Don't Tell the Groom

by Anna Bell

  Who is this impostor and where is Lou? This is Lou’s favourite dessert. I’ve seen her eat this after an Olympic breakfast at the Little Chef. Nothing stands between Lou and a chocolate fudge cake.

  ‘Thanks, Mark and Pen, for such a lovely evening,’ says Lou, standing up.

  Lovely evening? Have we been at the same table all night?

  ‘We’ll have to have you round to our house sometime soon,’ says Russell.

  Lou just shot Russell the filthiest look at the mere suggestion that we’d be going round to their house. Come to think of it, we haven’t been round to their house for weeks. Months even. Are they phasing us out and we’re just not bright enough to cotton on?

  Before I’ve registered that they’re leaving Lou is out of the door. I don’t even get a kiss goodbye; she just waves as she walks towards her Ford Focus.

  ‘We didn’t open the cheese,’ I call.

  ‘You two have it,’ says Russell. ‘Enjoy!’

  I close the door and rest my back up against it for a minute, trying to digest what just happened. It’s only a momentary lapse as I soon remember that I’ve left chocolate cake and ice cream in the dining room.

  ‘Don’t you think that was weird?’ I say to Mark.

  He’s sitting there finishing off the last of the contents of his bowl. He looks completely unfazed by the tornado of an awful evening that he just witnessed.

  ‘What?’ asks Mark.

  I watch him lean over and take Lou’s giant portion of cake. Well, I guess it would have been going to waste.

  ‘Lou’s behaviour. Didn’t you think it was strange? The whole hangover thing and not drinking. Them leaving before dessert. Before Lou’s favourite dessert. Her non-committal attitude towards the bridesmaid dress shopping.

  ‘As far as I can tell there is only one logical explanation to all this: they have new best friends.’

  Mark looks up from his half-eaten fudge cake and stares at me. I don’t understand what he doesn’t get. It is simple when you add up all the bits of information.

  ‘Really? All that happened tonight and that’s your best explanation for it?’

  I rack my brains to try to work out what I’m missing, only it isn’t easy when you’ve consumed the best part of two bottles of wine.

  ‘Or maybe Russell and Lou are getting a divorce. Maybe they’re living in separate houses and that is why we haven’t been over to their house in ages. Maybe Lou needs to be sober so she can drop Russell off and drive to her new place,’ I say.

  I’m now offended that Lou hasn’t shown me her new place.

  ‘I don’t think that’s it,’ says Mark, smiling at me.

  He looks so bloody smug. Well, I’m not going to let him tell me what he thinks. I’m going to try and guess. Even if it does feel like I’m playing Family Fortunes and desperately trying to get the top answer.

  ‘Why don’t you examine the facts?’ says Mark.

  There is definitely a smugness in his tone. That will be the red wine; he always thinks he’s right when he drinks it.

  ‘She wasn’t drinking, she didn’t have her favourite dessert, she went home because she was tired,’ says Mark.

  I’m struggling here to connect the dots.

  ‘And she didn’t eat the prawns,’ adds Mark.

  I’m still blank. I must remember not to drink too much of this wine at the wedding or else my guests are not going to have the most scintillating conversation with me.

  ‘She’s pregnant,’ says Mark, with a heavy sigh.

  Suddenly it is right there in front of me. All the signs are there flashing in neon lights. She was even wearing a baggy top over her skinny jeans.

  ‘But she can’t be. She would have told me. She hasn’t even told me they’re trying for a baby.’

  Mark goes back to eating his chocolate fudge cake.

  ‘She can’t be pregnant,’ I say. But it is a far more logical explanation than anything I’ve thought of.

  This wedding is going from bad to worse. Not only do I have a third of the wedding budget, but now my best friend isn’t going to be my maid of honour. She’s going to be all glowing and distracted by the little bundle of joy she is having. I really shouldn’t drink wine. It makes me think the worst of things. But it’s just that I can’t imagine a wedding day without Lou by my side.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’ve hit rock bottom. I really have. I’m sitting in a coffee shop and looking at my hands as they’re visibly shaking.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asks Josh.

  He sits down opposite me with his coffee and for a minute I just want to lean across and hug him. I’m sure it’s the leather jacket that he always wears; it makes me think that he could wrap his arms around me and protect me from anything.

  He said something, didn’t he? I can’t for the life of me remember what it was, because I’m too busy looking at his shoulders as he slips off his jacket. Focus, Penny, focus. He was just asking if I’m OK.

  ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘So your text said that you gambled again,’ says Josh.

  I wince. There is something so awful about the G word when it’s said out loud. It makes me feel like I’ve done something truly, truly heinous.

  ‘I bought five scratch cards yesterday. I hadn’t planned to do it, but I was getting some milk from the corner shop and I thought that I could just do with a little boost. I’d wanted to buy a lottery ticket but it was past seven thirty.’

  Josh is nodding as if he understands. See, this is why I texted him.

  ‘I just felt so dirty. I mean, I bought a scratch card. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as I watched myself hunched over the kitchen table and desperately scratching off the grey boxes. And then I got really paranoid that Mark would see one of the grey specks that I’d rubbed off and work everything out. I ended up hoovering the kitchen table just to get rid of any trace of them.’

  ‘Did you win?’ asks Josh.

  ‘What?’

  What does winning have to do with it? Surely the focus here should be on the fact that I gambled?

  ‘Did you win or did you lose?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say.

  ‘What, did you throw them away before you looked?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t work out if I’d won.’

  I reach into my pocket and dig out five slightly crinkled scratch cards and I pass them over to Josh.

  ‘You need a flipping degree to understand if you’ve won,’ I say, to make myself feel better. I can’t tell whether it was the scratch cards that were complicated or if I was flustered that Mark might come home and catch me, but I honestly couldn’t work out if I’d won.

  ‘You haven’t won,’ says Josh.

  ‘Really? Not even a pound? What about the one with the diamonds?’

  ‘Nope, your stones don’t match.’

  I don’t know why I am surprised that I’ve lost again. It wasn’t like I’d had a whole lot of luck in the first place with gambling.

  ‘Well, there’s another waste of five pounds. It just feels so much worse than the bingo,’ I say.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Because I could see the mess I’d made afterwards. I’d scratched like I was a fox savaging a carcass. I couldn’t help it.’

  ‘In the grand scheme of things a few scratch cards are no worse than your online bingo. You do realise you lost ten thousand pounds doing that? I don’t think you should rank forms of gambling as better or worse than each other. It’s all gambling.’

  I don’t know why I bother talking to Josh sometimes. He makes me so cross. He knocks me down so that I’m even lower than I was before I spoke to him. This wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to hear when I texted him. I wanted him to give me a little pep talk. Next he’ll be calling me a thief again.

  ‘What made you do it?’ he asks.

  ‘I was buying milk and I saw them.’

  ‘No, I mean what made you do it? Were you having a bad day? Why did you want the tic
kets?’

  ‘I wanted to win,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Why?’

  I take a deep breath. I know that Josh won’t understand.

  ‘I found out at the weekend that Lou, my best friend, is having a baby. So I’m down a bridesmaid. Then I’ve got flower arranging tonight, which I’m terrible at. I’m never going to be able to do my own flowers for the wedding. And so I bought the tickets hoping I’d win enough to pay a florist.’

  ‘That’s it? That’s why you were having a bad day?’

  ‘I’m sorry that it’s not bad enough for you. It seemed pretty bad from where I was sitting,’ I say stroppily.

  ‘How many classes of flower arranging have you done?’

  ‘Tonight will be my seventh.’

  ‘Out of …’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a quarter of the classes left. You may get better.’

  ‘No, I think it’s one of those talents you’ve either got or you haven’t.’

  ‘So don’t arrange your own flowers,’ says Josh, shrugging his shoulders as if it’s the simplest decision in the world.

  ‘But I can’t afford all the flowers I want without buying them wholesale and putting them together myself.’

  ‘Then have fewer flowers.’

  I roll my eyes at Josh. He is such a man.

  ‘I can’t have fewer flowers.’

  ‘Why not? Do the flowers conduct the service? Do the flowers say your vows? No, flowers may be nice, but they’re not an integral part of what a wedding is.’

  That’s told me. I start to drain my coffee, wondering if I can make a speedy exit.

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to be harsh. I’m just trying to make you try to see how you’re worrying about all these little things that aren’t important in the grand scheme of things,’ says Josh. ‘Let’s put it in perspective. You were gambling because you wanted a dress, yes?’

  ‘Yes, originally.’

  ‘Right, and now you have a dress?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did it cost as much as your dream dress?’

  ‘No. It was two hundred and twenty-five pounds.’

  ‘Right, then. Is it any less nice?’

  ‘It’s different.’

  ‘But do you like it?’

  ‘I love it,’ I say honestly, and my heart skips a beat as I remember the lace detail.

  ‘Don’t you see? There are always options. You don’t need to find a quick win to get what you’re looking for. When it comes to life there are no quick wins. You have to either work for things in life or adjust what you want. Gambling to get what you want is never a good short cut.’

  I will not cry, I will not cry, I chant desperately in my head. I can feel the tears rushing to my eyes and my vision is starting to blur. I know he isn’t having a go at me and I know that he is trying to help me, but I can’t help it that I want to cry.

  ‘Hey, hey, Penny.’

  He’s grabbed my hand and he’s stroking it. I want to scream at him to stop being so nice. I half laugh, half cough, and a few tears escape from my eyes.

  ‘Don’t cry, Penny. Listen to me. None of the details you’re worrying about are important. Don’t you see?’

  I nod. I did see. I was just always trying to get the next wow factor thing for the wedding.

  ‘You see, Penny, this is why I don’t do weddings. At the end of the day if you love someone, you love someone and that love can just be enough. If I were ever to get married, which I’m not, then it would be the most basic wedding you’d ever need.’

  ‘Would you never marry Mel?’ I ask.

  ‘No, that won’t happen.’

  I’m intrigued to know what Mel is like. I know that not every woman wants to get married, but it just intrigues me nonetheless. With a boyfriend like Josh I bet she’s pretty enough to be a model.

  ‘Look, Penny, I’m sorry. I have to leave now if I’m going to get back to work on time.’

  I glance at my watch. Yikes, so am I.

  ‘Thanks for coming to meet me, Josh. It’s just so hard not being able to talk to anyone else.’

  ‘I still think you should consider telling Mark. He seems like a decent guy. I’m sure he’d understand.’

  ‘No, he really wouldn’t. But anyway, I feel much better about everything. And I promise, no more scratch cards.’

  ‘Or any other get-rich-quick gambles. No taking yourself off to the horse racing or anything.’

  ‘No,’ I laugh. ‘I promise.’

  We walk back to the car park and already my shoulders seem lighter. It is such a massive relief just to have been able to talk about what was bothering me.

  ‘Thanks, Josh.’

  The next thing I know Josh is hugging me. It is exactly what I needed.

  ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday,’ I say, waving as I get into my car.

  Now all I have to do is get through an afternoon at work and then hope that I’ve magically sprouted green fingers by six o’clock when I go to flower arranging class.

  By 7 p.m. I realise that I haven’t sprouted the green fingers.

  This week’s task is buttonholes. Mine resembles something a clown would wear. Only it wouldn’t squirt any water, it would just fall apart if you pressed anything.

  I glance at Amy, the woman who sits next to me. Her buttonhole looks like something you’d find in a florist’s shop. I’m desperately staring at her fingers, which are all nimble and delicate. I wish mine were like that.

  ‘What?’ asks Amy as she looks up at me. I think perhaps my staring was scaring her.

  ‘I just wish my buttonhole looked as good as yours. I’ve got fat thumbs.’

  That is the only excuse I can offer. They may not be as big as Mark’s mutantly strong thumbs, but I think they are fat enough to be hindering my flower arranging.

  ‘You just need to take a bit more time over them,’ says Amy.

  ‘Patience has never been my strong point,’ I say honestly.

  ‘You’re good with the colours though. They at least complement each other well.’

  She must be a mum. That is such a mum thing to say, looking for the positives in a bad situation.

  ‘That’s really kind, but don’t worry, I know it’s crap.’

  ‘I mean it, about the colours,’ she says.

  ‘So have you done this before?’

  ‘No, but I’m an art teacher, so I’m used to working with craft materials and a lot of the principles are the same.’

  ‘Wow, then you are really good.’

  ‘Thanks. So how are your wedding plans coming along?’

  ‘Well, I think I’ve got my buttonholes down, don’t you agree?’ I say, laughing. Who am I kidding? The forty-five pounds I spent on this course was a total waste of money.

  ‘Aside from your lovely buttonholes. How are the rest of the plans going?’

  ‘I’ve got most of the big things now. Venue, church and the dress. I have a dress! I’ve just got to sort the photographer, DJ, transport, flowers and the little details. Favours and decorations.’

  ‘Have you given the favours any thought? I always love those. The last wedding I went to had lottery ticket favours,’ says Amy.

  I wince as I remember how tempted I’d been a few weeks before to steal all the lottery ticket favours from the other person’s wedding. I somehow doubt that it would be a good idea for me to have them at our wedding. Besides which, if any of my friends won a big prize I’d be forever pissed off about the one time I bought a winning ticket and someone else got the prize.

  I’m not saying that I wouldn’t be happy for a friend or family member if they won the lottery. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t be happy if I’d bought them the winning ticket. There’s a difference.

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking of making something,’ I say. Or reading between the lines I want something cheap.

  ‘Oh, I know. I went to another wedding that had love hearts – you know, the little sweets? They had the bride and groom’s name o
n them and they were in little organza bags.’

  That was a cute idea, but I can’t imagine that they’d come in at under £30, which is my current budget for favours. My preferred favours at the moment are an IOU coffee note that I thought the guests could redeem at some future date, when I had more than two pennies to rub together.

  ‘Right, now time to make your feminine buttonhole,’ says the teacher at the front of the class, clapping her hands together to get our attention.

  We all stand up and go and select some more flowers. This is just what I need, to knock myself even lower in the self-confidence stakes.

  ‘What about making something you can eat?’ suggests Amy.

  ‘Wouldn’t I have to make it really close to the wedding?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, but if you made something simple.’

  That is not the world’s worst idea. I might be a terrible cake baker, but I’m sure there must be some recipe that I could use. I mean, if I actually follow the recipe word for word, and don’t get a bit creative halfway through as I try to channel my inner Nigella.

  I like the idea of something edible. After all, who doesn’t like a tasty little snack when they’ve been drinking?

  My feminine buttonhole is not looking any better than the masculine one. In fact it looks worse. Not even a clown would be seen dead in this.

  I hold mine up, rotating it to see if it looks any better at different angles, but it doesn’t.

  ‘I’m going to have the worst wedding flowers ever,’ I say sadly. I know when I’m defeated. I’m embarrassed for thinking that I’d be able to do this.

  ‘Look, if you don’t think your flowers are going to cut the mustard, why don’t I do them? I mean, unless you’d rather get a florist to do them. I wouldn’t be offended if you said no,’ says Amy.

  ‘I’d love you to do my flowers. That’s really kind of you. But the thing is, I was doing this course as I can’t afford to get a florist. I wouldn’t be able to afford to get you to do them either.’

  ‘Yes, you could, I’d do it for free. Or at least maybe a couple of bottles of wine. Listen, if you provide me with the flowers the day before the wedding, then I’ll put them together.’