It was Tom’s idea for us to catch up so, now that we’re here, sitting in the cool shade of a willow tree, struggling to get a conversation started, I don’t feel much like helping him.
So …’ Tom starts, failing to reach a destination.
‘So,’ I echo.
‘How’s life?’ he asks.
Ergh, what a vague, pointless question. Unless something interesting is going on, it’s impossible to give an interesting answer. Otherwise, no one tells the truth, do they? How’s life? Oh, well, work is stressing me out, I haven’t had sex in a long time and I’m watching so much Netflix it doesn’t just ask me if I’m still watching, it asks me if I’m still alive.
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘How’s your life?’
There’s a real saltiness to my words that I can’t hide, as though I begrudge him having a life without me. It’s been ten bloody years, it’s about time I let it go.
‘It’s going well,’ he says. ‘Work is going really well.’
‘Ah, yeah, what did you say you did, car journalism?’
‘Something like that,’ he laughs. ‘What did you fall into?’
‘I work in PR, for a fashion retailer.’
‘You’ve always loved fashion,’ he says, as though he still knows me. ‘Although you’ve toned it down a lot.’
‘I’ve matured,’ I point out. ‘Do you still wear the clothes you had at uni?’
‘Some of them, yes,’ he says with an embarrassed chuckle. ‘When I was working abroad I bought new clothes, rather than move loads of stuff around with me. Then, when I moved back home, I picked up all my old things from my parents’ house and realise there was still a lot of life left in my old T-shirts.’
‘You’ve moved back to the UK?’
The last I’d heard Tom was working abroad, that’s why he wasn’t at Ed’s wedding five years ago. I have always made a real effort not to ask questions or seem at all interested when people mentioned his name over the years. I suppose it was a defence mechanism, but now that I’m in front of him, and know nothing about him, I feel completely disarmed.
‘Yeah, I’ve moved back to Manchester actually.’
I feel a pang of something in my chest. Shock? Hope? I don’t know.
‘You live in Manchester?’
‘I do.’
‘So do I.’
‘Yeah, I figured. I thought about looking you up but … I don’t know, I figured you’d be married with kids by now and wouldn’t want anything to do with me.’
‘Nope, no husband, no kids,’ I say, almost annoyed that he’s made me confess the words out loud, even if they are true.
Before anyone can say anything else, we’re interrupted by the bride. This doesn’t usually end well for me.
‘Luca, I need you for another bridesmaid duty,’ Kat says casually, as though I signed up for this. ‘Grandma Joan has wandered off. She does this all the time now, but I don’t want her missing from the photos so … could you find her please?’
Kat hitches up her dress, turns on her heels and walks away.
‘She doesn’t even wait for a reply,’ I point out.
Tom laughs.
‘Well, she’s a busy bride, and anyway that sounded more like an order, not a request,’ he replies.
‘Well, I guess I’d better get looking for Grandma Joan then,’ I say, slightly glad of an excuse to end this conversation and get as far away from Tom as possible.
‘I’ll help you look,’ he says.
‘You really don’t have to do that.’
‘Joan loves me,’ he reminds me. ‘It’s no trouble at all. Plus, we can continue our catch up. She likes a drink, I’d check the bar first.’
I don’t really know what I can say to that, other than thank you.
As Tom and I make our way through the marquee, I make eye contact with Fiona, who wiggles her eyebrows at me. God knows where she must think we’re going together.
As we reach the inside bar, we bump into Pete who, at first seems pleased to see me, but then he realises I’m with Tom and he looks concerned.
‘Bridesmaid duties,’ I tell him, pulling a face. ‘Grandma Joan has gone missing apparently.’
Pete laughs.
‘Buy you a drink after?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘I’m not sure what I make of that guy,’ Tom says, once we’re out of Pete’s earshot. Not that anyone asked him.
‘You don’t even know him,’ I remind him.
‘I know he’s got his hair in a flipping bun,’ he points out emphatically. ‘And a scruffy eco-friendly suit. He looks like a hippy.’
‘Oh, so just because he has a bun and cares about the environment, he’s a hippy?’
‘Oh, does he care about the environment?’ Tom asks mockingly. ‘What a dream boat.’
I hold my tongue.
‘Wait here,’ I tell him, ignoring his remark.
I head into the ladies’ room, squeezing past a crowd of especially loud, excitable women on their way out. I check the doors of each cubicle, until I get to the last one, which is locked.
‘Hello,’ I call out.
‘Hello,’ I hear a panicked voice call back.
‘Joan?’
‘Yes, please, you have to help me. I’ve fallen. I can’t get back up.’
I dash into the next cubicle, put the lid down on the toilet, kick my shoes off and climb on top so I can peer over. Poor Joan is lying in a heap on the floor.
I examine the size of the gap my head is currently poking through. I consider whether I could climb over but I’m not sure where I’d have space to land and I think I’m imagining myself as way more athletic than I am, as well as having a much smaller arse than I probably do. Poor Joan is already stuck, let’s not throw my fat arse getting wedged between two toilet cubicles into the mix.
‘It’s going to be absolutely fine,’ I reassure her. ‘I’ll go get help, but I’ll be right back.’
‘I didn’t manage to get my tights back on,’ she says, sounding a little embarrassed.
‘That is not a problem at all.’ I try to sound as calm as possible. ‘I’ll get someone to open the door and I’ll fix you up before anyone sees anything, I promise.’
I carefully step down from the loo, lest we have another accident, and go to find Tom. I spot him outside the toilets, currently in a headlock, courtesy of our resident man mountain, Al Atlantic.
‘I need help,’ I tell them. ‘Kat’s grandma has fallen in one of the toilet cubicles. She can’t get up and she can’t open the door to let me in.’
The three of us rush into the thankfully still empty ladies’ room.
‘I can sort this, no worries,’ Al says confidently.
‘Listen, when you open the door, can you just give me a minute to fix her clothes. I promised her,’ I tell him quietly.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Stand back.’
I bite my lip anxiously as I wonder how Al is going to barge the door open without hurting Joan on the other side, only to watch as he pulls the door from its hinges. It makes a loud noise as the plastic cracks, but Al makes it look effortless. Then he holds the door just in front of the cubicle, to maintain Joan’s privacy while I pop in to straighten up her clothes.
‘Thank you, dear,’ she says, squeezing my hand. I don’t think anyone has ever thanked me and sounded quite so grateful before.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I assure her. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m fine, really,’ she insists. ‘I just can’t get back on my feet.’
Al places the door to one side.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you,’ he says chirpily, scooping Joan from the floor with a fireman’s lift before carrying her out. Tom and I follow close behind as he carries Joan to the bar.
The bride and groom are there now, doing a lap, greeting their guests, thanking them for coming. When they notice Al carrying Joan, their smiles fall as they hurry over.
‘We took a tumble, but we’re OK,’ Al tells them, carefully placing Joan down on one of the sofas in the bar.
‘Grandma, what happened?’ Kat asks.
‘Oh, I just slipped. It was a silly thing really,’ she says. ‘I’m embarrassed more than anything.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Tom reassures her. ‘My gran got absolutely hammered when my dad remarried.’
‘Your dad remarried?’ I blurt.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘He’s really happy now. I’ve got a couple of little brothers too.’
‘No way, that’s amazing,’ I say.
Tom used to confide in me about the troubles in his parents’ marriage. They argued all the time and it would really get Tom down when he would visit home. I think he felt the most sorry for his dad; his mum had a hard time trusting him and they’d argue about it all the time, whether Tom was around or not. Listening to him talk about it taught me quite early on that, without trust, a relationship is doomed to fail. Doubt will slowly but surely rot your relationship from the inside out, leaving you with nothing but crumbled up pieces that are impossible to put back together. It’s so nice to hear that his dad is happy now – and so weird for me to be so invested in his family’s wellbeing still.
‘Al Atlantic saves the day,’ Matt says. ‘You look like you could be a superhero.’
‘I just need the cape,’ he says, flexing his biceps.
Kat beams.
‘Right, well, we’d better get back to it,’ she says, taking Matt’s arm as they head back to their newlywed duties. ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Grandma?’
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Joan insists. ‘I just need a sit down and a stiff drink.’
‘We can sort that bit,’ Tom says. ‘We were getting one anyway.’
I realise that the ‘we’ he’s referring to includes me.
‘I’ll go see if I can find any more damsels in distress,’ Al says with an arrogance so subtle, it’s only just detectable by the most cynical ears. ‘Catch up with you later, Luca.’
Not if I can help it, buddy.
‘My God, Al is terrifying,’ I say to Tom as we stand at the bar, ordering two cokes and a whiskey for Joan. ‘The way he ripped that door off, like it was nothing …’
‘Shouldn’t you be impressed by stuff like that?’ Tom laughs.
‘I’m kind of repulsed,’ I admit. ‘Those veins in his neck … whenever he moves, they look like they’re going to burst. And he’s just such an odd colour …’
‘They’re bronze, right? Bodybuilders, I mean.’
‘He looks more like an Oompa Loompa,’ I point out. ‘An Oompa Loompa on steroids.’
Tom laughs.
Tom insists on paying for the drinks, so I take Joan her medicinal whiskey.
‘Here we go,’ I say, setting it down in front of her.
‘Thank you, love,’ she replies. Joan takes me by the arm firmly. ‘And thank you for everything you did for me.’
‘Oh, Al did all the hard work,’ I insist. ‘There’s no way I could have ripped that door off like that.’
‘No, you did way more. Thank you.’
I smile. I just did what anyone would have done in that situation.
‘You two make a lovely couple, you know,’ she says.
‘Me and Al?’ I squeak, horrified at the idea of something happening between my ex and me.
Joan laughs.
‘No, you and Tom. You could do a lot worse than Tom.’
Somehow, this gets to me even more than the idea of getting together with Alan.
I look up at Tom as he places my drink down in front of me. As he smiles widely his cheeks dimple and the skin crinkles around his eyes – both features I always used to find so attractive about him. He has this animated face that reacts to every word, every look. You always get Tom’s full attention and when you have it, you feel amazing. But I know what it’s like to lose it.
Sure, maybe I could do a lot worse than Tom. But I could do a lot better too.