Danny walked on, kicking at the cracks in the paving stones.
‘I made the decision to get engaged on my own. The next decision needs to be made together.’
Troubled, Jasper binned his coffee cup, placing a gentle hand on Danny’s back as they walked.
‘I owe you an apology. I wanted so much for your wedding to be perfect, for personal and professional reasons, that I created the impression that there are perfect weddings for perfect relationships. From where I’m standing, it’s obvious that you’re both in love. I don’t know who you’re comparing yourselves with but there isn’t some higher level to achieve.’
After a time, Danny said, ‘What if there is? A higher level of love?’
Jasper added, ‘Can I share something? My business is struggling. The recession hit the wedding industry hard. Many marriages were delayed, scaled back, budgets were halved. My role was the first to be cut. Everything in my office appears immaculate but it’s an illusion because no one hires a wedding planner struggling to make ends meet.’
Remembering the ageing white hydrangea, Danny cut in, ‘Jasper, we will pay you in full, regardless of whether our wedding goes ahead.’
Jasper looked embarrassed.
‘I appreciate that. And honestly, I need the money to survive. But the recession isn’t the only reason my company is in a bad way. Lots of people don’t want to hire me. When people hear about a “gay male wedding planner” often they imagine a comic figure, fluttering around the margins of a ceremony he can organize but never be part of. When prospective clients see that I take my work seriously, they go to the wedding planners in Mayfair. If they want serious – they hire straight.’
Danny stopped walking, leaning against the embankment wall and taking out his vape. Jasper joined Danny, watching as the mist slowly broke apart, revealing glimpses of the Houses of Parliament and the slate-like surface of the Thames.
‘Danny, I’ve been trying too hard with your wedding because if I could create the perfect wedding for anothergay couple maybe that would make me feel better that I’ve never created one for myself. I worry you and Luis are imagining that what you have isn’t enough. Because we have always been told what we have isn’t enough. But you’ve loved someone for twenty years. Some marriages fall apart after two. Look at me. I’ve never dated anyone longer than six months. And that guy was doing magic shows on a cruise ship for most of that time.’
Danny smiled for the first time in weeks.
‘Jasper, whatever happens with this wedding, I’m happy to have you in my life.’
Jasper joked, ‘How about this – if Luis doesn’t marry you, I will.’
Danny replied, ‘You’d only be marrying me for the wedding.’
Jasper pointed out, ‘No, I’d marry you in an instant if it wasn’t for one problem. You’re head over heels in love with Luis.’
Danny nodded.
‘And he’s about to break my heart.’
Saying the words aloud, Danny realized that he had never been through heartbreak, never suffered a serious break-up. Never moved his things out of a home. Never said goodbye to a man that he still loved. He was forty-five years old and, in matters of the heart, still inexperienced.
Chapter Twenty-NineA Postcard
A postcard from Cordoba described how Luis was travelling across Spain, to some of the lesser-known towns he’d never visited. Danny read the card a thousand times. The style was plain and factual. Love, Luis. That day Danny tried to occupy his mind with professional problems, patients suffering far more serious concerns than his own domestic troubles. Minimizing the upheaval in his life worked well until he wondered if he had always depended on helping patients to make himself feel better. Walking home, he took out his phone and called Sophie, the friend who had known about the engagement before anyone else. As soon as she answered he said, ‘The wedding’s off.’
On the Saturday before Christmas Danny caught the morning train from Euston Station to Manchester and sat in the corner of a quiet carriage slumped against the window like a sack of post that had lost its postman. He was struck by how curious heartache was – a distress that wasn’t anger or agitation, there were no tears, but a numbness in his chest. Colours dimmed. Music softened. Laughter was for other people. When the train arrived at the station, he was the last to stand, the last to collect his belongings and the last to disembark.
On the station concourse stood an artificial Christmas tree as white as correction fluid, the symmetrical branches unevenly draped with emerald tinsel and crowned with a flashing red star as if warning of an accident. Sophie was waiting nearby, an inversion of their previous train station reunion – from summer to winter, engagement to postponement. She was wearing an aviator jacket with shearling lining in the style of a pioneering female pilot from the 1930s. After three weeks of wearing scrubs at work and sweatpants at home, Danny had made an effort to smarten himself up with a black turtleneck and brown brogues. Gaunt and pale, with the air of a Parisian poet, he walked slowly. Sophie watched him approach, assessing his state of mind, correctly concluding that he needed a hug. Her fingers discreetly explored his back, checking how much weight he had lost. He rested his head on her shoulder andsaid nothing. When they disentangled, she locked her arm through his, as had always been her way in good times and bad, the two friends walking out of the station to the sounds of The Pogues’ classic ‘Fairytale of New York’ playing from a nearby sandwich shop which, despite the ‘faggot’ slur, had always been Danny’s favourite Christmas song.
They caught a bus to Eccles Sixth Form College where Sophie’s two daughters, Penelope and Maggie, aged ten and eight, were training with Manchester United’s Regional Talent Club. Standing on the touchline with his arms crossed was Sophie’s husband, Harry, watching the practice game with as much intensity as any professional manager. A handsome man in his forties in shape from competing in an amateur football league, he shook Danny’s hand and told them the score. There were other parents on the touchline, sharing Thermoses of tea along with commentary about the game, relationships as foreign to Danny as he was to them.
After the final whistle the five of them squeezed into the family’s red Vauxhall Astra. The two girls peered at Danny as he sat in the front passenger seat while Sophie sat in the back between them. The girls could tell Danny was heartbroken without understanding what heartbreak was. On the drive home Harry explained that the family had tickets to see the Christmas lights at Dunham Massey, a National Trust mansion. Since it was sold out, he couldn’t buy another ticket at this late stage but he had seen the lights many timesand so offered Danny his ticket while he would stay at home to make dinner. Embarrassed by the generosity, Danny declined. Trying to follow the implications of her parents’ hospitality and their consoling tone, their eldest daughter Penelope ventured, ‘Are you sick?’
Danny turned around.
‘No. In fact, I’m a nurse so it’s my job to make sure other people don’t get sick.’
Confident in her powers of perception, Penelope didn’t budge from her observation.
‘Then why are you so sad?’
Danny felt guilty at being so downcast at a time of joy for this family.
