It turns out that the key to having a good time at a wedding by yourself is drinking copious amounts of elderflower champagne cocktail. The moment the first of those beauties touched my lips, I became relaxed and sociable Lexi.
I’ve spoken to great-aunts of Vanessa’s, practically charmed the pants of her new husband’s boss, and I’ve done my best at matchmaking two awkward teenagers from either side of the families.
Right now, I’m talking to Vanessa’s mother. Or more accurately, I’m listening to her. She’s done nothing but talk about the wedding and how wonderful it is for the last five minutes. I’ve merely been required to nod and ‘um and ah’ in the right places. Not that I’m complaining, she’s the proud mother of the bride today and she is entitled to brag about her gorgeous daughter’s big day.
‘And the florist she used is the same as the one that they use at Chewton Glen. She came highly recommended.’
‘They’re beautiful,’ I say, although, to be honest, I’d only noticed them when her mother mentioned them. Unless you can eat it or drink it, then it doesn’t fare well on my radar at weddings.
‘Yes, well, I’m sure all this will come in handy for your wedding,’ says Vanessa’s mother, turning her focus to me as if she’s just realised who she was speaking to. ‘Vanessa kept this beautiful book, I’m sure she showed you, with all her ideas and research. I’m sure she would lend it to you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, unsure what to say. It’s always handy to be offered materials for the wedding you’re not planning. ‘Thanks.’
She picks up my hand and shakes her head.
‘If only William would propose,’ she says, running her hands over my ring finger. ‘I bumped into your mum in the supermarket the other day, and she was saying that she’s lost all hope that you two will ever get married.’
I try and force my cheeks into a smile, but instead channel my inner Catherine Tate to create an ‘am I bothered’ face. The truth is, this isn’t the first time I’ve had this conversation today. So far, Vanessa’s dad, sister, aunt and one random friend from her hen do have all had variations on this talk with me. I didn’t mind it the first couple of times, but it’s started to get old now. So instead of replying, I’ve settled on a winning formula – keep downing my drink until they stop.
‘We’ll get there one day,’ I say, chugging down the elderflower champagne and shaking my head slightly at the aftertaste.
‘I’m sure you will,’ her mother says. ‘Oh, there’s Sandra. I must go and say hello.’
She waves at a woman at another table and I breathe a sigh of relief. It sure is exhausting being alone at a wedding. I think people keep making a beeline for me as they feel sorry for the girl by herself.
Cara comes and sits down in the seat Vanessa’s mum has just vacated.
‘You’d think with Ian being so tall they might have picked another venue,’ she says, pointing at him as he walks back into the reception room.
‘But it’s so lovely and quirky, maybe they didn’t realise how much of an issue it would be.’
We both audibly wince as the groom bumps his head yet again. We pick up our glasses and drink a sip; at least it’s given us a new drinking game. I stare at my glass in shock, realising it’s empty, and quickly refill it with the wine on the table.
‘It is nice here,’ she says. ‘Although dictating what shoes you can wear is a little much. I had to go and buy these things especially. When am I ever going to wear these things again?’
I look down at the gorgeous, wide-heeled sandals that are worlds away from the towering skyscrapers that she usually wears. I’m surprised she was able to walk with her feet flat; she must be so used to being on a permanent incline.
‘It’s bad enough that I’m single at a wedding, but coming without heels. When you’re five foot four you need all the height you can get to bag an usher.’
She looks wistfully over to the top table and I can see the usher she’s after – Vanessa’s cousin, Max. He’s that good-looking that I’m almost tempted to have a go myself. Perhaps I need to cut back on how much I’m drinking.
When Cara mentioned him at the pub the other night I couldn’t remember him from the party when we were in sixth form. But that could be because I’d drunk too much Archers and lemonade, my drink of choice back then, or I’d been too far into my indie stage that unless he was sporting a shaggy ape look like a Gallagher brother, then I probably wouldn’t have given him a second look.
‘I mean, just think, I’ll have to take them off when I get lucky. They’re not really wear-in-bed heels, are they?’
‘Blimey, I can’t remember the last time I had sex in heels. These days it’s more about what socks I have on and if I can be bothered to take them off.’
Cara rolls her eyes at me and my slovenly sexual ways. I can almost see one of her spice up your life pep talks coming and I need to change the conversation quickly before it does.
‘At least you won’t bang your head,’ I say.
We look up and see the groom bang his head on a beam after coming upright from bending down to kiss and greet a guest.
We drink again. Thank God for the free booze.
‘Ooh, he’s alone,’ says Cara, leaping to her feet. She’s lucky she is short, as from the spritely way she bounced up she could have done herself a massive head injury. ‘Wish me luck.’
She crosses her fingers and looks like she’s going to wet herself with excitement. She’s been waiting for Max the usher to be alone all day, but he’s had a steady stream of guests to talk to. Pretty much every female from the wedding has had their eye on him, except for me, of course. While I might joke about it, I don’t want anyone other than my poorly man.
As I watch her go, I do feel a tiny bit jealous of the giddy rush she’s probably feeling. I’ve been dating Will for so long, I sometimes can’t remember what it’s like in the beginning. Occasionally, in moments like this, I’m reminded of that heady feeling of lust and tingling loins that I used to get. But those days faded when, not long after we got together, Will felt relaxed enough to fart in front of me.
Perhaps the elderflower champagne cocktails and the wine aren’t my friends, after all. I have to admit that when I first saw Vanessa this morning I got really jealous of her bridal glow, but now I’m jealous of Cara for being single – talk about messed up.
I feel my phone vibrate in my bag and I instantly pull it out, thinking that it’ll be the patient. I’ve been trying to leave him alone up until now, allowing him to sleep it off. Plus, I didn’t want to rub it in that I was having a great time with lovely food and drink when he’s on his death bed.
I still feel the teeniest bit bad about leaving him at home. What if he’s too weak to make it down the hall to the toilet? I shudder at the thought of what that could mean, and swipe at my phone. But as I unlock the screen, I see that it’s not a text from Will, but one from my work colleague, Mike.
I have a flash of panic that there’s been some emergency and I’m being called into work, but really, what could happen in the leisure department of the council at the weekend that an arts officer could fix?
I click on the message and see that it’s a photo. As it loads I have a slight panic that I’m going to see something I don’t want to, like a naked selfie destined for his wife Louise. What if he’s hit my name by mistake?
I squint at the photo through half-shut eyes before opening them fully in shock. While I was right not to want to see its contents, it was definitely a message aimed at me.
There in all his glory is my Will. Not at home tucked up in our bed, but instead dressed in his red-and-white Southampton football shirt, staring at the TV camera. The logo for Sky Sports is clearly visible in the corner, and I can see the edge of Mike’s telly.
Mike Williams
Just spotted Will on telly! Cracking game. Bet he’s having a brilliant time.
My mind starts to run away with itself, trying to think of logical explanations for the photograph. Maybe it’s a practical joke. There’s no date stamp on the photo; who’s to say it wasn’t taken some other time and Mike’s only sending it now? Or it could be an old message and it’s only just been delivered. The faster my mind works, the more ridiculous the scenarios I think up.
I know in my heart of hearts that the photo is from today. I’m not a fool, despite Will having played me for one.
I give him the last bit of benefit of the doubt by googling the club fixtures to see who Southampton are playing. The search engine results show me that they’re playing Everton and as I go back to the photo I can see the scores for the game: Sou 2–1 Eve.
I start to feel sick as I realise he’s lied to me. I didn’t even know there was a game on today. That’s how long he’s been planning this. I just assumed that as there hadn’t been a week of sulking and moaning in the lead-up to the wedding, that it was an away game which he wouldn’t have gone to anyway. But it’s blatantly a home game, and he must have been planning to go and watch all along.
Cheeky bastard.
I can’t believe he’s done this to me. He’s lied and let me come to the wedding alone. He’s let down Ian and Vanessa, who have paid for the food and drink he won’t be consuming – not to mention taken a valuable seat away from someone who might have wanted to come. It’s incomprehensible.
The disbelief starts to fade as I try and piece together exactly how devious he has been, and the shock gives way to anger.
I type out a text message to him.
You absolute wanker. I cannot believe you did that!
I hesitate before hitting Send, but I can’t do it. As much as I’m fuming, I want him to have the chance to redeem himself. I want him to confess to what he’s been up to.
I delete the message and quickly tap and send:
How’s the patient feeling? Any better?
I hold my breath. Surely he’s going to send a response back that tells me that he’s made a miraculous recovery and he’s profusely sorry but he went to the football instead of the wedding. That would be the logical explanation.
My phone beeps:
No, if anything I feel worse. Been on the loo most of the day. How’s the wedding?
I feel as though steam is coming out of my ears. I can’t believe he came back with that. Well, two can play at that game. I type out a frantic reply:
It’s good. Missing you though. Should I come home and look after you?
It doesn’t take long for him to tap back. Clearly it’s half-time, or he knows that he has to be on high alert so as not to make me suspicious. I wouldn’t usually get such a quick response when he’s at a football game.
I miss you too. Would love to have you here, but really all I’m doing is sitting on the loo and groaning. Believe me, you’re best staying away from me at the moment. I’m gross and I stink, and not to mention I’m grumpy. Go have a good time x x
My nostrils are flaring. ‘Have a good time. Have a good fucking time!’ I scream at my phone. A couple of guests within hearing range look at me and instantly look away in embarrassment. Well, I guess there’s always one weird, crazy guest at a wedding. This time it might as well be me.
I hastily type back:
I’ll try.
Looks like he’s going to keep up the ridiculous lies. I’ve never known him do anything like this in the past. I try and think if there are any other situations where he could have done this before, but he’s usually pretty open with his sporting plans. I’m used to him looking at wedding or christening invitations along with his sports calendar and us negotiating his terms of attendance, e.g. whether or not he can monitor or stream a match on his phone.
I feel stupid that alarm bells didn’t ring in my head when the invitation came through from Vanessa and Ian and that didn’t happen. Silly me. I had thought that with it being the wedding of one of my best friends, he’d decided it was more important to support Vanessa, and me, on her special day.
I stand up, looking to see where I dumped my little clutch bag. If I leave now, I might just make it home before Will gets back from the game. I have a quick look at my watch. It’ll be tight as Portsmouth traffic is always bad, but I should just make it.
‘Lexi,’ shrills Vanessa as she comes up and practically throws herself at me.
‘Ness.’
I hug her warmly and try and hide my rage as best I can.
‘Are you having a good time? Did you get enough to eat? Do you like the wine we chose? It wasn’t too heavy?’
She’s literally holding her breath for my replies to her rapid questions.
‘Of course I’m having a fabulous time,’ I say, ignoring the last five minutes. ‘I ate plenty and the wine is delightful.’
‘Phew,’ she says, letting out the breath. ‘Just you wait until the dessert comes out; it will blow your mind. And mine for that matter as it’ll be the first chocolate I’ll have eaten in months in preparation for getting into this bad boy.’
She strokes down her dress and I marvel at it up close. The tiny translucent beads that keep catching the light are woven in such an intricate pattern that it is truly exquisite.
‘The more important question you should be asking yourself is, are you having a good time? It’s your wedding, after all,’ I say.
She beams and her whole face lights up.
‘I am. I truly am. I mean, it’s so true what people say that you don’t get to talk to anyone at your own wedding and you never see your husband. But it’s so lovely knowing that everyone I love is under one roof. I’m so pleased everyone made such an effort to come.’
Everyone except my boyfriend.
‘I’m so sorry again about Will not being able to make it.’
I try and keep the anger out of my voice as I don’t want Vanessa to know – the truth would devastate her.
‘Oh, these things can’t be helped. You’re here and that’s the main thing. Right, I must go and talk to Ian’s aunt and uncle, but please promise me you’ll come and join me on the dance floor after the first dance. I want you and Cara boogieing beside me.’
She squeezes my hand before shimmying off to Ian’s relatives and I’m left a little stunned. For someone that had lost sleep over the guest list she seems mightily relaxed that Will didn’t come. Which can only mean one thing: she must have had a few of those champagne and elderflower cocktails too.
I throw my clutch bag on to the table and sit back down. I can’t go anywhere now. I couldn’t let her down on the dance floor. I’ll just have to get Will to confess when I get home.
Cara comes back over and takes a seat.
‘Turns out he’s got a bloody girlfriend. She’s not here as she’s some fucking saint doing a volunteer project in deepest, darkest Peru. Men!’ she says, huffing.
Men indeed.
‘Did I miss anything over here? Have you spotted any other men that might have potential?’
‘Oh, no and no,’ I say, too mad to even tell Cara about the text. I’ll tell her in the week, as if I do it now I’ll probably explode and storm out. ‘Nothing exciting going on over here.’
Just the potential bubbling away for my boyfriend and I to have the mother of all rows when I get home.
‘Another drink?’ she asks, standing up.
I down the one in front of me. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely,’ I reply. The only thing that’s going to stop me from going to defcon 4 is getting so hammered that I forget the train wreck that lies in wait for me at home.