A Spot of Bother (26 page)

85

They were getting married.

Katie felt excited about it in a way she hadn’t before. She knew she was doing the right thing this time. They were going to be in charge. It really was going to be their wedding. And a part of her was secretly pleased that the news was going to piss people off.

She’d worried about asking Ray. Would he believe her? Would he want to take the risk of her getting cold feet a second time?

Then she thought,
Fuck it.
What else were you supposed to do when you loved someone and wanted to marry them? And if the invitations had already been sent, well, it seemed wise to pop the question pretty quickly.

So she girded her loins and asked. On bended knee. So she could make it funny if it all went horribly wrong.

He lit up. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

She was so surprised she found herself trying to make him change his mind. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Hey.” He took hold of her shoulders.

“What?”

“I said yes. I said I wanted to marry you.”

“I know, but—”

“You know what?” asked Ray.

“What?”

“You’re back again.”

“Meaning?”

“The old you,” he said.

“So you really do want to get married? In a fortnight?”

“Only if you promise not to ask me again.”

“I promise.”

They stared at each other for five seconds or so, letting it sink in. Then they jumped up and down like children.

She expected Mum to be angry. Given the hassle. But she seemed oddly resigned. Apparently, she hadn’t even got around to telling the guests it was off. Maybe she suspected this was going to happen all along.

Katie said they’d arrange everything. All she needed were the phone numbers. There was nothing Mum had to do. “And Ray and I are going to pay. After all we’ve put you through it seems only fair.”

“Well, if you insist,” said Mum. “Though I’m not sure how your father is going to feel about it.”

“Richer,” said Katie, but Mum didn’t laugh. “How is Dad, incidentally?”

“He seems fine.” She didn’t seem very happy about this.

“Good,” said Katie. Perhaps Mum was just having a bad day. “That’s really good news.”

The florists were downright rude. They could still squeeze the job in but it would cost more. Katie said she’d get flowers from someone nicer and put the phone down, full of an uplifting righteous indignation she hadn’t felt for a long time, and thought,
Bugger flowers
. Ray suggested they pick up a bouquet on the morning of the wedding and this struck them both as very funny.

The caterers were more understanding. Indeed they seemed to think she’d just come out of hospital, which involved some rapid footwork on Katie’s part, and when she mumbled something about tests coming back negative there was actual cheering from the other end of the line. “We’d be honored to provide the food.”

The cake people weren’t even aware that the wedding was off and clearly thought Katie was insane.

86

When George gave Jean
the flowers she cried. It was not the reaction he was expecting. And she was not crying because the flowers were especially beautiful, that much seemed obvious (he had been forced to buy them from the little supermarket near the bus stop and even he could tell that they were not superior flowers).

She was, perhaps, still upset about his misadventure in the bath. Or about the carpet (the fitters were not coming till the following week). Or about the row she had had with Katie and Jamie. Or about the wedding being off. Or about the wedding being on again. Or about the fact that Katie and Ray were now organizing it themselves so that she no longer had a controlling stake in the event. The possibilities were numerous. And, in his experience, women could get upset about things that never even occurred to most men.

He decided not to pry.

His own feelings about the wedding were ones of weary acceptance. He would wait to see what happened and deal with it when it did. If Katie and Ray made a hash of things they were, at least, paying for it.

The idea of giving a speech was less worrisome than it had been. He was feeling stronger now and the problem did not seem as insurmountable as it had done previously.

If only he’d known that her marriage to Graham wasn’t going to last, he would have kept a copy of the speech he used first time around.

He could do a little potted biography, perhaps. Illustrate how the small tearaway of thirty years ago had turned into…into what? “An accomplished young woman”? “An accomplished young woman and a wonderful mother”? “The woman you see before you”? None of the phrases sounded quite right.

“The best daughter in the world”? That was perhaps overstating the case a little.

“Into my very favorite daughter.” That was it. Lightly humorous. Complimentary without being sentimental.

Maybe he should run it past Jean. To be honest, tone was never his forte. Striking a serious note. Striking an ironic note. Which is why he had always ducked out of making speeches at leaving do’s and Christmas parties. There were always smoother men than him eager to step into the breach.

He would leave out the first marriage and some of the more serious teenage misdemeanors. No one was going to be amused by Katie spilling coffee into a bar fire and causing an explosion that took wallpaper off. Or were they? These things were so hard to judge.

He would tell them about her plans to be a racing driver, and the morning she borrowed his car keys, loosened the hand brake of the Vauxhall Chevette and rolled into the garage door, very nearly chopping Jamie in half.

The one thing he wasn’t going to do was to write the thing till a couple of days before the event. He did not want to tempt fate, and his daughter was entirely capable of canceling the wedding a second time.

Another subject he ought to avoid.

He rang the restaurant in Oundle and booked a table. Jean was still under the weather and stronger medicine than flowers was clearly called for. And the reports were correct. The fish was very good indeed. George had sea bream with spinach and pine kernels and one of those nouvelle cuisine puddles of sauce. Jean had the trout.

There was a little black cloud over her head during the main course. So when dessert came he threw caution to the wind and asked what the matter was.

She took a very long time indeed to answer. Which George could understand. He had suffered from a few mental wobbles recently which were not easily put into words.

Finally, Jean spoke. “In the hospital.”

“Yes?”

“I said something to Katie.”

“Yes?” George relaxed a little. It was mother-daughter stuff. High temperature, short duration.

“I was rather stupid.”

“I’m sure you weren’t.”

“I told her I was relieved,” said Jean. “That the wedding was off.”

“OK.”

“I said we’d had our doubts about Ray from the beginning.”

“Which, of course, we had.”

“She told Ray. I’m absolutely sure of it. I could see it in his eyes.”

George chewed this over for a minute or two. When men had problems they wanted someone to give them an answer, but when women had problems they wanted you to say that you understood. It was something David had told him at Shepherds, the summer when Pam’s son joined that cult.

He said, “You’re worried that Ray hates you.”

“Hates us, actually.” Jean’s mood lifted visibly.

“Well, I suspect he’s always known that we don’t see eye to eye with him.”

“That’s not quite the same as having it spelled out.”

“You’re quite right. And now that I come to think about it, his behavior was a little strange when he came to pick me up at the hospital.”

“In what way?” Jean looked nervous again.

“Well…” George scanned his memory of the meeting rapidly to make sure it contained nothing that might upset Jean. “He said everything was a bloody mess back at the house.”

“Well, he was right there.”

“He said that I was the sanest person in the family. I think it was meant to be a joke.” It was obviously a better joke than George realized because Jean started laughing quietly. “It seemed a little unkind to you, I have to say.” He took hold of Jean’s hand. “It’s good to see you laughing. I haven’t seen you laughing in a long time.”

She started crying again.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” He let go of her hand. “I’ll give Ray a ring. See if I can set things straight.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Trust me,” he said.

He did not know whether it was wise. Or whether he could be trusted. To be honest, he had very little idea why he had made such a foolhardy suggestion. But there was no turning back. And if there was some small thing he could do to make Jean happier, then it was the least he could do.

87

Jamie got home
from work to find a message on the answerphone from Katie saying the wedding was back on. She seemed positively jubilant. And her cheeriness made him feel more optimistic than he’d done in a while. Perhaps everyone’s luck was turning.

He was tempted to ring her straight back, but he needed to sort something else out first.

He parked just round the corner from Tony’s flat and gathered his thoughts, not wanting to fuck it up this time.

Seven o’clock on a Monday evening. If Tony was going to be in at any time, he was going to be in now.

What was Jamie going to say? It seemed so obvious what he felt. But when he tried to put it into words it sounded clumsy and unconvincing and sentimental. If only you could lift a lid on the top of your head and say, “Look.”

This was pointless.

He knocked on the door and wondered whether Tony had actually moved house, because the door was answered by a young woman he’d never seen before. She had long dark hair and was wearing men’s pajama trousers with a pair of unlaced Doc Martens. She was holding a lit cigarette in one hand and a tattered paperback in the other.

“I’m looking for Tony.”

“Ah-ha,” she said. “You must be the infamous Jamie.”

“I’m not sure about
infamous
.”

“I was wondering when you were going to drop round.”

“Do we know each other?” said Jamie, trying to make it sound literal rather than standoffish. It was starting to feel like that meeting with Ian. Not knowing what on earth was going on.

The woman juggled the paperback into her cigarette hand and held out the other to be shaken. “Becky. Tony’s sister.”

“Hi,” said Jamie, shaking her hand. And now that he thought about it he did recognize her face from photographs and felt bad for not having taken more interest at the time.

“The one you’ve been avoiding,” said Becky.

“Have I?” asked Jamie. Though it was less a case of avoiding. More a case of failing to make a deliberate effort. “Anyway, I thought you lived in…” Shit. He shouldn’t have started that sentence. She let him carry on without help. “Somewhere a long way away.”

“Glasgow. Then Sheffield. You coming in, or are we going to stand out here talking?”

“Is Tony in?”

“Are you only coming in if he’s here?”

Jamie got the distinct sense that Tony wasn’t in and that Becky was going to give him some kind of grilling, but now didn’t seem like the time to be ungracious to a member of Tony’s family. “I’ll come in.”

“Good,” said Becky, closing the door behind him.

“So, is he in?”

They walked up the stairs to the flat.

“He’s in Crete,” said Becky. “I’m house-sitting. I’m working at the Battersea Arts Centre.”

“Phew,” said Jamie.

“Meaning?” asked Becky.

“Meaning I’ve been trying to ring him. I thought he was avoiding me.”

“He is.”

“Oh.”

Jamie sat himself down at the kitchen table, then realized it was Becky’s flat, temporarily at least, and Tony and he weren’t going out anymore and he shouldn’t make himself at home quite so automatically. He stood up again, Becky gave him an odd look and he sat down for a second time.

“Glass of wine?” Becky waggled a bottle at him.

“OK,” said Jamie, not wanting to seem rude.

She filled a glass. “I don’t answer the phone. Makes life a lot simpler.”

“Right.” Jamie’s head was still full of all the things he was planning to say to Tony, and none of them were very appropriate now. “The Battersea Arts Centre. Is that, like paintings, exhibitions…”

Becky gave Jamie a withering look and poured herself another glass. “It’s a theater. I work in the theater.” She said the word
theater
very slowly, as if talking to a small child. “I’m a house manager.”

“Right,” said Jamie. His own experience of theater was limited to one forced visit to
Miss Saigon
which he had not enjoyed. It seemed best not to share this with Becky.

“You really weren’t paying very much attention when Tony talked about his family, were you?”

Jamie was having trouble remembering a conversation in which Tony told him what his sister did. It was possible that Tony had never actually told him. This too seemed like something best to keep to himself. “So…when’s Tony getting back?”

“Not entirely sure. Another couple of weeks I think. It was all rather spur of the moment.”

Jamie did a quick calculation in his head. Two weeks. “Shit.”

“Shit because?”

Jamie wasn’t sure if Becky was prickly in general, or whether she was being specifically prickly with him. He trod carefully. “I wanted him to come to something. A wedding, actually. My sister’s wedding. She’s getting married.”

“That is what people generally do at their weddings.”

Jamie was beginning to understand why Tony hadn’t made a bigger effort to introduce his sister. This woman could give Katie a run for her money. “We had an argument.”

“I know.”

“And it was my fault.”

“So I gathered,” said Becky.

“Anyway, I was thinking if I could get him to come to the wedding…”

“I think it was the wedding he was avoiding. By going to Crete.”

“Ah.”

Becky stubbed out her cigarette in the little glass ashtray in the center of the table and Jamie concentrated on the way the smoke floated up and broke into little spirals to take his mind off the uncomfortable silence.

“He loved you,” said Becky. “You do know that, don’t you.”

“Did he?” It was a stupid thing to say. But he was too shocked to care what he sounded like.

Tony loved him. Why the fuck had Tony never said so? Jamie had always assumed Tony felt exactly the same as him, not wanting to leap in and make commitments.

Tony loved him. He loved Tony. How in God’s name had he managed to screw things up quite so spectacularly?

“You didn’t realize, did you,” said Becky.

There was absolutely nothing Jamie could say.

“Jesus,” said Becky. “Men are morons sometimes.”

Jamie was about to say that if Tony had only told him, then none of this would have happened. But it didn’t sound like a very grown-up response. Besides, he knew precisely why Tony had never told him. Because he’d never allowed Tony to tell him, because he didn’t want Tony to tell him, because he was terrified of Tony telling him. “How can I get in touch with him?”

“God knows,” said Becky. “He’s staying with some friend who’s got a time-share thing out there.”

“Gordon.”

“Sounds right. He thought the mobile would work.”

“It doesn’t. I tried.”

“Snap,” said Becky.

“I need a cigarette,” said Jamie.

Becky smiled for the first time. She gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. “You are in a state, aren’t you.”

“Look,” said Jamie. “If he rings—”

“He hasn’t.”

“But if he does—”

“You’re serious, aren’t you,” said Becky.

Jamie steeled himself. “I love him. I just didn’t realize until…Well, God, Tony chucked me. Then my sister canceled the wedding. Then my dad had some kind of nervous breakdown and ended up in hospital. And we all drove to Peterborough and everyone basically scratched each other’s eyes out. And it was horrible. Really horrible. Then the wedding was back on again.”

“This is going to be a really fun event, isn’t it.”

“And I realized Tony was the only person who—”

“Oh Jesus. Just don’t cry. Please. Men crying does my head in. Have another drink.” She poured the remains of the wine into his glass.

“Sorry.” Jamie wiped his slightly moist eyes and swallowed the lump.

“Drop an invite round,” said Becky. “Write something soppy on it. I’ll stick it on top of his post pile. Or on his pillow. Whatever. If he gets back in time I’ll kick his arse and make him come.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She lit another cigarette. “I met his previous boyfriends. Nobheads. In my humble opinion. Obviously you and I haven’t known each other long but, trust me, you seem like a major improvement.”

“Ryan seemed nice.” In his mind, Jamie was introducing Becky to Katie and wondering whether the two of them would become friends for life or spontaneously combust.

“Ryan. God. What an arsehole. Hated women. You know, you can’t work with them because they’re not tough enough and they bugger off to have children. Probably not even gay. Not properly. You know the type. Just can’t stomach the idea of sex with women. Hated children, too. Which always winds me up. I mean, where do you think adults come from, for God’s sake? You want bus drivers and doctors? You need children. I’m glad I’m not the poor bloody woman who spent a chunk of her life wiping his arse. Didn’t like dogs, either. Or cats. Never trust a man who doesn’t like animals. That’s my rule. You don’t fancy sharing a Tesco curry, do you?”