in. I shoot her a filthy look, triggering her to say: ‘Just joking, my sweet.’

  ‘You are very… sexy now,’ my cousin adds, which I think is a tactful way of saying slutty. The thing is, I’m not slutty at all, I’m just wearing clothes and shoes that accentuate my curves and lengthen my legs. ‘What’s your wedding dress going to be like?’

  Shit, I hadn’t actually given it much thought – I guess that wasn’t a good sign, was it?

  ‘I’m still undecided on the style,’ I lie. Can you imagine what they’d say if they found out I tied the knot with a stranger, while wearing a ‘whore-red’ cocktail dress, completely hammered in Las Vegas?

  ‘I’ve got some you could try on,’ Annie chimes in, suddenly my friend now she thinks it might equal a sale.

  ‘No, no,’ I insist. ‘It’s fine, I’ve got a place in LA I’ve been going to.’

  ‘Ooh, Blackpool not good enough for you now?’ my auntie asks, putting on what I’d assume is a stuck-up voice.

  My mind immediately jumps back to my conversation with Sue last night, about how I’ve come back thinking I’m better than everyone.

  ‘No, don’t be daft,’ I say, ready to do whatever it takes to dispel the rumour I’m a snob. ‘I’d love to try something on.’

  ‘Well, we’re off,’ my cousin says. ‘We’ll check on Jack’s outfit, then pay the bill on our way out.’

  ‘See you ladies later,’ Annie calls after them before turning to me excitedly. ‘I know your size, I’ll go grab some dresses.’

  This doesn’t exactly feel right, but neither does everyone judging me, thinking I think I’m too good for my hometown and the people in it.

  Annie comes back in, wheeling a rack with several garment bags along with her.

  ‘So, take a look, see if there’s any you fancy,’ Annie says. ‘I’ve picked you a few, based on what I think you’ll like – kind of going off your look, but obviously a little purer, because, you know, I assume you’re having a white wedding?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ I lie, cringing at my Las Vegas shambles. ‘Thank you, I’ll take a look.’

  As I flick my way through the dresses, nothing really catches my eye… until one. They say that when you’re looking at wedding dresses and you see the one that’s right for you, you just know. It’s a sleeveless, floor-length white dress, with tiny crystals all over the bust that become more sparingly scattered around the lace as it reaches the floor. It’s like something a princess would wear, and exactly the kind of dress I could see myself tying the knot it.

  ‘I’ll try this one, please,’ I say, before I can think better of it.

  ‘Sure,’ Annie says. ‘I’ll give you a hand to put it on.’

  Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’ve spent the past four days so scantily clad, but the first thing I feel once I have the dress on is just how covered I feel in it. I suppose that’s the idea of wearing a white dress on your wedding day, right? You’re supposedly pure, so it makes sense to keep it all covered up, be
fore finally getting your kit off for your hubby for the first time. It’s funny. I must be one of the only modern brides, who isn’t religious, who didn’t sleep with her husband before she married him.

  I feel nothing but overdressed – that is, until the second I step back on my podium. As I look at my reflection in the wall mirrors that surround me, it hits me: I’m not getting married any more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m under no illusions, I know my engagement is off. But seeing myself in this wedding dress, it really, truly, completely hits me like a train. I am not going to get to wear a dress like this. I am not going to have a wedding. I am not getting married.

  First, I get the lump in my throat, then my bottom lip begins to tremble, and finally, when I can’t hold it in a second longer, tears fall from my eyes.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ I apologise.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Annie tells me. ‘Brides almost always shed a few tears when they catch a glimpse of the dress they want.’

  As my pretty little tears turn into big sobs and sniffles, Annie backtracks.

  ‘Erm, well, they usually don’t cry this much… I’ll give you a minute.’

  Finally alone, I don’t even try to hold back the tears. I cry my eyes out – something I think I’ve needed to do since I caught John cheating. It feels good to get it out, but devastating. The image of myself, in my dream wedding dress, crying my eyes out, is one I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

  Just when I think things can’t get any worse, Jack wanders into the room. He’s wearing a black and white pinstripe suit, black and white brogues and a white gambler hat.

  ‘I look fresh out of Bugsy Malone,’ he laughs, looking at himself in the mirror.’ ‘You… do not. You look amazing, holy shit.’

  I hurriedly wipe my eyes before Jack can see I’m crying, but nothing gets past him.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’ he asks, offering me a hand to help me down. ‘Talk to me, Georgie.’

  Jack sits me down on the sofa, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table before dabbing my cheeks gently.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say softly, staring blankly into space.