Young Wives' Tales Part 28

I love weddings. I love everything about them, from the pretty little ballet slippers the bridesmaids wear to the terrible Abba tribute bands that play at the reception until the early hours. I love the moment the bride steps through the church door, swathed in petticoats and her veil. I love the fact that the congregation always gasps. I love to see women in hats and men in tails. I love the sound of heels clattering on worn enamel tiles in the aisle, as ladies rush to their seats. I love confetti, champagne and even Coronation chicken because it all adds up to something so marvellous. It adds up to a moment of intense possibility and optimism.

Possibility dominating probability for one day at least.

Not that I get the chance to go to many weddings nowadays. So while this wedding is a little peculiar for me, as I don't know either the bride or the groom, I'm delighted to be part of it. I dusted off my hat and splashed out on a new dress for the event. This time I didn't take Daisy or Connie with me when I went shopping. I thought there was every chance that I could be just as productive if I shopped alone, perhaps even more so.

I bought a knee-length ruby red dress and scarf. I tied the scarf around my black hat and teamed the outfit with the jacket from an old work suit. The one I was wearing when Peter first asked me to share a sandwich with him, as it happens. At least the suit has lasted, it's aged very well. Yesterday, I decided that my old black court shoes wouldn't do after all and I bought a pair of knee-high leather boots with killer heels. I've never spent so much on footwear in my life, but Connie a.s.sured me they were worth every penny. Last night I dreamt I was having my wicked way with Craig and I was wearing nothing other than the boots, so I'm inclined to agree with her.

At first I feared that because Craig is the Best Man I'd be sitting in the pew on my own, fending off questions about how I know the happy couple. But Craig explained that he was more of a chief usher and that his short pal, who I've met at the school gates, was the real Best Man. So we sat side by side throughout the ceremony and no one suggested I was an imposter and that I had to leave. The ceremony was beautiful. The couple had hit the correct note of simple reverence and evident euphoria.

Unfortunately it's not a bright autumnal day, as they deserve. When we emerge from the church, rain is slapping down on to the pavements and the photos are taken with indecent haste as all the guests are encouraged to get to the reception as quickly as possible. The plan is to drink copious amounts of champagne in an effort to forget the inclement weather.

As we walk through the double gla.s.s doors of the reception we are greeted by the sight of hundreds of candles. Candles on tables, candles on chandeliers, candles nestling in flower displays, candles on the bar and huge fat candles, about a metre high, standing on the floor. The entire room is doused with a dreamy, wistful, faraway feeling. It's wonderful.

'Isn't this beautiful?'I comment.

'Yes, it's beautiful, although highly impractical,'says Craig. He looks concerned. 'They should have had tealights.'

'Are you happy for your friends?'I ask.

'I'm violently happy for both of them. What could be finer than finding someone you love so much you want to spend the rest of your life in their company?'

I grin. I'm charmed. Craig might object to the number of candles on health and safety regulations but he is romantic, in a true sense of the word. He's just practical, as am I. I had been concerned that Craig and I might be nervous around one another. I feared we'd flounder once outside familiar boundaries but we haven't. There isn't a single awkward moment where we struggle with small talk. He doesn't reveal a terrible or annoying habit (involving scratching, sniffing or picking) that would make me want to run from him. He doesn't turn out to be a fascist, an addict or an embezzler. He isn't aggressive, shy or dull. He doesn't offend me in any way. The opposite is true: the more I see of him the more I admire him.

He is a conscientious usher. He ensures that all the guests are comfortable and mixing with one another. He helps people read the seating plan and find the cloakroom. He notices when the waiters are being a little tardy in refilling gla.s.ses and he heads off a crisis when a cousin of Jen's discovers she is wearing the same dress as an aunt of Tom's. He tells the ladies they are fulfilling the male guests'fantasies involving beautiful twins. His manner is flirtatious, confident and yet respectful. Both women melt.

'I'm seeing a whole new side to you, Casanova,'I say with a giggle as we slip into our seats.

'I'm not normally this confident, Rose,'says Craig. He stares directly at me and adds simply, 'It's being around you. I feel a million dollars. You make me a better man than I normally am. Still or sparkling?'

He drops the enormous compliment and the trifling question of my preferred choice of water into our conversation as though both sentences are of equal import. The result is, I am bouncing with joy and can barely mumble that I prefer still.

The reception is wonderful. The wine is plentiful, the band is pitched perfectly, both in terms of volume and tone, and the food isn't cold, which is often the best you can hope for when there are one hundred and fifty people to feed. We are amused by a mime act and a magician. Craig is attentive but not overbearing. He compliments me on my dress but isn't slimy. He makes sure my gla.s.s is full but I don't get the feeling he's trying to get me drunk. He asks who is looking after the boys but he doesn't let the conversation deteriorate into school talk.

Unusually, the couple have opted to break up the proceedings by hosting an afternoon tea dance before the speeches and dessert. This gives the old rellies the chance to twirl around the dance floor before the disco music starts up in earnest this evening. I think the idea of a tea dance is truly wonderful and my approval rises further when Craig asks me to join him on the floor.

'I can't waltz,'I confess.

'Nor can I. But how hard can it be? Tom's Auntie Madge is managing to do it with a Zimmer frame.'

I decide that it will be nice to be held by Craig and so I agree.

We shuffle across the dance floor and repeatedly murmur, 'One, two, three. One, two, three' I doubt we are fooling anyone. After a few moments we settle into swaying in one another's arms and the effect isn't completely ludicrous. It is lovely to be held again. I'm not sure when a man last deliberately put his hands on my body. Can it be as long ago as six years? The thought is nauseating, unless of course you are a nun. Craig has large hands and he grasps me firmly around the place where my waist ought to be. He doesn't seem to be in the slightest bit embarra.s.sed by my lumps and swellings, nor does he crucify me by saying something obvious, like, 'I luuurvve your curves.'He appears to accept my shape, seemingly without thought, and his acceptance makes me feel calm, relaxed and comfy. I allow my body to smudge a little closer to his.

'Are you enjoying yourself, Rose?'

'Do you need to ask? I've been smiling since the moment you picked me up this morning. I'm having a wonderful day.'

'I'm so glad. I'd really like to be part of what makes you happy.'

I stare at Craig, stunned and unsure how to best respond. Can he be for real? Is he saying he wants to do this again, maybe more than once? I think he must be. I allow the thought to drift into my consciousness and I examine the idea carefully. I do not find the concept horrifying. Far from it. I like Craig very much.

For the first time we are a little embarra.s.sed with one another but the embarra.s.sment is exciting. It's not the mortification of two awkward strangers it is the discomfiture of two lovers who are verbally and physically skirting one another, unsure of their next move, desperate that there is a next move. Craig coughs and changes the subject.

'Tell me about yourself, Rose.'

'There's not much to tell,'I point out. He knows I am the divorced mother of twins, what can I add?

'I don't believe that. You must have exciting parts of your past that you want to tell me to impress me,'he says with a grin. 'And you must have thrilling plans for your future, however deeply you are keeping them hidden.'

I'm rather flattered that he thinks I might once have done something, anything, exciting and of note, although I don't think he's right about my future. I really don't have secret gripping plans. For the first time I wish I had, if only to impress Craig.

I start falteringly, a little like our dance steps.

'I studied Maths at Bristol University. I managed to scramble up to the dizzy heights of a 2:1 grade, although I was more of a 2:2 sort of girl really. I'd forgone a number of dates and parties and spent long hours in the library. Accountancy was a very natural choice for me after I left uni, and actually I was very good at it. Not that I'm saying I'm dull,'I add hastily.

'I know you're not dull, Rose,'he says with a.s.surance.

An old couple glide past us. I think they are foxtrotting. They manage to look wonderfully elegant, even though they are eighty plus and their faces are creased like yesterday's sheets. The old couple are gazing at one another, their expressions the same they radiate awe and devotion. Mesmerized, I watch them sashay and my chest tightens. They are only aware of one another, oblivious to anyone or anything else. And as they slip over the aged and grooved wooden floor I wonder how many romances have blossomed on this same floor, how many women have glided with hope and men danced with pride. And I wonder if I've drunk too much?

For six years I have kept my heart hidden behind indestructible barricades that repel any sort of intimacy. I've accepted my life for what it is and learnt to love it for being just that, and I have not allowed myself to hanker for more. It wouldn't have been sensible. More always ends up being less. Loving Peter more than I thought possible left me feeling less of a person in the end. I did not want to risk that searing agony again, as I was afraid that my brittle soul would not be able to endure another, similar disappointment. I'd shatter and then what use would I be to the boys? The boys, always the boys to think of. Thank G.o.d.

And, after all, a life full of children, recipes, friends and family is a full life and I can't complain.

But, as I watch the old lovers rapt in one another, suddenly it is impossible for me to ignore the fact that my life is full, but not br.i.m.m.i.n.g, and the distinction matters. My life is not a life overflowing, ebullient and fluid and I want it to be. I know what is missing. I've always known I just haven't wanted to admit it. I don't believe a woman needs a man to have a complete life but I do admit that having a soulmate can be a cornucopia. I glance at Craig and wonder how deep and strong a possibility he might represent. None of my recent dates have ignited a spark of interest but unexpectedly I can feel real heat right now. The idea of entertaining possibility makes my heart soar. I become brave and almost tap my toes as I hop from one foot to the other in an inexpert but enthusiastic step.

'It's just that people think accountants are dull and we're not, actually. I am chatty and I know how to get drunk, although it's not a skill I've been honing of late. I even did karaoke in a bar once.'

'What did you sing?'asks Craig with a smile.

'Err. "Like a Virgin",'I admit.

'I can well imagine the scene.'Craig's smile broadens but he has the good grace not to laugh out loud.

'Have you ever done karaoke?'I challenge.

'Often. "My Way", "Go West", "Let Me Entertain You". I have quite a repertoire. Karaoke is great fun. It ought to be available on prescription.'

I am excited by how much I have to learn about Craig. I realize that he might be a still water that runs deep and the thought is thrilling.

'So what do you mean when you say accountancy was a natural choice?'he pursues.

'Well, I'm good at exams. I think people ought to pay their taxes. I don't like breaking laws. Or rules, diets or hearts come to that. I am better at being good than bad.'

'What else are you good at, Rose?'Craig sends me twirling gently under his arm.

I consider the question. 'I'm good at gardening, cheering people up, making jam.'I know it doesn't sound glamorous but it is at least honest. I sigh and admit, 'I am the epitome of a nice girl. Or at least I was before '

'Before?'

'Before the divorce.'

'Is Peter nice?'

'He's das.h.i.+ng, which was the nearest I could find to nice at the time.'

Craig laughs. 'Would you like to have a rest?'

Seriously? I'd like to stay in his arms until Cadbury's discover a recipe for calorie-free Dairy Milk, but I understand that the answer required is that I would like to sit down for a breather. He releases me and I feel bereft. At night-time I sometimes sneak into the twins'room and, from the doorway, I watch them sleeping. I derive an unimaginable amount of solace and joy from those secret midnight moments of watching them breathe. It's such an honour to bring life on to the planet and I can spend hours simply appreciating their lives. I always find it difficult to close the door and walk back to my room. A similar feeling sweeps me when Craig drops my hand and walks from the dance floor back to our seats. I don't want to let go.

I need to fill the temporary void so I keep talking. What was I chatting about? Oh yes, Peter.

'I had him fooled. Or maybe I was just a fool.'

'What do you mean?'asks Craig. It's admirable that he's not shying away from the sore topic of my ex.

'Peter thought he'd bought nice. He thought I was nice.'

'You are nice, Rose. So I a.s.sume you're saying that was all he thought you were. He missed all the other bits.'Craig pours us both another gla.s.s of wine and we clink gla.s.ses.

'Exactly,'I murmur.

'Didn't he see that the quirky thing about you, the big, well-guarded secret that stays hidden under all your obedience, and your sincerity and your ferocious work ethic, the fact that there is a heart that beats at a rate of knots, a head that is full of dreams and hopes and an unquashable sense of optimism and joy? You are not dull, Rose.'

I do not know what to say. I stare at Craig and I'm amazed. Not only because he's really never looked more gorgeous, and commanding and adult, but because I want to know how he could possibly have guessed? I'm not sure my own sister knows I think of myself that way. How does Craig know? It appears he can read my mind too, because he goes on to answer my unarticulated question.

'If anyone ever took the time to scratch the surface they'd discover Rose the comedian, Rose the idealist, Rose the believer in true and everlasting love. Rose who privately, and rightly, holds the belief that she is rather thrillingly special. So special in fact that she never felt the need to parade her uniqueness, her intelligence or her depth the way so many lesser mortals feel inclined.'

I realize that Craig's gla.s.s is empty, which might explain his vociferous compliments. But does it explain his insight? How long has this man been thinking about me? How carefully has he been listening to me? Is there a hint that he agrees with me? No doubt Connie would scream 'stalker'and run a mile, but I am delighted. Craig has just articulated things that I've barely acknowledged to myself.

'I guess the thing was, you didn't need outside acclamation because you only needed Peter to recognize your talents and strengths,'said Craig.

I stare at him warily. How much do I want to say about Peter? He is, after all, a parent at the school that Craig heads. Is it fair of me to prejudice Craig's views? On the other hand, if Craig is going to become my friend then it might be reasonable to expect that I won't be singing Peter's praises day and night.

'Peter didn't see any of my talents, well, at least not beyond jam-making. When I tried to show him that I was anything more than efficient or reliable, he didn't want to know. Pa.s.sions aren't his thing. He likes cold. He felt he had been duped by me. He thought he had married a pleasant, nice lady who would be no trouble, in the way that his father had married a pleasant lady and had enjoyed a life free of squabbling, noise or strong feelings. But I turned out to be more trouble than he imagined. I expected rather more of him than he was prepared to give when the boys were born. And besides, by then he'd fallen in love with Lucy.'

'So it wasn't as clear cut as that he left you for another woman?'

'Not really, although it's the story I feel most comfortable with. There was another woman and he did leave.'

'The marriage was already over?'

'The truth is somewhere in between.'

Craig nods as though he understands the complexities and nuances of a marriage that was dead years ago. I think it's impossible for him to do so but I appreciate his effort for trying at least.

'We're having the conversation that we're supposed to have six months down the line, not on a first date,'I point out. I wonder if I ought to be more reticent.

'That's weddings for you. They make you think about the big stuff, or at least they ought to.'

'What will we talk about in six months?'I make the joke in an effort to break the all but overwhelming tension. I don't consider that my question might appear pushy.

'We'll probably be picking out wallpaper,'says Craig, not showing any signs of being shoved.

I wonder if I ought to be scared, very scared or delighted, extremely delighted by this comment. With other men I would comfort and torture myself by believing it was an off-the-cuff and meaningless remark. But I know Craig doesn't do off-the-cuff and meaningless.

I glug back more wine and observe, 'It's nearly speech time. Are you giving one?'

'I'm just reading telegrams. John is the funny man.'

I scan the room and my eyes settle on John; he is supposed to be sitting on the top table but he's alone at a side table.

'He doesn't look that funny right now,'I point out.

Craig follows my gaze. John is slumped almost face down on to the table. His weary demeanour is in stark contrast to the other guests. Everyone else in the room appears animated and exhilarated.

'Oh G.o.d, he must have drunk too much. He tends to when he's emotional. Jen will kill him if he messes up the speech. Can you excuse me?'

This mini crisis is rather timely. I need a little bit of thinking s.p.a.ce for a minute or two. Craig leaves our table and heads over to drooping John. I watch as Craig gently shakes his friend, they swap a couple of sentences and Craig pours John a gla.s.s of water. I think the rescue mission may take some time, so I turn to the man next to me and start to make conversation.

38.

Sat.u.r.day 11 November

John

Craig's nose is almost touching mine. I wish he'd stop shaking me. If he doesn't I might throw up, and he won't want vomit in his face, no matter how good mates we are. I've drunk enough to throw. f.u.c.k it, I haven't drunk enough. It's not possible to drink enough. I need to keep on and on and on and...

'John, drink some water.'Craig firmly pushes a gla.s.s towards my hand. I try to grasp it but it slips through my fingers. He guides it to my mouth. 'Mate, I've never seen you this wasted.'

I can't decide if Craig is in awe or shock. My tongue feels fat in my mouth and I'm struggling to move it in the directions necessary to articulate a response. This must be how those people with nut allergies feel. Poor sods. I stare at Craig. I'm trying to convey the fact that I'm going to be just fine and the speech and everything, well that's going to be just fine too. Except I doubt I'm doing much in the way of rea.s.suring, considering I can't actually speak right now.

'Jussneedafewminutes. Itsab.l.o.o.d.ysilly time forspeeshes. Aferdinner. No one canssstaysober.'