Crystal Balls

by Amanda Brobyn

  “Kate, you sound like that girl they called Lassie from the Porky’s films. Remember?”

  “Maybe I could audition if they ever do a British remake?” she suggests, coming down onto all fours. “Oow oow oow!”

  My mother comes into the room and stares at Kate on her hands and knees, howling away. “Whatever are you doing, Kate dear?”

  Very little that Kate or I do shocks my mother. In fact, I’d almost go as far as to say that she’s encouraged us to be bold, outspoken and slightly deranged individuals.

  “Just practising for my next role, Roni,” she replies deadpan.

  “Good, good.” My mother surveys the mess of the room before retreating. “I suppose you do have to be versatile these days.” She smiles fondly at Kate before leaving and closing the door tightly behind her. The door reopens a millisecond later. “Sorry, girls, I knew I came up for something . . . would you like a glass of champagne?”

  Kate jumps up and hugs my mother. “Yes, please, lovely Mrs Harding!”

  “Just a little for me, Mum, thanks but make it a double for our Sam – it might perk her up – she’s far too chilled.”

  “Just a little, Tina? What are you on?” Kate takes the piss.

  Although I don’t drink too much midweek, I certainly make up for it at the weekends and I’m suddenly becoming conscious of my health for some reason. I would hate to turn into one of those people with that obsessive-compulsive-disorder syndrome and given that alcoholism practically runs in my family, I’ve decided that these things need to be nipped in the bud before they spiral out of control.

  “I’m trying to be more health-conscious.”

  “Why? You’ve got no kids or anyone else to consider so who gives a shit?”

  As blunt as ever but she does have a point.

  “You’re right!” I concede. “My teetotalling didn’t last too long but I feel healthier already.”

  The organist hammers out the wedding march and the hairs on my arms stand on end as I stare at the back of my dad and Sam. I watch as they exchange proud glances. Sam turns back to wink at me before embarking on the most important walk of her life.

  I grab the small train of her dress for the last time, fluffing it up and allowing it to fall into a perfect pool of shimmering silk. They’re off. And slowly. I had no idea Sam would be this calm or that I would be this nervous. I’ve done endless runway shows and filmed with cameras just inches from my face and not been remotely perturbed but right now walking down this aisle behind two of the most important people in my life, I feel so privileged that it’s humbling. My eyes well with pride as sporadic gasps exude from the appreciative congregation. Sam’s shoulders are back and her poise is amazing although I’m sure the dress is helping keep her upright.

  The cream strapless bodice falls into an empire line from just under her bust, skimming flawlessly over her curvy hips. She’s kept it simple but not too basic and the bodice is decorated with crystal beading and small sequins which also feature on the back of the semi-cathedral train. The scent of iris intoxicates the air, oozing from the massive arrangements displayed at the altar and our small hand-tied bouquets waft smells of sweet peas and lily of the valley, which I did think was a strange choice but Sam said she wanted typical spring flowers given it was a spring wedding.

  Throughout the ceremony, I avoid eye contact with Mum. I just know that if I look at her I’ll start crying and I didn’t think to bring any tissues. Not that I would have anywhere to put them anyway and gone are the days of shoving bits of tissue paper down my bra now that they’ve invented wonder, push-up, chicken-fillet things.

  Jess finishes off her reading called Soul Mates, which she chose specifically for Sam and Tim and I swear I see Simon wipe a tear from his eye.

  The formalities of the ceremony continue gracefully. “If anyone knows of any lawful impediment as to why these two may not be joined together in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  I turn to look back at the church, grinning proudly at Jess and Kate as we serve the obligatory spell of silence.

  Failure is imminent. Failure is imminent. What? This relationship should be stopped. My head hurts as the voices echo loudly, thumping and pounding inside while I try to suppress them. I see a relationship doomed to failure . . . Oh God! Why didn’t I realise she might have been talking about Sam, not me!

  What if this wedding isn’t meant to go ahead? Okay, they look happy right now but doesn’t everyone when they’re standing at the altar? How often do you see the bride or groom in the midst of their wedding vows saying “I’m sorry, love, but I’ve changed my mind!” It happens in films and TV but not usually in real life. Maybe Sam has reservations and she’s desperate to share them with someone.

  Don’t even go there, Tina!

  “Ppsst!”

  Simon swings around, looking at me strangely.

  Not you, dopey!

  “Psst, Sam!”

  Sam casts me a quick glance. Her face is filled with inquisitive curiosity. “What?” she whispers, looking around to check her dress isn’t tucked into her knickers or that she’s popped out of the bodice. “What is it, Tina?”

  “Can I have a quick word?” I whisper close in her ear. It’s all very tactful.

  “Tina,” she says calmly but in a clipped tone, “I’m in the middle of getting married.” Her body shifts position as she turns from facing Tim to facing the stained-glass window for privacy, turning her back on the guests as we speak.

  “I know it is but I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing. Is this really what you want?”

  Simon whispers across to me. “Not now, Tina.”

  The wedding rings jingle in his hand as he shifts around nervously. I’m suddenly nervous that he’s going to come over and drag me away. The guests, in their turn, shift around nervously as the silence is prolonged.

  “Is everything okay here?” the vicar intervenes, smiling uncertainly at Sam and Tim.

  “Yes, please continue,” Sam instructs, throwing me a swift dagger before swivelling side-on to face Tim once more.

  “Sam!” I beseech with quiet urgency. “Maybe just think about it for a minute, take a bit of time out.”

  I hear my mother’s voice asking my dad what’s going on. I mouth to her that everything is okay. Either that or she’ll be rushing over to see what’s going on for herself, and that we don’t want. Everything needs to remain calm and collected.

  Sam roughly grabs my wrist, pulling me towards her. It hurts.

  “Tina!” she spits. “I don’t need to think about how much I want to marry Tim. I damn well wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.” She lets go of me and I rub my wrist to improve the blood supply. She’s stronger than she looks. “This is the only time in my entire life that I’ve ever been the centre of attention over you.” Her voice breaks and Tim puts his arm around her waist. “But you just can’t bear it, can you, Tina? I never had you down as jealous but by God was I wrong!” Her face is filled with a burning fury. Nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  Jealous? No way.

  “Sam, I swear I was only trying to protect you. I promise – on my life,” I sniff. What have I done? “I only want what’s best for you, it’s the truth,” I beseech, still in urgent whispering tones.

  Sam coolly gestures for the vicar to continue and she and Tim once again face each other, this time clutching each other’s hands and standing as close to each other as possible, letting nothing or no-one get in the way.

  The rest of the wedding nuptials go ahead as pre-rehearsed only without the nervous giggling that Sam broke into on the rehearsal night. She looks a little more relaxed now and, as the vicar announces them to be husband and wife, her lips dive towards Tim’s and they exchange a passionate and lingering kiss. The congregation claps and cheers and occasional foot-stamping echoes acoustically through the centuries-old monument.

  The vicar beckons us to follow him into the vestry where the register needs to be signed. Bo
th sets of parents follow and all of a sudden I pray that they won’t ask about the earlier hold-up. It really was out of genuine concern.

  “Sam, darling!” My mother rushes in. “What on earth was that all about?” She looks from me to Sam to Tim while Simon simply stares around the room, avoiding the conversation at all costs. For the first time since the event, Sam looks straight at me and my stomach sinks heavily. My eyes well up as I take in the sight of my beautiful sister, now a married woman in her own right, and I realise how things must have seemed. I shake my head at her, my eyes heavy with remorse. How could failure be imminent for these two? They’re made for each other.

  I was only checking. Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

  “I just felt a little faint, Mum,” Sam tells her, still glaring at me.

  My shoulders relax with utter relief and the tension in my body eases slightly. “Congratulations, Sam and Tim.” I dare myself to speak for the first time, although these few simple words have been sounded in my mind over and over again just to make sure that nothing else can be taken out of context. Nobody replies. “I hope you two will be very happy together,” I add, overcome with emotion, as the realisation of just how hurt they must be washes over me. “You both deserve it.” I stare out of the window, praying for something to distract me and remove the impending tears or maybe even remove me. From everyone.

  “I thought you were being more health conscious?” Kate skits as I down yet another glass of champagne. “Slow down or you’ll be rat-arsed on an empty stomach.”

  Thankfully the weather has remained dry and bright, enabling us to use the gardens of Stapleton Manor. Pure white gazebos are scattered across the freshly mown lawn and black-and-white attired waitresses carry trays of complimentary drinks. I grab another glass as one of them walks past. Each gulp sends me further into relaxation.

  “Is that you done with the photos then?” Kate eyes the fresh glass suspiciously.

  “Yep. It’s just Sam and Tim now. Although I’m shocked at Sam – she hates having her photo taken but she’s going for it today.” I watch her and Tim as they’re manhandled into position around a huge tree trunk. She’s at one side of it and Tim’s at the other and the photographer has them pretending to peep around at each other seductively. If I didn’t know better I’d think they were filming a sequence from Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

  “Isn’t it better to get loads of photos?” Kate adjusts her cleavage on the off-chance that nobody’s looking at her, which is so not the case. After Sam she’s the belle of the ball and a very recognisable face. And body. “Regret is one thing you don’t want on your wedding day, isn’t it?” Kate states firmly while I cringe with crippling pain.

  “Absolutely.”

  Absolutely!

  “Ladies and gentlemen, will you please be upstanding for the bride and groom!”

  The room applauds raucously. The effects of alcohol have clearly kicked in and the air is relaxed and charged with exhilaration. Sam and Tim glide in hand in hand, taking their seats in the middle of the top table while Simon shifts around, nervously flicking through his cue cards as he prepares to make the best-man speech. His untouched champagne sits next to a glass of orange juice and beads of sweat gather across his forehead.

  “Nearly there,” I whisper to him. “Break a leg!” I watch the colour drain from his face as he is announced as the next speaker. He stands up, slowly pushing away the chair behind him and clutching onto the cards as though his life depended on it.

  “When Tim told he’d met a woman that he described as ‘something else’, I really thought she would be something else literally, based on his past girlfriends anyway.” The room laughs effortlessly. “So you can imagine my surprise when I met Sam to find that she was normal, good-looking and professional.” He clearly starts to relax a little as he hears giddy murmurs from the floor. “Hell, I told him, bag her before she finds out that you’re a total freak!”

  Snorts from Tim’s friends echo loudly and Sam is giggling away. She squeezes Tim’s arm before leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. Tim is taking it rather well but I guess growing up with a joker in the family has led him to expect little else from his best man. Maybe Simon and I are well matched, given I’m the joke of my own family right now. And a jealous one at that it would seem. But that’s not true and that’s what is killing me right now. I’ve never been more proud and pleased for Sam.

  “When Tim decided to ask Sam to marry him, after just five months, he came to me for some brotherly advice which was “Sod the one-knee thing and just show her your inheritance!” Works for me!” Simon laughs out loud, checking the reaction of his parents at the other end of the top table. Hilary looks a little embarrassed but Major Heath-Jones belts out a hearty laugh, taking it on the chin. Nothing else for a Forces man to do, I guess. “Funnily enough,” Simon continues with added confidence, “she said yes straight away, without hesitation – well, that’s what Tim said anyway but I reckon my dad used torture tactics in getting her to agree! Why else would a good catch like that marry a Heath-Jones?” He clears his throat for comical effect. “Present self excluded, of course.” He surveys the room dramatically. “Did I mention I’m single?” He tuts jovially, picking up his glass of untouched champagne and downing half of it. “God, that’s better!”

  I had my eye on that!

  I find myself slowly forgetting the episode in the church with the distraction of this hilarious speech. Surveying the room, it’s clear to see that this guy knows how to capture an audience and keep them there. He’s reeled me in hook line and sinker although I’d still love to give his hair a damn good comb. He continues to demand the attention of the well-watered guests for the next fifteen minutes and sits down to rapturous applause and a standing ovation from some of the younger guests. To give Tim his credit, he took it very well. Very well indeed.

  “Tina, can’t you stand up a little more?” Simon whispers. “I’m practically carrying you.”

  Our bodies sway around the floor amidst our parents in the obligatory first dance that Sam, true to her word, has avoided like the plague. I quickly scour the room for her and spot her in the corner with Tim, up close and personal.

  Releasing Simon’s firm grip of my hand, I wave across to her and she waves back to me, but not with her usual enthusiasm unless I’m drunk and paranoid. And I’m certainly one of those right now – I just can’t make up my mind as to which it is.

  “Perhaps we ought to move from the spot,” Simon teases, once more pulling me closer to him to stop me from falling. “I’m at risk of contracting deep-vein thrombosis if don’t shift from this position.”

  “Don be ridiculous, S’mon,” I slur. “You af to be onaerplane first.” I snuggle into his neck sleepily, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. The effects of binge-drinking and eating very little appear to have taken their toll and bed is the only place I want to be right now. I fight to stay awake. “You arr nicesky, S’mon.” I hiccup loudly. “Oops! How you mange to be normal one in your fameelee?” Hiccup!

  “Just am, I guess.”

  He leans back to take in my face, looking at me with grave concern. “Although I wish I could say the same about you. What’s got into you?”

  “Nofin, sno me, s’everyone else,” I tell him matter of factly.

  All I was trying to do was look out for my sister and give her the chance to take a moment out to reflect on the day. It was hardly an act of evilness. So why won’t anyone believe that my heart was in the right place when I did it?

  “Fink maybe shou gobed now.”

  Simon leads me from the dance floor, his arm gripped tightly around my waist, the other under my armpit. Kate rushes over to join him and the two of them carry me upstairs.

  My head hits the pillow and the room spins around like an out-of-control fair ride. I try to move but my body is pinned down. I can hear the voices of Kate and Simon but can’t make out what they’re saying or doing, which for some reason disturbs me. I try to call th
em but my mouth is glued together and a coma-like state sweeps over me, taking me with it deep into the night.

  Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut . . .

  The light practically blinds me as the curtains are roughly pulled back and my eyes squint with discomfort. The open window allows some much-needed fresh air to ventilate the stuffy room and a light wind wafts around me, its tender whispers slowly easing the throbs in my pounding head. Why are hotel rooms always so bloody overheated?

  “Coffee?” Simon chirps.

  What the . . . ?

  He’s fully clothed and definitely showered. I can smell a sweet wetness seeping from the bathroom. I struggle to push myself up after being dormant for so long. I muster my strength, using my elbows as props, until inch by inch I’m upright against the rock-hard pillows. Maybe they’re the reason for my aching head!

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I growl, pulling the covers around my chest and surveying the room for signs of any untoward business. I spot the bridesmaid dress in a heap on the floor and my stomach heaves as I shake my head in sheer disbelief. “No. No way.” My voice breaks as I stare at the dress staring back at me but giving nothing away.

  Simon takes a noisy slurp from his cup before setting my coffee on the bedside table next to me. He looks at the dress and grins at me, winking.

  “You gave me no option, Tina.” He holds up his hands in a position of surrender. “I tried to fight you off but your advances were just too much for a single guy. But don’t worry,” he goes on, deadpan. “Your secret is safe with me. Or should I say secrets!”

  “Secrets?”

  “Yeah, secrets. Don’t you remember telling me how much you liked me last night? In fact, you were all over me on the dance floor.” His voice breaks with laughter. “Literally!”

  I peer under the covers to see that my underwear in still intact and my stay-ups have done their job wonderfully and stayed up, although being horizontal for the guts of eleven hours they were unlikely to do anything else. Holding the duvet back to my chest with a protective hand, I roll down each stocking one by one, tackling it as far as my arm will extend – then, using my feet, I scrape at them carelessly until freed. Each thigh has deep indentations from the tight elastic and my legs look like a series of crop circles have been drawn on them. I give them a vigorous rub to improve the blood flow but know that getting out of bed is the only practical remedy.