Amanda's Wedding (33 page)

Great. My own house, and I didn't even get to feel needed. I mumbled something about putting the coffee on and wandered off.

Alex was drinking water at the sink in the kitchen.

‘I feel great!' he said. ‘Much better.'

‘You look green.'

‘But I feel … great!' He bounced back into the sitting room. ‘More ale, mistresses.' There was laughter.

Fraser was still standing there beside the sink, trying to make himself useful. We smiled ruefully at each other.

‘Thanks for doing all this, Mel,' he said sweetly. ‘I did say you didn't have to.'

‘I know. I never listen to sensible people.'

‘Ah yes. Me, Fraser Sensible, Esq.'

‘What will you say to Amanda?'

‘I was planning on blaming it all on you … Is that all right?' His tone of voice was gentle, but quite serious.

‘Don't you dare!'

‘OK. Really, it has been lovely.'

‘It's been ghastly.'

‘All dinner parties are ghastly. This was better
than most.'

There was another gale of laughter from next door.

‘See? They're having a great time.'

‘You don't want to know what they're laughing about,' I said.

‘Oh, I think I already do.'

He handed me a fresh glass of water. I took it.

‘I'm sorry you've got mixed up in all this,' he said suddenly.

‘That's OK,' I said cheerily. ‘I'd never have met your brother otherwise.'

‘Ah, yes … ehm, he's a nice chap.'

‘Yes, he is – Oh, look!' I ran over to the window. ‘The snow's lying!'

‘So it is.' Fraser crossed over beside me to see. ‘I love snow.'

‘Me too. We should go out and make angels.'

He looked at me, smiling. ‘OK, then.'

I looked at him. ‘Is that a dare?'

‘Might be. Are you up for it?'

I hesitated for only a second. ‘Yes!' And we tiptoed to the door, shushing each other so as not to let people in on what we were up to. We crept outside, left the door on the latch, then bounded down the stairs, killing ourselves laughing.

The road outside was completely deserted, only the tall, crumbling Victorian buildings standing blankly all around. I launched myself first, then Fraser lay with his head touching my head, so we could make symmetrical angels. The snow wasn't very deep, and we were soon scraping gravel, lying there, soaking and
freezing, laughing our heads off and looking at the cold, cold stars.

‘It's all shit, isn't it, Mel?' yelled the voice from above my head.

‘It's like the snow,' I yelled back, metaphysically. ‘Looks gorgeous, but there's nothing but dog-poo and gravel underneath.'

He laughed. ‘And once you're in it, it's cold and damp.'

‘But if you weren't in it …'

‘You wouldn't get any angels!' we chorused.

And we lay there for a while, till we knew we'd be missed, and realized we couldn't feel our extremities, and decided we'd better go in before we died in a tragic accident.

In one of my ludicrously small jumpers, Fraser helped me assemble the coffee cups and we took everything through. Only Angus bothered to look up; everyone else was far too pissed to notice the passage of time. The tone had changed completely, and people had started to espouse their personal theories of the world in drunk but desperately sincere tones, and finally I started to relax.

Drinking Angus's whisky, I let everything turn hazy and mused fitfully on things, occasionally dragged in to answer questions or provide opposition support when Alex finally did get round to suggesting a game of Spin the Bottle. Occasionally, I'd hear someone mention something to do with the wedding, or smoke,
which would make everyone else go ‘shhh!' and start to giggle. And finally, finally, Nash looked at his watch, and announced:

‘Christ, I can't see what this watch says, ken. Which means it's time to go home.'

He heaved himself up to go phone a cab, and in a flurry of time I didn't notice swimming along, I waved, and kissed goodbye. Angus clapped his hands round me warmly. Fraser tried to refuse the piles of pizza which Alex insisted on passing him to take to his fiancée, as she hadn't eaten, but gave in in the end. The freezing cold air shot in briefly from outside as I touched his hand and said goodbye. His curly hair was still damp from the snow.

I wandered back into the living room and surveyed the carnage. Ashtrays and empty bottles littered the place; we seemed to have drunk everything in sight. Dreamily, I wandered into the kitchen to start hauling things away.

My first shock was this: I didn't walk into the kitchen, I walked into the airing cupboard.

Two: I must have been pissed, because I had no idea we had an airing cupboard.

Three: Alex and Fran were kissing in it.

I staggered backwards, grabbing for the wall. Alex didn't see me, but Fran did. Her dark eyes widened in horror, and she pushed at Alex's shoulder.

‘Whaa?' he said, nuzzling her.

She indicated me, and he looked round.

Everyone looked at each other for a bit. I was frozen stiff; an icy waterfall seemed to be running through me, tightening up my throat and my heart, and chilling my stomach. I kept backing away. I knew I had to say something, but I couldn't get hold of what. All that went through my mind was the old cartoon strip of the husband coming home early and the lover hiding in the wardrobe. This wasn't funny though.

Finally, in a high-pitched squeak which didn't sound like me at all, I said, ‘Go home!'

Alex lurched forward, jarred into sobriety.

‘Yes, Fran, I think you should go. Melanie …' he hurtled towards me, arms outstretched.

‘Melanie, what can I say? I'm … I can't believe … never happened before … too much wine …'

I couldn't even hear what he was saying.

‘Go home!' came the terrible squeak again. ‘Go away! Both of you! Go away! Go away!'

And I turned and ran from them into my room, and pitched forward on to the bed. I had intended to cry myself to sleep, or at least consider the situation, but the wine and the shock had a stronger hold than that, and I practically passed out on the bed.

I woke up at five o'clock in the morning, shivering uncontrollably. I was lying on top of the bed and, I dimly noticed, two coats. Instantly it came back to me, falling over me like a sheet of dark cloud. I crawled into bed and tried to get warm, but realized that my teeth were chattering for a different reason. I tried to think about it, but realized I didn't want to. All I could think of was them disappearing for two hours … they must have been laughing their heads off at me. I looked down on the bed. Still, I'd managed to make them leave without their coats. Thinking about this, I started to cry. And I didn't stop.

I cried all through the next day, while managing to forcibly prevent Linda from doing the washing-up. There appeared to be bits of burnt lasagne stuck to the ceiling. That would have made me laugh, if I
hadn't been crying my heart out. I cried emptying the ashtrays, I cried taking the bottles to the bottle bank. Even pretending breaking the bottles was breaking their skulls didn't help. I cried every time the phone rang and I couldn't pick it up, and Linda took the thank you messages – none from Fran, though. I cried when I thought of the wedding, I cried when I thought of the flat we were going to have, I cried when I thought of the little bed and breakfast we'd booked for next week, I cried when I realized that I still had to get out of the flat for Linda's mystery reason and had nowhere to go, I cried when I thought of all the fucking money I'd spent so Alex could get pissed enough to make a pass at my best friend.

Alex showed up about noon. The bastard, couldn't even sleep outside my door all night. I threatened to call the police if he didn't stop ringing the ear-splitting doorbell.

‘At least give me my coat,' he cried piteously.

‘I've burnt it.'

‘Please, Mel. Please.'

‘Go round to Fran's. I'm sure she'll keep you warm.'

‘Oh well, at least we're talking.'

I stomped off and ignored him. This bit, the bit where I got to shout at him, in some strange way, wasn't too bad. It was the bit that would come, the bit without him, which was going to be really difficult to bear.

He sat outside my door for four hours. He was
wearing two rugby shirts one over another, but he didn't have a flask with him.

Eventually, when it was clear that I wasn't coming anywhere near him, I heard him stand up to go.

‘I'm going,' he yelled.

‘That assumes I care.'

‘If you don't want to talk about it like an adult …'

‘You snog your girlfriend's friend – ex-friend – in an airing cupboard, then want to get into a maturity competition?'

‘At least hear my side of it.'

‘You have no side of it. You ask me to move in with you and six days later go after someone else. End of story. Change the fucking record, Alex.'

There was a big sigh on the other side of the door. Then he leaned down to the letter box and said gently, ‘Just because I got pissed doesn't mean we can't move in together.'

‘On the contrary; I think the European Court of Human Rights says that it does.'

‘For God's sake, Melanie, have you no understanding at all? My way of behaving, it was all a reaction to the big step we're taking. It shows how much I love you – how scared I am; how much I'm willing to sacrifice. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing and, I swear to you, it will never ever happen again.'

‘Yes, it will,' I yelled. ‘But not to me. Now go fuck yourself.'

‘Phone me,' he said. ‘Phone me when you're ready to make the commitment. I think your over-reaction shows you're as scared as I am.'

I leaned over and slammed the letter box on his fingers. He yelped, and I felt better. He turned to go, paused for a second, then really did go.

I collapsed back into my bedroom. For all my bravado, I still felt hollowed out. The rain had come and driven away the snow and so everything outside nicely reflected my mood.

‘What to do now?' I thought to myself. I really had no idea. There were no conscious thoughts in my head. I felt the urge to go somewhere, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I wanted to talk to someone, but there was no one on earth I wanted to talk to. I wanted to distract myself, but everything distracting would be full of images of happy, excited people, doing happy exciting things, and I wasn't. Wasn't wasn't wasn't. Single again. Single in December. At least I should have held on for a Christmas present. Although Alex thought they were bourgeois. Oh, God, what a twat.

I lay back, wishing I had a teddy bear or something equally crap to cling to in my hour of need. I wondered if I should phone the Samaritans. Although it wasn't like I was picking up the knives. I thought the Samaritans were only for really sad people. Not like me or anything. God, I missed him. No I didn't. Yes I did. No I didn't. Ticking like a mantra in my head, I started to cry again, even though I had absolutely nothing left to cry with and it came out dry. Finally, rocking myself back and forward, I sank
right forward and finally got to sleep. And that was my weekend.

Having fallen asleep so early, I woke up on time the next day. My options being another day crying in bed or going to work, I decided to go to work. Big fat tears ran down my cheeks as I pulled my tights on. I looked in the mirror. I looked like one of those people they use to advertise the dangers of heroin. Gleh. Bleagh. Bleagh.

I walked into the office expecting everyone to instantly fall to their knees in sorrow as they caught a glimpse of me and my obviously huge tragedy, but, annoyingly enough, they all behaved exactly as usual.

‘Hey, mate, another rough weekend for you, yeah? You look like a tart's backside,' said Steve as I dragged myself in, looking, I thought, like Mary Magdalene.

‘I feel like one,' I replied despondently. ‘Only less hairy.'

He eyed me strangely. ‘What's the matter wiv you, like?'

‘Oh, everything. I ditched my boyfriend.'

‘Why? Don't tell me, he copped off with someone else and you had to save face by dumping him?'

‘Jesus, Steve, when are you going to evolve frontal lobes? Piss off, I don't want to talk about it.'

Silently, Janie passed over her box of king-sized Kleenex. I took it gratefully, having decided just to let the tears drip down when they came rather than give myself a migraine pretending they weren't there.

‘How's James?' I asked her, to relish the irony. They were probably getting married too.

‘Oh God,' she began, grabbing the box of tissues back. ‘We were at a party on Saturday and his ex-girlfriend was there.'