Ashford, Derek, the registrar and I will be alone in a featureless room, and the whole thing will last no longer than fifteen minutes, so my look should be plain, nothing special at all, nothing to shout out ‘just married’.
When I get there, Ashford is walking up and down the stairs of the Register Office with a bored expression, while Derek is inside on the phone.
“You took your time, didn’t you,” Ashford welcomes me with his usual friendliness.
“I had to wait for my parents to leave the house, to avoid explanations.”
“It’s not my problem, I don’t care why, I just wanted to point it out.”
His words make me furious and I decide to answer in kind. “Anyway, it makes no difference if I’m on time or late, because, you know, I changed my mind. Perhaps I’ll have to work like a dog in the worst theatres of London and make do with sharing pizza with Latin-American dancers in my basement, but I’ve always been poor, I’m so used to it, that it doesn’t scare me at all. I thought about it last night and realised that I want a love match. You’ll have to find somebody else to give you the money. As for me, I’ll pretend that my grandmother’s inheritance never existed.”
Ashford’s expression goes from arrogance to sheer terror.
He stutters in the attempt to reply but he’s struggling. God, thank you for this priceless scene. For the first time, this pompous, snobby aristocrat is left speechless.
“See, Ashford? I’ve just shown you that you can’t always have the last word. Since I will never see you again, I wanted to have the satisfaction. And, by the way, I’m still gonna marry you, so let’s go do it and cheerio forever.”
Ashford grabs my arm and drags me towards the entrance. “You know what you are? You’re the start of a nervous breakdown!”
“Be gentle, dear, we’re about to get married!” I mock him. “My sweet love!”
“Don’t say that ever again, it gives me the creeps.”
We hand in the copies of our IDs and all the necessary documents and, as we deal with the marriage paperwork, the clerk looks at us with her eyes wide open. We must look quite weird as newly-weds: frowning long faces, aloof attitude, and we snatch the pen out of each other’s hands like primary school children.
“Are you getting married?” The clerk asks.
“What do you think?” Ashford replies morosely.
“I just wanted to make sure…”
Ashford gives her the signed documents with a sharp movement.
“You’re sure now.”
“Jemma Pears and Ashford Parker, Duke of Burlingham! Blimey, no less! Miss, you found your Prince Charming!”
“Yeah. As charming as a cod,” I reply.
The clerk stops asking questions, visibly confused, and she gives us a number. “Take your place in the queue. The registrar will call you when it’s your turn.”
The queue is pretty long and we take our place in silence.
“Queuing up as though I were at immigration. How the mighty have fallen,” mumbles Ashford beside me.
“That’s for sure, in your case. As for me, I’ve always been at the bottom of the social ladder, so there’s no difference, apart from your irritating presence.”
Ashford turns the other way with a snort of annoyance.
We’ve been standing here for over an hour as there are no available seats, a torture for me because of my high heels. What’s more, Ashford hasn’t said a word the whole time. Derek sneaked into an office, and I have nobody to chat with to kill time. I leave Ashford’s side and begin to play with the toy cars of a four year old whose mother is in front of us in the queue. She’s more than happy to leave her child with me for a while, so I take my shoes off and start playing with him. I’m the garage owner and he parks the cars. The problem arises when Kelib decides that one of Ashford’s shiny shoes is a hump that all his cars must overcome.
The first transit makes Ashford leap.
“What’s the matter with you! It’s a toy car, not a chainsaw!”
“Leave me out of your infantile regression.”
“You should ask yourself some questions if I prefer the company of a four year old to yours after an hour together,” I remark.
