Pretending, page 31
I glance at him as we pay the cab and dash to the door. I didn’t know he grew up going to church. A further part of him is colored in.
An usher hides under the heavy eaves of the church door, shivering slightly with a stack of papers. “Hi, welcome,” he says, stepping out to greet us. “Here’s the order of service.”
“Thank you.” I take the tasteful, thick program emblazoned with Chrissy and Mark’s names in calligraphy. “I still can’t believe this weather,” I say to him.
“I know.” He peers out at the heavy sheet of rain from under the brim of his hat. “But we’ve organized a coach from the church car park to the reception, so we should all stay dry. And there’s a really lovely conservatory at the venue, too, so we’ll be nice and cozy.”
Joshua and I nod our thank-yous and enter the flower-adorned church. Adults wearing fascinators and their best suits congregate at the back, shaking umbrellas, twisting to inspect how wet they are, women getting out compact mirrors to see what ghastly impact the moisture has had on their styled hair. Even with all the flowers strewn everywhere, you can’t quite shake off the smell of wet dog.
“I didn’t know you were religious.” I find a space near the back to shake out my own umbrella.
Joshua takes it from me to give it a more vigorous going over. “Only Easter and Christmas now,” he says. “It keeps Mum happy. She’s half-Irish, a Catholic.”
“You’re a Catholic!” More parts of him are colored in.
“Yes, sort of. Not a very serious one though. As I said, Easter and Christmas. I don’t go to confession or anything.”
“And you’ve definitely had sex before marriage.”
He drops his mouth. “I can’t believe you just said the word ‘sex’ in church! I’m telling God.”
“He already knows, mate. Omnipotent and all that.” We both giggle.
“Shall we find a pew near the back?” I turn to move, but Joshua pulls me into a tight hug. He smells so good—aftershave mingling with dampness. I let myself close my eyes and enjoy the moment.
“What was that for?”
“Just because.”
Maybe I can tell him another day...
I mean, nobody really knows me here, and the hens were probably too drunk to remember my name. I certainly don’t remember most of theirs. And Chrissy will be too busy having the happiest day of her life to blow my cover. Maybe we can just have a nice day, a nice memory, a proper farewell to this weird situation I’ve created. Maybe, maybe...
We hold hands in our pew, waiting for everyone to dry off and settle down, ready for Chrissy’s big moment. I recognize a few of the hens and we nod to one another, but thankfully they don’t come over to say hi. People don’t tend to be friendly at weddings until after the ceremony. Mark’s at the front, chatting animatedly to all the people who approach him to pat him on the back and say good luck. He’s relaxed, smiling.
“Do you know the groom?” Joshua asks, his hand hot in mine.
“Not really.”
“Do you like him?”
I laugh.
“That’s a no.”
“No, he’s fine. Mark’s fine. I don’t really know him. He’s better than her ex.”
How many men win the love of women, simply by being better than her ex?
“He looks happy.”
“Well, he damn well should be. It’s his wedding day.”
“Yes, I know. Sorry.” Joshua drops my hand, sulky at my snap.
“No, I’m sorry.” I am all over the place. I am not the in-control Gretel I used to be. My nerves are vibrating, thoughts flurrying around my skull, all of them contradicting the other. I pick up Josh’s hand. “I just hope he makes her happy. I’m very protective of Chrissy, she’s a good friend.”
He kisses my cheek, happy to make up. “She’s lucky to have you.”
The church fills up. You can almost picture steam rising from the congregation as we collectively dry off. Chrissy’s mother is wheeled to the front by her brother—neither of whom I’ve ever met, just know from social media pictures. She’s got a lovely green hat on. She sits tall and proudly, daring people to stare at the chair.
“Is that her mum?”
I nod.
“Why is she in a wheelchair?” Joshua asks discreetly.
“MS.”
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“Chrissy’s just glad she’s well enough to come today.”
Joshua kisses my bare shoulder. We open the order of service and spot “Jerusalem,” and he looks so genuinely happy at the prospect of singing it that I’m overcome with affection and kiss him all over his face. Raining them down like the cascade of water falling outside, while he blushes and grins.
Maybe you could trust him? Maybe you could trust it? I mean, he’ll never be able to trust you but...never mind, let it go. Let him go.
The organ stops. We all know what this means. Everyone quietens. Expectation swells in the gaps between us. A signal’s given. The organ starts up again. We all stand, twisting toward the aisle, ready for Chrissy to make her grand entrance. My eyes fill when I see her walk past. She really does look lovely in her ivory gown, though maybe a little overdone and not truly like her—essentially how every bride looks these days with professional hair and makeup. Mark looks glad enough to see her too as she arrives at his side. They share a smirk, all, like, “well this is weird” and my heart’s next beat is painful, and stays painful for half a minute or so. The vicar jollies up. “We are gathered here today...”
We stay standing to sing “Jerusalem.” Joshua surprises me by singing loudly, without embarrassment, face to the front, chest open. I grin to myself and color in another piece of the Joshua jigsaw. More affection gurgles up and I can’t concentrate for the rest of the song. I keep looking over and feeling warm yet inappropriate feelings.
We’re told to sit. We do. The sermon starts. Vows exchanged. Tears spring up. I forgot how awkward it is to sit next to a boyfriend at a wedding. How it makes you confront the question of whether or not you two will one day be the couple at the front everyone else is watching.
Chrissy looks at Mark from beneath her veil and promises to love, honor, but not obey because she’s a smart, educated, feminist, lawyer type. I can’t help but revisit the anxiety spiral of wondering if this moment will ever happen to me. If I’ll ever stand in front of a room full of people I love, and promise to love someone else the most? I remember a quote from a movie I saw years ago, about how weddings are supposed to be about the couple, but they actually make you spend the whole day thinking about yourself. I glance over at Joshua. His head’s down, his hair falling over his forehead. Is he imagining our wedding? Is he picturing me at the end of the aisle and realizing how happy that thought makes him?
I follow his gaze to his hands, where he’s checking the football scores under the pew on his phone. So, that’s a no.
He senses me catching him. “Sorry,” he whispers, putting the phone back into the pocket of his suit. Winking at me and winking away the romantic fantasy I’d stupidly projected onto him.
There’s a long sermon before the couple say “I do.” They kiss. We clap. As always, it takes forever for them to sign the register. Joshua checks the football again. “Sorry,” he says again. “First game of the season, you see...” He’s not even finished explaining to me before he’s gone mute again, clicking away from the football tab onto the rugby one. I feel irritation pinch the top of my nose. I twist to an older couple sitting next to me.
“Wasn’t that a lovely service?” I say to the lady.
“Oh, yes, lovely.”
“Shame about the rain.”
“Oh yes, what a shame.”
“So, how do you know the couple?”
They are family friends of Mark’s. They drove here from Dorset. The traffic was really bad on the M25. Isn’t that motorway just the worst? I can sense Joshua still on his phone beside me. Lost to his surroundings—scroll scroll scrolling. I’m not sure why it annoys me so much but it does. Yet, when I look around, I see Joshua isn’t the only man on his phone. In my direct eye line, I can see the blue glow of at least four men’s crotches as their wives and girlfriends pretend it’s not happening and talk amongst themselves.
“Sorry,” Joshua says, hiding his phone again in his suit pocket.
Perhaps try not doing the thing, rather than doing the thing you know is annoying and then saying sorry?
Chrissy and Mark emerge, legally wed, level unlocked, new profile pic waiting to be uploaded. They walk slowly down the aisle to the triumphant organ, smiling into the sea of phones taking their photographs. Chrissy catches my eye as she passes, clocks Josh and raises an approving eyebrow. And I love her for that. In this moment, a moment that is truly only hers, she’s still interested in my life. My complete mess of a life, but today is the end point of the mess.
The front rows start streaming out after the happy couple. I check the time on my phone. It’s two thirty. We have just under ten hours to get through without incident. It’s about as likely as getting the popular boy to kiss you at the disco. I have no idea what to do. Gretel would know what to do, but she’s not here.
“You ready?” Joshua holds out his arm for me to link. “There’s a bus to the reception right?”
I thread my arm through his. “Super ready. Let’s go.”
Here are some of the truly ludicrous thoughts I am having: you can get through an entire wedding without anyone calling you by name. You might be forgiven for lying to someone about what you’re called. You might be falling in love with the person you’ve been lying to. You can get through an entire wedding without anyone calling you by name...
Have I already said that one? As I said, ludicrous.
The usher was right—the reception really is in quite a nice conservatory. Light pours in even though the sky is a sallow gray. After a ten-minute lurching bus journey, everyone spilled into it, clutch bags held over their heads, and we are now congregating in groups, drinking flutes of champagne.
“Sorry, I hope you’re not bored,” I tell Joshua, as we stand in a clump of just us two, sharing a plate of pastry-wrapped-around-stuff. “I’m not very good at mingling.”
“Me neither.”
“How’s the football?”
“Oh it’s great. We’re playing well, which is a nice start to the year.”
“I thought it was really fucking rude that you kept checking the score during the service.”
I don’t actually say that. But I want to. “That’s good,” I say instead. A waiter in a penguin suit passes and I grab two more flutes and hand one over to Joshua. “Cheers.” I chink us and try to smile.
“Cheers.”
I chug down my drink, bubbles fizzing to my head. My brain feels like it’s burning. I miss Gretel. I miss feeling like I’m in charge.
To pass the time before we’re tipsy enough to mingle, Joshua and I start grading the canapés in order of our favorites, hunting down the waiting staff that cradle our winners.
“So the salmon thingamajig is definitely worth a second round.”
“Good because I need something to take away the taste of the quail’s egg.”
“I still can’t believe you spat that out into your napkin like an actual child.”
Josh beams at me. “You mean, it didn’t impress you?”
We both laugh and affection gurgles loudly in my pastry-laden stomach—my anger about the football forgotten. I reach over and squeeze his hand tenderly and he squeezes it back. The moment feels really warm and lovely until claps start to echo around us in a stadium wave. Joshua nods behind me. “Oh look, it’s the happy couple.”
I twist to see Chrissy and Mark arrive through the main doors. They’re holding hands, eyes wide from the shock of their own day, too many experiences to drink in all at one time. My stomach flip-flops for a second but I push it away—they’ll be swallowed by well-wishers and won’t really speak to me all day, especially as I’m an anomaly friend...
But, for some reason, out of all the wedding guests in all the conservatories in all the world, Chrissy locks eye contact with me and decides to march Mark straight toward us. The crowd parts for them like they’re Moses, and I have no idea what to think or feel about any of this, only that it’s too late too late too late because now Chrissy is throwing open her arms and saying, “April! Oh my God, I’m married.”
She gives me a giant hug as she ruins it all, pulling me into her silk gown, while I’m thinking fuck fuck fuck shit shit shit shit as everything disintegrates. My life is in tatters on the floor. With all the netting in my face, I can’t see him, can’t see his response. I hug her back limply, my heart pounding, wondering if I can pivot her...then she lets go so I can shake Mark’s hand and say congratulations. “And you must be Joshua,” she says, dragging him into a hug too. “It’s so great to meet you.”
I scan Joshua for signs of freaking out, my body completely soaked through with adrenaline. But he might’ve missed the “April” because it’s not showing on his face. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says, giving me hope as he’s released from the netting. “Congratulations. It was a beautiful service.”
“Thank you, thank you. I still can’t believe it’s fucking raining though!” She reaches up to readjust her veil, then shrugs. “Never mind. C’est la vie. At least this conservatory is really nice.”
Mark and Joshua shake hands and Joshua congratulates him too. Mark’s not quite with us, his eyes darting behind our heads, looking at all the other people he needs to meet and greet. But Chrissy’s settling in. She summons a waiter and plucks herself a champagne flute.
“So, Joshua, I was very excited to hear about you,” she says, eyeing him over her glass, while my hand trembles on mine. I keep sipping and sipping and begging her not to say April again. “April is amazing.” I flinch. “I hope you realize how lucky you are.”
I close my eyes. That’s it. Game totally over. “Chrissy!” I protest, though she doesn’t know the true meaning of my anguished yelp.
“What? You are. Meeting you was totally worth that terrible summer scanning-in ASDA reward vouchers for £5.50 an hour. So, Joshua, what do you do?”
Joshua certainly noticed the second one. His cheeks are red with confusion, his focus darting between Chrissy and me. The true horror of what I’ve done hits me in the stomach. I want to cry, scream, yell, run away—all the things it’s totally impossible to do at one of your best friend’s weddings. So I gulp the rest of my drink, tipping my neck back to ensure I get every last drop, and watch in awe as Josh acts as normal too.
“I’m a coder. Which is much more exciting than it sounds.” His social skills are impeccable considering the bombshell exploding in his face. His eyes flit between the two of us, like we’re a maths problem he needs to solve. “This is a lovely venue. Did you grow up around here?”
Chrissy doesn’t notice his shock. Why would she? “Yes, I spent my teen years living here. Did you see the train station? It’s such a skank-hole. But my mum has MS so we didn’t want a wedding far away, did we Mark?”
Mark jolts to attention. Looks at his new wife, and kisses her cheek. “No. It’s a nice find. Though I can’t take credit for any of it. Chrissy planned the whole day.”
“Well, it’s gorgeous,” I say. My voice is very shrill indeed. “You don’t notice the rain at all. Just perfect.”
“Thanks love. Right, I better go and speak to everyone before dinner. Joshua, it was great to meet you. Take care of April here, won’t you?”
Three times. Three times she has said my goddamned name. I close my eyes. Breathe. Open them.
“Congratulations again,” Joshua calls after her, as the newlyweds turn to a group of lawyers, congratulations raining down on them as hard as the rain outside.
Joshua finally turns to me, his face unreadable.
I turn to Joshua, bracing myself for impact.
We look at one another honestly for the first time since we met. When he talks, his voice is polite, quiet. “Umm, Gretel?” he asks, reaching up to scratch his neck. “Why did she keep calling you April?”
There is no mic drop. There is no forgotten artichoke. There is no power. There is no winning. There is no time left pretending to be what I’m not. There is no explanation that can make sense to a reasonable person.
There is no going back now.
Josh looks me in the eye as he waits for my reply. Hopeful. Waiting to feel relieved by a simple explanation that I can’t give him. A strange calm descends on me like a lazy fog drifting across the sea. I return his gaze. “You’re basically the only person who calls me Gretel.”
Josh’s entire face drains. “What?”
“My name’s not Gretel,” I say. “It’s April. As you’ve probably guessed.”
Josh’s eyebrows furrow at the same time his mouth falls open. “What the hell? How come? What? I mean, why? What? I don’t understand.”
I take a breath, preparing myself for the talk I’ve been planning in my head. My stomach sucks in under the netting of my dress. I’ve been rehearsing this all week since I decided to tell him, but now the words sit like sludge on my tongue, pleading with me to tell a lie instead, one that will make things easier. I blink slowly and Josh’s concerned face flickers in my vision. “Well,” I start, “it’s sort of strange because—”
But I do not get to say my prepared speech because there’s the dinging of a spoon on glass and the conservatory grinds to a silence.
The usher is standing on a chair. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he claps, calling us to further attention, “please come through to the wedding breakfast.” He points the way out of the conservatory down a short hallway filled with oil paintings.
“Err,” I say, as everyone starts moving toward the door. “Well you see...” But there’s no time to explain as Joshua and I are pushed gently forward by the crowd, past the oil paintings, and through to the dining hall. I shrug as I don’t know what else to do, and try to take Josh’s hand to reassure him. He pulls it away though and my stomach plummets further.
