Don't Tell the Groom (21 page)

‘Oh, what did she say?'

‘Not a lot. It was just the way she said it.'

‘Well, she has been acting weird with me. Remember I told you she was looking at me funny and you told me that I was imagining it?'

‘Are you saying that there's something wrong with her? Like she's losing it?' asks Mark.

I stroke Mark's arm to reassure him. There's nothing worse
than your loved ones getting old and you watching them fade away. I lost my own gran last year and it was hell watching her slip further and further under the pull of dementia.

‘She isn't like my gran, if that's what you're worried about. I think your nan has all her marbles. I just feel like she's being cool with me.'

‘Hmm.'

That didn't sound like a good hmm. That sounded like the kind of hmm that means he has more information on that.

‘She does like me, doesn't she? I mean, I've always thought that me and Nanny Violet got on well,' I say.

‘You did. I mean, you do.'

‘Then what's she been saying?'

I knew she was out to get me, I saw it twinkling in her eyes. I had thought that it was just a flicker caused by me looking at her through her varifocal lenses, but now it is clear that Mark knows something.

‘Tell me,' I say, jabbing Mark in the ribs.

‘OK. It's just she was asking me lots of questions about us. She was asking me if we were happy and whether I was doing the right thing marrying you.'

‘She what?' I stand up and start to pace the living-room floor like a caged tiger. ‘I've never been anything but nice to your nan. Where has this come from?'

‘I don't know. I don't. But I think it's probably just that
I'm the last grandchild to get married and maybe she's a bit more protective of me.'

‘But we've lived with each other for years and she's never said anything else about us, has she?'

Mark shakes his head and I scratch mine in frustration. Why would she suddenly hate me? I rack my brains trying to think if I've done anything untoward the last few times I've seen her or if I've accidentally sworn in front of her. But I can't think of anything.

‘I'm sure it's nothing,' says Mark. His voice doesn't sound very reassuring.

‘And what did you say to her?'

‘I told her there was nothing to worry about, and that I wouldn't be marrying you if I wasn't sure that you were the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.'

‘Ah, you said that?' I love it when Mark says mushy stuff. He's usually so serious and manly, but every so often he lets his teddy bear side out.

‘Come here,' he says. I sit on the sofa and he wraps his arms around me. They're the second set of male arms I've had round me today and it makes me realise that no matter how strong and sexy Josh's arms were, this is where I feel the most comfort and protection: in Mark's arms.

‘I think it's probably the whole “don't tell the groom” thing that's bothering her,' says Mark. ‘Why don't you go
round and see Nanny Violet sometime soon and tell her the details of the wedding? I'm sure she'd appreciate that.'

Right now I'd rather crawl into a lion's den than go and talk to Mark's sweet old nan. There is just something not right there. I bury myself deeper in Mark's arms and wish that I could stay right here forever instead.

There seems something slightly wrong about going into the church. I feel like I'm going to melt, like the witch in
The Wizard of Oz
, or that everyone will point at me and tell me I'm going to hell. I didn't feel like this when I came to see the vicar before, but I think the dark passenger that is my gambling addiction is making me nervous.

I grab Mark's hand as we go over the threshold, just in case.

‘Don't be nervous,' says Mark, laughing. ‘I think it's going to be quite relaxed.'

I smile sweetly. If only I was nervous about the fact that we're attending our marriage class. I'm more worried that Nanny Violet will have told the vicar that Mark and I aren't destined to be together.

It's been a week since Mark dropped the V-Bomb, aka when Violet questioned whether he should be marrying me. I haven't been to see her. I can't face what she'd have to say. What if she was right? What if Mark would be better off without me?

‘Welcome, welcome,' says the vicar as he sees us approach.

‘Hi, Reverend Phillips,' says Mark.

I am so nervous, I can't speak. I just go with a nervous smile instead which flashes way too much teeth.

‘Ah, Mark and Penelope,' says Reverend Phillips.

Is it just me, or is there a tone of disapproval in his voice?

‘And how are you two getting along? Still not telling Mark anything?'

He knows. He has to. That was such a leading question.

‘No, I'm still totally in the dark. Apart from this bit. Which is a relief. At least I know I'm actually getting married and not having to worry about Penny organising some pagan ceremony or something.'

I laugh along but I'm a little insulted. A pagan ceremony would have been a great theme. I've said before that my hair would work so well.

‘Great. Well, take a seat. We've got one more couple to come, then we will make a start.'

Mark raises his eyebrows at me and we take our seats.
There are three other couples sitting in chairs whispering to each other. It looks like everyone is nervous.

The last couple come in and sit down, as if they're late, but in fact we're all five minutes early. The woman looks flustered and she struggles to take her cardigan off before realising the church hall is quite cold and putting it straight back on again.

‘Right, then. Well, thank you all for coming,' says Reverend Phillips. ‘Don't be scared about today. This isn't a test and no one is keeping score. We're just trying to give you tools to equip you as a couple for your happy marriage.

‘Now, I like to think of a marriage as like two pieces of paper that get stuck together. Once stuck the papers are solid and strong. Only when you try to pull the paper apart the two pages are never the same again. They're damaged. Which is why marriages always work best if you're like those two pieces of paper. It isn't easy, and sometimes bits of the paper will peel away, but through hard work and above all love, those papers can stay together and the marriage can flourish.'

I'm a bit lost. I know he's only been speaking for a minute but I've already drifted off into thoughts of sticking paper together with Pritt Stick and how you always get lumps and bumps and bits of glue that squish out the side. It suddenly makes me pine for stationery.

‘Penny?'

I look up and Mark is staring at me. I look briefly around the room. Reverend Phillips has stopped talking and the couples have started whispering to each other.

‘What's going on?' I whisper.

‘We've got to write down our five favourite things about the other person. Were you not listening?'

‘I got lost in the paper analogy.'

‘Right. Well, you've got to write down five things you love about me and then you have to tell me.'

‘OK,' I say.

Huh. This isn't that hard a class. If only school had been all based around Mark questions, I would have had straight A's.

Right. Where to start? I write on my piece of paper
Things I love about Mark
and then I underline it.

Hmm. I love his hair and his smell. Oh, I love the way he looks at me all doe-eyed after we've had sex and he gives the best post-coital cuddles.

I can't write those down as they will make me look shallow and like I'm only with Mark because he's a tiger in bed. Which are obviously good reasons to be with Mark, but not the only ones.

Mark looks like he's writing an essay. Can't blame him. I bet there are thousands of things about me that he loves.

Focus, Penny,
focus
. Five little things.

I love the way he laughs. Yes that's a good one. I love that he laughs when I do stupid things and he goes into a deep belly laugh, and occasionally if I've done something really silly, tears roll down his cheeks. He doesn't do it very often but when he does it's a treat to see.

I love that he's intellectual. That he can have intelligent conversations about politics and he can actually do the
Times
crossword without cheating. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he looks really sexy when he does the crossword as he has these little brown-rimmed glasses and he furrows his brow. Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

‘Just a couple more minutes to think, then you should start sharing,' says Reverend Phillips.

Blimey. That doesn't give us much time.

I love that he's thoughtful and caring. Like when he hides my Valentine's Day card in my glove compartment, which he knows is where I keep my driving glasses.

I love that he loves his family. Like taking Bouncer for a walk, or babysitting his niece and nephew to give his brother and sister-in-law some alone time. And he always visits his nan, despite her being an evil woman.

Don't worry, I didn't actually write that.

And lastly, I love him.
Everythin
g about him. Even though it drives me crazy that he has ketchup with my home-made lasagne that doesn't need it, or that he always, without fail,
destroys my secret stash of chocolate, no matter where I hide it.

‘Start telling each other,' says Reverend Phillips.

I grin at Mark. I'm waiting to hear what amazing things he has to say about me.

‘You first,' I giggle.

‘OK.'

He's nervous, bless him. He's got a quiver in his voice and everything.

‘I love the way you make me feel,' he says.

I start humming the Michael Jackson song. I can't help it. I have music in my head.
A lot
.

‘Stop it,' he says, laughing. ‘You know you make me feel special. I love that you laugh so much and you're nearly always happy.'

‘I've got that too. Except I've got I love the way you laugh,' I say excitedly.

See, people? We're meant to be. Meant. To. Be.

‘I love that you always see the best in people.'

I do? It's a good job that Mark can't hear my internal monologue and therefore does not hear that I can be quite an evil, judgemental cow.

‘I love that you're thoughtful.'

‘I've got that too,' I say, flashing him a quick peek of my list so that he knows I'm not cheating.

‘I mean this whole wedding thing. The fact that you're organising it as a surprise for me, that is really thoughtful.'

Oh no. Here comes the guilt. I can feel my eyes start to get hot, like they do before I start to cry.

‘And lastly I love that you're so honest. I know I joke about how much you talk, but I love that I always know what's going on in your world.'

I'm staring at Mark and I can't say anything. If only he knew the half of it. The melancholy hits me out of the blue. I can't believe that out of everything in the world, he loves me for two reasons that lately haven't been true.

‘What about me? Come on, Pen?'

Mark is grinning like the Cheshire cat; he's clearly relieved that he's got his sharing out of the way.

‘OK,' I say, choking on my words.

I read him an abridged version of my list and I can feel my eyes prickle with tears.

‘That was lovely,' he says. He kisses me on the top of my head and gives my hand a squeeze.

I catch a rogue tear before it gets loose and rolls down my cheek.

I'm such a fraud. How in the world am I going to get through today without crying or, worse, confessing the truth? Which would mean the end not only to the marriage class, but the marriage itself.

‘Right. Well done. Everyone seemed to take that very seriously,' says Reverend Phillips. ‘The value of this day is really down to all of you. I like to use that exercise to break us in gently, so that you can firmly fix in your mind
why
you love your partner and
why
you're going on this journey with them.

‘We're going to look at three topics today, and we'll watch videos for each topic and have conversations. Our first topic is communication.'

Of course it is. This is going to be a gem.

‘Now, we're going to watch a video segment that will explain all about effective communication with our partners. And then we'll do an exercise about something that is worrying each of us.'

It really is getting hot in here. I can feel myself breaking out into a sweat. And I thought going to gambling support group was bad. This has to be ten times worse. All the way through the video I'm panicking about what I'm going to say to Mark, what is going to be my worry.

By the time we get to tell our worries I'm feeling physically sick.

I make Mark go first. He's the man after all – he should take charge.

‘I'm worried about Nan.'

Phew. I'm relieved that his worry isn't that his fiancée has a deep-dark secret that he can't figure out.

‘What about your nan?' I ask.

‘I'm worried that there's something wrong with her that she isn't telling me.'

‘I'm sure that she's fine. Have you got reason to suspect anything, or is it just from what you were saying the other week?'

‘She's just been different lately. She's been vague and she seems sad, like she's somewhere else. And she called me Geoffrey.'

‘Who's Geoffrey?' I ask.

Apart from the giraffe at Toys
Us, but I can't imagine Nanny Violet would have got him confused with Mark, as they look nothing alike.