by Mark Haddon
The registrar asked her and Ray to stand and hold hands, and there were tears in her eyes, and the registrar said, “Before you are joined in matrimony here today I have to remind you both of the solemn and binding character of the vows you are about to make…” but Katie wasn’t really listening anymore. She was up there, looking down, and the roomful of people was so tiny she could fit it into the palm of her hand.
127
Jean heard a little squeak just as Katie and Ray were beginning their vows. She turned round and saw Jamie slip into the room and stand behind that nice young lady in the wheelchair.
Now everything was perfect.
“Why I, Katie Margaret Hall,” said Katie.
“May not be joined in matrimony,” said the registrar.
“May not be joined in matrimony,” said Katie.
“To Ray Peter Jonathon Phillips,” said the registrar.
Jean turned to look at Jamie for a second time. What on earth had happened to him? He looked as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
“To Ray Peter Jonathon Phillips,” said Katie.
Jean’s heart sank a little.
“Now the solemn moment has come,” said the registrar, “for Ray and Katie to contract their marriage before you, their witnesses, families and friends.”
Then Jean remembered that her heart was not allowed to sink. Not now. Jamie had been doing a good thing. And these people were good people. They would sympathize.
“So can I ask you all to stand,” said the registrar, “and join together for the celebration of their marriage.”
Everyone stood.
They would get home and Jamie could change into new clothes and everything would be perfect again.
“Ray,” said the registrar, “will you take Katie to be your wedded wife, to share your life with her, to love, support and comfort her whatever the future may bring?”
“I will,” said Ray.
“Katie,” said the registrar, “will you take Ray to be your wedded husband, to share your life with him, to love, support and comfort him whatever the future may bring?”
“I will,” said Katie.
From several rows back, Jean heard Douglas say, “You go, girl.”
128
George looked around the room and felt oddly fond of all these people.
It was not something he was accustomed to feeling at family gatherings.
He squeezed Jean’s hand. He was in love with his wife. It made him feel warm inside.
Everything was going to be different from now on.
What, in any case, was frightening about death? It came to everyone sooner or later. It was a part of life. Like going to sleep, minus the waking up.
And there was Jamie, arriving late, as children usually did.
Jamie was a homosexual. And what was wrong with that? Nothing whatsoever. So long as one was hygienic.
And there was his husband beside him. Boyfriend. Partner. Whatever the word was. He would ask Jamie later.
No. That was the man who was operating the wheelchair for the crippled girl, wasn’t it. Plump. Scruffy hair. Beard. Obviously not a homosexual now that George thought about it.
Even Douglas and Maureen were all right, really. A little vulgar. A little loud. But everyone had their faults.
And, look, there were fluorescent lights in the room, which meant that if you spread your hand out and waved it from side to side at the correct frequency you could make it look as if you had six fingers. Wasn’t that strange. Like spinning a bike wheel to make it look as if it was not moving.
129
Jamie asked the woman behind the desk where the wedding was and he could see her actually scanning the desk for a weapon. He looked down and saw blood on his hands and tried to explain that his father had run away but this didn’t make the woman relax. So he put on the voice he used with difficult clients and said, “My sister, Katie Hall, is getting married to Ray Phillips in this building right now and if I’m not there to witness it you will be hearing from my solicitor.”
My solicitor? Who the fuck was that?
She either believed him or was too frightened to tackle him alone, because when he strode off in search of the wedding, she stayed in her chair.
He stopped by the door at the end of the corridor and opened it a crack and saw a woman vaguely like Auntie Maureen and a cleavage which definitely belonged to Uncle Brian’s wife. So he slipped inside and the registrar said, “…constitute a formal and public pledge of your love for one another. I am now going to ask each of you in turn…”
His father was standing next to his mother smiling benignly, and Jamie felt a weird combination of excitement and anticlimax having spent the journey imagining he’d be the center of attention, then finding out he wasn’t, so instead of jumping up and down and telling someone about his ridiculous adventure he had to shut up and stand still.
Which was probably why he grinned and waved at Katie without thinking when he caught her eye, making her put the ring on the wrong finger, though thankfully it was funny more than anything. And when Jacob rushed forward to hug her, he couldn’t resist rushing forward to hug her, and the registrar seemed a little put out by this, but quite a few other people joined in, so she had to lump it.
They poured into the car park and a friend of Katie’s asked what he’d been doing to get himself in such a state and he said, “The car broke down. I had to take a short cut.” They both laughed and Jamie reckoned he could probably say he’d been attacked by a leopard and everyone would take it in their stride on account of the carnival atmosphere, though his mother was quite concerned that he spruce himself up at the earliest opportunity.
“How’s Dad?” he asked.
“He’s in excellent form,” she said, which alarmed Jamie slightly, because he couldn’t remember his mother saying something that positive about his father even when he was entirely sane.
So he accosted his father and asked how he was feeling, and his father said, “You have very strange hair,” which was technically correct, but not the answer Jamie was expecting.
Jamie asked if he’d been drinking.
“Took some Valium,” said his father. “From Dr. Barghoutian. Perfectly safe.”
“How much?”
“How much what?” asked his father.
“How much Valium?” asked Jamie.
“Eight, ten,” said his father. “Enough. Let’s put it like that.”
“Oh dear God,” said Jamie.
“I would very much like to meet your boyfriend,” said George. “How did that sound?”
“Are you planning to give a speech at the reception?”
“A speech?” said George.
“You’re bleeding,” said Jamie.
George held up his hand. There was blood dripping out of his sleeve. “Now that is odd.”
130
George sat on the toilet seat in the upstairs bathroom while Jamie put a new dressing on his wrist and helped him into a clean white shirt.
He remembered now. Jean had put the first dressing on earlier in the day. He had cut himself on a barbed-wire fence. Though precisely how he had come into contact with a barbed-wire fence was not clear.
“So, you haven’t written a speech,” said Jamie.
Of course. He remembered now. It was Katie’s wedding today.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“A speech,” asked Jamie. “Have you written a speech?”
“What for?”
Jamie rubbed his face. “OK. Look. Katie got married this morning…”
George raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a total dimwit.”
“They’re having the reception in the garden,” said Jamie. “After the meal the bride’s father usually gives a short speech.”
“She’s getting married to Ray, isn’t she,” said George.
“That’s right. So here’s what we’re going to do.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I�
��m going to talk to Ed,” said Jamie.
“Who’s Ed?” asked George. The name did not ring a bell.
“Dad,” said Jamie, “just listen, OK? Ed is the best man. After the meal he will announce that you’re going to speak. Then you stand up and propose a toast. Then you sit down.”
“OK,” said George, wondering why Jamie was making quite such a song and dance about this.
“Can you do a toast?”
“That depends on whom I am meant to be toasting,” said George, feeling rather smug that he had spotted the trick question.
Jamie blew out lots of air, as if he was about to lift a heavy weight. “You get up. You say, ‘I would like to propose a toast to Katie and Ray. I would like to welcome…’No. Too complicated.”
It struck George that Jamie was a little confused himself.
“You get up,” said Jamie. “You say, ‘To Katie and Ray.’ You sit down.”
“I don’t make a speech,” said George.
“No,” said Jamie. “Just a toast. ‘To Katie and Ray.’ Then you sit down again.”
“Why am I not making a speech?” asked George, who was beginning to wonder why he should be following instructions from a confused person.
Jamie rubbed his face again. “Katie and Ray want to keep it short and simple.”
George digested this. “All right.”
“You get up,” said Jamie. “You say—”
“To Katie and Ray,” said George.
“You sit down.”
“I sit down,” said George.
“Brilliant,” said Jamie.
George remained on the toilet for a few minutes after Jamie left. He felt slightly aggrieved that he was being denied the opportunity to talk at length. But when he tried to imagine what specific things he might say at length his thoughts became a little fuzzy. So perhaps it was best to follow the line of least resistance.
He got off the toilet, waited for his head to clear and made his way downstairs.
Someone handed him a glass of champagne.
Was it wise to drink champagne when he had already taken Valium? He had little experience of these things. Perhaps there was a doctor amongst the guests whom he could ask.
Gail materialized in front of him. “Brian was very sad not to have you down in Cornwall with him.”
It was hard not to look at her breasts.
“He was looking forward to a bit of Boy Scouting,” said Gail. “Bonfires. Sleeping bags.” She shivered. “I’m going down next month. When the power shower works and the carpets are fitted.”
What in the name of God was that man doing here?
On the far side of the room.
George wondered if he could be hallucinating.
“Are you all right, George?” asked Gail.
He was not hallucinating. It was definitely him. David Symmonds. The man he had seen having sexual intercourse with Jean in their bedroom. Now he was gate-crashing Katie’s wedding. Did the man possess no decency whatsoever?
The world was coming back into focus. It was like that night in Glasgow. Being too drunk to talk. Then seeing the flames in the corridor and being instantly sober.
“You seem a little distracted,” said Gail.
He was not going to stand for this. He moved Gail to one side and made his way through the crowd. He would tell Mr. Symmonds to leave.
Hopefully it would not be necessary to strike him.
131
Jamie tarted himself up and came downstairs, crossing his fingers and hoping that his father would remember his instructions.
He had to speak to Ed.
What should Ed say? That Katie’s father was feeling a little under the weather? Perhaps he needn’t say anything. Katie’s father would now like to propose a toast. Least said soonest mended. Stick as close to the truth as you can.
He made his way through the house looking for Ed, thinking how he really, really wanted Tony to be here so he could sound off without having to think about what he was saying or who he was saying it to. And the picture of Tony inside his head was so vivid that when he stepped outside and saw Tony coming through the gate on the far side of the lawn it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
He stopped in his tracks. Tony stopped in his tracks.
Tony was wearing his Levi’s and that really nice blue floral shirt and a suede jacket Jamie had never seen before. He was half a stone lighter and several shades browner. He looked absolutely fucking gorgeous.
And then it sank in. Tony was here. At the wedding. And the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea and Jamie and Tony were looking at each other down a long corridor of guests. Or maybe it just felt that way.
Jamie wanted to run. But Tony was no longer his boyfriend. They hadn’t spoken since that horrible nighttime meeting on the steps of Tony’s flat.
Except that he was here. Which must mean…
Jamie was running. Or walking really fast at any rate. And even as he was doing it Jamie could see that it was a tacky soap-opera moment, but he didn’t care and he could feel his heart welling up in his chest.
Then they were in each other’s arms and Tony’s mouth tasted of minty gum and tobacco and Jamie saw the camera spinning round them and felt the muscles of Tony’s back under his hand and smelt the new body wash he’d started using and wanted him naked and it was like coming home after a thousand years and in the silence around them he heard a woman’s voice saying quietly, “Now that I was not expecting.”
132
Jean was standing in the hallway listening to a young man who worked for Ray. Mostly, though, she was letting her eyes drift across the growing crowd of people. Because, to be honest, he was one of those men who expected you to shut up and nod and make an appreciative noise every now and then.
And it was good letting her eyes drift across the growing crowd. She felt responsible enough to take some credit for the fact that they all seemed to be enjoying themselves (Judy was laughing; Kenneth was sober). But not so responsible that she had to imagine all possible disasters and avert them.
And there was Jamie heading toward the kitchen in a very nice dark blue suit and a white shirt (the cut on his cheek made him seem rather manly).
She could see David talking to Katie’s best woman and looking a little defensive. She felt as if she were watching him from a long way away.
“Five years ago,” said the man who worked with Ray, “your television signal came through the air and your phone signal came through the ground. Five years from now your TV signal’s going to come through the ground and your phone signal’s going to come through the air.”
She made her excuses and slipped into the garden.
As she did so she saw a young man coming through the side gate carrying a dark green holdall. Suede jacket, flowery shirt. He seemed vaguely familiar.
She was wondering whether he might be a friend of Katie and Ray’s when he dropped the bag and someone was hugging him and they were spinning round together and everyone was watching and she realized that it was Jamie, which meant that the man must be Tony, and they were kissing each other, in front of everyone, with their mouths open.
Her first thought was that she had to stop people seeing, by throwing something over them, like a tablecloth for example, or by shouting something loudly. But everyone had seen by now (Brian’s jaw was, quite literally, hanging open) and nothing short of machine-gun fire was going to distract people’s attention.
Time slowed down. The only things moving in the garden were Jamie and Tony and the ash falling off Ed’s cigarette.
She had to do something. And she had to do it now.
She walked up to Jamie and Tony. They pulled apart and Tony looked at her. She felt the day teeter, like a car on the edge of a cliff.
“You must be Tony,” she said.
“I am,” said Tony, very deliberately keeping one arm around Jamie’s waist. “You must be Jamie’s mother.”
“I am.”
He held out his free hand.
“It’s good to meet you.”
“It’s good to meet you, too.” She reached out to hug him, to show him that she really meant it, and to show everyone else that he should be made welcome. And Tony finally let go of Jamie and put his arms around her and hugged her.
He was a lot taller than he appeared from a distance so it probably looked rather comical. But she could sense the atmosphere in the garden warming and softening.
She was only planning to do it for a few seconds, but she had to keep her face pressed into Tony’s shirt for quite a long time because she was crying, which caught her completely by surprise, and while she wanted everyone to know that she was welcoming Tony into her family, she didn’t really want them to see her weeping helplessly in the arms of someone she’d met ten seconds ago.
Then she heard Katie shrieking delightedly, “Tony. Fucking hell. You came,” which did distract people’s attention.
133
George came to a halt in front of David on the far side of the dining room and stood with his legs apart and his fists clenched.
Unfortunately, David was facing in the opposite direction and did not realize that George was standing behind him. George did not want to ask him to turn round because asking for anything would suggest that David was the dominant animal. Like dogs. And George was meant to be the dominant animal.
Nor did he want to grab David by the shoulder and forcibly turn him round because that was what people did in fights in bars and he wanted the encounter to be concluded with as little fuss as possible.
So he stood, tensed, for some seconds until the woman David was talking to said, “George,” and David turned round and said, “George,” and smiled and juggled his little cigar into his drink hand and held the other out for George to shake.