‘You really are a clown.’ Her words bubble with amusement, the kind I can tell she’s trying to restrain.
‘Can’t resist a great tune, babe. You’re just jealous because you haven’t got my moves.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly it. I’m jealous of someone who dances like my dad.’
We exit the church in a rush as I chase her for her insolence, to find what seems like half the staff of E11even standing in small groups between the chapel and hotel. Most already carrying flutes of champagne and napkins holding canapés.
‘Arch!’ I turn at the sound of my name to find one of the advertising reps making his way over to us, one hand on his glass, the other in his trouser pocket that seems to start at his thigh. The tiny knot of his skinny tie lies loose around his shirt collar, his movements more chocolate wrapper than rapper swagger. ‘Wah gwan, bruv.’
By his greeting, you might think he’d spent time in Jamaica, but the kids from Barnet to Bromley, and probably beyond, all seem to speak like this today.
I reach to shake his outstretched hand when we end up exchanging a weird fist bump instead.
‘Man, didn’t know you knew the popster.’
‘The who?’
‘Poppy, bruv. The bride. ’Cause you wosn’t at E11even when ting was around.’
‘Ah, no. I don’t know her. I’m actually here with Heather.’ I wrap my hand around her hip, bringing her body closer, though maintaining a suitably chaste PG rating. That’s when I notice her body is stiff.
‘I-it’s nice to meet you,’ she stammers, swallowing a little convulsively.
‘Nah, blud,’ he says, reaching out to exchange the fist bump thing on her, which is a bit weird, and weirder still when she covers his fist with her fingers and gives it a limp shake. ‘Man knows we work in the same building.’
‘Man . . . does?’ Heather looks at me for a translation, but it’s all I can do not to laugh at her expression.
‘Bruv, dat gal is peng!’ To reinforce his compliment, he gives Heather the once-over, throwing in a very unsubtle teeth kiss for good measure.
‘Oi, watch it.’
‘No beef, blud.’ He holds up his hands, his smile the size of half a bike wheel. ‘Want some munch, bruv? It’s inside, innit.’ He gestures behind him to the hotel. I’m not big on the whole road man London dialect, but I get that he’s praised Heather’s good looks, and he’s now going inside to eat. Innit.
‘Er, yeah. We’re not ready for food yet. We’ll maybe catch up with you later.’
‘Safe.’ And with his version of goodbye, he takes himself back to his group.
‘What. . .?’ Heather blows out a breath, her tension subsiding with it. ‘Just what in the name of arse was all that?’
‘Dat roadman talk, innit?’ I say, imitating him. ‘Man be like a total rudeboi.’
‘He was certainly rude. Do you think he speaks to his mother like that? It’s like another language. One that makes me feel very old.’ She pulls free from my arm to face me. ‘How do you know what he was saying?’
‘I’m a man of many hidden talents.’ I place my hands on both her hips, mildly surprised when she doesn’t object.
‘I don’t even think I’ve ever seen him before, but he works at E11even?’
‘They keep him down in the ad space dungeon.’
‘How on earth does he communicate with people?’
‘I’m pretty sure he speaks some version of legible English, maybe not the Queen’s English, but enough to do his job. You’ve really never seen him before?’ She shakes her head. ‘You don’t like meeting new people, do you?’
‘Not particularly.’ Now I feel the tension returning to her body before she pulls away, creating a little distance between us.
‘It’s just an observation,’ I add in a mild tone. ‘And it answers a lot of questions.’
‘If you’re going to start annoying me, people will have a hard time believing we’re a couple.’
