by Holly Bourne
April: And you’re not different from me … you are me.
Gretel: Huh?
April: You’re the me I never got the chance to be. You’re the me I could’ve been if none of it happened. But it did happen, Gretel. It did. I can’t take it away. It can’t be undone. I am the woman I am because of what happened. I will never be you, and it hurts too much to keep you around. Because you’re not real. You never were. You’re just a stick to beat myself with.
Gretel: I thought I was a stick to beat Joshua with?
April: I thought so too, at first. But no.
Gretel: I thought you wanted to feel power. Haven’t you felt more powerful being me?
April: No. I’ve felt worse.
Gretel: Surprise surprise.
April: I’ve felt worse because there’s no power in denying who you are. No power in wishing things could’ve been different. No power in envying the other you that you could’ve been. No power in hiding away those bits in order to be loved.
Gretel: Bloody hell. Somebody’s been to therapy …
April: I have. It’s helping.
Gretel: I’ve never seen the need for it myself. All seems a bit self-indulgent.
April: You would think that. Because you’ve not had the life I’ve had. I’ve got to say goodbye now. To you, and to Joshua.
Gretel: April?
April: Yes?
Gretel: I’m sorry.
April: For what?
Gretel: I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to be me. I’m sorry it all happened to you. Truly, I am.
April: Thank you. Goodbye, Gretel. It was nice never quite knowing you.
Gretel: Goodbye.
Gretel: April?
April: Yes.
Gretel: He still might love you, you know?
April: Please, don’t.
Gretel: He might.
It starts raining on the day of Chrissy’s wedding, and the day I’m going to end things with Joshua.
‘Poor Chrissy.’ Megan pushes the living-room curtains to one side, her face dimly lit by the gloomy sky. ‘Months of heatwave and then it decides to properly break on the day of your wedding. If it were me, I’d consider it an omen.’
I join her, taking the material of the curtain between my fingers. It’s pissing it down in a determined, relentless, way. Already this summer of scorched grass, sunburn by 10 a.m., and it being too hot to sleep feels like a collective dream. Like it never really happened. ‘Bless her,’ I say. ‘Such bad luck. Also, will my yellow dress look stupid now?’
‘Nah, it will be fine. It will be warm in the church. Those giant, stone rooms are well known for their cosiness.’
‘You’re hilarious.’
We both stare out at the rain like we’ve never seen it before. I run through all the ways in which I now have to adapt my plans to fit with this new precipitation. I need to find a bag that fits an umbrella. I need to find a pair of skin-coloured tights that haven’t laddered or make my legs look like I have jaundice. I need to get cash out for a cab from the station to the church, as a fifteen-minute walk will ruin my hair and make-up. I need to admit to Joshua that I’ve catfished him and listen to him tell me what a fucking psycho I am …
‘So, this is your last engagement with Joshua?’ Megan says to the misted windows.
I grasp the curtain a little tighter. ‘Yes. I’ll tell him after today.’
‘And not before the wedding today because …?’
‘Because then he won’t come.’
‘And you want him to come because?’
‘Because Chrissy says each guest costs sixty-five pound a head. You can’t lose your plus-one wedding guest last minute when it’s sixty-five pound a head.’
‘That is true.’
‘Unforgivable.’
‘And you’re sure there’s no other reason? Like, you want to spend more time with him?’
‘Stop it, Megan.’
Gretel isn’t coming to the wedding – only April. I don’t want to pretend any more and it’s all going to end anyway. So April curls her hair, because she cares about looking nice on her friend’s big day, and she checks the train times over and over because she gets stressed about being on time. She sends a message to Joshua, checking he’s going to be on time too, even though he’s never been late before.
Joshua: Bang on time. Look at me, the best-dressed dude on the tube.
He’s sent a selfie, decked out in an uncomfortable suit, and I sit down on the edge of my bed and stare at the photo. All dressed up for me, getting up early on a Saturday for me, spending the day making boring small talk with strangers and eating dry chicken for me. But it isn’t for me, it was never for me, I remind myself, and I put my phone in my bag.
The London streets are empty as I hurry under my umbrella to the station, like the rain is poisonous. I shake my umbrella off into a floor puddle, get a seat on the Tube, and as we career through the tunnel I stare at nothing, wondering how I’m going to make it through this. I remember my initial fantasy – breaking a random man’s heart over an artichoke before dropping the mic and vanishing. I wish I’d had the guts to follow through with it. Maybe if the guy hadn’t been Josh … or maybe I never had it in me anyway.
‘You say that this Gretel is every man’s dream,’ Carol said in our first session the other day. ‘But you’re basing that on your own interpretations of what men want. Do you think maybe Gretel is nothing to do with men, but rather a fantasy for you? The woman you think you could’ve been if you hadn’t met Ryan?’
Joshua’s waiting for me outside WHSmith, cradling a newspaper he’s bought. His hair is wet, childlike and juxtaposed with his suit, and he looks so adorable that I almost can’t walk over and kiss him hello.
‘You look lovely,’ he says, drinking in my effort. ‘Your poor friend though. Raining today.’
‘I know. And they’ve paid a fortune for this big stately place too, so that they can get good photos in the grounds.’
‘It will still be the happiest day of her life though.’
‘Let’s hope.’
‘I bought our tickets while I was waiting.’ He hands me an orange card and I want to hold it to my heart like it’s a precious love-note.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Do you mind if we pick some food up at M&S? I live in fear of being hungry at weddings.’
I over-shop, buying two sandwiches, one pasta salad, crisps, and an overpriced collection of chopped fruit in a plastic cup. Joshua gets a bacon sandwich and a bottle of Coke. The train’s on time, which is noteworthy enough for us both to comment on, and we settle at a table-seat and spread out our picnic. He keeps putting his hand on my knee, leaning over to kiss my neck. We’ve not seen one another all week as I’ve been ripping the plaster off slowly. His physical affection stings like my arm-hair getting caught in the glue.
‘So, what’s been going on at work?’ he asks. ‘Crazy week?’
I nod, stretch my arms, watch the rain splatter the window as we pull out the station. ‘Yeah. I resigned from part of my role,’ I tell him, getting the truth about myself out in little nuggets.
He puts down his sandwich. ‘Wow, what? Are you OK? Which part?’ He rubs my arm to comfort me and it stings again.
‘Just the advisor role. I’m fine. I feel guilty, but also know it’s the right thing to have done.’
‘Oh OK. Woah, though. I thought you really liked that bit of your job?’
‘Yeah, I did. But it was getting too much. I was struggling with how sad it was.’ I raise both eyebrows and shrug, all ‘well, what can you do?’.
Josh’s hand drops off my arm. ‘I had no idea,’ he says slowly.
‘It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.’ And it isn’t. I beat myself up about it for one sleepless night, then I only felt relief. I’m proud of what I did and who I helped, but I don’t want to be angry all the time, afraid all the time, I don’t want to believe that every dog in the world bites, even though they all have teeth.
Joshua stares
over my head and at the splattered decoration of rain against the glass. ‘OK, well, I’m glad you’re happy. Sounds like it’s been a bit mad.’
I can sense his pain about being left out of this life development and I put a hand on his arm. To comfort him, to try and make this last day a nice one. ‘Sorry I didn’t tell you,’ I say. ‘It was just a lot for me to digest, and it was all a bit heavy and I didn’t want to burden you with it.’
His eyes are sad when he smiles. ‘But I’m your boyfriend. I’m here for the burdening.’
You won’t be my boyfriend for much longer, I think, and you never were to begin with.
‘That’s so cute.’ I kiss him, to pretend that it’s better. I should tell him now. Before we get off the train. I don’t want to be screamed at in front of Chrissy’s wedding guests. But his lips are so warm, and the way he hugs me …
We pull into the suburban station and I feel sorry for everyone who has to live here. Maybe it’s just the rain and greyness, but the town lacks anything that makes anywhere something. There’s just a paved shopping precinct showcasing the most basic selection of high-street stores. Chrissy always told me this part of Surrey was the most sterile place in the universe to grow up, and I’m now inclined to believe her. Joshua and I run to the taxi queue to make sure we’re at the front, both of us ducking under my umbrella, and ask to be taken to St Luke’s.
‘I really don’t know anyone,’ I tell him as we’re pulling into the sodden car park. ‘I hope you don’t get bored.’
‘It’s fine. I love singing hymns. They better have “Jerusalem”. I used to go to church all the time as a kid. That was always my favourite.’
I glance at him as we pay the cab and dash to the door. I didn’t know he grew up going to church. A further part of him is coloured in.
An usher hides under the heavy eaves of the church door, shivering slightly with a stack of papers. ‘Hi, welcome,’ he says, stepping out to greet us. ‘Here’s the order of service.’
‘Thank you.’ I take the tasteful, thick programme emblazoned with Chrissy and Mark’s names in calligraphy. ‘I still can’t believe this weather,’ I say to him.
‘I know.’ He peers out at the heavy sheet of rain from under the brim of his hat. ‘But we’ve organised a coach from the church car park to the reception, so we should all stay dry. And there’s a really lovely conservatory at the venue, too, so we’ll be nice and cosy.’
Joshua and I nod our thank yous and enter the flower-adorned church. Adults wearing fascinators and their best suits congregate at the back, shaking umbrellas, twisting to inspect how wet they are, women getting out compact mirrors to see what ghastly impact the moisture has had on their styled hair. Even with all the flowers strewn everywhere, you can’t quite shake off the smell of wet dog.
‘I didn’t know you were religious.’ I find a space near the back to shake out my own umbrella.
Joshua takes it from me to give it a more vigorous going over. ‘Only Easter and Christmas now,’ he says. ‘It keeps Mum happy. She’s half-Irish, a Catholic.’
‘You’re a Catholic!’ More parts of him are coloured in.
‘Yes, sort of. Not a very serious one though. As I said, Easter and Christmas. I don’t go to confession or anything.’
‘And you’ve definitely had sex before marriage.’
He drops his mouth. ‘I can’t believe you just said the word “sex” in church! I’m telling God.’
‘He already knows, mate. Omnipotent and all that.’ We both giggle.
‘Shall we find a pew near the back?’ I turn to move, but Joshua pulls me into a tight hug. He smells so good – aftershave mingling with dampness. I let myself close my eyes and enjoy the moment.
‘What was that for?’
‘Just because.’
Maybe I can tell him another day …
I mean, nobody really knows me here, and the hens were probably too drunk to remember my name. I certainly don’t remember most of theirs. And Chrissy will be too busy having the happiest day of her life to blow my cover. Maybe we can just have a nice day, a nice memory, a proper farewell to this weird situation I’ve created. Maybe, maybe …
We hold hands in our pew, waiting for everyone to dry off and settle down, ready for Chrissy’s big moment. I recognise a few of the hens and we nod to one another, but thankfully they don’t come over to say hi. People don’t tend to be friendly at weddings until after the ceremony. Mark’s at the front, chatting animatedly to all the people who approach him to pat him on the back and say good luck. He’s relaxed, smiling.
‘Do you know the groom?’ Joshua asks, his hand hot in mine.
‘Not really.’
‘Do you like him?’
I laugh.
‘That’s a no.’
‘No, he’s fine. Mark’s fine. I don’t really know him. He’s better than her ex.’
How many men win the love of women, simply by being better than her ex?
‘He looks happy.’
‘Well, he damn well should be. It’s his wedding day.’
‘Yes, I know. Sorry.’ Joshua drops my hand, sulky at my snap.
‘No, I’m sorry.’ I am all over the place. I am not the in-control Gretel I used to be. My nerves are vibrating, thoughts flurrying around my skull, all of them contradicting the other. I pick up Josh’s hand. ‘I just hope he makes her happy. I’m very protective of Chrissy, she’s a good friend.’
He kisses my cheek, happy to make up. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’
The church fills up. You can almost picture steam rising from the congregation as we collectively dry off. Chrissy’s mother is wheeled to the front by her brother – neither of whom I’ve ever met, just know from social media pictures. She’s got a lovely green hat on. She sits tall and proudly, daring people to stare at the chair.
‘Is that her mum?’
I nod.
‘Why is she in a wheelchair?’ Joshua asks discreetly.
‘MS.’
‘Oh, that’s sad.’
‘Chrissy’s just glad she’s well enough to come today.’
Joshua kisses my bare shoulder. We open the order of service and spot ‘Jerusalem’, and he looks so genuinely happy at the prospect of singing it that I’m overcome with affection and kiss him all over his face. Raining them down like the cascade of water falling outside, while he blushes and grins.
Maybe you could trust him? Maybe you could trust it? I mean, he’ll never be able to trust you but … never mind, let it go. Let him go.
The organ stops. We all know what this means. Everyone quietens. Expectation swells in the gaps between us. A signal’s given. The organ starts up again. We all stand, twisting towards the aisle, ready for Chrissy to make her grand entrance. My eyes fill when I see her walk past. She really does look lovely in her ivory gown, though maybe a little overdone and not truly like her – essentially how every bride looks these days with professional hair and make-up. Mark looks glad enough to see her too as she arrives at his side. They share a smirk, all, like, ‘well this is weird’ and my heart’s next beat is painful, and stays painful for half a minute or so. The vicar jollies up. ‘We are gathered here today …’
We stay standing to sing ‘Jerusalem’. Joshua surprises me by singing loudly, without embarrassment, face to the front, chest open. I grin to myself and colour in another piece of the Joshua jigsaw. More affection gurgles up and I can’t concentrate for the rest of the song. I keep looking over and feeling warm yet inappropriate feelings.
We’re told to sit. We do. The sermon starts. Vows exchanged. Tears spring up. I forgot how awkward it is to sit next to a boyfriend at a wedding. How it makes you confront the question of whether or not you two will one day be the couple at the front everyone else is watching.
Chrissy looks at Mark from beneath her veil and promises to love, honour, but not obey because she’s a smart, educated, feminist, lawyer type. I can’t help but revisit the anxiety spiral of wondering if this moment will ever happe
n to me. If I’ll ever stand in front of a room full of people I love, and promise to love someone else the most? I remember a quote from a movie I saw years ago, about how weddings are supposed to be about the couple, but they actually make you spend the whole day thinking about yourself. I glance over at Joshua. His head’s down, his hair falling over his forehead. Is he imagining our wedding? Is he picturing me at the end of the aisle and realising how happy that thought makes him?
I follow his gaze to his hands, where he’s checking the football scores under the pew on his phone. So, that’s a no.
He senses me catching him. ‘Sorry,’ he whispers, putting the phone back into the pocket of his suit. Winking at me and winking away the romantic fantasy I’d stupidly projected onto him.
There’s a long sermon before the couple say ‘I do’. They kiss. We clap. As always, it takes forever for them to sign the register. Joshua checks the football again. ‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘First game of the season, you see …’ He’s not even finished explaining to me before he’s gone mute again, clicking away from the football tab onto the rugby one. I feel irritation pinch the top of my nose. I twist to an older couple sitting next to me.
‘Wasn’t that a lovely service?’ I say to the lady.
‘Oh, yes, lovely.’
‘Shame about the rain.’
‘Oh yes, what a shame.’
‘So, how do you know the couple?’
They are family friends of Mark’s. They drove here from Dorset. The traffic was really bad on the M25. Isn’t that motorway just the worst? I can sense Joshua still on his phone beside me. Lost to his surroundings – scroll scroll scrolling. I’m not sure why it annoys me so much but it does. Yet, when I look around, I see Joshua isn’t the only man on his phone. In my direct eye line, I can see the blue glow of at least four men’s crotches as their wives and girlfriends pretend it’s not happening and talk amongst themselves.
‘Sorry,’ Joshua says, hiding his phone again in his suit pocket.
Perhaps try not doing the thing, rather than doing the thing you know is annoying and then saying sorry?
Chrissy and Mark emerge, legally wed, level unlocked, new profile pic waiting to be uploaded. They walk slowly down the aisle to the triumphant organ, smiling into the sea of phones taking their photographs. Chrissy catches my eye as she passes, clocks Josh and raises an approving eyebrow. And I love her for that. In this moment, a moment that is truly only hers, she’s still interested in my life. My complete mess of a life, but today is the end point of the mess.