Chapter 10
10
TOM
Bea and Ruth have really pulled some speedy wedding planning out of the bag and today is their big day.
I don t like to think of when I got married (the whole thing was a huge mistake – in a nutshell, my wife and I got married too quickly, and had absolutely nothing in common, and one day after getting home early from a school trip during which most of the kids came down with food poisoning, I found her in bed with someone else – and our divorce came through on the second anniversary of the wedding) but I do know from that and all other weddings I ve heard about that big ones usually take many months, if not years, to organise.
But not, apparently, if you re determined and are in your seventies and feel that time is of the essence and (in Bea s words) happen to have a younger brother who s a vicar and who can fit you in three weeks on Tuesday.
I ve had a few conversations with Nadia since the barbecue (I obviously had to ask after her feet, and she thanked me for the plasters and flip-flops that I sent her because I couldn t not send her something after a day like that and those seemed the only obvious gifts) but I ve kind of withdrawn a little and so has she.
I m not sure why she doesn t seem so keen to chat; it could be anything from being busy at work to having succumbed to her dating app addiction (or actually having met someone in real life) to hating me due to the blisters and frilly pants.
I do know why I don t want to chat so much: that day was just too odd. I didn t enjoy lying to my whole family; it made me feel quite grubby, and it made me feel as though Nadia and I share a dirty secret. And I suppose no-one really wants to spend time with someone with whom they share grubbiness. I don t, anyway, I ve discovered.
Also, my family loved her. Definitely. I know them and they did. For example, while they didn t say so, it was clear from the off that none of them liked my ex-wife. (They were right not to.) In contrast I could just tell that they did like Nadia. And rightly so; from what I ve seen she is nice and likeable.
Anyway, it isn t just that they loved her that s the problem, it s the fact that me taking her did work in that for the first time for a long time there s been no speculation or hinting or anything from a single member of my family. And I think that that s because they all hope that I have finally recovered from my marriage debacle and they don t want to jinx it by saying anything.
And that makes me feel awful, far worse than I ve been feeling with all the men-have-biological-clocks-too chat. That was just kind of irritating (and obviously rooted in them having my best interests at heart). This feels deceitful and horrible.
Also. And this is a big thing. Nadia and I have absolutely nothing in common (other than an immediate addiction to Brawl Stars) and she is just not someone I would ever date (I m not doing the nothing-in-common thing again after what happened with my ex-wife). Plus, I still have feelings for Lola, which need to be resolved, and Nadia s been in a dating mess and is very much in need of her man detox. Nonetheless, something odd happened on the day of the barbecue.
I think I veered too much down the method acting route. Or the sun got to me. Or the Pimm s. Or the far-too-tight-and-too-short-and-ridiculously-low-cut dress and the frilly pants coupled with Nadia s – objectively – lovely figure. And her crazy hair and glorious smile.
But basically, yep, I was finding her very physically attractive. And she s obviously easy company.
And then when I carried her down the steps at the station, I just… Well, I don t know. But she fitted very well into my arms. Very well. I mean, I can literally still conjure up that feeling of having her softness held against me, the way her hair smelt.
And it felt as though I was kind of cheating on Lola just by feeling that. In that I told Lola I loved her and we left it at that. I mean, clearly, clearly , she does not also love me. But I suppose I feel that I need to say er anyway goodbye, I m done before starting something with someone else.
And I will not be starting something with someone with whom I have nothing in common. Nadia and I have nothing in common. So I am not in any way doing the wrong thing if I spend time with her. But, weirdly, I felt as though I was in that moment.
Anyway, all to say, we ve been chatting much more sporadically and fairly minimally.
* * *
We ve both been active on our Waterloo Five group chat, though. I know from it that Nadia and Carole are both working from home today (i.e. on their train journeys and during any pauses in the wedding), Nadia because she doesn t have much annual leave left and Carole because she s very senior and very busy. I m lucky, because my school summer holidays have just started, and while I do have work to do over the next few weeks, I can have a break today and just enjoy the day.
The wedding s in a church in a village just outside Basingstoke, and the reception s in a nearby country hotel.
Having not exchanged messages with Nadia for several days, I didn t really want to restart our chat by asking about travel, but in the end decided that I should, because it seemed pretty likely that we d be on the same train out of Waterloo, and it wouldn t be great for things to be actively awkward between us, like we re trying to avoid each other.
So I messaged her and, yes, we are booked onto the same train, and here I am at Waterloo on the concourse under the clock waiting to meet her.
I see her exit the barriers at the far right side of the station and begin to make her way over to me. She s wearing a light blue, longish dress, which is tight round the chest with a wider skirt, with cream-coloured heels, handbag and hat, plus a laptop bag. The outfit is very nice and with that and her striking dark curls and tanned skin she s attracting a lot of attention as she walks towards me, which she doesn t seem to notice at all.
Morning. I double-cheek air-kiss her because that s what I do with anyone I don t feel awkward around, and I d like to pretend there s no awkwardness between us. You re walking very differently from how you were last time I saw you.
Ha, yes, all good now. She sticks a foot out and smiles at it, which makes me laugh. I ve got a pair of flip-flops stashed in with my laptop too, just in case.
Good thinking, I admire, and she twinkles at me.
It s platform nine, I tell her, and we begin to walk over there. As we go, I suddenly wonder why I suggested that we meet on the concourse; my ticket includes an allocated seat and Nadia s probably does too. So we won t be sitting next to each other. And so we didn t have to do this; we could just have met at the other end. My guilty conscience over I m not even sure what has clearly come into play and made me overcompensate.
Well, never mind. We are going to be hanging out today, or the others will notice, and now is as good a time as any to start. I ll be very happy not to sit next to her on the train, though.
I m in seat C17, Nadia says. So… see you at the other end?
My ticket is C19. We must have bought them at the same time. For all I know it s at the same table.
I make a quick decision and say, Absolutely. I m further down. I m going to carry on walking and take my chances with an empty seat in a different carriage.
* * *
We reconvene at Basingstoke station.
How was your journey? Nadia asks politely.
Very pleasant. I found a free double seat several carriages down from her. I m proud to report that I spent less than half of it playing Brawl Stars.
Wow. Impressive willpower.
I know, thank you. I smile politely at her and then look around. Taxis are over there, it looks like.
When we get out of the taxi on our opposite sides (the driver told us before we got in that he doesn t like people sitting in the front because he views that passenger seat as his work office, so we both sat in the back, slightly uncomfortably effectively hugging our own doors, not really speaking), Carole s standing a few metres away with her back to us.
Nadia thanks the driver and then says to me, Oh look, there s Carole, and heads straight over to her.
I m so pleased to see you again, Carole tells us.
You look amazing, Nadia tells her. I love your new hairstyle.
Oh, that s what s different about her.
I ve gone dramatically to town as a spurned woman, Carole says. Kicked him out, changed the locks, new hair, personal trainer, already signed up to a dating app, booked a very nice holiday with the kids without Roger – you name it I m doing it.
Nice, says Nadia approvingly, and I nod.
Carole steps between us and links her arms though Nadia s left arm and my right, and says, Let s go in.
* * *
The ceremony is perfect, pitched exactly right, not too long, not too short, great hymns that everyone recognises. Bea and Ruth both look dignified and beautiful at the same time, in their different ways.
There are maybe a hundred people in the church – family and friends gathered over long lives – and it feels like an honour to be one of those friends.
* * *
Afterwards, Carole, Nadia and I join the other guests on the lawn outside the church and are given champagne while the photos are done. Everyone s been struck by the good humour that accompanies a wedding that feels right , and the vibe is friendly delight.
I strike up a conversation with two men a few years older than me who turn out to be Ruth s nephews and Arsenal supporters. I see out of the corner of my eye that Nadia and Carole are talking to a group of women; there s a lot of laughter coming from their direction.
I m not listening to the wedding photographer s instructions, because they clearly aren t going to involve me unless we do a whole-wedding-guest group photo at the end, which I ll notice anyway, because everyone will be doing it, so I m surprised when Nadia pops up at my elbow with Carole behind her.
When there s a lull in our conversation, she smiles at my companions and says, Hi, I m Nadia. Sorry to interrupt, Tom, but we re up. Photo.
Us?
Yes. A Waterloo Five one.
Oh, that s very nice.
I say, Great to meet you, to my fellow Arsenal fans and off we go.
Honestly, Nadia chides. The Arsenal obsession.
You re just a philistine, I tell her. Football is better to watch than tennis.
I catch Carole looking at us with eyebrows slightly raised. Maybe she isn t a football fan either.
* * *
Bea and Ruth arrange the five of us in a row, the two of them in the middle, with Carole on one side and Nadia and me on the other. For the first couple of photos we all just stand and smile, and then the photographer directs us to loop our arms round each other s shoulders. And, quite ludicrously, I m very conscious that I m standing very close to Nadia, and my arm s along her shoulders and hers is around my waist. It shouldn t feel odd. I also have my arm round Ruth, and that doesn t feel odd at all.
I can feel everywhere Nadia and I are touching. She s taller than usual because she s wearing heels, and her hair s brushing my face. It smells lovely, as it did when I carried her down the steps.
The whole thing is weird.
I don t have long to analyse it (a good thing) because the photographer, on hearing that we met at Waterloo station, has the bright idea of asking us to line up holding each other s waists like we re doing the locomotive.
So Ruth has her hands on my waist (fine) and I have my hands on Nadia s waist (less fine, because it feels weirdly intimate. I mean, it is absolutely not intimate because we re in the middle of a lot of people at a wedding and lots of people are looking at us and we aren t doing anything intimate whatsoever and I ve been told to place my hands there. But it stills feels odd).
I m very pleased when the photos are done.
While we re still grouped there, but slightly separately from the other three because Bea and Ruth are asking Carole about Roger and she s given in after they said no they really want to know about him, even though yes it is their wedding day, and she s now filling them in on lots of details (that I think Nadia got while I was talking Arsenal), Nadia lowers her voice and says, Could I possibly ask a huge favour? A very low-maintenance fake-plus-one thing?
Er, yes, I think so. If I m free, I find myself saying, because even though I really don t want to how can I say no when she went to such great blister and frilly pant lengths to help me.
Ha, your face is a picture. Don t worry, no mingling with my colleagues required. I d just love to get a selfie with you if that s okay. And then I can post it on our work group chat and that ll be confirmation that I m still with the same person three weeks after they met you.
Oh, that s genius, I say. You re right; very low maintenance. Definitely.
Would you mind if we…
What? I ask, alarmed. Surely she isn t going to suggest that we kiss or something.
Put our heads fairly close together? In one of those heads-next-to-each-other beaming kind of poses?
Oh, yes, no, absolutely. I ve lost my mind; of course she wasn t going to suggest we kiss. There are so many reasons that she wouldn t. Not least because it s the middle of the day and we re at someone else s wedding. And it would be incredibly awkward because fake snogging is a whole other level beyond fake dating. Which we are not even doing right now.
Sooo, she says. Oh yes. I think I might have been internally panicking for weirdly long.
So, I say.
She takes a step towards me and I take one towards her and then she gets her phone and holds it at arm s length and kind of tilts her head up towards mine and I tilt mine down towards hers, very, very conscious that we re really very close to each other now and that I can smell that lovely shampoo she uses and that if one of us moved just a very little we could easily actually kiss, which is just extremely odd.
Smile, she says and takes a few photos.
Then she brings the phone back in and we look at the images.
Erm. She looks at me. Do you not have a photo smile? Like one that looks like you re actually smiling?
Erm. Do you not either?
We both peer at her screen again. Yep. We both look… pained, I think is the best word.
Yes, fair enough, she says. We both look incredibly fake. Maybe we can have another go?
Yep, no problem. Natural-looking smiles it is. I can do a photo smile. People want photos and selfies all the time and I see the results of the photos I m in and I can look like I m smiling perfectly photo-naturally. I really can.
I really cannot remember how, though, right now.
I focus on the very beautiful hotel building beyond the gardens and produce a perfect photo smile, and then, holding it, look at Nadia.
Nadia presses her lips together.
What? I say, still perfect-photo-smiling.
It s just… For some reason she looks as though she s trying not to laugh.
Just take the photo, I instruct. I m not joking, it s genuinely hurting a little holding the smile for so long.
Erm. Okay. She moves closer to me and clicks away.
The photos are not good. One of us looks not at all as though he is smiling naturally for a photo – he actually looks as though he s trying to prove that he isn t hungover or maybe desperate for the loo – and the other looks as though she s trying really hard not to laugh.
Now, she is laughing.
How is that so hard? she splutters through her sniggers.
It s the on-demand nature of it, I explain.
All posed photos are on demand, though?
I consider for a moment. That is a valid point, I concede. It s the acting part of it.
Try to ignore the acting thing and just remember that you aren t standing next to a fake girlfriend, you re standing next to a regular friend and having a photo taken like people do all the time?
Yes. I nod. I can do that.
The next photos are still dire. I have this crazily wide smile on my face and Nadia s looking up at me with one eyebrow raised, as though she s genuinely alarmed.
She starts laughing and then after a moment I do too and then she says, Dammit, it seemed like such a good idea.
I know, I say. Let s get someone to take one of us from behind .
Nice. Nadia pauses and frowns. How do we ask for that, though? Hi, could you take a photo of us from behind and make it look as though we re early-days dating? Thank you!
It ll be easy. Watch.
I turn to the little group nearest to us and when there s a gap in their conversation say, Hi, so sorry to interrupt but could you possibly do us a huge favour and take a photo of us?
Sure. A man in a very conservative grey suit and a bright pink tie with one very large orange fish on it (head down) and matching orange (suede) shoes takes my phone.
This might sound weird, I tell him, but can we just turn round – we have this thing with our friends where we all post photos of ourselves with our backs to the camera.
Each to their own, the man says. Sure.
I put my arm round Nadia s shoulders and she leans into me, and after a moment, the man says, Done, and we turn back round.
Sure you don t want any of your faces ? he asks. Are you on the run or something?
Ha, ha, says Nadia. Yes, please that would be great, actually.
So I put my arm back round her shoulders and she leans against me again (we re getting good at it; it s like a jigsaw piece going into place now), and the photo s taken.
We have quite a long chat with the fish-tie guest (who turns out to be an ex-colleague of Ruth s) and then end up in a wider group (all very nice people), before everyone s called for a big, final entire guestlist photo, so we don t immediately get the opportunity to look at the photos.
Want to check the results of our photo shoot? Nadia asks me when we re all told that we re very free to use the hotel facilities for a couple of hours while the brides rest and get changed, before the reception proper starts.
Sometimes I amaze myself with my own genius, I say on sight of the photos of us with our backs to the camera. We could totally pass for a happy couple. I have my arm round Nadia and she s leaning into me just like a girlfriend would.
You know, I did fall for your near-genius for a moment, but couldn t we just be anyone in that photo? As in, any two people with their backs to the cameras? As in, I could just have sent any photo of any two people?
I shake my head. No-one else has hair like yours. And also, I don t think anyone would send a photo of two other people and pretend it was them?
Would anyone fake-date though?
I think you d more fake-date than you would do a completely fake photo?
Nadia scrunches her face at me. Very true. You know what, fake daters should just do fake photos.
I laugh and we look back at the phone. And the last ones, where there was no pressure on either of us, are perfect for our purposes. They make me feel a little queasy, though. Like… weird again.
We really do look as though we re in a happy, early-days relationship. We must have only just turned round from the behind photo. Nadia s laughing, looking straight ahead into the camera, and I ve removed my arm from her shoulder and stuck both my hands in my pockets – I think for somewhere to put them that isn t touching her – and I m looking at her and wearing what would definitely pass for a very fond, if not besotted, smile if you didn t know better.
We re both silent for a tiny bit longer than is comfortable, and then simultaneously, I say, Wow, I am a good actor, as Nadia swipes to the next photo.
You are . She nudges me. Finally.
Ha, yes, I say.
So are you happy for me to use that one and maybe one of us from behind?
What, are you not going to use any of the ones where we look like people who ve never smiled before?
Nadia grins at me and I think to myself how that , right there, is a gorgeous smile, and then she says, Okay, I m going to post them now. Thank you very much. That s going to keep people off my back for weeks to come.
I watch the concentration on her face as she adds them to her work chat, and I wonder again why – if she wants to meet someone so much – she hasn t managed yet. When she does find the right person, she ll be an amazing partner for them.