Amanda's Wedding

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘Cheer up, might never happen,’ winked Steve.

  ‘I know that. But if that is the case, should I move on now? Or should I stick at it and work on something that might have just started to build?’

  ‘You’ve gone bonkers, you ‘ave,’ he said moodily.

  At last I was free. I ran out of the building at top speed, even for me. I was meeting Alex in a trendy bar just down the road in Covent Garden, and when I reached it, I saw he was already there. Sitting with his back to me, the figure, in his leather jacket, looked sad and despairing, nursing a beer and staring into space. My heart sank. I wanted to run up to him and put my arms round him, pull him back to me.

  He turned round to check the door and saw me standing in it, gazing at him. Without a word, he got up and ran to me, pulling me to him. I felt his strong body against me and closed my eyes. Tears ran out.

  ‘Please don’t break up with me,’ he said.

  ‘You have got to stop doing things like this!’

  His face looked grey and haggard.

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘We can’t go on having these bloody conversations! That’s all we ever do! You behave like a prick and I forgive you!’

  ‘Shh. Come on. Sit down.’

  We sat down at the table.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  I had a coffee. I stared into space while he fetched it, trying to figure out what to say.

  He came back and sat facing me, and there was a silence.

  Finally, I swallowed, and said it. I needed to hear him deny it. I needed to hear him tell me that he needed me.

  ‘Alex, I think we should maybe stop seeing each other for a while.’

  He sat very calmly. Finally, and to my intense relief, he said, ‘I know. Please don’t do this, Mel. Please.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why not. Really, since you got back, it’s … it’s been one slap in the face after another for me.’

  ‘You can’t finish this because I was too drunk to pick you up.’

  ‘I’m not finishing it because of that. I’m finishing it because you turn up pished, you insult my friends, you fight with my friends, you let me down, and you won’t commit. Is that a long enough list?’

  Still calm, he reached out and took my hand, then looked to the ceiling as if trying to collect his thoughts.

  ‘Mel, there’s something I have to tell you …’ Then he reconsidered. ‘I mean, I can’t tell you. But honestly, if you knew, it would change everything.’

  ‘Tell me. Or it’s not going to.’

  ‘OK. Look, Mel, I didn’t get that job. The one at the record company. That bloke who was going to help me … he won’t return my calls, or see me or anything.’

  He looked wretched.

  ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to get into the business. I mean, I’m twenty-nine now, and apparently they only want sixteen-year-olds these days.’

  I waited for him to go on.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do for a living; I’ve never done anything much. In fact, my life, really, is a complete piece of shit.’

  ‘Thanks …’

  ‘Except for you,’ he shushed me. ‘I’ve been thinking about this – trying to use some of the techniques I picked up, you know, when I was in India. Trying to figure everything out. And I think what’s happening, subconsciously, is that I don’t think I’m good enough for you. I’m trying to push you away, to make you prove you love me by misbehaving.’

  ‘That’s a big piece of crap! And the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘I’m sorry you think it’s crap,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m sorry that you think that the state my life is in is just a piece of crap.’ He stared at his empty glass.

  ‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘I just don’t see why your being miserable means you get to be nasty to me.’

  ‘I know. It doesn’t. It’s inexcusable. That’s why I’m trying to explain it, to work it out in my own head. You’re the last person on earth I want to hurt. But I’m doing it, nearly every day. I think … I mean, you know, you’re doing really well, you’ve got a good job.’

  ‘I’ve got a pissy job!’

  ‘And you’re quite together.’

  ‘I’m … scrambled eggs!’

  He looked at me curiously. ‘Anyway, you’ve got your life going on one track, and you don’t need me. I think I’m just trying to get your attention. And trying to warn you off from such a fuck-up as me. Which, really, I don’t want to do.’ He paused. ‘I want you.’

  ‘You never think about me. You didn’t think about me last night when I was in Camden, and miles from home, and hurt.’

  ‘Believe me, I did. I thought about you all night. That’s when I really started to work out why our relationship is the way it is.’

  ‘It’s the way it is because you’re a big selfish pig.’

  ‘No, Mel. It’s the way it is because I’m scared … scared of how much I feel for you.’

  He shook his hair out of his eyes fiercely.

  ‘Honestly. And I want to believe in myself enough to be with you.’

  I narrowed my eyes.

  ‘So, I’m not going to be frightened any more,’ he continued.

  ‘You’re not.’

  He fiddled intensely with his coffee cup.

  ‘No. I’m going to stick to my guns for once in my life. Mel, I thought –’ he looked up at me briefly, then back at the table. ‘Well … if you’ll still have me … still want me … well, if you don’t absolutely hate me like I hate myself at the moment, I thought we might – if you could forgive me, if you were willing to give it one last shot, we could maybe, hem, try and move in together? For a bit. See if we could take it to the next stage. After Christmas, ehm, I thought maybe we could find a room or a flat somewhere?’

  I was as surprised as Wile E. Coyote is when he chases Road Runner off a mountain and realizes he’s running in mid-air.

  ‘I don’t think we’ve been communicating since I got back,’ Alex went on. ‘We’re always busy, and we’re so concerned with other people’s business, I think we’ve neglected our own.’

  He looked up at me hopefully.

  ‘Since I moved to Fulham, I hardly get to see you.’

  ‘You moved out,’ I pointed out. ‘Four hundred miles away.’

  ‘Yes, but I was just back. Trying to establish myself. Get myself straightened out. I told you, I didn’t want to rush anything. But now I’ve thought it through. And I reckon you were right all along. We are meant to be together.’

  I’d forgotten this was my idea to begin with.

  ‘We should set up shop. Give it a shot. What do you think?’

  He stared at me, still calm, I thought. Then I glanced downwards, and noticed his foot jiggling like it was auditioning for Riverdance. Suddenly, I felt a big wave of affection towards him.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said. ‘Have I been going out with your evil twin all this time?’

  He took my hand. ‘Well, in a funny way, you have.’

  I moved my hand away. ‘OK, you’re scaring me now.’

  ‘Sorry. I was up late last night thinking about a lot of this stuff.’

  ‘Right.’ I stared at the tablecloth, ears burning. This wasn’t what I was used to at all. In my world, ‘let’s meet for a chat’ meant being told that something or other was not working out and therefore it was all over on the job/love/friendship front. I wondered gloomily how Lili, Amanda’s glamorous friend, coped with things like this. She probably got asked about fifteen times a day. She probably got them to buy her a flat first, then turned them down and kept the flat.

  ‘You don’t have to decide anything now,’ said Alex, caring sharing hippy king.

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘No, of course not, I don’t want to pressure you.’ He grinned an old-fashioned Alex grin. ‘Although, obviously, you are driving me absolutely crazy, pumpkin.’

  This sounded more characteristic. ‘Am I driving you mental
?’ I asked.

  ‘I am at one with despair, until I get your answer.’

  ‘Good. Serves you right, for a change.’ I sat back and folded my arms.

  He stood up and, without a word, went and got us a couple more coffees. I watched his broad back at the bar in wonder.

  Suddenly, a tiny spark of excitement lit up inside me. Living together! Long lazy Sundays in bed, proper cooking, shopping for things, talking all night, taking baths together. No more trekking home on my own, no more empty house. Well, it was never empty, but it might as well have been for all the sparks of warmth there were. Dinner parties and coupley invitations. God, it was bourgeois, and God, it was boring, but … oh, I liked the idea.

  Alex was still at the bar, his fingers tapping the top with nerves. My heart softened. How much had it taken him to ask this? He must have agonized for hours. Oh, and he’d have to tell Charlie. Hooray! And I’d get to tell Amanda, who had always made it perfectly clear that she didn’t think I was good enough for him. And, oh my God, I’d get to meet his parents. My imagination was filled with the image of couples in furniture adverts who are always having pillow fights for some reason. That would be us. And where would we go? Alex was sure to get a bunch of money from his parents at Christmas time, so we’d be able to lay down a deposit on something quite nice. They might even pay all the rent, if we got lucky …

  I’d started choosing the curtain material by the time he came back with two more cappuccinos.

  He sat down. ‘Tell me you’re mentally choosing curtain material.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’m trying to think this whole thing through sensibly.’

  ‘What’s there to think? It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘C’mon, pumpkin, say yes. It’ll be a laugh. I promise I’ll be good. No Charlie, no rugby, just twenty-four-hour devotion to you.’

  ‘You’re a lying hound,’ I said.

  ‘I’m just a soul whose intentions are good,’ he pointed out. ‘Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.’

  I looked at him.

  ‘Oh my God, what am I letting myself in for this time?’

  ‘You said yes! She said yes!’ he called out to the entire bar. Being English and not American, they didn’t immediately burst out into spontaneous applause but looked at us as if we were a pair of loud-mouthed idiots.

  We spent the rest of the evening in excited chatter, planning where, how, when. We compromised on somewhere nice and up and coming in North London. There was a fair chance his parents would pay the rent, which would be fabulous. I’d give Linda two months’ notice and we’d start flat-hunting after Christmas. Flat-hunting! I was so excited. Then we went home and made love all night, to commemorate the beginning of something new.

  ‘You’d better stay this way,’ I said to him fiercely, as we were lying with our arms round each other. ‘This is absolutely and utterly your last chance.’

  ‘I know,’ he said sleepily. ‘And thank God I got it.’

  Thirteen

  Fran was furious. Absolutely fucking doing-her-nut furious. She was almost unspeakably angry, and enquired why I didn’t just sell myself off to white slave traders now, if that’s what I wanted to do with my life. I knew her feelings on the matter, but it still hurt, and she was really overreacting.

  ‘You know why,’ she said, nastily, when she’d exhausted all other modes of persuasion.

  ‘Charlie doesn’t want him there any more.’

  ‘How the hell would you know?’

  ‘Charlie and I have an … understanding,’ she said.

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But! But … you can’t! It’s the rule!’

  ‘Well, maybe the rules changed.’

  ‘Shit! So you’ve been round there? Did you see Alex the other night?’

  ‘For God’s sake, I do not give a flying fuck about Alex.’

  ‘And do you know what? I don’t give a flying fuck about Charlie. You could shag Stephen Hawking for all I care, and I wouldn’t get all pissy about it. Why can’t you just let me be happy for once?’

  She sighed. ‘Look, can we not talk about this? We’re only going to fall out.’

  ‘As opposed to what we’re doing at the moment?’

  ‘Look, let’s leave it. I’ll be around to pick up the pieces, as usual, in about six months’ time.’

  ‘You always have to have the last word, don’t you, Fran?’

  ‘No, only when you cock up your life with a big FREAK.’

  I put the phone down.

  Angus had rung and left a message, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to think too much about that night. We’d perhaps been getting too close for comfort, and I was going to stick to my new policy of noninterference. The decision was made: I had one relationship to concentrate on now, and I was going to stick to it. His voice on the answerphone over the next couple of days grew increasingly confused, then he stopped calling altogether.

  I didn’t have time to miss him. Alex and I lunched together, spent every night together, at the cinema, out with his mates or just lazing around, looking at apartments to rent, planning what kind of thing we’d go see. We always went to my house. Paranoically, I did ask him about Charlie, but he dismissed it out of hand as nothing – I was the one who had to get up for work in the morning, and he was on twenty-four-hour devotion watch.

  And I handed in my notice to Linda. She received it with the biggest, broadest smile I had ever seen, and said that would be absolutely fine. The light positively glinted off her spectacles. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  So everything seemed to be – at last – settling into place. Life was, suddenly, a lot less hectic. Almost quiet. Until Amanda phoned again …

  ‘Darling, so kind of you to be putting this dinner on for us.’

  What dinner? Oh my God, I’d completely forgotten.

  ‘It is this weekend, isn’t it?’

  Was it this weekend? Jesus, I hadn’t the foggiest.

  ‘Ehmm …’

  ‘I’ve invited Mookie … I’m amazed you two got on so well. Although she’s always been a little on the eccentric side … And of course Nash is coming down from Glasgow a week early just to make it. Let me see … do you know, Fraser hardly mentioned it! God, he can be slow, that boy, wasn’t even sure we should … whoops! I’m sorry! Almost forgot – can’t slag off the hubby in front of Melanie. Ha ha ha! Anyway, I’ve got the address somewhere. Are you sure you want Angus there? You know what a drag he can be, especially if he’s in one of his moods, which he is all the time. Why not ask that nice Charlie instead? He’s great fun. Did you know his father owns a racing stable? Anyway, are you sure you can cope with all of us, darling? I mean, forgive me, but cooking’s never been quite your strong point, has it? Unless, of course, it’s a cheese-on-toast dinner party! Ha ha ha! Now, listen, is it formal? I assumed not, obviously, but just let me know if you want us to make the effort …’

  ‘Ehm, can you hang on for just one second?’

  ‘Of course, darling, no problem at all, lots to do, yah? We’ll see you on Saturday. I’ll assume it’s eight for eight thirty – that’s how people normally do dinner parties, darling. Ciao!’

  I sat back, stupefied. Oh, Jesus. I’d forgotten all about it; events had rather overtaken things.

  I couldn’t see how I could have seven people round, a fair proportion of whom hated each other, one who thought making voodoo dolls of me and sticking pins in them had succeeded in driving me out of her dwelling, one whom I’d considered … gulp, well, whatever, and now wasn’t returning the phone calls of, and two I didn’t actually know.

  Alex thought it was a great idea. Get everyone together, announce the fact that we were moving in – not that it was an announcement as such, I just hadn’t seen anyone apart from him – drink and relax with our friends. He even promised to help me cook, which made me stare hard at him and wonder i
f the X Files was true and he was being brainwashed by the government through his asthma inhaler. Of course I couldn’t tell him why I didn’t want Angus to come.

  I even managed to ask Linda. She gave me that look she had, which always went on too long without blinking.

  ‘On Saturday night?’

  ‘Yes, just dinner, a few friends, a couple of drinks … nothing wild.’

  ‘But next weekend you’ll be away?’

  ‘Yes, I promise, next weekend I’ll be away.’

  The following weekend was the wedding – at last, the great occasion – and we had decided to book a bed and breakfast. I would have stayed with my parents, but post-wedding didn’t seem the most auspicious time to introduce my new living-in-sin partner to them, and the wedding was actually being held in a beautiful little village called Pyrford, the nearest place to rural English gorgeousness you got in the Woking area.

  She pondered it pudgily.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Fantastic! Great!’ I said, trying to imply how much we would be enriched by her company. When I got in later, it was written in pink letters on her kittens diary. ‘Dinner. Saturday – 8 for 8.30 p.m.’ I wondered how she would possibly manage to slot it in.

  Friday night Fran phoned. I hadn’t spoken to her all week. I was avoiding her. She knew it.

  ‘Hey,’ she said cheerfully, and nervously which meant she was worried. If she’d thought everything was normal, she’d have been grouchy.

  ‘What are you up to this weekend?’

  ‘Oh, ehm … seeing Alex, you know, usual boring old stuff.’

  ‘Right, right. So you’re not having a dinner party or anything?’

  My heart sank. Of course I should have known it would get back to her. I tried to think of an exit strategy that wouldn’t make me look bad, but there wasn’t one.

  ‘Do you want to come?’ I said quietly, waiting for the cutting put-down.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Yes!’ she said tremulously. There was another pause. Then we both started, stupidly, to laugh. We laughed at nothing, we laughed because we were friends, and I laughed because I managed to persuade her to come early to help me with the cooking.