Gramps #2
Linda sniffs. ‘I have one wish, and that is to see Dad . . . see my son . . . get married.’
‘We are getting married,’ Josh says, confused. We give each other a sideways glance, and he adds, ‘Eventually.’ This seems to infuriate Laura.
‘When is “eventually”, though?’ she says, waving her hands about. I didn’t realise this was such an emotional topic.
Josh shrugs. ‘Like next year or the year after.’ Linda starts crying even more. Josh and I look at each other, alarmed. ‘Why? What’s happening? Is something wrong?’
Laura looks pained as she rubs her mum’s back. I have a bad, bad feeling about this.
‘Gramps is getting worse by the day. This morning, he thought Ray was our cleaner,’ she says.
I want to say that this is an easy assumption to make because Ray is always either tidying things up or cooking, so it’s not fair to judge Gramps for making this mistake.
‘We all think the wedding needs to be sooner.’
‘How soon?’ Josh asks, but I jump in before Laura can answer. I’ve already explained this a few times to The Butters Family, but here we go again.
‘We would get married sooner, but like we’ve said before, we really want our wedding in The Chipping Barn, and we also need to save for our dream home in the country.
We both think it’s more important to get on the property ladder before we spend money on our wedding.
If we stick to my budget . . .’ I eyeball Josh, because he’s not been very good at this.
‘We’ll move next year, and the wedding will be a year after that. Right, Josh?’
He nods.
To my surprise, Laura breathes out a sigh of relief. ‘Phew, we were hoping it was only the financial issues.’ She smiles at her mum and back at us. ‘To speed things along, we are going to pay for The Chipping Barn. Mum, Dad, Ray and I.’
Josh’s mouth falls open.
‘You’re going to pay for the venue?’ he says, excited as a child on Christmas Day.
He shakes my arm, but I am too suspicious to share his excitement.
The Butters Family are excellent at together time and TV quizzes.
They are not so good at forward thinking.
The year after university, when I was in teacher training and Josh was still figuring out what to do, we all went on a family holiday to Cornwall .
. . in January. Josh had toyed with becoming a surfing barista, so Linda surprised us with a surf lesson.
We spent an hour falling off surfboards into ice-cold Cornish seas.
Consequently, we both got sick, and spent the rest of the holiday snuggled under a duvet, having snotty sex.
That was far better than the original itinerary of crab fishing with his parents.
It also, thankfully, put a pin in Josh’s surfer dream.
‘Ray’s boss has given him a huge bonus, and Mum and Dad are happy to help,’ Laura says.
‘Gosh. That’s so kind,’ I say, careful not to sound patronising. ‘But it’s more expensive than what people think. Not crazy expensive, but not the amount you would expect.’
Laura smiles. ‘We know how expensive it is, because we popped in and spoke to them.’
‘You popped in and spoke to them?’
‘It’s only down the road . . .’ Laura adds, as if the distance was my biggest concern.
‘Okay,’ I say, trying to make sense of this in my head. ‘But, even if we had all the money in the world, it’s an 18-month waiting list.’ They shift when I say this, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Linda watches her hands intensely as her fingers dance around each other.
‘What is it, Mum?’ Josh says.
Linda opens her mouth and says, slowly, ‘Yes . . . they are completely booked up . . . But there is a cancellation on the 22nd February.’
‘Next year? That’s doable. I guess. Although, we kind of wanted a summer wed—’
‘This year,’ Laura interrupts.
‘This year?’ I blurt out. ‘As in seven weeks? You want us to have a wedding in seven weeks? In February?’ Josh squeezes my thigh to shut me up. Linda begins to sob, really sob.
‘I knew it – I knew it would be too much to ask,’ she wails.
‘No, Mum, we can get married—’ Josh goes to say, but I cut him off before he says anything detrimental. I go for a softer approach.
‘Look, we would get married then, we would. But it’s almost impossible for my family to make it with such short notice. Dad and Jean-Ivy will likely be busy on holiday, and Mum will be cruising in the Adriatic Sea.’
Laura jumps in. ‘Well, we thought about that, so we called them, and your mum said she’ll cancel her cruise if needed, and your dad and his wife can make it, so . . .’
‘Wow. Isn’t that great, Amy?’ Josh says, shaking my leg. I realise then that I’m a one-man army rapidly running out of ammo.
‘Okay, well, my family may be able to make it, but what about my bridesmaids? Rebecca has a baby now, and Abi is busy with her lab experiments. Nina is a workaholic. They’re busy women.’
Laura flashes a victory smile, and my heart drops. I already know what she’s going to say. ‘They all said yes. The good thing about having a wedding in February is that everybody is free.’ She claps to herself.
‘Everybody is free because nobody plans anything in February . . . because it’s February,’ I say bluntly. I feel Josh’s arm around my shoulder.
‘February is not a bad month, Amy. With global warming, we’ll probably have a heatwave.’ The family laughs. They all have the same tone of laughter, like a cartoon family—a bubbly titter. He then adds, ‘Come on, Ames. Why not?’
‘Why not? Because . . .’ They wait for me to finish my sentence. Linda has her hands clasped like she’s begging for her life. This is absurd. I can’t fast-track my wedding for next month.
There is so much to do, that’s why people give themselves at least a year to plan it.
More importantly, I’m not sure if getting married in the middle of our ‘dry spell’ is appropriate.
I was hoping our ‘situation’ would be solved and long forgotten by the time I was walking down the aisle.
What happens if we don’t have sex on our wedding night?
I’m sure I read somewhere that that’s bad luck.
The front door slams. Gramps comes into the kitchen holding a humongous uncooked turkey.
‘I have saved Christmas,’ he announces, and Linda begins to sob again.
*
Cheers, Gramps, you frail blue twit. Josh is waving frantically from the car at his family. They’re all standing on the doorstep, grinning and waving in sync. He beeps the horn and speeds away.
‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’ he says. I twist away to face the window with my arms crossed.
‘I ate too much beef, though. I’d better burn that off tomorrow.
’ My arms tighten. He continues, oblivious to the woman about to explode in his car.
‘Still, it’s good for protein. Did you know, 100 grams of beef is like eating three eggs? So that means I’ve had—’
‘Josh, our wedding is in seven weeks.’
He turns to me, then turns back to the road, back to me again, and back to the road. ‘You said it was fine. You said . . .’ I throw my arms up.
‘In what world would our wedding in seven weeks be fine?’ We stay silent as the information processes in his brain. I carry on. ‘Are we even ready for this?’ Again, there is a silence.
‘Why wouldn’t we be ready?’ he laughs. ‘The venue is going to be booked, they’re sorting the food . . .’
‘But are we ready, considering . . .?’ I start waving my hand around my lap, so I don’t have to say the words. Are we ready to marry if we’re not having sex? I want to say, but instead, I go for something more vague. ‘Considering the state we’re in?’
Josh turns down the air conditioning. ‘I’m glad you’ve said something, because I was worried about that too.’ He sounds serious. I can’t look at him. The air feels heavy now. We’ve never spoken about our situation before; we’ve just left it as an elephant in the room. I swallow.
‘Right. What can we do about it?’ I ask, my throat feels tight, scared of what he may say.
‘Well,’ Josh exhales. ‘If we want to be in the best shape for our wedding, we will have to do an extreme health kick. No booze. No carbs. Gym every day, but we can do it.’
I twist to look at him.
‘Wait. What?’
‘Our wedding bodies,’ he says, as if it’s obvious that’s what we’re talking about.
‘I’m sorry. Are you saying I need a health kick?’
‘No. No. No,’ he says quickly, realising we’re not on the same page. ‘But you’re welcome to join me if you want to. I’ll call it “The Seven-Week Wedding Body Blitz”!’
I don’t know what to say. I am here, petrified that our sex life is dead, whilst he’s concerned about the title for a gym routine.
Maybe he doesn’t think it’s a big deal that we haven’t had sex since last summer.
Josh doesn’t spend a second worrying about life, because he believes everything will work itself out.
This can be infuriating, today being a top example, but other times, it’s comforting.
So, maybe that’s how he sees our dry spell – something that will work itself out. I hope so.
‘So, you think we’ll be okay?’ I inspect his face for clues.
‘Why wouldn’t we be?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is Lab Rat overthinking again?’
‘Mmm.’ I change my tone. ‘On the bright side, if The Chipping Barn is being paid for, we can move to the country quicker, right?’ I say, convincing myself that this fast-track wedding isn’t the craziest idea in the world. Josh hits the indicator and moves into the fast lane.
‘Yeah. Right.’
The great countryside migration! We have always agreed to do London while we’re young, and then move to the countryside to settle down.
I’m aware it’s not the most unique life plan, but we’re not trying to reinvent the wheel here.
We know exactly what we want. We want to live in a cottage made of stone, which has a log fire in the lounge and jars full of seeds in the kitchen.
Josh wants to mimic his dad and have an outdoor space with a BBQ so we can host summer parties.
We’ll have a king-sized bed and wake up to a view of cornfields.
(This may be too much to ask for.) There will be a guest bedroom and another room for, hopefully, a baby or two.
We don’t know precisely where this cottage will be in the countryside, but Josh wants to stay as close to London as possible and be close to his family in Maidenhead, so ideally, a village in Berkshire.
I just want to be far away from a flatshare in London.
‘But is it possible to make a wedding happen in seven weeks?’ I say, backtracking.
‘We’ve got everything pretty much sorted. Don’t we?’ Josh asks.
‘Sorted?’ I raise my voice. This is exasperating. I am exasperated. ‘What about the cake? Hen party. Or . . . or . . . my dress?’
Josh shrugs as if these are simple things to be solved. ‘We can choose a cake in a matter of seconds. We can get one from that bakery you love in Clapham Junction.’
‘Clapcake.’
‘Right. Make it a Victoria sponge, three tiers, white icing, with a bride and groom on top. Cake done.’ I whimper at his casualness. ‘And I thought the plan was that you were wearing your mum’s dress?’
‘Okay. Yeah, I am. But what about the invitations? I was going to make handmade ones, but now I don’t have time, do I? Now, we’ll have to do those email ones.’
‘Amy, you were never going to do handmade invitations. You can’t even put a stamp on straight.’ He affectionately shakes my leg. I brush him off and then make a show of getting out my phone.
‘I suppose I’d better text my bridesmaids then. How’s this? Thanks for the heads-up that I’m getting married next month. Can’t wait. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.’ There is a pause between us, the only sound is the engine rumbling. I peer over to Josh. He looks deflated. ‘Josh?’
‘You do want to get married still, don’t you?’ He bites his lip, and glances at me.
‘Of course I do. I just don’t want a shit wedding, that’s all. Like, remember Rebecca and Tight Tim’s wedding? Everyone remembers it being shit. I would hate that.’
Rebecca, my best friend from school, fell in love with the tightest man in England (affectionately named Tight Tim).
The stingy wedding budget had us painting ceramics in Barnet for the hen party.
The worst part was the wedding day; we drank cava instead of champagne, and she arrived at her reception in a Ford Fiesta.
‘For starters, you’re not Rebecca, thank God. And I’m not Tight Tim, thank God. It’s us, so it won’t be shit. Just as long as you don’t do handmade invitations, Lab Rat.’ He laughs and shakes my leg again.
We arrive home to the usual sound of Fifi, our flatmate, hurrying down the hallway and shutting her bedroom door.
Josh flops on the sofa and sets up the next episode of Making a Murderer.
We didn’t watch it when everyone else did, so now we’re furiously catching up.
I settle on my side of the sofa with my notebook.
‘Why have you got your journal out?’ Josh asks.
‘It’s not my journal. It’s my notebook. I’m starting our wedding to-do list.’
‘Good plan,’ he says, and presses play. ‘Let me know if you want me to do anything.’
Josh and Amy’s Wedding 2025
To Do:
Let your bridesmaids and parents know you’re aware of your surprise wedding.
Design and email invitations to guests.
Visit The Chipping Barn.
Talk to Rebecca about bridesmaids’ dresses.
Talk to Rebecca about the hen party.
Talk to Rebecca about wedding flowers.
Give Josh the job of finding the band.
Taste wedding cakes at Clapcake.
Try on Mum’s wedding dress.
First things first, I send a (not sarcastic) text to my bridesmaids and family.
Hello!!! Josh’s family announced the surprise today!
All confirmed for 22nd February. Can’t wait!!!
Nina
Bring on 2025! See you tomorrow . Still on for the pub quiz?
Rebecca
FINALLY!!!! Let’s plan the hen party! Are you free Saturday?
Will bring Benny
Abi
Yaaaaay xxxxx
Mum
OK. Will call when in Salvador. x
Dad
Jean-Ivy and I have a surprise. We’ll tell you on her birthday.
Shui, Berkeley Square, Mayfair, 7 pm. C U then.
Oh, please, no more surprises.