Epilogue
The road is busy.
I say that both as a metaphor about my life and as a description of the road we’re being driven along. I’m finding I’m getting quite good at metaphors. And symbolism. Maybe there’s a novel in me, after all.
Cars whip by on my right-hand side as I gaze out of the window.
The weather has been remarkably similar to the way it was that day.
Cool, but sunny.
Calm.
The kind of English weather you can really get behind.
The perfect kind of weather for a wedding.
I look away from the road, and down at my left hand, on which there now sits a brand-new ring on the third finger. The hand is clasped in my wife’s.
My wife, Annie.
The term still gives me a little bit of vertigo . . . in the best possible way.
Her hand tightens on mine. A little reassuring gesture that is very much appreciated.
Because being on this road is . . . difficult.
Coming back along here is something I’ve wanted to do for quite some time now, but have been very afraid to actually commit to. Because it stirs things inside me that I would rather stayed decidedly unstirred.
And on any other day, I would avoid it. I very much doubt I will ever drive down this road again, once I’ve done what I’ve come here to do.
But today, I had to do it. I had to come here.
On the day I made my vows to my new wife about our future, I felt I had to mark the past properly. Draw something of a line under it. Travel along this road for the final time.
The wreath sits at my feet.
Its dark-green leaves feel deeply incongruous, when set against the bright cream of the limousine’s interior, and the even brighter white of Annie’s wedding dress.
It also feels odd because it’s a symbol of bad things, on a day that – so far – has been full of very good things. Friends. Family. Vows. Cake. Alcohol. More cake. A lot more alcohol.
Annie wasn’t sure about doing this on our wedding day. But I explained my reasons and my feelings, and she understood where I was coming from immediately.
I’m getting a lot better at explaining my reasons, and my feelings. The many, many sessions I’ve had with Monica over the months have made that possible.
Margaret was very touched when I told her what I was planning to do. It was lovely to see her at the wedding, as well. She did a very good job of wrangling Wayne the Parrot – who enjoyed the entire ceremony . . . largely because he was fed a constant supply of cashew nuts.
Having a parrot as the third of your best men may sound crazy, but Wayne has become an integral part of my life, and I don’t apologise for his inclusion. I did apologise to Leo when the parrot pooped on his shoulder, though. Jack’s laughter echoed around the church.
‘Here!’ I say to the driver. We have reached a point on this road that nobody else would pay any heed to whatsoever, but for me, it’s burned into my soul.
The driver nods, having been told way ahead of time what my plans were, and knowing exactly what to do at this moment.
Because Charlie King is always the man with the plan.
Well. Mostly.
These days I find it a lot easier to do things by the seat of my pants, when I’m in the mood for it. Nothing wrong with mixing things up a little, every now and again.
The limo slows, pulls over to the side of the road, and into the lay-by that was once full of the remains of my old MG.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Annie asks, giving my hand another squeeze.
I shake my head. ‘No. This will only take a minute, I promise.’
It’s something I feel I have to do alone.
I want to do alone.
I pick up the wreath and climb out of the limo. Cars continue to hurry past as I walk back along the road a little way. I probably won’t be able to put it down at the exact spot – but right here, where it’s safe, will be more than adequate.
I lay the wreath against the hedgerow that runs along the side of the road.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a quiet voice, to nobody but myself.
I then allow the tears to fall, because that’s a perfectly natural thing. No point in trying to control nature. It’ll only bite you on the arse if you do.
With that small but necessary gesture over with, I turn and start to walk back to the car.
And I know that by the time I get back into the limo with my new wife, the tears will have dried, and the smile will be back on my face.
Because I have a lot to look forward to.
. . . a life with the best person I know.
And a parrot.
‘Are you okay?’ Annie asks me as the limo drives away from a place I will never visit again for as long as I live.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I tell her with a smile.
And that is the truth.
Totally.