An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy) (32 page)

              I felt so comfortable with her.
Her
, not the garden. She was the one doing this to me; she was the one making me so at ease, making me so comfortable. Just like Lizzie. I turned to her, the bewilderment on her face changed into a smile.

              My memories of Lizzie’s face had been so strong, so deeply ingrained, but over the years they had faded, dissipated to the ideals of Lizzie, to the memories of the time we spent and the nature of her personality. If anything her beauty had been forgotten and then turned into a legend, but was it possible that the girl before me was her? The suggestion of such a thing seemed insane, maybe the hospital was rubbing off on me.

              ‘This may sound a little strange,’ I began. ‘My name isn’t Keith,’ I said bluntly.

              She drew back a little. ‘Okay,’ she said with a nod, waiting for more.

              ‘There’s this crazy guy called Donald, you know him, saw him with me, it looks like his leg is wrestling a snake. Anyway, he keeps calling me Keith, he thinks that’s my name and he has this
thing
with names.’

              ‘Okay,’ Beth was still waiting for an explanation.

              ‘Anyway, he implanted that into me. The Keith thing. When you asked I didn’t realise I told you, and when I did, well,’ I shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to backtrack and have you think I was weird.’

              I smiled. She laughed a little.

              ‘As opposed to letting me think your name was Keith,’ she said. ‘Which is not weird at all.’

              ‘Exactly.’

              ‘So, what is your real name?’

              I held her eyes, waiting to gauge her reaction. ‘Kieran.’

              There it was: a sparkle of recognition behind the blue orbs. A subconscious flick of the eye muscle, a slight raising of the eyebrows.

              ‘Kieran?’ she repeated, her voice slightly softer now.

              ‘It’s you isn’t it?’ I said, leaning forward slightly, so sure it was. ‘From the caravan site? I didn’t recognise you, I mean not at first, your hair, I mean you dyed it ob--’

              ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said abruptly.

              I stalled, my mouth open in shock. I pulled back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling stupid and disappointed. ‘I thought you--’

              Before I could say another word she kissed me hard, pressing the life from me. Then she pulled back, leaving me shocked, breathless and confused. ‘That’s for not meeting me and not phoning me back all those years ago,’ she said.

              At that the smile returned, wider than it had been before, wider than it had ever been.

Epilogue

              ‘Everything will be fine, trust me.’

              I smiled at Matthew; I didn’t trust him, not in the slightest. He was my best friend, and today he was my best man; I loved him like a brother, but I didn’t trust him.

              ‘Uncle Matthew is here to make sure all is well,’ he winked, grabbed at the top of my tie, straightened it, tightened it, gave me a sharp slap on the back for good measure.

              ‘Will you stop calling yourself Uncle Matthew?’

              ‘I didn’t know you two were related.’

              In the corner of the room Max was fiddling with his cravat, looking stiff and awkward as he stood near the door, holding it open like a penguin doorstopper.

              ‘Where did you get this guy?’ Matthew whispered.

              ‘Told you, childhood friend, couldn’t
not
invite him.’

              Matthew sighed and turned to help Max. When he had finished Max stood like a stiffened model, displaying himself with a smile of childish pride.

              ‘Very nice Max,’ I told him.

              ‘You look
lovely,’
Matthew mocked.

              ‘Thank you,’ Max beamed proudly and left the room.

              Matthew shut the door behind him, making sure to glance down the corridor first.

              ‘That guy is a fucking numpty,’ he said bluntly.

              ‘That may be so, but that guy also pulls in more money than me and you combined.’

              Matthew shook his head in disbelief and disgust. ‘
How
though? It beggars belief.’

              ‘Damned if I know. He’s a good lad though, probably deserves it.’

              ‘Maybe,’ Matthew sulked.

              I stood in front of the full length mirror and studied myself. I had never looked so neat and tidy, never felt so awkward in my own skin.

              ‘I’m shitting myself,’ I told Matthew. ‘I never thought I’d get married like this, I always imagined it’d be cheap and accidental.’

              Matthew stood by my side, looking at himself admiringly in the mirror. ‘Don’t worry mate,’ he slung an arm around my shoulder. ‘If I can do it, you can do it.’

              I shook my head, still refusing to believe that Matthew was married. The man who couldn’t bear to be with the same girl for more than one night. A man who insisted that monogamy was for people who had given up.

              I had been his best man, but I still hadn’t believed the day had happened. I had given my speech expecting the crew from a candid camera show to pop out of the cake. Matthew had turned into a one-woman man overnight; he had never cheated on his wife and had not been with anyone else since their first date. It was sweet, but it was out of character and very surprising. What was also surprising was that he had stopped being my unsolicited wingman; he had stopped trying to hook me up with random girls for casual and awkward one night stands.

              There was a reason for that though. I hadn’t been single for a long time. I had been with my fiancée for as long as Matthew had been with his wife, there was no need to try to set me up with other women, there wasn’t another woman in the world I would have preferred to the one I was about to marry.

              ‘You ready?’ Matthew said, squeezing my shoulder and meeting my gaze through the mirror.

              I straightened my tie an unnecessary quarter inch. Took a deep breath. ‘Come on then.’

              At the head of the church I looked over a sea of expectant faces and contemplated running. They made me nervous, their eyes seemed to be saying: “
we’ve come all this way, we’ve giving up our weekend and we’ve dressed nicely. So you better impress us dick-head”
as they prepared pitchforks, rotten vegetables and enough gossip to sustain the town’s small-talkers for generations.

              There were a few smiling faces amongst them. My parents sat patiently in the front row. My grinning mother, telling everyone how handsome I looked. My proud father, hiding his feelings and telling everyone not to drink too much in the pub because he was footing the bill.

              Max was also smiling; he sat alongside a few distant cousins who, until recently, I wouldn't have been able to pick out of a crowded room. He seemed to have the attentions of an attractive pair of twins -- three places removed on my mother’s side, or two on my fathers, it was hard to keep track. Whatever Max was telling them they were impressed. There were usually only two things that Max could impress women with: his action figure collection and his money, and the girls didn’t look like Sci-fi fans.

              Also at the head of the congregation, sitting on the other side of the aisle to my parents, were the mother and father of the bride. I started when I saw them, almost tripping over backwards. They were both glaring at me. The mother warning me of her disappointed should I run out on her daughter, the father threatening to beat me up regardless.

              ‘You look nervous mate.’

              Matthew was standing next to me; I felt his elbow nudge mine.

              ‘I’m shitting myself,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’

              ‘Calm down, it’ll be fine.’

              ‘I don’t think it will be.’ I turned to look at the vicar, dressed in full garb. He was holding a book, preparing the vows. I wondered how many of them I would mess up, how many I would get wrong.

              Matthew’s hand reached around my back, his fingers tight on my skin. ‘You’ll be fine, trust me.’

              Then the music started. The Bridal Chorus. I felt my heart sink. There was nowhere to run, she was coming, if I wanted to leave I would have to do so when she was here, scaring her for life just before her father did the same to me.

              I gulped down a thick glob of resistant phlegm and squeezed my eyes shut.

              I heard the sound of activity as everyone turned to see the blushing bride. I heard a few gasps. Some mumbling. Some whispers.

              I opened my eyes slowly.

              Elizabeth was gliding down the aisle. My breath caught in my throat when I saw her. She was stunning; she looked like an angel, floating above the ground, the bright white dress lapping at the floor around her feet. 

              I could see her blue eyes through the veil, she was staring at me; she was smiling. I returned the smile. The anxiety vanished, the fear was gone. She had cut a line of ease through the judging congregation, softening them all in my eyes. My heart was still beating like a techno drum, but for different reasons. I wasn’t worried anymore. I didn’t have cold feet.

              When she stood in front of me I told her how beautiful she looked. I told her I loved her, and then, minutes later, I said two words that meant more than those compliments combined.

              After the wedding dinner I received congratulations and admiration from people I knew and loved, and people I wasn’t sure I had ever met. Elizabeth's father had a little too much champagne with his meal and before he tucked into dessert he was telling me I was the perfect person to for his daughter whilst warning me not to hurt her in equal measures.

              It was a long day, but it was a happy day. Elizabeth was by my side the entire time. We relaxed down a little at the evening party. The music was playing, the crowd was mingling, everyone had had a little to drink and we were counting the seconds until we could leave for the hotel.

              ‘I’m still not sure if your dad likes me,’ I told Elizabeth, cradling her in my arms as we moved gently to a fast song, the rest of the dance floor jumping and swinging to the beat.

              ‘He does, trust me.
I
like you, so
he
likes you.’

              ‘I like that logic. I don’t
believe
it, but I like it.’

              The song finished, I escorted her off the dance floor, hand in hand.

              I kissed her lightly on the cheek and wove my hand further down her body. Over her breasts, voluptuously pressing against the silky soft material, and her stomach, also protruding against the dress.

              My hand stopped on the curvature under her navel. I dropped to one knee, pressed my face close. Elizabeth giggled softly. ‘And how’s my little boy?’ I asked the small bump.

              ‘Tired.’

              ‘Oh, and he’s talking now!’

              Elizabeth laughed, running her hands down to meet mine, her manicured fingernails brushing against my skin. ‘I’m tired as well,’ she noted. ‘I can’t wait to get back to the hotel.’

,              I looked up and winked at her. ‘I can’t wait to get back either,’ I said suggestively.

              ‘Oh, you must be ready for bed as well then.’

              We walked to the buffet table where Matthew waited with his wife, his arm casually thrown across her bare shoulders. She was an attractive woman, a former model, just his type. But she was also nearly a decade older than him and had more PhDs than he had GCSEs.

              Behind them Max was busying himself on the buffet table, his back to them and us as we approached. I walked with protective arms around Elizabeth, one over her shoulder, the other firmly planted on her stomach.

              ‘You thought of a name yet?’ Matthew quizzed, nodding towards the semi-bulge.

              I exchanged looks with Elizabeth and shrugged. She had thought of a few, I had knocked them back. I had thought of dozens, she had rejected every single one.

              ‘I quite like Maximilian,’ she said with a furtive glance at Max.

              Max beamed and showed his teeth, wedged with flakes of pasty and bits of meat. A small shower of crumbs rained down his jacket, he ignored them.

              ‘Like me!’ he declared, firing pastry fireballs at Matthew’s shoulder.

              Matthew groaned and rubbed his shoulder down, then he stared at me.  A warning stare. I looked right back.

              ‘No,’ we both spat in perfect harmony.

              Max sagged slightly, he closed his mouth, a sliver of spinach clung to his lip for dear life.

              ‘Nothing personal,’ I lied.