A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Page 13

  ‘Hi, Stinky,’ says Bruno. ‘This is Cat.’ He puts an arm around the woman seated next to him. She’s at least half a head taller than Bruno, and beautiful in a subtle way. She smiles warmly at you and you find yourself taking an instant liking to her.

  ‘No date?’ Bruno smirks.

  You open your mouth to retort when Aunt Lauren says, ‘You’re keeping your options open, aren’t you, darling?’ You blush, remembering last night’s shenanigans. That’s one way of putting it.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to see you up and about so early, dear,’ Mrs B says.

  ‘I was … I … I went for a walk.’ You glance down at your shoes. ‘I left my trainers at home.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Bruno says, doing that childish thing of covering up a word with a pretend cough.

  You feel something sticky on your leg, and look down to find a child standing with one hand on your thigh and a finger shoved up her nose.

  ‘No!’ a woman’s voice scolds. ‘No fingers up your nose! How many times do I have to tell you!’ And then, ‘Tokyo! Stop poking your sister! No, Manhattan! Put down that knife this instant!’

  Suddenly the breakfast room is crawling with little people. Jane’s cousin Noe air-kisses you as she swoops down on an errant toddler who is about to put a lethal-looking knife into her mouth. Noe is Noeleen, but she’s been ‘Noe’ since high school. Until she and her high-school sweetheart, Dom, got engaged, when they became ‘Domino’, one indistinguishable person, never to be individuals again.

  Just then Dom arrives, staggering under enough luggage for a trek across Outer Mongolia, and what appears to be a large hamster cage. Surely that’s not a rat inside? It is, and a large piebald one at that.

  ‘Does Cee Cee know you’re bringing an extra guest to the wedding?’ you ask, nodding at the rat.

  Dom sighs. ‘Meet Yodabell. And no, don’t ask me to explain the name. The girls insisted we bring him.’

  While the kids mob their father and pet, you steal sideways looks at Father Declan. Somebody needs to write a letter to Rome to rectify this situation. He’s far too hot to be off the market.

  ‘Morning!’ Mikey – Tom’s best man – saunters into the room carrying a motorbike helmet and a suit bag over his shoulder. He’s tanned and rumpled, as if he’s just stepped out of a jeep in the African bush. Mikey’s a hot-shot surgeon who does stints with Doctors Without Borders, so you’ve never spent very much time with him. But Jane’s been warning you off him for years – his rampant womanising is legendary.

  Mikey greets the others, then homes in on you. He gives you an unnecessarily tight squeeze and whispers ‘Rough night?’ in your ear, with the knowing tone of a man who recognises a fellow walk-of-shamer. Fortunately it’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t have to explain yourself.

  Bruno glances at you and murmurs something in his date’s ear. You feel a jab of irritation. Who is he to make snarky remarks about you?

  ‘Well, these digs aren’t too shabby,’ Mikey says, surveying the grounds, which extend beyond the conservatory into old-fashioned country gardens, complete with fountains and lavender hedges. ‘Who’s up for a breakfast cocktail?’ He raises a hand to get the waitress’s attention. ‘Nurse, we’re going to need some drinks, stat.’

  ‘I think I’m just going to head up to my room,’ you say.

  ‘Don’t forget the hen party tonight,’ Aunt Lauren calls.

  ‘Need any help?’ Mikey says. ‘What’s on the menu? Male strippers, cocktails with penis straws, that kind of thing?’

  Aunt Lauren blows him a lascivious kiss. ‘Oh, I think we can manage something better than that.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. Cee Cee’s in charge,’ you say.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she sighs, drifting off for a cigarette, and to flirt with the young hotel porter.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t bend your rubber arm to join me for a cocktail?’ Mikey asks. ‘We could go for Sex on the Beach, or a Slippery Nipple. I think you’d enjoy both.’

  Erk, you think. Mikey really is a parody of a womaniser. ‘Does that cheesy stuff really work?’ you ask him.

  He smirks, unfazed.

  ‘And anyway, last time I looked there was no beach out here,’ you say.

  ‘Visit me in room 33 and I’ll show you how wrong you are,’ he whispers.

  As if, you think. You’re not that kind of woman. But then again … until last night you weren’t the kind of woman who had one-night stands.

  ‘See you ladies tonight,’ you announce to the room, making a point of avoiding eye contact with Mikey and Bruno. How is it that Jane’s brother has managed to stay as annoying as he was when you were eleven?

  Go to page 217.

  It’s the hen party

  ‘What’s worse than Madonna singing “Like a Virgin”?’ Lisa has to shout to be heard over the music.

  ‘What?’ you shout back.

  ‘Jane’s Aunt Lauren singing “Like a Virgin”! Somebody kill me now!’

  You burst out laughing, watching as Aunt Lauren gyrates on stage, her eyes fixed on the young barman, who’s looking flustered but intrigued.

  Lisa waves at the barman, who drags his eyes away from the sight of Aunt Lauren breathing heavily into the microphone. ‘Tequilas all round, please.’

  Cee Cee’s the only one who isn’t getting into the swing of things. She’d wanted to go to a spa, or have a quiet girls’ night in, but Lisa and Aunt Lauren overruled her, insisting that everyone head to a local country pub for a night of bad karaoke and lethal cocktails.

  The place is packed, and you flick your eyes around nervously, hoping you won’t run into the pilot you abandoned. That would be awkward.

  ‘How much fun is this?’ Jane yells over the hubbub.

  ‘So much fun,’ you say, trying to sound convincing, but she knows how you feel about karaoke – you don’t even sing in the shower, let alone in front of at least a hundred people.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m getting married in two shleeps!’ Jane hiccups.

  ‘I can’t believe it either!’ you say.

  ‘Look, they’ve got “Bohemian Rhapsody”!’ Noe screeches as she flips through the song file. ‘I love that song!’ As the clearly not-a-virgin finishes her rendition, Noe races onto the stage in fits of champagne giggles to murder another unsuspecting song.

  ‘To my last night of freedom!’ Jane toasts, knocking back a shot of tequila. ‘You know you’re my best friend in the whole wide world, right?’ she slurs.

  ‘Yes, and now my best friend is getting married.’

  ‘Yeah … about that … ’ She picks at a bar mat. ‘What if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life?’

  A prickle of concern runs down your spine. ‘All brides think that before they get married,’ you hedge.

  ‘No, but what if I really am?’ Jane says, her bottom lip quivering.

  ‘You’re just having cold feet. It’s completely normal.’

  ‘I know Tom’s not the most exciting guy in the world. But he’ll make a great father.’

  ‘Oh my God, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  ‘What? Of course not! I mean, down the line. I’m just not so sure that he’s … ’ she stumbles.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s nothing. He loves me, and he’s a good man, and anyway it’s too late, we’ll never get our deposit back now.’

  ‘What do you mean? Are you considering calling it off?’ You’re horrified, although there’s an infinitesimally small part of you that is perking up at the thought of being spared the Diabolical Dress of Sprigged Disaster.

  ‘No, it’s just … I’ve been thinking about stuff … ’ Jane says.

  ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘You know I’ve never been with anyone else, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but you’ve kissed other guys.’

  ‘Kissed yes, but I’ve never been-been with anyone else, not in that way.’

  ‘Jane, you started going out with Tom in your first year at university. I w
ould be worried if you’d shagged fifty other blokes!’

  ‘But what if the sex is really really bad, and I just don’t know because I’ve never slept with anyone else?’

  ‘Is the sex really really bad?’ you ask.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s my point. What if it’s actually awful?’

  ‘For crying out loud, Jane. I think you’d know if it was awful!’

  ‘But don’t you see? I’ve got nothing to compare it to!’ Jane drops her head into her arms.

  You rub her back and wonder whether you should share your own concerns about Tom. On the one hand she’s so drunk, chances are she won’t remember it in the morning. But on the other hand, what if she does remember? You don’t want to be responsible for ending a marriage before it’s even started. And so what if you’re not that crazy about Tom? Like the pilot said, you’re not the one marrying him.

  Jane lifts her head: ‘Tell me honestly, do you think I’m doing the right thing?’

  If you decide to tell Jane what you really think, go to page 221.

  If you keep it to yourself, go to page 223.

  You tell Jane what you really think

  ‘So,’ Jane badgers. ‘Do you honestly think I’m doing the right thing?’

  ‘Define “right”,’ you start.

  ‘Okay … do you think Tom is the right man for me? Do you like him?’ Jane asks.

  ‘Sure I like him.’

  ‘But do you like-like him?’

  ‘No, but I’m not the one who’s marrying him. I don’t have to like-like him.’

  ‘Okay … then do you like him for me?’

  It’s now or never. Rather have this conversation now, than in ten years’ time.

  ‘Jane, I think he’s … ’

  ‘Oh my God, I love this song!’ Jane leaps up and runs to the stage where her mum and Aunt Lauren are busy slaughtering the chorus of ‘Wild Thing’.

  You wonder if she left the table so abruptly because she didn’t want to hear what you had to say. Ah well. Now’s not the time to be heaping further doubts on what are hopefully just normal pre-wedding jitters. She probably won’t even remember any of this in the morning. Some things are simply best left unsaid. Saved by The Troggs.

  Go to page 226.

  You keep your opinion to yourself

  ‘Is Tom good to you?’ you ask.

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ Jane says.

  ‘Does he make you happy?’

  ‘Most of the time.’

  ‘Is he honest?’ you say.

  ‘To a fault.’

  ‘Most important of all: does he have a big willy?’ you ask, straight-faced.

  Jane bursts out laughing, then bounces out of her seat, shouting ‘Oh my God, I love this song!’ She darts off to join Lisa and Cat, who are singing Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It’.

  So you didn’t tell her what you really thought. But then will Jane remember any of this in the morning?

  If you want to stick around for one last song, go to page 224.

  If you’re all pretty wasted and it’s time to head back to the hotel, go to page 226.

  You want to stay for one last song

  It had to happen. Someone has chosen ‘I Will Survive’. Karaoke meets hen party: it’s a law of the universe.

  You all huddle around the mikes, singing the lyrics everyone knows and mumbling the ones you don’t, because it’s too late and you’ve all had too many drinks to be following that tiny little ball on that tiny little screen. Most of the crowd joins in and some of them have even formed a small dancing mosh pit in front of the stage.

  As you hit the high point of the second chorus, the microphones go dead. Aunt Lauren keeps on singing, not realising or caring that she’s doing an unplugged version, but the rest of you stop singing, and the crowd moans in disappointment. Jane and Lisa tap the microphones they’re holding, but there’s no sound, and the backing track carries on playing alone.

  Karaoke Guy fiddles with a few buttons, then shrugs. ‘Sorry ladies, must have shorted out or something.’

  You all traipse off the stage. As you walk past the DJ, you catch him plugging in a little jack on his deck. The green light on your mike fizzes back to life. You glare at him and he stares back, unfazed.

  You can’t blame him: how many times can a man survive a bad rendition of ‘I Will Survive’?

  And it’s late, you’re all a little drunk, it’s time to head back to the hotel, anyway.

  Go to page 226.

  You go back to the hotel

  Dammit. You can’t find your key. You dig through your bag, but no luck. You make your way to the reception desk, but it appears to be closed for the night.

  God knows where Lisa’s got to, and Jane’s nowhere to be seen – she and Aunt Lauren took a separate taxi. You briefly consider knocking on the infamous room 33 – Mikey’s ‘love-nest’. Maybe you could fake an injury and have him take a look at it. You could play doctor-doctor. No. You’re not that drunk. You’ll never be that drunk.

  Should you ring the night manager? It’s just too late. Your only option is to try to get into your room via the hotel balconies. You’re sure you left the French doors unlocked. You take off your heels and head outside to the front lawn.

  Tucking the skirt of your dress into your knickers, you climb up and over the balustrade of the balcony and tiptoe past the first room. Which one is yours? The second or third one along – something like that. Thankfully the French doors to the third room are open, and you slip inside.

  You click on the bedside light, but instead of seeing your suitcase on the floor, there’s a leather jacket and motorcycle helmet.

  You’ve found yourself in room 33 after all.

  You hear a key in the door. Shit, how are you going to explain what you’re doing in Mikey’s room in the middle of the night? You flee back to the balcony, pausing as you hear shuffling and heavy breathing. Mikey isn’t alone. He murmurs, ‘Oh baby!’

  And then you hear a woman’s voice murmuring his name back.

  You bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying out. You’d recognise that voice anywhere. You reel back onto the balcony, narrowly avoiding a collision with the wrought-iron table.

  You play the night back in your mind, trying to understand what you’ve just witnessed. Yes, Jane was having cold feet, but Mikey is Tom’s best man, for fuck’s sake.

  You dart towards the next room – this one has to be yours – haul open the door and dive onto the bed, burying your face in the pillow. Oh God, what a mess. ‘Christ!’ you say.

  ‘Jesus!’ a man’s voice exclaims.

  Your heart does its best to leap out of your mouth. You blink as a bedside lamp clicks on and your eyes adjust to the light. What the hell? Father Declan is lying under the covers next to you. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ he says.

  ‘I thought you weren’t allowed to say that,’ you blurt.

  ‘Of course I bloody am, especially in the circumstances. What are you doing in my room?’

  ‘Your room? This is my room!’

  You look around and it dawns on you that it isn’t actually your room after all. There’s a black shirt with a dog collar hanging on the wardrobe door, and on the bedside table is a rosary and a missal. And what looks like a hip flask.

  Father Declan kicks back the covers and stands up. He’s only wearing a pair of boxer shorts, and even though you’re in shock, a tiny part of your brain registers that he has a fantastic body, with broad shoulders tapering down into a long lean torso. He must sense your gaze, because he goes over to his suitcase and pulls on a t-shirt before coming to sit beside you.

  ‘Are you all right? You’re terribly pale,’ he says, more gently.

  Tears prickle, and to your mortification, you start to sniffle. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve had a bit of a bad night.’

  Father Declan produces an old-fashioned clean white hanky from somewhere and hands it to you. ‘Here, blow,’ he says, putting a warm hand on your back. ‘You gave me the
fright of my life. I need a drink. Why don’t I get you one too, and then you can tell me what happened.’

  You prop yourself up against the pillows as he pours a splash of whisky from his hip flask into one of the hotel’s heavy crystal glasses, and hands it to you.

  ‘What has you so upset?’ he asks, sitting down on the bed alongside you.

  ‘I’ve just seen something really shocking,’ you say. ‘We were at karaoke, and we all had too much to drink … ’ You pause. ‘Look, this is super-confidential. Jane is my oldest friend. I have to know that you won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I promise nothing you tell me will go any further,’ he says. ‘It will be like confession. Unless your friend is planning to blow up the chapel, in which case I might have to advise the bishop.’

  You risk a watery smile. ‘Jane was going on about cold feet all night, saying she’d only ever been with Tom.’ It feels weird telling a priest all this, but it’s good to get it out. ‘And then I got locked out of my room, and I climbed over the balcony, I know, it doesn’t make sense, but then … but then … I saw Jane in Mikey’s room. They were together. He’s Tom’s best man – what were they thinking!’ Fresh tears roll down your cheeks.

  Father Declan rubs a hand over his stubbled chin. ‘And people think celibacy is hard. Ah, come here, you eejit, nobody’s died.’ He puts an arm around your shoulders. ‘Do you believe Jane will be happy with this man she’s marrying?’

  You hesitate, remembering all your doubts. But there’s no denying that Tom is steady, decent, and loves Jane. ‘Yes. Maybe. But what do I do now?’

  ‘It seems to me that you have two options. You can have it out with Jane. Go to her, tell her what you saw. She may need a friend, someone to talk to. Or you can take the view that there was drink taken, weddings make everyone crazy, and the most sensible thing would be to say nothing.’

  ‘But which one is the right thing to do? You’re a priest – can’t you at least give me a hint?’