by Tracy Bloom
The man studied the piece of paper for a few moments whilst Drew stared at Toby defiantly.
“I would like to compliment your future wife on her choice. There is no doubt she will be the star of the show. If you would like to wait here a moment I will gather together your costumes,” said the man giving Drew a reassuring smile and a squeeze on the shoulder
“Thank you,” replied Drew before sitting down heavily on a worn leather armchair and putting his head in his hands.
“That was funny. You’re not normally that funny. Are you ill?” asked Toby.
“No,” said Drew from behind his hands.
“So what’s with you then sunshine,” Toby asked. “Is this a touch of cold feet or have you had a personality transplant?”
Drew glanced up and contemplated what on earth he should tell his best mate. He didn’t know what to tell himself never mind articulate it for someone else.
“I don’t know,” he finally said despairingly. “All this fuss and bother, I guess it’s just getting to me a bit.”
“Well pull it back a bit then. You don’t have to be Prince bloody Charles you know.”
“But this is what Em wants. I can’t deny her that.”
“It’s your wedding as well. What you want matters too.”
Drew stared at Toby for a long moment. “But what if I don’t know what I want?” he said finally.
“Mmmmm I see,” said Toby walking over and plonking himself down on a footstool. “Are you saying you don’t know what you want in terms of red or white wine at the reception, or are you talking on a much deeper level? Like maybe on a blonde or brunette level?”
Drew stared at his shoes before he replied without looking up at Toby.
“I’m perhaps at the blonde or brunette level,” he said. He felt like crying.
“Fucking spiders,” said Toby leaping off his stool. “The man is not a saint after all. Who is she? Have you shagged her yet?”
“I haven’t shagged anyone. It’s just that someone’s making me think twice a bit that’s all. There is absolutely no chance that anything would ever happen between us but the fact that I’m thinking about it is kind of confusing me.”
“Shag her, get it out of your system, and get married. Simple. Crikey this best man malarkey comes to me naturally don’t you think?” said Toby grinning his head off to the shop assistant who had now returned with their suits.
“Sorry, what was that Sir?” he asked politely.
“The groom here has cold feet brought about by some warm breasts that don’t belong to the bride-to-be having caught his eye. I am advising him in my role as best man to shag her.”
“And in what way will that help the gentleman with his dilemma may I ask?”
“Get it out of his system. Last chance workout as it were. Leaving him free to marry. Job done.”
The man glanced from Toby to Drew who was sitting with his chin in his hands staring gloomily in front of him.
“Shag her,” he said. “Now do you want to try on these clown suits or shall I put them back pending any major decisions here?”
Drew stood up without saying anything, grabbed the hangers from the man and disappeared behind a curtain.
“I’m not shagging anyone,” came his voice from behind the curtain.
“Clearly,” replied Toby.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’ve never seen you so tense, that’s all buddy.”
“What do you expect?”
“Well to be honest I was expecting my mate. Cool, calm, comfortable Drew. Or Mr. Sensible as I like to call him. Only through a curtain of course, never to his face. And instead I have super-stud himself. It’s taking some getting my head around. You are encroaching on my territory. I thought I was the balls in this relationship.”
“I am not a super-stud. I haven’t done anything.”
“Well maybe that’s just it my friend. You haven’t done anything. You’ve been an absolute saint in like forever. Shit, you’ve only ever slept with Emily. Who does that these days? The Pope that’s who.”
“I don’t think the Pope slept with Emily,” interjected the shop assistant.
“You’re right. They’ve never met. Thank you for pointing that out,” said Toby.
“You’re welcome. All part of the service” he replied and wandered off again.
“Look, who could blame you for sewing a few wild oats before you get committed hey? Better to do it now than after you’re married. Look I’ve never told you this but if it helps, that’s what I did.”
“Did what?”
“Had a bit of a fling before I got hitched to Chloe.”
“You’re kidding me? That’s disgusting.” Drew flung the curtain aside and approached Toby glaring.
“See. This is why I didn’t tell you. You’re so bloody moral sometimes. And well it was kind of awkward. But that’s not the point. The point is I had a fling, I got it out of my system and I’m now a happily married man. No harm done.”
“Does Chloe know?”
“Shit no. She’d slice my balls off. You know the temper she’s got.”
“Precisely,” said Drew. “Imagine how she’d feel. You can’t do that to the people you’re supposed to love. You just can’t do that.” He turned to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look like a clown. He didn’t look like an idiot. He actually looked quite handsome he thought. Emily had chosen a style that suited his broad shoulders and slim waist and he was relieved she had chosen a tie rather than a ridiculous cravat. And thankfully no waistcoat inspired by 1950s flock wall paper. He looked good.
The shop assistant appeared by his side and nodded approvingly.
“You look good,” he said. “You look ready. Are you ready?” he asked.
Drew turned to look at him.
“She obviously knows you well,” the man continued. “Don’t you think she has chosen well?”
“I do,” he muttered finally. “I do.”
Chapter 14
Dear Suzie
I have been living with my boyfriend for five years now and I thought he was planning to propose on my birthday. He’s been acting very secretively for ages. Disappearing for hours on end, hiding room tariffs for the swankiest hotel in Manchester in his wash bag, dropping phone calls on his mobile as soon as I enter the room and generally acting kind of nervous all the time. Anyway my twenty-ninth birthday came and went and he didn’t propose. Nor did we stay at the posh hotel. I think he bottled it because he’s nervous about whether I would say yes. I do want to marry him, so should I ask him to marry me?
Kerry
Dear Kerry,
He’s never going to marry you. The reason I know this is because he is having an affair. Mysterious disappearances, dropped phone calls and hotels only ever add up to one thing with men and it’s not a proposal. You are at that critical age when men face two choices if they have a girlfriend. Get married or have sex with someone else. Note this does not include facing up to the fact that you no longer love your girlfriend and that you should tell her. That would be far too brave.
So he has obviously taken the sex route. Now you hold the power because you know but he doesn’t know you know. So dump him. But dump him in style.
Find out when he is next having a liaison at this posh hotel by calling them and telling them you are his wife and you want to surprise him with something. I will arrange to be there waiting for him with a photographer. When they both arrive I will leap out and congratulate him on being the winner of Manchester’s Most Romantic Couple as nominated by his girlfriend Kerry. The room will be paid for by us and their photo will appear in the paper. He will wish he had been honest with you when he has to squirm his way out of that one and when he sees his photo in this column under the headline, Manchester’s Biggest Love Rat.
Suzie
Suzie particularly liked writing responses to letters regarding cheats. The very worst crime committed by man as far as she was concerned. Tortur
ed was the only way she could describe how she’d felt following Antony’s defection. Sure she’d suspected for some time that something was going on but she’d successfully managed to shove all the warning signals into a box marked IN DENIAL. She simply couldn’t comprehend that Antony would ever think so little of her as to cheat on her and with Charlie of all people. Sure she was pleasant enough but her mousy looks and shy disposition didn’t scream man-stealer. She was clear in her own mind that Antony was entirely the guilty party. Charlotte’s only crime was being weak and easily charmed. Nonetheless as she approached the charity shop that she’d discovered Charlie now worked at, she couldn’t help but feel a trickle of long-buried anger. She thought that approaching Charlie first would be easier than squaring up to Antony cold. She also hoped that information gleaned from Charlie could help her formulate a fitting revenge plan to strike Antony with.
However, as she looked up at the neglected façade, meeting the woman she’d last seen in bed with her boyfriend didn’t feel easy at all. It was terrifying. She opened the door and slid in as discreetly as possible wanting a good look at Charlotte before she was spotted. She needed to deal with the shock after all this time, on her own, not under Charlotte’s scrutiny. She ducked and dived behind a number of shelving units and packed hanging rails pretending to check out a lavender plastic mac before she dared to look up at the counter. She’s not here she thought as she looked straight past the rather ample lady writing something on a notepad. Wasted visit. She rammed the raincoat back into the rail and took one last glance back at the desk as she prepared to leave. Her jaw dropped as she squinted to take a closer look. Could it be? No, surely not. The chubby, drab looking lady now serving a customer couldn’t possibly be Charlie, could it? She studied her face closely. She certainly had her eyes. Then she heard her laugh gently and she was sure. She was barely recognisable but she was Charlie. Suzie felt the makings of a grin slowly form on her face. Charlie got fat she thought to herself. How absolutely brilliant. There is nothing more satisfying than clapping eyes on someone who you haven’t seen in ages who has let themselves go more than you have. Particularly when this particular person happens to have stolen your future husband.
Armed with the carrier bag of old clothes she had brought along as an excuse to be visiting the Cat’s Protection League charity shop, she strode towards the counter with a renewed spring in her step.
“Charlie?” she said as she approached the desk. “Is that you?”
Charlie didn’t look up from the book she was writing in.
“Charlie,” she repeated.
“Oh, sorry,” Charlie said looking up quickly. “No one calls me Charlie any … more …” She trailed off as her mouth dropped open.
“Suzie,” she said in a tone that suggested neither a statement nor a question.
“Fancy seeing you in here,” Suzie ploughed on. “I never thought I’d see you working in a place like this.”
Charlie appeared to scan the room as if searching for an escape route or possibly a large hole to swallow her up.
“I volunteer twice a week.”
“Really. I guess that’s what every good politician’s wife does,” said Suzie.
A small bead of sweat appeared on Charlie’s top lip and Suzie felt like she could almost smell the fear.
“Did you bring something in for us?” Charlie asked finally, grabbing at the bag clutched in Suzie’s hand.
“Oh yes, of course. Just a few old bits I was throwing out you know. All in size 12,” she said.
“That’s er really good of you,” muttered a now rather flushed looking Charlie. “The cats will be very grateful.”
“Crikey, I didn’t realize that you give the clothes to the cats to wear. I don’t think I’ll have anything in their colour.” Suzie peeled into hysterical laughter at her own wit fuelled by the mind-blowing high that she looked sooo much better than Charlie.
Charlie cracked a very small smile whilst awkwardly running the corner of one of Suzie’s old t-shirts through her fingers.
“So how are you?” she asked looking up. Suzie could have sworn she saw a small tear in the corner of her left eye.
“Oh fantastic,” replied Suzie. “I work at the Herald. Yeah it was hard work but I got to be a reporter just like I said I would.”
“That’s great,” nodded Charlie. “I’m really pleased for you.”
“Thanks. I really love it. I’m doing this great column at the moment that’s all about how women should handle men who behave badly. It’s incredibly popular.” Suzie paused before she continued. “So, how’s Antony?”
Charlie froze then looked away. “He’s fine,” she muttered.
“Good, good, that’s great. Well I have to say being the politician’s wife obviously agrees with you, you look fantastic.”
Charlie whipped her gaze back towards Suzie before frantically tugging at her cardigan sleeve and sniffing violently. Suzie watched in amazement as Charlie finally managed to tug a damp looking tissue out and hold it firmly to her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered from behind her soggy mask. “I’m sorry but I think you’d better leave. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Are you crying?” Suzie asked incredulous. This wasn’t how she had expected this to go at all.
“You’ve not gained that much weight really,” said Suzie at a complete loss as to what to say. “In fact I didn’t even notice till I got up close. You can hardly tell from a distance.”
“Please, just go,” Charlie sniffed back still hiding behind a now very damp tissue.
The bell above the shop door gave a loud ding-a-ling and an old lady shuffled in dragging a basket on wheels from which a loud mewing was coming. She looked across at the counter and was about to open her mouth when she noticed Charlie’s distressed state.
“Oooh,” she uttered. “What’ up wiv her then?”
Charlie sniffed loudly but offered no explanation.
“Cat died,” said Suzie. “Going to have to shut the shop actually,” she continued going over to hustle the lady out. “Cat undertaker is on its way.”
“I’ll call Connie on Bridge Street,” the woman shouted over. “Dolly has just had a big litter. I’ll tell her to bring one over tomorrow shall I?”
“Great idea,” said Suzie as she shut the door in the woman’s face and turned the sign around to Closed.
By now Charlie’s shoulders were heaving methodically as she attempted to press the very damp tissue right into her eye sockets.
What was she supposed to do now Suzie wondered? Put an arm over her shoulder and ask her what the matter was? She couldn’t do it. Sympathy wouldn’t cross her still bitter lips quite yet.
“Tea?” was all she could spit out. Yes, tea was good. Get her doing something and then perhaps she should leave so she could try and work out what the hell had happened during this bizarre re-union.
Charlie sniffed loudly then squeezed her backside past the end of the counter knocking an entire stack of paper bags to the floor. She waddled towards a door at the back of the shop without even looking at Suzie.
Leave or stay? Suzie had no idea what to do. Her curiosity got the better of her and she wandered after Charlie who was now in a tiny back room putting tea-bags into two cat-adorned, chipped mugs. Suzie shuffled past her to get to a high stool whilst Charlie drooped into a saggy old armchair and wrestled with the lid of a Quality Street tin. Once she had opened it she reached inside and offered Suzie a penguin biscuit. Suzie looked at it but couldn’t resist one more jibe.
“No thank you,” she said primly.
Charlie stared at her with the look of a broken woman. She then looked at the penguin biscuit for a moment before she crumbled. Ripping open the wrapping she took a large bite as the tears began to tumble yet again down her cheeks.
Words of compassion still wouldn’t surface for Suzie. All she could feel was relief. An overwhelming relief that she didn’t want Charlie’s life. A life that was obviously makin
g her miserable. She had spent all these years thinking that she should be living the life that Charlie must be, only to find that it had made her fat and sad. But she had to say something, as clearly Charlie was incapable of starting any conversation.
“So …” she began. “What’s happening?”
After grabbing a clean tissue from a box housed in a knitted blue and white cat and blowing her nose loudly, Charlie collected herself enough to respond.
“It’s nothing,” she said eventually.
Suzie raised her eyebrows.
“How bloody ironic,” Charlie continued shaking her head sadly and staring at the floor.
“What is?” asked Suzie unable to stop Alanis Morriset beaming instantly into her brain and for the millionth time pondering the true definition of ironic.
“Nothing,” replied Charlie flatly.
“Aw come on,” said Suzie. “If it’s not really ironic I won’t tell anyone. Hardly anyone gets the real definition of irony right and I should know I’m a journalist.”
Charlie gave Suzie a confused look.
“If Alanis can get it wrong so can you. It’s okay.”
“Alanis?”
“Alanis Morriset. Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you remember we played it to death in the summer of ‘95? Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife? What was she thinking? Someone buy that woman a dictionary.”
Charlie had stopped crying now and had a furrowed brow. Finally she spoke.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
“You’re right. Bloody ironic that,” said Suzie forcing a smile.
Charlie didn’t reply. She just ripped shreds off her tissue and scrutinised it closely.
“Why are you crying?” Suzie asked. She had to know. She realised she was starting to feel for her. No-one should feel this low.
Another loud sniff before she looked up at Suzie.
“I think Antony might be having an affair,” she said before hiding her face in her hands and starting the whole heaving, crying thing again.
“Fuck me,” breathed Suzie. “Alanis eat your heart out.” The ironies of ironies. She meets the woman who had an affair with her boyfriend after ten years only to find he is now cheating on her.