The Birds and the Bees (9 page)

‘That’s one for the album–not,’ said Catherine wryly, giving her a nudge.

‘Right, has everyone got lifts back to the Ivy?’ enquired big Adam MacLean in full duty mode. He didn’t have to shout to be heard. His voice showed up on the Richter
scale between the San Francisco earthquake and a Def Leppard concert.

‘We haven’t,’ replied Eddie, who had left the car at home so they could all have a drink. He hadn’t said it that loudly, but it appeared that Adam also had the ears of a bat (as well as the face of a bashed crab, thought Stevie with a smirk) and he expertly organized them into a car with William’s ancient Uncle Dennis. Stevie took a sly look over at Matthew, who appeared to be making a pretence of saying, ‘Hi,’ to Jo and asking her if she had a lift, if the extravagant hand gestures towards the church car park were anything to go by. It was like watching someone conduct something complicated by Rimsky-Korsakov.

‘There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’ said Eddie as they were crammed together in the back of a treasured old car that belonged in a museum, driven by someone who belonged in the same place.

‘What?’ said Catherine. ‘Are you thick? If she’d shook any more, her blood would have turned to yogurt.’

‘I think I might skip the reception and go home,’ said Stevie, who felt nauseous, something that couldn’t be blamed on Uncle Dennis’s wild driving. Tortoises and snails were overtaking them on both sides.

‘No chance,’ said Catherine. ‘You’re doing great. Think of “your plan”.’

‘Did he look at me at all?’ asked Stevie, thinking how the last time she had asked Catherine that, was at the sixth-form disco about the cool and gorgeous Oliver Thompson, resplendent in a burgundy jacket and black trousers. She had gone totally off him twenty minutes later, after finding
him dancing like a nerd to ‘Are Friends Electric’. Ah, the fickleness of youth!

‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Catherine. ‘I was trying not to look at him.’

Behind her back, Catherine’s fingers were crossed on the lie. She did not tell her friend that on the couple of occasions she had looked over, Matthew seemed only to have eyes for Jo. It was all she could do not to march over there and bang their heads together.

Alas, the Ivy wasn’t
the
Ivy, but it was a very nice country hotel less than a mile away, with a small golf range and a rather magnificent entrance hall, where trays of sherry and malt whisky were awaiting. Stevie’s hand was shaking so much that she managed to spill most of her sherry down her skirt. She did a quick sweep of the room to make sure no one of importance had seen her be so clumsy.

‘Calm down,’ reprimanded Catherine. ‘You look like you’ve got the DTs.’

Adam was laughing, circulating and being jolly Ginger Man. He looked totally different with all that hair off, thought Stevie. She wouldn’t have said ‘softer’, because no one with that nose and scar could have looked remotely soft. ‘Less hideous’, was the assessment she preferred.

Jo and Matthew were at opposite ends of the room. She was talking to some other women, poised and elegant and not spilling her sherry. Matthew was chatting to the best man. Stevie tried really hard not to look over but her eyes kept gravitating towards him. She noticed that he was trying equally hard not to let his eyes wander over to Jo, but, like herself, he was failing.

‘Hi there!’ Pam burst in and kissed them all. She had a champagne glass in one hand and a long menthol cigarette in the other.

‘Congratulations,’ said Stevie. ‘You look fab.’

‘So do you actually, Stevie. Have you lost weight?’

‘A bit,’ said Stevie.

‘Sorry to hear about you, hon, hope it all works out for you.’

‘Oh er, yes. Don’t worry,’ said Stevie, plastering on a smile and manipulating a change in subject. ‘So, where do we put your presents? I hope you like this.’

‘God knows, me mam’s got that bit organized. Course I’ll like it. I’d like it even more if it were a pair of slippers. I tell you, my pissing feet are killing me in these shoes. Don’t know how I’m going to manage to dance.’

Pam, the less than traditional bride, then swanned off with a ‘see ya later’ on her massive satin heels and left them standing in a quiet triangle.

‘Sorry, but I had to tell her about you and Matthew,’ said Catherine with a little apologetic smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to be sitting next to him if he turned up, so I asked my Auntie Madge to alter the seating plan.’

‘I would never have thought of that,’ said Stevie. Sitting next to Matthew would have been torture. She squeezed Catherine’s hand gratefully. ‘Thanks.’ It was so typical of her thoughtfulness; no wonder they’d been friends for so long. You would always want to hang onto someone like her.

‘You need to sort this wedding thing out with him, quick,’ Catherine went on. ‘I don’t want to upset you and
so I won’t say anything else, but in the next few days you have to find out where you stand.’

‘I know,’ said Stevie.

‘I’d chuffing cancel it if I were you,’ said Eddie, taking a big glug of the Barnsley Bitter he’d had to buy because Catherine had nicked his sherry to give to Stevie. ‘He’s definitely not the bloke I thought he was at all.’

No one answered him, but, yes, they were all thinking the same.

‘Laydeees and gelmen, would ye kindly make yer way tae the dinen arearrr,’ came Adam MacLean’s cannon of a voice.

‘If he’s doing a speech after, no one will understand a flaming word,’ said Catherine, giving Stevie a little tension-busting giggle.

They looked at the seating plan and Stevie found that she was sandwiched between Eddie and
Oh no–A. MacLean!
Luckily, her mind was playing tricks on her and it was actually A. MacLeod, who was a young spaghetti-string of a teenage boy who kept pulling at his collar as if it was strangling him.

Matthew was somewhere further down the table on her side and out of spying sight and Jo was halfway down an adjacent table, between two middle-aged men in kilts who seemed more than happy with the seating arrangements. She certainly didn’t look very victimy, considering she was sitting five people away from her psychotic soon-to-be ex-husband, who was behaving with remarkable dignity in the circumstances, Stevie thought. He actually seemed very jocular. She didn’t notice him glance over at Jo once, and by crikey, she was watching for it.

‘Stop looking at them,’ hissed Catherine. ‘I would kick you but I’d snag your tights.’

‘Sorry,’ said Stevie, and tucked into her turkey main course. It was a full-blown Christmas dinner. Pam had wanted a Christmas wedding, hence the fur cape, but she didn’t want to risk the weather, so she had the best of both worlds–sunshine and turkey, except for the lone vegetarian kid to her right, pushing a nut roast around on his plate. She had never seen an unhealthier-looking pallor on anyone. She almost wanted to kidnap him and force-feed him some chops and see if they might turn his own chops a better colour.

There was Christmas pudding and mince pies to follow, then when coffee was served, the newly-weds cut the cake–a massive three-layered chocolate creation that apparently had more rum than butter in it, according to the best man’s speech, during which everyone laughed and the air seemed charged with love and smiles.

Stevie’s wedding wasn’t going to be as big or nearly as grand as this, but her dad was giving her away and she was having frothy pea soup, roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, and raspberry meringue roulade or fudge cake for afters at the White Swan, a lovely pub out in the countryside near Penistone. Matthew’s brother was flying in from Canada to be best man and she had picked pink roses for her bouquet. Everything was in place, and so far, he hadn’t called it off.

‘
So why is he wearing his suit now at someone else’s wedding? And looking gorgeous in it for someone else, not you
,’ said that annoying voice in her head again. She wished it would contract a serious and sudden case of laryngitis.

Her thoughts came back to the table as glasses were raised to ‘the Happy Couple’. Stevie raised hers along with the others and tried hard to smile convincingly. Matthew was sleeping with someone else and she was in the process of moving out of his house. How feasible was it that they were going to be ‘the happy couple’ themselves in three weeks’ time?

There was no ordinary disco for Pam’s night entertainment, oh no. She had a Ceilidh band and a dance demonstration team clad in Highland clobber, stripping the willow and reeling about, not unlike Uncle Dennis had started to do after three sherries.

‘He’ll have to leave his car behind, by the looks of it,’ said Catherine, as he fell off his chair without breaking the rhythm of his hand-clapping.

‘This is a dance called “Blooo Bunnets’” said a hairy accordion player, who looked like a smaller, ‘before’ model of Adam MacLean.

‘Blue Bonnets? I used to do this at school,’ said Eddie.

‘You? Doing country dancing?’ said Catherine with an amused squeak.

‘Aye, I was good an’ all. All the lasses wanted me for a partner.’

‘Get on up there then, lad.’ Catherine pushed him towards the dance floor.

‘Knickers! I can’t remember how you do it.’ He retreated shyly.

‘You don’t have to–they show you.’

‘I’m still not.’

‘Go on, you know you want to.’

‘Get off, you big bully!’

As Catherine and Eddie continued their giggly fight, Stevie watched as Matthew started to edge slowly towards Jo. It took him another four minutes before they engaged in conversation. Maybe they were pretending to ‘get it together’ at the wedding, not having a clue that she and Adam MacLean already knew what had been going on between them.

‘I see contact has been made,’ said Catherine, nodding over at the treacherous twosome.

‘Yes, I noticed. I’ll bet they’re making a show in front of MacLean and me that this is their actual starting-point.’

‘The next dance is “The Birds and the Bees”,’ said Accordion Man. ‘Come on, now, let’s have you up herrre, laddies and lassies.’

A flurry of sherried-up aunts and uncles hit the floor.

‘Looks fun,’ said Catherine. ‘Do you want a go? Eddie’ll partner you.’

‘Eddie won’t,’ said Eddie.

‘Where’s the bonny bride hersel’?’ shouted someone from the demo team and started chanting to get Pam up dancing. ‘C’moan, it’s good luck tae dance this wan.’

‘Right–well, if I’m going to make a twat of myself, then
everyone
is. Come up, get up,’ slurred Pam. She stubbed out her fag and then shovelled Eddie and Catherine and Stevie forwards, like a giant snow-plough. Everyone hit the dance floor because Pam had said so.

‘Stevie, you can road-test Will for me,’ said Pam, shoving her new husband in front of Stevie at the end of the formation. ‘Adam, get your Scottish backside over here!’

‘I don’t know what to do at all,’ said Stevie.

Will whispered, ‘Join the club, Stevie, but you know what she’s like. Just do this one dance then she’ll leave you alone, I promise.’

‘Now’s your chance, big boy, to seduce me with your fancy footwork,’ said Catherine, giving her husband a saucy wink.

‘Don’t blame me if you end up moaning in the morning that you’ve had no sleep,’ said Eddie.

‘Oh promises, promises,’ said Catherine.

Pam dragged Adam opposite to her and he and Stevie glared at each other diagonally.

‘We’re a six, we need to be an eight,’ said Eddie.

‘Hark at Fred Astaire!’ said Catherine.

‘Oy! We need another two over here!’ shouted Pam.

A spare ‘two’ was pushed over from where it was clinging onto the next ‘eight’ hoping no one would notice it was superfluous.

‘
Oh God
,’ said every single one of them, even half-sloshed Pam, as Matthew and Jo took up their awkward positions next to Eddie and Catherine. However long this dance lasted, it was going to be too long.

The demonstrators ran through the sequence. It all looked quite simple in a twizzling-about way. In real life it proved to be slightly more difficult.

Pam cocked up and ended up going the wrong way, taking Will as her partner. This cast Stevie in the path of Adam MacLean, and as Pam barked, ‘Never mind, carry on,’ Stevie was forced to link his arm and be spun around at G force.

‘So, how’s yerrr nose?’ he asked, as they changed direction. He pointed at it as if she might have forgotten where it was.

‘Fine, thank you–and yours?’ Stevie asked, not knowing quite why she had asked that. Then again, at that point she was trying to coordinate skipping backwards with not being sick.

‘Okay last time I looked,’ he said humourlessly, tripping forward and catching her hand. He was surprisingly nifty on his feet for an Aberdeen Angus, Stevie thought.

‘So, ready to hear whit I have tae say yet? You don’t look as if you’re making much progress your way.’

‘And you are, I suppose?’ said Stevie, quirking her eyebrow.

‘Aye, I most certainly am!’

Stevie twirled around him with a little sarcastic, ‘Ha!’ and followed it with, ‘No, thank you. I think I’ll pass on this and every other occasion to discuss your “master plan”.’ Her arm brushed against Jo as she skipped down the back of the formation to meet Matthew. It was like being touched by an electric cattle prod. Stevie jerked to the side, bouncing into Will, and would have fallen over if Adam MacLean hadn’t grabbed her elbow. By comparison, Jo’s steps were perfect. She and Matthew looked like John Travolta and that Stephanie woman in
Saturday Night Fever
who were so spiritually and bodily synchronized. As if Stevie needed any more proof of how gauche she was by comparison.

Adam cast her off and she did a figure of eight around Pam and then bumped clumsily into Matthew, who stared straight ahead of him in a ‘God, get me out of this quick’
kind of way. Then Adam caught both of Stevie’s hands at the top of the line and trotted down the middle of the other three partners with her. They were huge hands. Hands that smacked women. It made her feel ill to touch him and she tried to pull them away but MacLean hung on firmly.

‘So ye’re no gonnae listen, I take it?’ he grumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Not in this lifetime,’ panted Stevie.