This is definitely starting to feel like a dream now. All this running around, this repetitive feeling of trying to accomplish something and being interrupted or thwarted at every turn …
I twist my head to look at the cloakroom, praying that Simon does nothing impulsive, like leaping from inside to claim me, and I place my hand in my groom’s and I let him lead me back to the top table.
I sit down and see over a hundred smiling faces staring happily and expectantly at me, waiting for me to be the perfect bride I always knew I’d be. Instead of smiling back, I slide down a little in my seat.
One thing I’d been looking forward to on my wedding day was being the centre of attention, even though I’m not usually a ‘look at me’ type of person, but on your wedding day, you’re allowed, aren’t you? However, I’m now quietly wishing I was invisible as my father clears his throat and stands up to speak.
Dad teaches engineering at Aberystwyth University and his genuine passion, nayobsession, is Formula One. Just don’t let him corner you at a party when he’s a few beers in and let him talk to you about Grand Prix stats. You’ll be stuck there all night. So I ready myself for the barrage of Formula One jokes and references, about how my groom and I have stayed the course and the chequered flag is waving today as we cross the finish line (I heard him practising that one last night when he thought nobody could hear him), but he turns to me and looks down at me with such warmth, such love, that I’m close to being a blubbering wreck within seconds.
‘Erin,’ he says. ‘I’m so proud of you today. You look beautiful, absolutely perfect, but more than that, I’m filled with pride at the amazing woman you’ve become …’
That’s it. I lose all composure and sob into my dinner napkin as he carries on talking. I hope to God I’m wearing waterproof mascara. Dad isn’t usually like this, you see. He talks about facts and figures, empirical data, not emotions. He’s never been one for the warm and fuzzy stuff, even though I know it’s there, deep down. He just doesn’t have the language for it. Part of the reason Mum left him, I think. And he’s never been much of one for gushing praise, either. Or crushing criticism, it has to be said, for which I’ve always been grateful. And, logically, I know he loves me and that he’s proud of me; I just never expected to hear him say it out loud.
I hardly hear the end of his speech, or the beginning of Gil’s, because I’m too busy trying to hold myself together, but the need to put on a good show, to not be an absolute mess in front of all my family and friends, overtakes me and I suck back my tears. When Gil mentions my name, my head jerks up.
‘I know Erin doesn’t need anyone to take care of her,’ he tells the gathered crowd. ‘In fact, I’d like to see anyone try …’
This garners him a laugh and I look around, wondering if I’m this transparent to everyone I know. I don’t like that idea at all.
‘But I love her because of this, not in spite of it,’ he continues. ‘I love her drive, her independence, her intelligence …’ It’s okay while he’s talking to me in the third person, but then he turns and looks me in the eye. ‘Erin …’
I swallow. My chest feels suddenly tight.
A murmur travels around the room. ‘How sweet’ I hear from one direction, and ‘That’s adorable’ from another. I want to look away,but I know it will be the wrong thing to do. I know I will just draw more attention to myself and that’s the last thing I want.
‘Erin, I promise I will always be there for you. I willalwayshave your back. And I know that you’re accomplished and successful and probably the most together person in this room … Well, marquee …’
I blink back the moisture that’s gathered in my eyes. If only he knew.
‘But I will love you for the rest of our lives, not because of all the amazing things you do, but for all the amazing things you are.’
I see the truth of it in his eyes and it breaks me. I drop my face into my hands and heave in a jagged breath, struggling to keep the tears from flowing once more. This is the best speech ever, I think, as he continues to wind the rest of the room around his little finger. Simon’s better be this fricking good, otherwise I’ll …
Simon.
The best man.
The man who almost kissed me in the cloakroom.
As Gil proposes a toast to me and everyone lifts their glasses in my direction, I smile back weakly. I am certainly not the paragon of virtue and womanhood Gil is toasting. I want to slide under the table and crawl away.
And then, of course, it just gets worse, because it’s Simon’s turn. I hadn’t even noticed him return to the top table, probably because I’ve been staring at the tablecloth more often than not since I’ve been back in my seat.
The first minute or two of Simon’s speech sweeps over me. It’s the usual – embarrassing stories and jokes told at the groom’s expense.I hear him talking, but I’m not paying any attention to the words. Or at least not until I hear him say my name.
‘Of course, everyone knows that Erin and I were an item before she and Gil got together,’ Simon says. I see some glazed smiles, a few frowns among the guests, because this is the sort of detail you’d usually gloss over on someone’s wedding day, isn’t it? ‘But what you may not know is that we both saw her that first night we met and I could tell from the way Gil was doing his “death laser” stare thing he was interested. So just for a laugh, I swooped in and started talking to her first. You should have seen his face!’ Simon guffaws.
Gil’s expression is probably the same one he wore that night, jaw tense, lips tight – much more like the Gil I know rather than the one I’ve seen today who looks deeply into my eyes and tells me he’ll love me forever.
More eyebrows in the audience pinch together. There’s a ripple of awkward, too-high laughter, but Simon doesn’t seem to notice that the gathered crowd isn’t finding this as funny as he is.
‘I was just going to string him along for a bit, then hand her over …’
My spine becomes even more rigid. As if I was something to be passed around with no say in the matter! But I can’t be cross with Simon, can I? This is my subconscious speaking. Is this really how I view myself, even after all the hard work I’ve put in to get past my shyness, my insecurities? That’s kind of depressing.
‘But then I got talking to her and I realized what a great girl she is, and I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it. I mean, I know we’re both good-looking fellas, but he’s got that dark and mysterious brooding thing going on that girls love.Look at him! He’s doing it right now!’
And doing it he is. I’ve never seen Gil look at Simon this way before; it’s usually me he reserves the death stare for. But now I start to wonder why. What did I do to deserve it? Certainly nothing like this.
