by Ana Simons
Shit, last night’s dinner!
The moment Charles Burke mentioned his daughter wasn’t coming to Jimmy’s wedding today, something tore open inside me. I acted nonchalant, of course, as if I wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation, but for some stupid reason it stirred me up, it made me so restless.
Olivia got stuck at work or something, I don’t know. I don’t care. Giving it too much importance would be like opening myself up to a fucking Pandora’s box. And I don’t really need any of that right now.
Shit, my head. It’s thudding like a goddamned drum, the pain only getting worse when I return to the bedroom and my eyes fall on the woman lying on my bed.
No, I didn’t call her at bloody near two in the morning to talk. This past month she’s become my regular go-to. Nothing serious, but she knows that. It’s more like a fuck-friend arrangement of sorts that serves us both, considering I’m the one who usually gets the invite to come on over.
Last night was different. I didn’t pick her up and take her out to dinner. I didn’t even offer her a glass of wine or chat her up. In fact, I couldn’t care less about what she possibly has to say. Truth is, she’s been kind of a fix for something and I don’t even know what it is.
And maybe it’s better to leave it at that, I conclude, as my weary body falls back on the bed. I’m not ready for any brutal truths. I guess for now I’d rather stick with the comforting lies…
*
What a bummer, two minutes too late and they’re all gone!
Well, all except Robert.
Jimmy’s guests were supposed to gather here before the ceremony, at the Burke’s home, for a brief cocktail reception and photos. Turns out I only managed to drag myself out of bed some forty minutes ago—to a bursting headache and a massive fog of red wine and anger.
Robert isn’t looking any better. With head tilted back as if soaking up the sun, he’s sitting on the garden bench, tie loosened and jacket off, a packet of fags in one hand, a glass of Scotch in the other. In the background, the catering team, back and forth clearing tables and cleaning up the back garden.
“If you hurry, you might still be able to catch up with them,” he says, raising his glass without changing his sullen demeanour, his voice slightly slurred.
“Morning. Need a ride to the church?”
“Oh, thank you. That’d be really kind of you.” He doesn’t move a single inch, though.
“Then come.”
“I’m almost done here.” He takes a long, slow swig and jerks his head toward a half-empty bottle standing on the nearby table, which he holds only to pour himself a three-fingers width. “Come and join me.”
Jesus, my dark mood and morning-after hangover can’t deal with this kind of shit right now! I take his glass and set it on the table. “I’d love to, but we need to go. The wedding starts in less than one hour.”
“Whatever! Those never start on time anyway.” He waves a dismissive hand before he tries to reach for his glass again, which I immediately slide further away.
“Rob, what is this you’re doing? Getting pissed on your cousin’s wedding day? Have you bloody well lost your mind?”
He relaxes his stance and lets out a short, rough laugh. “Son, two things a man cannot hide, can he? That he’s drunk, and that he’s in love.”
“Right, you’re a real poet. Come, let’s go inside and get you a coffee.” I pull him by his elbow and try to make him stand, but he shrugs me off.
“Give me my glass back, I’ve got a hangover the size of an elephant’s arse.”
“I’ve got one too, and this shit you’re pulling isn’t helping,” I snarl. “Where’s Betty?”
“Son.” He grabs my hand and looks intently into my eyes, shaking his head in strong disapproval, his tongue clicking. “Coffee, raw eggs, whatever-crap-they-say-it-helps? None of that works! And aspirin? Steer clear from that shit, it’ll burst your liver!” He stands at last. “Drinking the bloody bastard off, that’s what helps! Who the fuck is Betty?”
“Please, stop talking rubbish. Where’s your wife?”
“Don’t have one. Who’s that?”
“I don’t know—the woman sitting next to you last night? The mother of your three kids? Who’s been putting up with you for… thirty years?”
“Oh, that one! I remember her.”
“Brilliant…” I pinch the bridge of my nose, my patience wearing thinner by the minute. “Maybe it’s indeed better if you stay here–”
“She told me to pack my things and leave, can you believe it? Last night. A divorce, she wants, the bloody old nag!” he blurts out, just when I’m about to turn and leave.
Oh, sod. I stare at him for a moment, in silence, pondering my reaction. What in the world are you supposed to tell someone who’s just been dumped?
“You seem surprised.”
“I’m so sorry, mate. What happened? Have you tried to talk to her?”
Robert offers a half-shrug, on his face something that resembles a No, obviously not.
“So what did you do then?”
“Went to Billy’s Old Tavern, had a few pints and got all frisky with Pippa. Didn’t end up well, I’m afraid.” Again he reaches for his glass. Again I stop him. “It seems I tried to slide my hand up the gal’s skirt and she punched me right in the fucking nose.”
“Serves you right, don’t you think?”
He nods, wincing at the memory. “And then Billy, that arrogant gobshite, kicked me out. Quite loudly. Everyone was laughing.”
I narrow my eyes at him, the what-were-you-expecting-you-moron expression on my face hitting him like a fist to the stomach.
Holding his head in his hands, fingers rubbing on the temples as though he’s got a roaring headache, which he probably has, he concludes, “Oh the irony, the day my marriage ends, I have to go to a sodding wedding... I fucking hate weddings!”
“Join the club then. But now come, let’s drive around and sober you up a bit.”
“All right. But let’s bring the bottle. Just in case.”
Casting a stern, defying stare, I grab his arm firmly. “Down! Put. It. Back. Down!”
*
After a few good gulps of fresh air and a lot of rambling about how awful his wife is, we’re both sitting on the entrance steps of the building across from Holy Trinity Church, just off Sloane Square.
Getting impatient, I check my watch and turn to glance at the commotion of another group of guests arriving. No sign of the bride yet. In any case, I should definitely get going, I think to myself as I cast another look at my companion.
Leaning forward, supporting his head with his hands, elbows on his knees, he’s been silent for a while now, on his face an absorbed, introspective expression.
“Like I said, she must have some strong reason to want to chuck thirty years out of the window, man. Thirty years—that’s a feat! You can’t just walk away and not try to talk it over. You have to go after her.”
He still doesn’t react.
“Robert?”
“What the hell are you babbling about?” he snarls dismissively. “You of all people? With your disgraceful track record with women, haven’t you learned anything? You should know better by now: they’re cruel, whiny manipulative beasts, capable of making your life a living hell! So fuck no, you don’t go after them, you pathetic sap!”
Seriously? Pissed or not, what makes you think you can dig up my story now?
“Fine, then. Do what you think is best,” I tell him, my voice tight. As I really don’t have to listen to any of his crap, I guess it’s time for me to go—before I let my temper run away from me and tell him things I’ll surely regret later.
Robert grabs hold of my hand just as I am getting up. “That I don’t listen to her, she told me. That I don’t look at her the way I used to. That she feels taken for granted and we’re mere roommates dealing with logistics…
“Bloody hell, if we could only hack their minds! What the fuck does that even mean?” he asks, sta
ring vacantly into the busy street. “I’ve always been faithful to her, I provided for our family, I did my best to make it all work—even on those days she wouldn’t stop bitching at me!
“Turns out in the end that’s not enough and now she wants to put herself first again and enjoy life. Her words. Go figure.” He lets out a pained chuckle.
In silence, I let it sink in, ultimately acknowledging the female mind is indeed a bizarre territory none of us will ever truly understand.
With a sympathetic shrug, I tell him I truly don’t know what I could possibly add to make him feel better. Life’s complicated, women and relationships even more so.
He studies me with narrow eyes for a moment, his face contorted in a grimace. “You know what? That cheating tart pulled that stunt on you, but you’re way better off without her. Without any woman, for that matter. All those mind games they play, making your life miserable until you give them what they want—even when they don’t know themselves what the fuck they want!
“So, if you want to live long and sane, take an old man’s advice and don’t let yourself be sucked into it!” he scoffs with anger, pointing a finger at me. “You stay away from trouble. Shag as many as you can, but don’t fall for it, stay single. Because if you don’t, one day you’ll wake up only to find out you’re in the middle of a sodding nightmare.”
Though musing over his words, which are probably right and about to take me to an unpleasant place I’d rather not visit again today, I try to take it lightly and laugh at his piece of advice.
“Thanks for the enlightenment, mate.” Giving him a friendly tap on the back, I stand. “I’d better go now and see what the views in the church have to offer. See you around. And… hey?” I fix him with a stare. “You stay away from trouble. You hear me?”
“Yeah, off you go. I think I’ll hang out here a little longer...”
Snaking across the street between cars, I reach the church and glance up at John Sedding’s impressive work of architecture, at the neo-gothic, red-brick façade with its stunning stained-glass window.
Because I need a moment to take a deep breath.
And then gulp down the frustration welling up within me since last night. Since it dawned on me I’d been more eager to see a certain woman than I was willing to admit…
5 Surprises
Among a cacophony of whispered voices, melodic tunes and kids’ giggles spinning through my head like the roar of a migraine, I glance around, looking for my family.
Off to the right, I spot my sister, her gaze already searching my face. Sue shakes her head and I can feel her disapproval all the way over here. I’m not only late, I probably also look like I was thrown under a bus. Bloody hangover!
Looking up the church towards the altar, I find my father shaking hands and exchanging a few words with Pete and Jimmy.
All dressed up for the occasion and with a freshly shaven face, but with the same blank stare we’ve all gotten used to lately, Pete is looking as he actually feels, at a very low ebb. His wife left him a few months ago, on his thirtieth birthday. Took everything but the kitchen sink and a dog that pees all over the place. Poor chap.
Surprisingly, Jimmy isn’t looking much better. In his custom-tailored dark suit and fancy white tie, he’s pacing back and forth like he’s going mental, either looking at his watch or at the front door, barely able to hold himself together.
“I give it a year. Two, maybe,” Robert mutters behind me.
“I thought you wanted to stay outside.”
“If you want to know my opinion…”
I don’t.
A flash of irrational hope surges through me, and I scan the church looking for Olivia’s face. Imagining that possibility seems to ease the dull ache in my gut just a little.
Nothing. All I see is a blur of faces, the realisation all too unsettling.
“They’re getting off to a pretty lousy start. Look at him, he’s a nervous wreck. And where’s the loving, sweet bride? Probably instagramming her dress, the bouquet or the bloody lace garters, who the fuck knows!”
I briefly look over my shoulder. “Linda is a nice girl, you know?”
“Sure, she’s nice. They’re all nice. Right before they lay their hands on us and become our all-knowing wives, having our bollocks in a jar and making us into bumbling, inept screw-ups. And after two dozen full-blown PMS fits of rage? Everyone is jaded, hurt and resentful.”
Why don’t you shut the hell up, I growl to myself, the frustration and incomprehensible voices around me running rampant in my mind.
“And you know what else? This I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you fucking fairy tale? It’s all a load of rubbish! In fact, it should come with some sort of ‘choking hazard’ warning or something.”
I take a deep breath, debating what to do. It’s pointless to try to reason with a drunk man, everyone knows that, much less when he just got served with divorce papers.
“Enough!” I snarl under my breath as I tighten my fingers around his arm and pull him down, to the bench.
He frowns, looking confused, then afraid.
“Maybe you’re right, maybe Jimmy’s getting right through hell’s gate in front of all his nearest and dearest.” I pause, before adding in a threatening tone, “But this is their day. So you’re going to sit here in the back and be still. Don’t make no fuss. Or I’ll break that ugly nose of yours, you hear me?”
Unable to utter a single word, he lowers his gaze and sags down into his seat.
With that, I adjust my cufflinks and begin my walk down the aisle.
“Brian, my boy!” Jimmy’s grandmother smiles tenderly when I hug her from behind, interrupting her slow march towards the seats in the front.
“Oh my god, you look so gorgeous. Leave that husband of yours, that miserable old git. Let’s run away together.”
“You silly lad!” She nudges me with her elbow, enjoying the banter.
“The foxiest lady in all East Sussex is turning me down.” I shake my head, feigning sadness. “Damn, you just broke my heart.”
Her gentle wrinkled hand cups my face. “How have you been, son?” She studies me, a long searching look. “Are you feeling all right?” Genuine concern and a trace of pity hide her usually warm smile.
“Sure, of course. Everything’s good.” I lie.
“Son, remember to keep your head up...” And move on because looking back into the past won’t make it any better, she says without words, only with her narrow, piercing gaze. There’s a profound mutual understanding in the glances we exchange; her sorrowful expression and the moment of silence that follows sends a chill down my spine.
“I know, Tammy, I know.” Bobbing my head, I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’m so sorry,” she says softly, almost in a murmur, squeezing my hand in a comforting gesture.
*
A slight commotion at the back of the church announces the bride has arrived. Jimmy’s face breaks into a smile, a smile of anticipation. Or relief maybe. He was about to go into complete panic mode.
However, as the shrill sound of One Way or Another rises from within my jacket and echoes throughout the entire church, interrupting the violin notes that cascade upon us, everyone’s attention flickers to me.
What the hell? Last time I checked that was definitely not my ringtone and if it is now, I have no bloody idea of the screwed-up moment I set it up. Last night is one big blur.
Jimmy’s mum immediately frowns and throws me a familiar disapproving glare. The same glance she’d shoot us every time we were caught messing around back in our teenage days.
“Sorry…” I mouth, giving an apologetic, embarrassed shrug. All of a sudden, I find myself surprisingly relieved Linda hasn’t made her entrance on time.
Scanning the audience for their reaction, I quickly dig into my inside pocket to pull out the phone and check the incoming call. Josephine? What could she possibly want? Half the church is shaking their heads and rolling their eyes; the same half wh
o’s looking at me with condescending eyes. Good thing the other half is already too old and deaf, though, as nobody seems to care, I comfort myself.
I put my mobile on mute and slip it back into the pocket of my jacket, making a mental note to call her after the ceremony.
The first notes of Con te Partiró begin to float in the air, and I turn to look all the way to the end of the church, where there’s already an alignment of smiling flower girls.
I guess we are all set, good to go. I look at Jimmy again feeling proud of him, at the smile of contentment lighting up his whole face, at the tears of joy threatening to erupt any moment.
“Oh, shut the front door. Don’t be a sissy!” I give him a tight embrace and two slaps on the back.
“Fuck you, asshole,” he says with a grin, returning the back-smacking hug.
“For you, Mr Asshole.”
Chuckling to myself, I head to my seat.
A few moments later, Linda is walking down the aisle on the arm of her father, pacing to the rhythm of the gentle music that embraces us all. I take a good look at her. She’s beaming, happy as can be, and she sure looks phenomenal in that dress.
I swiftly scan the crowd. Everyone is smiling and gasping, they’re all obviously engulfed by the light-hearted romantic atmosphere. And then I look at Jimmy, fidgeting and nervously pulling at his tie.
I can’t help the small grin tugging at the corners of my lips.
As soon as the choir finishes the entrance song, everyone rises and the minister begins the ceremony. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the Holy Trinity for the marriage of James Burke and Linda O’Connell. This place in which we are now met has been–”
“Excuse me, may I?” A long-legged blonde bends down to ask, giving me a full view of her cleavage.
It takes me a couple of seconds to decode the question. “Sure. Please, go ahead.”
“Thank you,” she mouths, hurriedly taking the empty seat next to mine.
“This ceremony will unite Jimmy and Linda in marriage. We are here to celebrate their union and to honour their commitment to each other–”