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 happen 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