Don't Tell the Groom (10 page)

I turn round slowly, wondering exactly who is going to be standing behind me.

Oh, the relief. It's Rebecca from the group.

‘Hi, Rebecca,' I say, with far too much gusto. I'm in danger of it sounding sarcastic and nasty, but I don't mean it to be. I'm just relieved that it isn't one of Mark's aunts lurking about the area.

‘Back again then?'

‘Yes. I'm just as nervous as I was last week. Isn't that silly?' I say.

‘I feel exactly the same. I nearly called Mary and told her

one of my kids was sick. And then I remembered that I'd come here to stop the lying.'

I like Rebecca. Without kids myself, Rebecca probably isn't someone I'd usually come into contact with. I know I've only met her twice but when I talk to her I instantly know that she understands exactly what I'm going through. Well, not exactly what I'm going through. After all, she is married and doesn't have the whole wedding palaver to get through.

‘I don't seem to be able to stop lying. What with not telling Mark about the wedding.'

Walking into our room in the community centre, suddenly I don't know why I was worrying at all. Mary is beaming at me and Rebecca, and everyone else is chatting enthusiastically together. There are back slaps going on and ‘good for you's' being exchanged. Suddenly my mood has changed and I'm back to feeling like I can do this. I can kick the bingo habit.

‘Hey, Penelope.'

‘Oh, hi, Josh. I didn't see you come in.' Or else I would have made sure that I'd taken off my frumpy coat and smoothed my hair down. It's those bloody eyes of his. I wish he did a Bono and kept sunglasses on all the time. Then I wouldn't be so hypnotised by him.

‘How's your week gone?' he asks.

‘Good. I haven't gambled at all. Not even a lottery ticket,' I say proudly.

‘Hey, that's great news. Well done you.'

When Josh smiles at me and tells me I've done well I feel a bit like teacher's pet and I'm all glowing inside.

‘Right then, shall we get started? I think we're all here,' says Mary.

I take my seat next to Rebecca, and Josh goes back to hovering somewhere near the back of the class with all the cool kids. Or at least all the other mentors.

‘Today, we're going to think about our feelings around gambling. Why do we do it and how it makes us feel.

‘Penelope, why don't we start with you?'

My cheeks immediately flush red. This always used to happen at school. I'd get picked on first. I think it's because I have such a memorable first name that teachers always remembered my name first before all the other kids' names.

‘Um, OK. What do you want me to say?'

‘Well, let's start at the beginning. Why did you gamble? Was it the rush?'

I'm panicking, I'm
really
panicking. What am I supposed to say? Is there a right answer?

‘I wanted a Vera Wang wedding dress.'

From the stunned looks around the room I'm guessing that this might not have been the right answer.

‘A wedding dress?' repeats Mary, in a tone that suggests she thinks she's misheard what I said.

‘Uh-huh. Well, I was playing bingo to get myself a dream wedding. We'd saved money for it, but I wanted the icing on the cake. You know, the Vera Wang wedding dress, the Jimmy Choos or Louboutins on my feet, the amazing tiara, the magician or the candyfloss machine.'

I'm almost back there at my dream wedding, watching my guests' faces with their look of surprise at how beautiful it is.

When I open my eyes I'm embarrassed that I'm baring my vain soul to all these near-perfect strangers.

‘And why did you pick – what was it – bingo?'

I can't say what I'm really thinking. That I've been hooked on bingo since I was a little girl. Since my gran took us along to bingo at her village hall one Thursday afternoon. As an eight-year old I was transfixed by the bright colours of the dabber pens. From that moment on my sister and I would play bingo together, making my gran be the bingo caller. Only we changed all the rhymes so that it would be
two swimming swans: twenty-two
and
two fat hippos: eighty-eight
. But I can't say that as that isn't why I picked online bingo.

‘I saw it on the TV a couple of times and I thought about it. Then one day there was a pop-up on the internet that said there was a ten-pound credit. I was bored as my fiancé was always upstairs in the spare room studying for exams.'

‘Boredom, that's like so many of us. So are you happy when you win?'

‘I guess so.'

‘You guess so? What does it feel like for you to win?'

‘It feels like I'm closer to my dream.'

Why did I have to go first? I'm dying inside.

‘Your dream being your wedding? And what does it mean to you when you lose?'

‘The silly thing was I didn't pay any attention to whether I was winning or losing. That didn't matter. It was just that by playing I felt I was one step closer to the wedding. Half the time I realised that I wasn't even aware of the game going on around me. I was so caught up in my dreams and my fantasies that the bingo almost didn't matter.'

‘That's like me.'

I'm momentarily shocked to hear another voice. I look up and see that the voice came from the man who is addicted to online football betting.

‘Half the time I realised that I didn't even watch the games or check the scores. For me it wasn't about the winning and losing, it was just the habit of doing it,' continues the man.

As he carries on talking, I smile at him for rescuing me. Before long the whole group has shared their feelings and I am slowly learning that gambling addiction isn't anything like what I imagined it would be. Instead of all of us celebrating and getting off on our win, for most of us it was
more about taking part. Others in the group felt so guilty they'd won that they played again until they lost.

By the end of the session I am well and truly confused about my motivations. Surely there had to be more to the bingo addiction than the fact that I used to like playing with my gran's dabber pens?

As I walk over to the coffee pot I'm practically on autopilot. I'm trying to drag my memory back to what happened to me that day last summer when I first started to play bingo. I know I was surfing the net, looking at wedding dresses. Goodness, I really was desperate to get engaged. And I vaguely remember a little pop-up box saying about the ten-pound credit.

I clicked on it as I used to be lucky with Gran's bingo. I only meant to use the ten-pound credit; I didn't mean to get hooked. If only I'd read a book that night or done something productive with my time. If only I hadn't gambled, instead I'd now be drowning in my emails at work, rather than standing stood in a dingy community centre room with my fellow addicts.

‘You did well there, to open up,' says Josh.

‘Thanks.'

I don't feel I've done well. It has just pushed me deeper into the pit of realisation of what an awful person I am. There I was with my wedding on a silver plate and like a greedy child I still wanted more.

‘I expected you to text me in the week.'

‘You did?'

Could I have sounded any more desperate? Why does my voice go all high-pitched and idiot-like when Josh is around?

‘I thought you might have wanted to talk. You know, needed a shoulder to lean on.'

I'm sure he said it deliberately so that I would look at his shoulders – his lovely big protective shoulders that would be excellent to lean on. To sleep on. To
anything
on.

What is wrong with me? I'm getting married. To MARK, not Josh.

‘You know, you can call me about stuff. Like if you're tempted to gamble or if you just need to talk to someone who knows about what you're going through. I can't help you much with your dream wedding though; I don't believe in marriage.'

Such a waste. I hope I said that in my head and not out loud. I look up at Josh and he is still looking normal and he's not backing away from me in horror, so I think I only said it in my head.

‘So how have you been this week?' asks Josh, helping himself to another Bourbon biscuit off the counter. That's four he's had. Not that I'm counting.

‘I've been good. I've put parental locks on my laptop and I've deleted the bingo apps off my phone.'

‘That's good. A good first step. Cold turkey is always hard. So have you thought any more about talking to your partner? What's his name?'

My head wants to scream ‘Josh'. But I manage to get Mark's actual name out.

‘Mark. And no, I'm not going to tell him.
Eve
r.'

Josh is even sexy when he looks disappointed.

‘I think you should reconsider. It's a big secret to keep from him.'

‘I can't tell Mark. And anyway, what's the point? I'm never going to gamble again. I'm going to organise the wedding of our dreams and therefore he won't ever have to know.'

‘Do you think that is the best way to start a marriage?'

‘How do you know? Aren't you the guy who doesn't believe in marriage?' I snap.

I instantly regret saying that. I didn't mean to snap; it is just that Josh hit a nerve. He's so right. It isn't any way to start a marriage. But I have no choice. I can't tell Mark. There won't
be
a wedding if I tell Mark, I remind myself.

‘I'm sorry, Josh. I didn't mean that.'

‘Hey, that's what a mentor is for. Look, I think you and I should meet in the week. I think you need to talk more than this little bit we get at the end.'

‘I don't know. This week is quite busy for me,' I say, lying. It's busy at work, but not so busy that I can't meet one evening
for a drink. It's just that I'm carrying around so many lies at the moment I don't think I'd be able to meet Josh and think of an excuse to tell Mark.

‘OK. Well, it doesn't have to be this week. But I think we should talk.'

I'm lost again in Josh's eyes. It is like he is hypnotising me. I feel myself nod and tell him yes, although I have no control over my reactions.

‘I've got to go,' I tell him. I need to leave now. I don't want to see his eyes any more.

‘OK. Well, remember, text me if you want to talk.'

I nod and wave at the others before I practically run out of the room. Today's session was all a bit overwhelming for me.

It's a good job that I'm off to the gym before I go home. I usually do body combat on a Tuesday night. Not that I can go now – I'm too late. The class starts at 6 p.m. and it's now 6.30 p.m. I found out last week my body combat teacher does not take kindly to latecomers. She shooed me out of the door before I even put a foot over the threshold. But I've still got time to make an appearance at the gym before I go home to Mark.

Just as I'm walking out of the door of the community centre something catches my eye. Flower arranging. No, I haven't suddenly become a retired woman in need of something to do, but just seeing the cost of florists practically
brought me out in a rash. If I could do it myself, then surely that has to be cheaper?

It can't be that hard anyway, can it? It's just putting a few flowers together and tying them into a bouquet. In fact, I reckon I'd be quite good at it. Pulling out my new handy notebook and pen, I jot down the contact details for the course.

The gym was just what I needed to do after my mentally exhausting time at the community centre. It might not have been my longest workout but it was a good one. I managed to do ten minutes of fast running on the running machine and then I had an equally long shower. Those showers are amazing. They are worth my gym membership alone.

‘Hi, Penny.'

Oh shit. I've timed it so that I'm getting dressed just when our body combat class is ending.

‘Oh, hi, Kate.'

‘I've missed you the last couple of weeks. Everything OK?'

Great. Another person to add to my list of those I lie to.

‘Yeah, fine. Works' just crazy busy at the moment.'

Why did I feel that I needed an equally crazy hand gesture to illustrate it? This lying is causing my body to spasm in all different ways.

‘Oh, I know how that goes. Well, maybe we'll see you next week?'

‘Yes, hopefully,' I say, lying yet again.

‘Great. Well, I'd better jump in the shower. I must stink after that class. I'll look forward to catching up with you next week and hearing all your wedding plans!'

‘Can't wait.'

I wonder if there is a limit to how many lies I can tell in a day without my nose going all Pinocchio.