The Wedding Date

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘Fancy grabbing something to eat?’ Adam asks as we load the last of our equipment into the van. He points across the garden to a pizzeria and my stomach rumbles in reply. We did manage to eat lunch along the way, sneaking bites of our sandwiches whenever there was a lull but that seems like such a long time ago now.

  ‘Yes please.’ We head across Piccadilly Gardens and head into the restaurant, which is warm and welcoming after being outside all day. Although the day has been dry, it’s turned quite chilly.

  We’re seated by the window and soon have a giant pizza sitting between us. Neither of us pauses before diving in, groaning as the aroma of meat and cheese hits our nostrils.

  ‘Do we have to go back to the office tomorrow?’ I ask once I’ve swallowed my first delicious mouthful. The thought of being sardined in that airless Portakabin isn’t appealing after spending the day in the open. My feet are throbbing but I’d take it over being stuck with Katey-Louise all day.

  ‘I’m afraid so but you never know, we may get to do this sort of thing again if Neville likes the results.’

  ‘I won’t hold my breath.’ I take a sip of coke to cool my mouth after the too-hot cheese. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Neville isn’t easily pleased.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Adam gives a shrug. ‘He must know there’s something in all the social media hype if he hired me specifically for the job.’

  He has a point. ‘So what have you got up your sleeve next?’

  ‘I’m not too sure at the moment. I’m going to keep updating our platforms and thinking of free or cheap ideas to keep up interest but Neville’s only given me a relatively short budget so I don’t think there’ll be anything major for a while.’

  ‘I think you’re doing a great job. Plus, you’ve made the office an almost fun place to be.’

  ‘You mean it wasn’t fun with just Katey-Louise’s running commentary on the condition of her hair and Jasper’s constant Minesweeper clicking?’

  ‘Delightful, aren’t they?’

  ‘Has Jasper ever actually won a game of Minesweeper?’

  I nod. ‘Once. But he was playing on the beginner level. Made his day though.’

  Adam laughs and I feel our bond fizzing in the pit of my stomach. Or perhaps it’s lust. Either way it feels nice.

  Chapter 16

  Trying Something New

  Text Message:

  Dad: When I get home tonight I want you waiting for me on the bed wearing nothing but a smile

  Delilah: Eww, Dad. I don’t think that was meant for me!

  Dad: Whoops. No, it was meant for your mum. We wanted to try something new and your mum read about ‘sexting’ in one of her magazines

  Delilah: Let’s never speak of this again

  Dad: Deal

  I know I was pretty sceptical about this whole online dating thing – especially after my date with William – but I finally plucked up the courage to send a message to Vincent, suggesting we meet up in real life, and he agreed. And not only that, I received a message from Wolfgang, proposing we meet up too so we’ve arranged a date for tonight. I find that I quite like being in demand. It’s a new, uplifting experience and I find myself smiling goofily throughout the day for no other reason than that I, Delilah James, am desired by not one man but two. Two! Who would’ve thought it, eh?

  ‘What are you looking so chirpy about?’ Katey-Louise’s snide little voice soon takes the shine off my good mood. ‘Why are you grinning at your computer screen? Are you ogling the Woodgate Warriors website again?’

  The Woodgate Warriors are the local rugby team. I do not ogle the players on the website. Much.

  ‘I don’t do that,’ I tell Adam, who is looking on with amusement.

  Adam holds his hands up. ‘I’m only here to work, not to judge.’

  I stick my tongue out at him and shift the screen so that he – and a still hovering Katey-Louise – can have a good look, thus proving my innocence.

  Katey-Louise takes a good gawp at my monitor. She turns to me, the beginnings of a frown starting to furrow her brow. She turns back to the screen and the furrow deepens.

  ‘A health and safety form?’ She looks at me. She looks back at the screen to double check. ‘You’re grinning at a health and safety form?’

  ‘I am indeed.’ I’m not going to tell her the truth, am I? The less Katey-Louise knows about my personal life the better.

  ‘But it’s a blank form. There isn’t even a funny accident on there or anything.’

  ‘I know.’ I click print. ‘I’m updating the form for Fred O’Mara.’

  I make my way across to the shared printer next to Denise’s desk and Katey-Louise scuttles after me. ‘Have you gone mad or something? Has something finally tipped you over the edge?’

  ‘Nope.’ I snatch up the document, a little smile playing on my lips and not because I, Delilah James, am desired by two men but because it’s clearly winding Katey-Louise up.

  ‘Freak.’ Katey-Louise grabs the document, scanning it to make sure I’m not lying and there is something funny going on (somebody falling into a vat of biscuit dough, for example) but there is nothing on that sheet of paper but a blank health and safety form. Just like I said. She hands it back in disgust.

  ‘We’re out of teabags,’ Neville announces from the kitchen. His tone suggests he expects us all to rush to his side to see what we can do to ease his distress. Nobody moves. He displays the empty tea caddy before shoving the lid back on. ‘Delilah, you’ll need to pop to the shops.’

  ‘I’ll go!’ Katey-Louise jumps into the air, holding up her hand and waving it around. ‘I’m so bored.’

  I turn to her desk. The contents of her in-tray are about to topple over and take over her desk. Perhaps the entire office. And I know she still hasn’t registered for the food festival, despite Neville’s warnings.

  ‘Go on then.’ Neville marches into his office and returns with a tenner, which he hands to his daughter. ‘Quick as you can. I’m spitting feathers.’

  ‘Got it.’ Katey-Louise pockets the money and I give a little sigh of contentment as she skips away from view. Two men desire me and I get a five-minute break from Katey-Louise. Could this day get any better?

  Actually yes, yes it can. Because Katey-Louise doesn’t return with the teabags until almost four o’clock, by which time I’ve already nipped out for a box of teabags and enjoyed a good chunk of the afternoon in peace. And then the icing on the already delicious cake: the major ticking off Katey-Louise receives upon her return. Neville’s so mad he’s practically hopping in his office while Katey-Louise weeps tearlessly. It’s the first time I’ve seen Neville flip with his darling Katey-Louise on the receiving end. Denise waddles into the office to try to cool the situation, only to walk out again when she catches a whiff of the reason Katey-Louise is so late back.

  ‘You cannot turn up to your place of work stinking to high heaven of booze and cigarettes!’ Neville booms. His face is purple with rage, his eyes bulging from their sockets. ‘What is wrong with you? We give you everything on a plate and what do you do?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’ Katey-Louise isn’t all fired up like Neville so her voice is muffled and it takes all my effort to eavesdrop while appearing not to. ‘I saw Tansy-Mae and she talked me into it. I tried to say no but she kept going on and on.’

  ‘Tansy-Mae lives in Alderley Edge. What would she be doing in the arse-end of nowhere?’

  ‘She asked me what I was doing so I text her and she picked me up.’

  ‘Just give me my money back and get back to work.’ Neville holds out his hand. It remains empty. ‘You spent it, didn’t you? You spent my money in the pub.’ Neville snatches his hand back, his face contorted with rage. I’m actually a little bit scared for Katey-Louise. ‘Just get back to work. And I mean work.’ I expect the door to fly open when Neville roars, but it remains closed until Katey-Louise creaks it open and tiptoes across the office to her desk. She doesn’t make eye contact with anybody, not even
Denise, and plops down into her seat. The most amazing thing happens next. Katey-Louise plucks the sheet of paper from the top of her towering in-tray and, for perhaps the first time during her employment at Brinkley’s, she does some actual work.

  I hurry home after work and grab something quick to eat before showering and changing into my most sophisticated outfit. I don’t actually own anything uber-sophisticated and I’m too skint to fork out for anything new so I make do with a black, thin-strapped maxi dress and bling it up with a wide gold belt and gold peep-toe wedges. I take my time over my hair and makeup and, even though I am loathe to do so, I load up one of Katey-Louise’s YouTube tutorials. A few weeks ago she turned up to work with a sleek braid that ended at the nape of her neck with a cute little knot before her hair fell in a glossy low ponytail, which will be perfect for the look I’m going for. I search through her channel and bingo! There it is, the ‘criss-cross braid’. I watch the video in full and it looks easy enough. Going back to the beginning, I watch it again in sections, following the instructions before moving onto the next bit.

  Blimey. The criss-cross braid is a bit of a faff and much harder than Katey-Louise makes it look or sound. I almost respect her talent for hair.

  ‘Hmm.’ I examine my new style using my dressing table mirror and Mum’s little handheld one. It doesn’t look exactly like Katey-Louise’s (not even close) but it doesn’t look too horrendous. I examine it a bit more. It’s a bit rough and not quite as sophisticated as I was hoping for but I think I can get away it.

  ‘Wow, look at you!’ Mum’s washing up when I walk into the kitchen and she drips soapy water onto the floor as she gawps at me. ‘You look like a film star!’

  I wouldn’t go that far, but I appreciate the compliment.

  ‘Off anywhere nice?’ Dad asks as he dries a plate and hands it to a reluctant Justin to put away.

  ‘The theatre.’ I examine my nails as I reply nonchalantly. I should have painted them. Or at least given them a quick file but I’ve run out of time after fiddling with my hair so much.

  ‘The theatre, eh?’ Mum looks suitably impressed. We’re not the kind of family who frequents the theatre and I’ve only ever been inside one three times; twice to see the panto with primary school and once when Lauren and I watched Dirty Dancing.

  ‘It’s not like panto, you know,’ Justin says as he dumps the plate in the cupboard. ‘You can’t shout stuff out. He’s behind you!’ He sniggers and takes another plate from Dad.

  ‘Who are you going to the theatre with?’ Mum asks.

  ‘He’s called Wolfgang.’ Justin sniggers as I say this. ‘I met him on that dating site.’ More sniggers. I’d quite like to kick my brother – hard – on the shin.

  Mum dunks a casserole dish into the sink. ‘What are you watching?’

  ‘No idea.’ Wolfgang did tell me in one of his messages but I’ve forgotten. I know it isn’t a musical though, which is a bit disappointing. ‘I’m running late so I’ll have to go now.’

  ‘Would you like a lift?’ Dad is already handing Justin the tea towel and reaching into his pocket for his car keys.

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  I’m glad I don’t have to face the bus into the city centre, even if I do have to answer a million questions about Wolfgang en route. I find that I don’t actually know a great deal about Wolfgang. We’ve sent a few messages back and forth but our conversations are always a bit stiff. Perhaps it’s because English isn’t Wolfgang’s first language. Or perhaps – and I don’t really want to say this after the Dan thing – we simply don’t have any chemistry.

  Dad pulls up as close to the theatre as he can get. ‘Have fun. And if you want to shout out “he’s behind you”, you shout it out, love.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I lean over to kiss Dad on the cheek before I climb out of the car. I wave Dad off in case he has any ideas of sticking around and getting a look at Wolfgang before he goes. Once the car is out of sight, I make my way to the theatre’s entrance.

  I can’t miss Wolfgang. He’s wearing a brown and cream plaid suit with a ruffled pink shirt and a brown fedora. Wolfgang is only thirty-two (one of only a few facts I know about the bloke) but his shoulder-length hair is almost completely grey (not at all obvious from his artfully shot black and white profile picture!).

  ‘You are Delilah.’ Wolfgang steps towards me and takes my hand, lifting it to his mouth so that he can kiss my fingers with his fat, rubbery lips. ‘I am Wolfgang Schmitt and I am very happy that we could meet.’ Wolfgang releases my hand and bows his head slightly. ‘Shall we enter?’ He indicates the ornate doors of the theatre and I follow him into the vestibule where our tickets are checked. We don’t have much time to hang around but Wolfgang offers to buy us some refreshments.

  ‘It’s ok.’ I pat my bag, which I’m glad hasn’t been checked. ‘I brought my own.’ Dad stopped off at a shop on the way, insisting I stock up as ‘the theatre will charge an arm and a leg for a bag of toffees’. My handbag is quite roomy so I was able to fit two bottles of diet coke, a share bag of Wotsits and a family-sized packet of Haribo’s Star Mix.

  Wolfgang leads me across the plush carpet to our seats and it isn’t long before the play begins. It’s a bit boring if I’m honest and I’m finding it difficult to follow. Still, it’s good to try new things.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ I whisper, offering one of the bottles of coke to Wolfgang. Without taking his eyes from the stage, Wolfgang simply lifts a hand and gives it a rapid shake, which I take as a no. I open the bottle for myself, apologising when the slight hiss earns me a glare from Wolfgang. I take a sip and tune back into the play. Yawn. A bit of a sing-song and some fun choreography could do wonders for this snooze-fest. To cheer myself up, I open the packet of Wotsits, which earns me another glare as the packet crinkles ever so slightly. I don’t bother to offer Wolfgang a crisp, the big misery guts.

  The play goes on forever and I’m about to fall asleep when the thunderous sound of applause jolts me wide awake again. I shoot up in my seat, a hand covering my thumping heart.

  ‘Is it finished?’ I no longer have to whisper as the theatre is abuzz with noise now.

  ‘Yes. Wasn’t it wonderful?’ Wolfgang gives a little sigh of pleasure.

  ‘Yes.’ I gather up my empty packets and bottles and shove them into my handbag. ‘It was really very wonderful.’

  ‘What was your favourite part?’

  Wolfgang is watching me, anticipation firing his eyes as he awaits my answer. I’m sure he won’t be pleased if I tell him it was when the curtain went down to signal the end. ‘Would you excuse me? I really need the loo.’ I’m not even lying this time. After two bottles of diet coke, my bladder is screaming to be emptied. I make a dash, weaving between the crowds until I find the ladies and burst my way inside. It’s only as I’m washing my hands that I see the gummy red and orange ring stretched onto my finger. I was so bored during the second act I’d resorted to playing with my sweets. Pulling the ring off my finger, I drop it into the bin and dry my hands.

  ‘Better?’ Wolfgang asks as I emerge from the ladies. We’ve been sitting in the dark so I’d forgotten how ridiculous he looks in his plaid suit. His hat is tucked under his arm but he pops it onto his head as we step outside.

  ‘That was rather special, wouldn’t you say?’ I make murmuring sounds in response to Wolfgang’s question. ‘But next time I would leave the picnic at home.’ Wolfgang flashes me a reproachful look. ‘You do not visit the theatre often. This I can see. But we will change that.’ Wolfgang gives a decisive nod while I think how unlikely that will be. ‘How are you travelling home?’

  I point to a row of black cabs waiting along the pavement and we make our way over.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ Wolfgang says as he opens the door of one of the cabs. He takes my hand and I think he’s going to kiss it again. But it’s worse. Much worse. Wolfgang presses himself against me, his mouth like a suction cup on my lips. His tongue pushes its way in, large and mois
t and wrigglier than a bag of snakes. With my free hand on Wolfgang’s horrible suit, I push him away, resisting the urge to gag.

  ‘You are a beautiful lady, my Delilah. I hope we can meet again soon.’

  I climb into the cab and pull the door firmly. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I give my address to the driver. There is no way at all that I will be seeing old Wolfy again.

  Chapter 17

  Clara

  Text Message:

  Clara: Are you doing anything next Saturday? I’m having a little dinner party and I thought you might like to come. Trevor will be there. You got on well last time, didn’t you?

  Delilah: Trevor got pissed and tried to put his hand up my skirt

  Clara: But you had a nice chat, didn’t you?

  Before I came along, Clara had Mum and Dad all to herself for five years. She was the centre of their universe until I popped out and ruined everything. Clara still enjoyed her tea parties out on the lawn but they were interrupted when Mum needed to dash inside for nappy changes, leaving her with only her dolls and teddies for company until she returned. Bedtime stories were often hijacked by wailing and Mum couldn’t breastfeed and push Clara on the swing at the same time so Clara had to learn the art of patience. But no matter how much Mum told her so, the slide was never as much fun as the swing.

  I don’t think my sister has ever quite forgiven me for crashing the Clara party. She’s never said as much but the evidence is clear. For example, in every photo before I was born, Clara is grinning toothily at the camera but after she is scowling, especially in photos that we are both present in. Clara also had a notebook dedicated to mad ramblings such as ‘I hayt my babby sisster’ and she referred to me as ‘it’ until I was eleven.

  Clara and I never got on. There was no sisterly bond, no solidarity against our parents. We didn’t play together or swap clothes and makeup. We didn’t giggle and gossip about boys or provide shoulders to cry on. We resided in the same house and were even forced to share a bedroom when Justin joined the family but there was no warmth or pleasantness in our relationship. Clara left home as soon as she could, first for university and then for a year-long trek across Europe, Asia and South America. When she returned from her travels, Clara moved into a flat share, which was a relief for both of us, although Mum had been devastated. For all her ‘get out there and live your life’ claptrap, Mum is pretty suffocating when it comes to us actually spreading our wings.