Amanda's Wedding

by Jenny Colgan

  Behind the stripper was an enormous man who managed to make finding a plug point for the tape recorder seem imposing. Immediately, ‘Hey, Big Spender’ started up. Without removing her cigarette, the woman walked nonchalantly to the centre of the room and, showing no perceivable interest, slipped out of her coat.

  The previously well-mannered and charming boys beside me turned into a host of baying beasts. The roaring was incredible, punctuated with wolf howls as the woman did a desultory shimmer to ‘Spend … a little time with me.’

  Eventually, she started to walk towards our table. An excited ‘Way hey!’ went up as she bent over to have her bra strap undone, with the bloke she approached only just able to restrain himself – after a sharp look from the bouncer – from pinging it. The bra went whirling through the air and landed near a surprised Fran and Johnny, who were snogging like they’d just invented it over in the corner.

  The bra got a big round of applause, but all eyes quickly came back round to the main attraction. The boys’ eyes were wide as saucers as the woman stifled a yawn, shot me a dirty look (I thought), and stuck her leg up on the table to undo her suspenders.

  I stifled a yawn myself, and looked over to where I’d last left Charlie and Alex, muttering like two old alkies at a railway station. Alex was tottering uneasily to his feet, being egged on by Charlie. As I watched, hypnotized, ignoring the mounting hysteria behind me, Alex picked up the gold lamé-trimmed bra and put it on over his shirt, dancing along to Shirley Bassey. He approached Fran and Johnny, making lewder and lewder movements, while Charlie shouted encouragement. Finally, when all eyes had gone past her, the stripper turned round to see Alex rubbing her costume like a towel between his legs.

  ‘’Ere!’ she shouted, which was enough for the bouncer to stop looking menacing and do some actual bouncing.

  He walked over to Alex and put his hand on his shoulder. Incredibly drunk, Alex leered up at him uncomprehendingly. Charlie, however, was back on his feet again.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ he shouted petulantly.

  The bouncer gave Charlie his best ominous look.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah! Or you can just … fuck off!’

  There was an ominous silence, except for the inaudible noise of me attempting to disappear. Oh my God, he’d done it again. And I had brought him.

  Very deliberately, the bouncer retrieved the bra from Alex’s limp hand and laid it on the table. Then slowly, almost tenderly, he led both the boys outside. Nobody moved as some cartoon scuffle noises reached us from the other side of the door. After about three minutes the bouncer came back in, actually dusting his hands down.

  ‘You coming, Leese?’ he said.

  Leese was already dressed – in her own terms. She stood in front of Angus while he paid her, then the pair left in a dignified silence.

  I closed my eyes in horror. Nobody said anything. Then finally a lone Glaswegian voice from the back said plaintively:

  ‘Well, I thought the bloke was a better dancer, ken.’

  I opened half an eye. Fraser turned round, but there was a glint in his eye.

  ‘You mean I brought a stripper to my stag night for a crowd of fucking poofs?’

  The whole room guffawed with relieved tension, and new rounds were ordered in. I went up to Angus.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I mean … oh, they’re just … I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he said kindly. ‘Why don’t you tell me all about it?’

  ‘I will, I need to go see if Alex is OK.’

  ‘Why? He deserved it.’

  ‘No he didn’t! It was just a prank.’

  ‘Not to her it wasn’t.’

  ‘Oh well, you know what boys are like.’

  ‘Huh. Not all of them.’

  I could feel him watching me as I headed out the door. Fran and Johnny were now looking distinctly biological, and I averted my eyes.

  Outside, everything was quiet. I couldn’t see the boys anywhere, or even hear any muffled groaning. I pondered the situation for nearly half a second, heard a burst of boyish laughter from upstairs and decided to head back to where the warmth and beer were.

  Inside, everyone’s faces were looking redder. Fran and Johnny were nowhere to be seen, but the lads were presenting Fraser with a blonde blow-up doll, which happened to look extremely like Amanda.

  Blushing, he stood up as Angus sidled alongside me and pressed a bottle of beer into my hand, which I swigged gratefully.

  ‘I wanted to say …’ Fraser started manfully.

  ‘Get yer tits oot!’ shouted the Glaswegian wag.

  ‘Shut up, Nash.’

  I turned round to see who Nash was. Gosh, he doesn’t sound black, I found myself thinking, then immediately felt like the stupidest person in the world.

  ‘I just wanted to say,’ continued Fraser ‘that it’s good to see so many of you here.’

  ‘Apart fae yer best man!’ someone shouted, and there was a burst of obscene laughter.

  ‘Yes, well, apart from – ahem – Mr McLachlan, who seems to be otherwise disposed.’

  ‘Aye, up the bits of some tart.’

  ‘Hey!’ I said to Angus. ‘That’s my friend they’re talking about.’

  ‘What, not your friend that was behaving completely like a tart?’

  ‘Huh. Well, maybe.’

  ‘OK, calm down …’ Fraser looked slightly unsteady. ‘I just wanted to thank you all for coming, and I know some of you came down a long way. Getting married is a frightening thing, although not as frightening as seeing you shower all in the same room at the one time.’

  There was a friendly muttering.

  ‘No, really. It’s great to see you all. I’d like to thank my brother for getting everything organized, Mr Flaherty for the loan of his pub, and … well, just the whole big bunch of you lads.’

  ‘And girls!’ I squeaked.

  ‘And honorary lads,’ said Fraser, bowing in my direction. I grinned.

  ‘So, get some drink down you. Oh, and sorry about the stripper …’ he petered out.

  ‘To Fraser!’ shouted Angus.

  ‘To Fraser!’ said the company. I think I was the only one who noticed that he’d missed out the bride from the toast.

  ‘To the stripper!’ shouted someone else.

  ‘To the dirty bint that’s taken Johnny up the close!’

  ‘What?’ I asked Angus. ‘Is that rude?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  We wandered back over to Fraser’s table and rejoined the company.

  The evening wore on – the landlord was an old drinking buddy of the McConnalds’ father, and wasn’t too bothered about licensing restrictions. I lapsed into lovely drunk time, where things just floated past, and I jumped in and out of different conversations at will. After dissecting the genius of Billy Connolly on one side, I tuned in like a radio to the other, where Angus and one of the Scottish boys were deep in serious conversation.

  ‘Just talk to him,’ Angus was saying.

  ‘Look, I only met her once. She seemed all right.’

  ‘She’s not all right. She’s a complete cow and she’ll make his life hell. This is why I got you all down here – to persuade him not to do it.’

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ I exclaimed brightly.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Angus shortly, turning back to his pint.

  ‘Have you met this “Amanda” that Frase is marrying?’ asked the other chap.

  ‘Course I have. I’ve known her all my life.’

  Angus looked up at me.

  ‘What’s she like then?’ the bloke asked.

  I paused, not quite sure what to say. Idiotically, I suddenly felt quite loyal. It was all right for me and Fran to talk about Amanda having her gizzards ripped out by vultures, but with anyone else it wasn’t really on.

  ‘Well, she’s … really pretty, and dead rich. She’s nice.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said the bloke to Angus. ‘I’m not saying anything. You shou
ld never get involved in these things. My sister married this right bastard and she wouldn’t be told anything.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yeah, he turned out to be a right bastard. Left her with the kids and everything.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mel!’ burst out Angus. ‘She’s a complete bitch and you know it.’

  I sighed.

  ‘Sorry, forgive me if I’m being slow here, but you talk about her non-stop. I mean, why do you hate her so much? And Alex, and Charlie – well, it’s OK to hate Charlie … But, I mean, when I met you, I thought you were really awful, ’cause you hated us all so much. But now I know you’re not, you’re actually really nice, so I don’t understand it at all. Are you a secret communist? Do you hate posh people? You’re posh anyway. Well, your brother’s a complete nob … I didn’t mean that last bit the way it sounded.’

  ‘Have you finished?’ asked Angus.

  I thought for a second. ‘Ehm … yes.’

  He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘if I tell you something, do you promise on your life that you won’t tell Fraser?’

  The third bloke was still with us, unwilling to draw attention to himself by getting up and moving away, but embarrassed to be listening to something personal. He was staring very hard at the ashtray.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Maybe on my dog’s life.’

  ‘Be serious. You don’t have a dog.’

  ‘OK, no, I promise.’

  He looked away. ‘I overheard her. On her stupid minuscule mobile phone. When she came up to visit our mum a few weeks ago and behave patronizingly towards her. She had to lean out of the window to get a signal, and I was in the next room.’

  ‘With a glass up against the wall?’

  ‘With the window open. Look, do you want me to tell you or not?’

  ‘Yes please,’ I said meekly.

  ‘Anyway, she was talking to Hello! magazine.’

  He paused dramatically. I looked at him like he was crazy.

  ‘Hello! magazine? That’s it? You’re trying to wreck their marriage before it even starts because of Hello! and its … its inane pictures of unhappy celebrities??’

  He ignored me and went on.

  ‘She was offering them the rights for the wedding. I heard her. She promised them she could “get Tara”. You know, they love all that minor aristocracy bullshit. “Aren’t Posh People Lovely? Here’s a picture of one standing next to a horse.” That kind of thing. Bitch!’

  He grumbled into his pint.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘She was just trying to get her picture in the paper.’

  ‘No,’ he said slowly, as if I was an idiot. ‘She asked them for £15,000 to let them take photos and have an –’ he imitated her shrill tones – ‘“in-depth interview with me about the new castle … not much point talking to the aristo, darling – you know what they’ve got between the ears, hee hee.”’

  ‘Jesus. Did she get the money?’

  He looked at me grimly.

  ‘I don’t know. Fraser certainly hasn’t heard anything about it if she did.’

  ‘No. You don’t think she half-inched it do you?’

  ‘You’re talking about …’ he turned away. ‘You’re talking about the woman who turned up, entirely by coincidence, in my brother’s life a month after our dad dies, we’re all completely fucking shell-shocked – still are – and guess what? He’s blinking in the daylight and they’re engaged. So she can get on the cover of fucking Hello! magazine. She’s probably been through every Right Hon in the country. I think she’s capable of it, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I said, not sure at all. ‘I’m sure she loves him.’

  ‘Why? What, honestly, do you think someone like her sees in someone like him, apart from that stupid falling down piece of medieval crap in Kirkudbrightshire?’

  I looked over. Fraser looked sweaty and dishevelled, and his curly hair was falling in his eyes. One arm was round his big pal Nash, the other round Amanda the blow-up doll, and they were all (the doll was faking it) singing ‘Danny Boy’ very very badly and making up the words.

  ‘I think losing one member of her family’s enough for my mum this year, don’t you? That fucking title. Just because you’re all modern women who can do anything, you think that kind of thing doesn’t happen any more. But it does.’

  He reverted to staring at his drink. His face was red. I stared hard at the table.

  ‘I think we need another drink,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll get them!’ shouted the bloke at our table, jumping up and rushing across the pub. We both looked after him, startled. As we turned round, Fraser and Nash made a bravura attempt at the high note at the end of ‘Danny Boy’ then immediately fell away as, silhouetted in the doorway, stood the very wan, very dirty Johnny McLachlan, looking for all the world as though he had, indeed, just been mauled by a lioness.

  A roar went up, as Johnny dazedly walked back amongst the tables with his eyes wide open. There was no sign of Fran behind him. He sat down, heavily at the bar, his eyes red.

  ‘A large one, please.’

  There was a crash as Nash and the doll fell over laughing. Everyone in the room was guffawing and clapping Johnny on the shoulder. I suddenly felt very much the lone female.

  I picked up my drink and headed off to the loo, and to look for Fran. It was like one of those Agatha Christie books, where the party gets picked off one by one. Everyone was extremely drunk now, and the whole scene was becoming confusing. I sat in the bathroom for a long time, fully dressed and staring intently at the dirty floor tiles while trying not to fall off the toilet.

  I had no idea how long I’d been there when I heard someone get into the cubicle next to me.

  ‘Fran!’ I whispered urgently.

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Err … no. It’s me.’

  It was one of the brothers, but I couldn’t tell which one. It sounded like Angus.

  ‘What are you doing in here, you twat?’

  ‘Oh, the boys loos are looking … pretty revolting. There’s blood in them. Mixed with –’

  ‘Oh, OK, I don’t want to think about that right at the moment.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. Is that Angus?’

  There was another pause.

  ‘Erm … yes.’

  ‘Oh. Look, I’m sorry about what I said. I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize …’

  ‘That’s OK. I get a bit grumpy sometimes. I suppose it’s because everyone thinks my brother’s so great.’

  I heard what sounded like a strangulated giggle, but chose to ignore it.

  ‘Look, really I agree with you,’ I said. ‘I think Amanda’s a cow, and you think Amanda’s a cow, but your mate’s right: there’s no point in interfering, is there? People simply do things, whether you want them to or not. Tough. Who knows: maybe she’s different with him than she is with everyone else on the planet.’

  Suddenly the toilet next door flushed and the door banged. I gradually sat upright and let the blood flow back down from my head. Shakily, I opened the cubicle door. Shit.

  ‘You lying fucker!’ I yelled at him. I was furious.

  Fraser was bright red. ‘I just wanted to hear what you were going to say. What were you sorry about?’

  ‘It’s none of your fucking business was what I was going to say! I was talking to Angus, not you! What a stupid thing to do.’

  ‘Right, just because you’re too pissed to tell one voice from another.’

  I stared at him. ‘Oh, so it’s my fault. What? I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m even having this conversation. I do NOT give a toss.’ I headed out the door. He caught me.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t go.’ There was a note of urgency in his voice.

  ‘Fine!’ I was on my high horse now. ‘I can stay, go … I do NOT give a toss, remember?’

  ‘Shush a minu
te. Please. I’m sorry.’

  We stood there for a bit in silence. Then he set his lanky frame on the hand basins, his long legs kicking out in front. He got his arse wet, but didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Is it true …?’ he faltered. ‘I mean, do you … does everyone …? Oh, fuck it.’

  He took a deep breath and started again.

  ‘Look, with Amanda and everything … I thought her and Angus just didn’t hit it off. She point-blank refused to let him be my best man after he asked her why she was inviting all these people she barely knew just because they were famous.’

  ‘Not Sean Connery’s son?’

  ‘Yes, people like that. Well, it’s her job, isn’t it?’

  That sounded familiar.

  ‘Ah mean,’ he said quietly, ‘you’re practically her best friend. Don’t you like her, either?’

  His voice was so soft and sad I couldn’t bear to hurt him.

  ‘Sweetheart, she’s not my best friend. I hardly see her. I hardly know her these days …’

  I could tell by his face that that tack wasn’t working. ‘I mean, she’s fine. Really, I’ve known her for ever … Look, do you remember at college, when I wanted to go out with Flattypuss Malloy? And you couldn’t bear him because he had a lump on his neck?’

  ‘It was gross! Really – especially from where I was standing.’

  There was at least a foot’s difference in height between us.

  ‘And he was really nice after all?’ I pursued.

  ‘He was a lumpy bastard.’

  ‘Well, sometimes people dislike other people without us understanding the reasons for it.’

  ‘What happened to him, anyway?’

  ‘I heard he painted a second face on it and rents himself out at parties.’

  ‘Wow.’

  We pondered that for a second. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Either a mouse had walked across my face or I was having a seriously bad mascara attack.

  I decided to make one last attempt.

  ‘Look, when Amanda wants something,’ I said, truthfully, ‘she goes for it. She’s completely single-minded and nothing holds her back.’

  Quite unlike myself. I touched him gently on the face. His eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheek.