‘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.
The front rows start streaming out after the happy couple. I check the time on my phone. It’s two thirty. We have just under ten hours to get through without incident. It’s about as likely as getting the popular boy to kiss you at the disco. I have no idea what to do. Gretel would know what to do, but she’s not here.
‘You ready?’ Joshua holds out his arm for me to link. ‘There’s a bus to the reception right?’
I thread my arm through his. ‘Super ready. Let’s go.’
Here are some of the truly ludicrous thoughts I am having: you can get through an entire wedding without anyone calling you by name. You might be forgiven for lying to someone about what you’re called. You might be falling in love with the person you’ve been lying to. You can get through an entire wedding without anyone calling you by name …
Have I already said that one? As I said, ludicrous.
The usher was right – the reception really is in quite a nice conservatory. Light pours in even though the sky is a sallow grey. After a ten-minute lurching bus-journey, everyone spilled into it, clutch-bags held over their heads, and we are now congregating in groups, drinking flutes of champagne.
‘Sorry, I hope you’re not bored,’ I tell Joshua, as we stand in a clump of just us two, sharing a plate of pastry-wrapped-around-stuff. ‘I’m not very good at mingling.’
‘Me neither.’
‘How’s the football?’
‘Oh it’s great. We’re playing well, which is a nice start to the year.’
‘I thought it was really fucking rude that you kept checking the score during the service.’
I don’t actually say that. But I want to. ‘That’s good,’ I say instead. A waiter in a penguin suit passes and I grab two more flutes and hand one over to Joshua. ‘Cheers.’ I chink us and try to smile.
‘Cheers.’
I chug down my drink, bubbles fizzing to my head. My brain feels like it’s burning. I miss Gretel. I miss feeling like I’m in charge.
To pass the time before we’re tipsy enough to mingle, Joshua and I start grading the canapés in order of our favourites, hunting down the waiting staff that cradle our winners.
‘So the salmon thingamajig is definitely worth a second round.’
‘Good because I need something to take away the taste of the quail’s egg.’
‘I still can’t believe you spat that out into your napkin like an actual child.’
Josh beams at me. ‘You mean, it didn’t impress you?’
We both laugh and affection gurgles loudly in my pastry-laden stomach – my anger about the football forgotten. I reach over and squeeze his hand tenderly and he squeezes it back. The moment feels really warm and lovely until claps start to echo around us in a Mexican wave. Joshua nods behind me. ‘Oh look, it’s the happy couple.’
I twist to see Chrissy and Mark arrive through the main doors. They’re holding hands, eyes wide from the shock of their own day, too many experiences to drink in all at one time. My stomach flip-flops for a second but I push