by Dunn, Matt
‘Edward?’
‘What?’
‘Do you want to invite Jane to the wedding?’
‘Er . . .’
Sam’s staring at me curiously, her pen poised above her notebook, and I know she’s going to need an answer. My dilemma is that I can see a problem with both the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ options, and as I can’t phone a friend, I’m going to have to decide myself. And pretty soon, too.
‘Well?’
Quick. Aargh! . . . No, hang on, I’ve got it.
‘What do you think?’
Sam frowns. ‘How would I know? She’s not my ex-girlfriend, is she?’
‘True. But suppose you did have an ex-girlfriend. Like Jane. Not that you’d have an ex-girlfriend. Or one like Ja— Anyway, what would you do?’
‘Ed, it doesn’t really matter what I’d do, does it? I’m hardly going to veto your choice of wedding guests. So if you think it’s important that your ex is at your wedding just say so. It’s okay, honestly.’
I have to admire her dexterity. Straight back at me. And while she doesn’t look like she’s shaping up for an argument, experience tells me that where women are concerned there’s often no warning of the change from normal to nuclear. Well, two can play at that game.
‘Why do you think I’d want Jane at my, sorry, our, wedding?’
Sam sighs. ‘I don’t know, Edward. Maybe because you’re a nice guy. Maybe because the two of you can still be friends. Or maybe even because you want her to see once and for all that you’ve moved on.’
Ah. Those are good things, in that they reflect me in a positive light, but they don’t quite get me off the hook. It could of course be that Sam wants Jane at the wedding for exactly that reason – to show her I’m finally off the market – but she can’t of course invite her herself. And then it hits me. A moment of inspiration. An answer that can’t possibly be shot down. Hopefully.
‘Sam, to be honest, there’s only one other person I want at this wedding, and that’s you. So if you feel that adding Jane to the guest list is a good thing to do, whatever the reason, then go ahead. But quite frankly, I’d much rather concentrate on more important things. Like how big the cake you’re ordering is going to be.’
Sam looks at me for a second, and then breaks into a smile. ‘Sorry, Ed. I just wanted you to know it would have been okay.’
‘Would it? Really?’
‘Do you want Jane there?’
And now – I realize – is the time to be truthful. Though perhaps not about the fact that I’ve already invited her. ‘Honestly? No.’
Sam smiles again. ‘Then of course it would have been.’
‘Great,’ I say, already dreading how on earth I’m going to dis-invite her. ‘That’s settled, then.’
Because knowing Jane, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion it won’t be easy.
Sunday, 12 April
8.11 p.m.
Sam spends most of the day with Madeleine, leaving me to write out the invitations for the people we want at the town hall, though of course I then have to drive round and hand deliver them, given the fact that we’ve only got two weeks to go.
‘Small and intimate’, is how she’s describing the ceremony, and while I’ve got no choice but to let her do it her way, at least we can have a bit of a bigger bash with the reception. Fortunately, the ballroom at the Grand Hotel is free – although sadly not free – on the day, so I’ve booked it, but when I meet Dan in the Admiral Jim to discuss the entertainment, and – once he’s stopped sniggering at the word ‘ballroom’ – tell him what I’m thinking of doing, he makes a face as if he’s trodden in something nasty.
‘You’re sure you want some Scottish country dancing?’ he says, enunciating the last three words very carefully. ‘I mean, you’re going to be the centre of attention, and I’ve seen you dance . . .’
‘Well, what’s the alternative? Some bloke called Terry who brings his own stack of multi-coloured flashing lights and tries to get us all to do the actions to YMCA? No thanks. Besides, it’ll be fun.’
‘Yeah, right – a room full of sweaty people all not knowing whether to stick it in or pull it out at the same time.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘Come to think of it, that reminds me of this party I went to once . . .’
‘Dan, please.’
‘Sorry. But can’t you think of something a bit more, well, modern?’
‘Like what?’
‘I dunno. What do people normally do at these things?’
I shrug. ‘Get drunk and dance, I think.’
‘So hire a proper band.’
‘Who?’
‘Ed, anyone’s got to be better than a bunch of men in tartan skirts trying to get everyone to do the how’s-your-father, or whatever those dances are called.’
I look at him disdainfully. ‘Can’t you pull a few strings and get some of your celebrity mates to do it?’
‘Yeah. Sure. I’ll just call Take That up and see if they’re free.’
‘You know Take That?’
‘It’s perhaps more accurate to say that they know me.’
‘Well that’s fantastic. Although . . .’
‘What?’
‘I don’t think Sam likes them.’
‘Seeing as I very much doubt they’d be interested in playing at the likes of your wedding that’s just as well.’
I decide to ignore Dan’s ‘likes of your’ insult. ‘Well, who else can we get?’
‘Leave it to me,’ says Dan, confidently. ‘I’ll sort something out.’
‘Er . . .’
‘What?’
‘Dan, the only time I’ll ever leave anything to you again will be in my will. Which I’m worried you’ll be reading sooner rather than later if I let you organize the music.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that the last time I let you sort something out, I nearly ended up in hospital.’
Dan looks a little offended. ‘You’re the one who wanted to dye your hair blond for that fancy dress party.’
‘Dye it, Dan. Not bleach it. And certainly not with Domestos.’
‘Yes, well, the proper stuff was expensive. And besides, this is your wedding. I’m hardly going to do something like that again, am I?’
‘You’d better not,’ I say, pointing my beer bottle at him. ‘Understand something, Dan. This is the most important day of my life – and Sam’s, hopefully. So I don’t want anything to muck it up. And that includes you and your shenanigans.’
Dan holds his palms up innocently. ‘Ed, when have I ever let you down?’
I reach into my pocket, and pretend to take out a piece of paper. ‘Do you want a list? I’ve got places and dates . . .’
He grins. ‘Fair enough. But seriously, I should be able to sort something out for the reception. Let’s face it, I’ve got more friends in high places than a stag night on Mount Everest. And speaking of which . . .’
‘Ah, yes. I’m glad you brought that up. Before you go any further, I need to talk to you about something.’
Dan’s face lights up. ‘Is it the strippers?’
‘Strippers?’
‘For the stag night.’ He pats me on the back reassuringly. ‘No need, mate. Already in hand. And I have to say, I’m rather enjoying the audition process. There’s this one who can shoot a table-tennis ball across the room from her—’
‘No, Dan! Not the strippers. It’s the speech that I wanted to discuss with you.’
‘Speech?’ Dan takes a sip of his beer. ‘Just thank me for being such a great best man and a brilliant friend and, quite frankly, a fantastic all-round guy, and then you give me those cuff-links, and—’
‘No, Dan. The speech you have to give. About Sam and me.’
‘I’ve got to give a speech?’
I look at him, not sure if he’s joking. ‘You do know what you have to do? What the best man’s duties are?’
‘After I’ve got you shagged by a stripper, you mean?’ Dan laughs, then sees that
I’m serious. ‘Of course. On the day, all I have to do is say a few choice words about what a small penis you’ve got, then I get my pick of the bridesmaids. Simple.’
‘Have you ever heard a best man’s speech before?’
He shudders. ‘God no. I’ve always been far too busy. I tell you, there’s a reason why there’s the word ‘ride’ in ‘bridesmaid’. Something about weddings just seems to bring out the . . .’
‘Dan!’ I grab him by the shoulders. ‘The speech.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he says, shrugging me off. ‘I’ll just ad-lib something on the day.’
‘No, you won’t.’ I’ve heard Dan’s ad-libs before, including the time he was being interviewed with some grumpy feminist on GMTV, and he suggested – live – they change the name of the programme to PMTV. ‘The speech is the most important part. For example, you have to say how lovely Sam is . . .’
He licks his lips suggestively. ‘That won’t be a problem.’
‘And then you have to, you know, talk about me. And make a few jokes if you must.’
‘Relax,’ says Dan. ‘I’ve been doing my research.’
‘Such as?’
Dan produces a DVD from inside his man-bag. ‘Watching this.’
I stare at the copy of Four Weddings and a Funeral he’s holding like the holy grail. ‘Very funny.’
‘It is, isn’t it? I particularly like the bit where—’
‘Dan, back to the speech, please. There are a few taboo subjects.’
He puts the DVD down on the bar, then pulls a small leather-bound notepad out of his pocket. ‘Should I be making notes?’ he says, uncapping his pen.
‘Well, it’s just Jane, really.’
‘Jane?’
‘Yes. I’d rather you didn’t mention her, if you don’t mind.’
Dan freezes, his pen in mid-air. ‘What?’
‘Jane. Don’t make any references to her.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s just a bit sensitive, isn’t it? Given everything that went on, and all that.’
‘But . . .’ Dan leafs through several pages in his notepad, where I can worryingly make out several instances of Jane’s name in his scrawly handwriting. ‘That doesn’t leave me anything.’
‘Yes it does.’
‘Like what? You went out with Jane for ten years, then she dumped you, then you met Sam, who you’ve been with for, what, eighteen months, and now you’re marrying her. So unless you were a particularly promiscuous teenager, which given what I know about your sexual prowess I very much doubt, then the Jane years are the only source of material I’ve got.’
‘It’s just that it’s going to be my and Sam’s special day. And I don’t want Jane to figure in the proceedings any more than she will be already.’
Dan looks up in shock. ‘You’re not thinking of inviting her, are you?’
Ah. ‘Of course not,’ I say, trying hard to stop myself from blushing. ‘I meant, you know, in spirit.’
He grins, mischievously. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. What if I didn’t refer to her by name?’
I nod. ‘That could work. Although what would be better is if you didn’t refer to her at all.’
Dan puffs his cheeks out. ‘Jesus, Ed. Give me something to go on. I mean, I’m on show here, don’t forget.’
‘Have you forgotten who’s wedding this is? It’s not a chance for you to show off in front of everyone. It’s an opportunity for you to pay a tribute. To me. And Sam.’
‘Yeah, right,’ says Dan. ‘Next you’ll be telling me I don’t get to snog Sam’s mum, or something.’
‘No, you don’t. And while we’re on the subject of snogging, the last thing I want is for you to turn our wedding into some sort of personal speed-dating session. So no getting off with any of the bridesmaids, or the waitresses, and I especially don’t want you taking your clothes off on the dance floor and asking if any of the women want to limbo under your pole.’
‘That was once. And I was very very drunk.’
‘And seeing as you brought it up earlier – the stag night. No strippers.’
Dan looks as if he can’t have heard me correctly. ‘No strippers?’
‘That’s right. I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that Sam—’
Dan laughs, cutting me off. ‘This is your stag night we’re talking about, Ed. You need a proper send-off. And I hardly think Sam is going to have a say in what we – or rather you – get up to. Besides, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’
‘Yes, well, by the sounds of things, that stripper with the table-tennis ball trick might hurt me. And anyway, I don’t think it’s very appropriate, do you?’
‘Of course it’s appropriate,’ splutters Dan. ‘It will be your last night of freedom.’
‘That we’re having a week before the wedding, may I remind you? So it’s not, actually.’
‘Which might I say is another excellent idea of mine. Gives us both a chance to recover. And you enough time to get a flight home from . . .’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Dan grins. ‘Even so, it’s still the final chance for you to sow your wild oats. So a trip to the lap-dancing bar is the least we can do. In fact, it’s the law. Besides . . .’
I hardly dare ask. ‘Besides?’
‘I was going to get you a couple. Of strippers, I mean.’ Dan nudges me. ‘I thought it’d be a chance for you to double the number of women you’ve ever slept with in one go. Result!’
‘Dan, I’m serious. It just wouldn’t feel right.’
‘You’ve obviously never met Candy and Bambi. They felt pretty good to me.’
I look at him incredulously. ‘How is that the best start to married life? Going and sleeping with another woman—’
‘Two other women.’
‘Two other women, the week before you promise to be faithful to someone.’
‘It’s the perfect start. Gets it out of your system.’
‘No thank you, Dan. Besides, that’d be the last thing I’d want Sam to find out about just before we exchange our vows.’
‘You sure? Once you and Sam tie the knot you won’t get another chance. And remember, it’s always easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.’
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’
‘Really?’ says Dan, incredulously. ‘Trust me – you’ll thank me afterwards.’ He leans back in his chair and knits his fingers behind his head. ‘And probably during, if you know what I mean.’
‘Dan, listen carefully. No lap-dancing. No women stripping at all, in fact. And while we’re on the subject of removing clothes, there’ll be none of that stripping me naked and handcuffing me to a lamppost rubbish either.’
He looks at me for a second, before opening his notepad again and crossing something off a list. ‘Spoilsport.’
‘I’m serious. I just want a nice civilized evening with a few friends.’
Dan yawns exaggeratedly. ‘Bor-ing.’
‘It’s not boring, Dan. It’s the way I want it.’
‘Okay, okay. And who do you want to invite to this whirlwind of an evening?’
I think about this for a moment. ‘Well, there’s you, obviously. And me . . .’
‘And?’
‘Er . . .’ The truth is, I don’t actually have that many male friends any more. Most of the male halves of the couples Jane and I used to know went with her when we split up, and Sam and I don’t really have that many couple-y friends. ‘Does Wendy count?’
Dan shudders. ‘This is a stag do, mate, and although Wendy’s flat-chested enough to pass as a bloke, the only women there will be ones who’ll take their clothes off in exchange for money . . .’
‘Or not.’
Dan rolls his eyes. ‘And Wendy would have to pay me if she wanted to drop her— Ow!’ Dan rubs the back of his head, where a beer mat has just Frisbeed into it.
‘Careful what you say in here,’ I say, glancing over towards the bar, where Wendy is looking rather pleased with her
aim. ‘She’s got hearing like a bat.’
‘Which is kind of appropriate,’ whispers Dan. ‘Given that she’s an old one— Ow!’
‘Will you never learn?’
Dan rubs his head again, then glowers back at her. ‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘back to the stag do. What about Sam’s dad?’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘So . . .’ Dan looks down at his notebook. ‘It’s just the two of us?’
I nod. ‘Looks that way.’
‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Just like old times, before you met the old ball and chain. I’ve managed to blag us both a room – or rather, a couple of rooms – at the Grand, so you don’t have to worry about getting home late. Or at all.’
‘Thanks, Dan, but . . .’
He looks up sharply. ‘What now?’
‘It’s just, well, I haven’t spent a night apart from Sam since we moved in together.’
‘And you’re going to be spending every bloody night with her for the next fifty years, so make the most of it. Besides, you won’t be spending the night before the wedding with her, so it’ll be a chance for you to get used to it.’
‘The night before the wedding? Why ever not?’
‘Dunno.’ Dan shrugs. ‘Ask Sam.’
‘Sam?’
He nods. ‘She called earlier. Asked if I wouldn’t mind putting you up.’
‘Whatever for?
‘Maybe she wants the option of a night’s head start, in case she gets cold feet and decides to make a run for it.’
‘Very funny,’ I say, finding it anything but.