The Wedding Game

CHAPTER THREE

Chris greets me by pushing himself away from the balustrade, a wide smile on his face as he says, ‘For a while there I thought you weren’t coming back.’

‘I’m so sorry. I got held up. I had to help save the bride and groom from embarrassment by joining in during their first dance. I boogied briefly with the best man, Josh.’

‘Oh, damn, I missed the first dance,’ Chris laments with an anxious expression.

I wonder briefly what it would have been like to dance with him instead of Josh. ‘But look,’ I say quickly, gesturing to the two full glasses.

‘Well done,’ he replies, taking one. ‘Thanks.’ His smile is so warm, infectious.

‘You are very welcome.’ I don’t tell him that it wasn’t me who paid for them. ‘I hope they’re not too warm by now.’

‘How was your dance with Josh?’ Chris asks warmly.

‘Quick. Easy.’ There was no more to it than that. I was preoccupied, willing it to finish, so I could get back to you . ‘It was a very short dance. The couple chose something fast, so we’d finished before we’d even got started.’ I laugh.

‘He hates dancing,’ Chris says.

‘Josh?’

‘Dan.’

‘Who’s Dan?’ I query.

Chris smiles. ‘The man who got married today. You’re at his wedding.’

‘Oh God, yes, of course.’

He laughs. ‘I have no idea whether Josh hates dancing. I don’t really know him.’

‘No?’

‘We only just met on the stag-do a few days ago. He seems nice, though. I’m friends with Dan from uni, and Josh knows him through school, so …’ he trails off, nowhere left to go with that small talk. Then Chris lifts his glass towards mine. ‘Cheers, Lexie.’

We clink glasses and then he devastates me by saying, ‘Um, so … you were gone ages and I hate to do this, but in about five minutes I’m going to have to go.’

‘Go where?’ I ask.

‘I need to head inside and say goodbye to Dan, and then I’ve got a taxi coming.’

‘And then you’re leaving?’ I ask. I can’t help but feel disappointed. I’m enjoying this too much. Or rather I was, until I ruined it and went inside, danced with Josh, when I could have been out here with Chris.

‘Yeah. I don’t want to go quite so soon, but my flight is in a few hours.’

‘Your flight? Are you going back to New York now ?’

‘It was the only flight I could get that didn’t cost a million pounds, and I have to be at work on Monday morning. Dan understood, so I figured I’d go for it. It meant a lot to him that I came over for the stag-do and the wedding and was an usher, so …’ he trails off again. ‘I’m babbling,’ he finishes with a smile.

I breathe in deeply, breathe out. ‘How often do you make it back here?’

‘I don’t really,’ he says sadly. ‘Work is kind of intense and …’

‘Oh.’

‘Do you ever get out to New York?’ he asks hopefully.

I shake my head. ‘No, sadly. Especially as I don’t have a job at the minute. Although I went to Miami with my ex-boyfriend about eighteen months ago,’ I add pointlessly.

‘OK,’ he says. ‘Fuck!’

I laugh. ‘Say how you really feel,’ I joke.

‘OK,’ he says again, taking me literally. ‘I will. You’re fun and I’m having a good time out here with you. We’ve got … probably four minutes now, so we need to fit in as much Big Talk as we can. Let’s make it count.’

‘Round three?’ I suggest.

‘Round three,’ he agrees. ‘Why did you and your ex break up, and how long ago?’

‘Really?’ I query. ‘Four minutes to go and that’s what you want to talk about?’

He nods. ‘Go for it.’

I take a deep breath. ‘It was about a year ago and he cheated on me.’

‘Shit,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘What were you expecting?’

‘The usual story. Incompatibility – something like that.’

‘We were incompatible enough for him to cheat on me after only eight months,’ I point out. ‘Now you. When was your last relationship and why did you break up?’

‘She dumped me. It was a couple of months ago.’

‘That’s quite recent, isn’t it? Did it hurt? Does it still hurt? Why did she dump you?’

‘That’s a lot of questions all in one go. It doesn’t hurt. It did for a while. But y’know … time heals, I guess.’ He gives me a shy smile, as if he’s not sure of his own words. ‘We got together pretty soon after I arrived in New York. I didn’t know many people. I sort of clung to her like a life-raft. For quite a while at the start she was dating me and a few other people at the same time, so we weren’t really serious. She was keeping her options open, which worked for her, but not for me. And after I thought we were moving in a good direction, it kind of went back to how it was at the start. I realise now she was looking for a way out when she suggested that we start seeing other people, to find out if we missed each other – to see if we really were destined for each other. I said no. She ended it.’

Chris defuses the seriousness of what he’s just said by chuckling at my expression. At some point during this short tale my mouth has fallen open.

‘Wow’ is all I can say, followed by, ‘I got cheated on in secret, and your girlfriend flat-out told you she wanted to cheat on you. That’s … another level.’

‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘It’s also embarrassing. I couldn’t comprehend it – any of it. We obviously weren’t right for each other. Serial dating is crazy. I don’t have the time, or the energy.’

‘Me neither. Serial dating is the worst,’ I say.

‘Dating in general is pretty dire,’ Chris observes. ‘But how will we ever meet people if we don’t date?’

‘You should be able to meet people before having to endure a date. Like in a normal way,’ I say.

Chris nods enthusiastically. ‘You go on a date with someone you’ve never even spoken to. Or met! I can’t get how we’ve normalised that.’

It’s my turn to enthuse. ‘You turn up, a bag of nerves, and you wait. What if they don’t turn up?’ I ask.

‘Or what if they do and they don’t look like their profile picture. Or they’ve lied about everything you thought you had in common with them and it turns out they have zero hobbies,’ Chris goes on, rising to the point.

‘Or,’ I continue, ‘it was fantastic when you were typing cute flirty messages to each other, but now you’re sitting face-to-face across a table, nursing a warm glass of wine, and it turns out there is no chemistry whatsoever. There are so many things that can go wrong. And you’re there for an hour minimum, watching the sand-timer of your life run out, waiting for it to end so you can try it all again with someone else a few days later.’

Chris stares at me, takes a deep breath. ‘That’s dark, so you’ve obviously had some bad experiences. I’ve not been missing out by being in a quasi-relationship with someone who just wasn’t into me.’

‘You have not,’ I confirm.

‘See, that’s why I don’t do online dating,’ Chris answers, as if reminding himself of the multitude of reasons why it’s bleak. ‘And this ,’ he says, gesturing to the invisible but new connection between the two of us out here on the terrace, ‘is the reason why I don’t bring plus-ones to weddings.’

‘This?’ I question.

‘You and I just met on a terrace at a wedding, because I was out here catching some air and not ushering a plus-one around. It gave me room to meet you and have a great conversation, and that doesn’t happen very often.’

I think about Scarlet, not ushering me around a wedding as her plus-one, but instead probably snogging the face off the blond waiter. I’m glad I met Chris, out here like this, even if he is about to leave.

His thoughts must echo mine because he says softly, ‘It’s a shame I’m leaving.’

‘It is,’ I reply quietly. And then, because I’ve got nothing to lose, I continue, ‘Of course I meet a really nice man and he lives nowhere near me.’

Chris holds my gaze and it feels so real, so natural. It’s the kind of look I’ve been desperate to experience … for years. And this man, out here, who is getting on a plane and leaving London in a matter of hours, is giving me that much-longed-for look.

I smile and, knowing the connection and the chemistry between us are real, I risk saying, ‘There’s not too much we can do about this.’

‘Perhaps online dating is the answer after all,’ he sighs.

‘Don’t do a U-turn on me now.’

‘Dating apps would never have shown you a guy who lives in New York,’ he counters.

I laugh. ‘True. I’ve widened my search criteria, but not by that much.’

He laughs in return, and then somewhere in the recesses of his pocket his phone alarm goes off. ‘That’s my cue to get moving.’

My chest tightens. ‘It was a lovely four minutes,’ I tell him.

‘It wasn’t long enough,’ he says meaningfully. We stand for a beat, just looking at each other, and then he continues, ‘I need to say bye to Dan and grab my luggage from reception. Come with me? We might be able to squeeze in some more Big Talk.’

I smile as we walk away from the terrace and into the house, where the slow dancing has long since ended. The retro beat of Pulp’s ‘Common People’ blasts out, and the dance floor thrums under our feet as people bounce around us. I momentarily lose Chris and he turns, touches my fingers and holds my hand, sending a jolt through me as he leads me through the crowd. He finds the groom, says something I can’t hear and embraces him in a bear hug. I see Josh and he turns to look at me, giving me a quick smile. I return it and then he looks away, singing along as the chorus plays, while jumping up and down with his friends.

Chris and I make our way through the library and, in the corner of the room, Scarlet and the waiter are standing by the books, talking and smiling. I’m relieved I’ve found her. The waiter’s holding a tray of dirty glasses, but isn’t making any signs of returning them to the kitchen. Instead he’s laughing at something she’s said. In the quiet of the flagstone-tiled reception area Chris walks towards the desk and asks for his luggage and, when he’s collected it, turns to me.

I stand there, knowing this is almost it. It’s too fast. It’s all moving too fast. Meeting someone, flirting, realising you like them … then they leave to go back to where they live, very, very far away. It’s not supposed to happen like this, surely.

Chris starts to speak, but he’s cut off by his phone. ‘Hang on,’ he tells me and lifts it to his ear. ‘Thanks,’ he says to the caller. ‘I’ll be there in a second.’

‘It’s my taxi,’ he tells me as he hangs up. ‘Shit,’ he goes on, looking at me with a sad smile. We walk together towards the large double doors, open because the welcome breeze of the day has long since left and the evening air is warm, still.

As we cross the threshold and stand on the steps I ask, ‘Do you maybe want to … um …’ I trail off.

He steps forward. ‘Do I maybe want to what?’

I get brave. ‘I was going to say do you want to swap numbers? Just for when you might be back in town again? Although I know you said it’s not often, so …’

‘Yeah,’ he replies uncertainly. ‘We could do.’

I realise, from his tone, that I’ve misjudged the situation dramatically. ‘No, don’t worry.’ I try to claw back my dignity, but fail. ‘Sorry, I’ve totally misread—’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Chris says quickly. ‘You haven’t misread anything .’ He stands for a second, weighing something up. ‘I think I’m about to do something … unprecedented.’ He glances at his watch.

‘It’s been longer than seventeen minutes, by the way. You’ve missed the boat on proposing,’ I tease.

‘Damn,’ he laughs and then looks at me. ‘Bear with me, because I’m about to do the most random thing I’ve ever done.’

I narrow my eyes, no idea what he’s about to say.

Chris opens his mouth, pauses and then says, ‘Come with me.’

‘Come with you? Where?’

‘To New York,’ he says simply. ‘I know it’s ridiculous. I know we’ve just met. But I also feel as if you should. I feel as if you should come with me.’

‘You feel as if I should come with you to New York ?’ I ask in a high-pitched voice.

Chris is laughing now. ‘Yeah. I don’t understand what I’m doing, either. I’ve never moved this quickly in my life,’ he tells me. ‘Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong all these years. Lexie, I like you. And unless I am totally misreading things … I think you might like me.’

I smile shyly and nod. ‘I do.’ What is happening ?

‘So,’ he goes on, and he breathes in, breathes out, ‘come with me to New York.’

I open my mouth and pause. ‘You’re serious?’

He laughs, clearly shocked at his own behaviour. ‘Yeah, I’m serious. It would be like …’ He grasps around for a comparison. ‘It would be like continuing this evening long into the early hours of the morning, which is probably what we would have done if we were both staying at the venue, instead of one of us rushing to catch a flight. We’d wake up here tomorrow, find each other over the breakfast buffet, talk again over coffee and then make plans to continue seeing each other. This is sort of like that. But … on a plane and in a different city.’

I think. ‘Really? Are you being serious?’

‘Maybe,’ Chris replies. ‘I think I am. Yeah. Why not?’

‘I …’ I can’t think of what to say. I like Chris. I liked him immediately. He’s lovely, funny, charming, handsome … And how often does this happen? How often do I meet a man like this and experience such an instant connection? Never. Not like this. This has never happened. This seems fated. Chris asking me to go with him – because he feels it too. This must all be happening for a reason. What if he’s the one?

I’m not speaking and he continues, nervously, ‘I know it’s a ridiculous thing to suggest, but …’

‘It is ridiculous, yeah,’ I say absently as I try to think it through. I can feel excitement brewing inside me. I love this idea. I love the idea of being with Chris, even for a minute longer, so the idea of being with him in New York for a few days: yes, please. I don’t exactly have a full diary this week, being unemployed. ‘It’s my turn to clean the flat,’ I say out loud, realising immediately how boring that sounds.

Chris nods, a knowing smile on his face. ‘I hear you. I love cleaning. Cleaning is important. I respect your decision-making process.’

‘Shh,’ I say, thinking. ‘Are you being serious?’ I ask again, because I can’t help thinking this sounds fun, incredible. ‘How?’ I ask uncertainly. ‘How would we do this?’

Chris blows air out of his cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’ But his face betrays the excitement that is clearly rushing through him too. ‘How about this,’ he suggests, with laughter in his voice. ‘Just come for a few days. Then, if it turns out I have zero hobbies, we’ve got no chemistry and you don’t fancy watching the sand-timer of your life run out …’ he repeats my words and I can’t help but laugh, then clamp a hand to my mouth as excitement bubbles over. ‘Then you’re only a taxi ride away from the airport,’ he finishes.

‘What if I decide it’s a terrible idea after having spent … however long the flight is with you? I’ll be stuck.’

‘Eight hours,’ he says. ‘It’s only eight hours. And if we land at JFK and you think, This man’s an idiot. No way. I’m out of here , then you’re already at an airport, so you can go home. It’s almost too easy,’ he ends with a grin.

It is almost too easy, isn’t it? He’s quickly scrolling online, saying that my ESTA will still be valid, as I went to Miami less than two years ago, and that we might just have time to book a flight and drive to my flat to grab some clothes and my passport.

I love this idea. I love it so much.

But then this dream-like trance that I’m in is replaced by a jolt of reality. How will I pay for all this? I can’t afford a plane ticket to New York. I couldn’t even afford drinks at the bar. I can’t afford anything.

Could I use what’s left of my gran’s inheritance? Something tells me I can’t, or rather I shouldn’t. She was a pragmatic woman and would never have done something like this. Blowing her money on a ticket to New York to be with a man I’ve known for such a short time – it’s too crazy. The guilt would consume me.

Chris is scrolling for flight info and I have to stop him. I say his name and he looks up from his phone. His expression falls when he sees my face. He knows I’m going to say no – he can see it in my eyes. I must look sad. I feel it.

‘This isn’t what people do, is it?’ he mutters softly, obviously sensing I’m about to say something similar. ‘Normal people don’t invite women they’ve known for an hour to get on a plane with them, do they?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I reply, keeping firmly to myself the real and embarrassing reason why I’m saying no. ‘For a very long moment I was seriously considering it.’

‘Really?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I breathe. ‘I was very nearly there. Despite the fact that it would have been the most outrageous thing I’ve ever done.’

Chris nods, smiles, looks at the ground and then at me. ‘It would have been amazing.’

I swear my heart rate is well into the hundreds. ‘I know,’ I say, because I believe him. I think it would have been … everything. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There is absolutely no need to apologise,’ he tells me. ‘It was either the most romantic gesture I’ve ever made or I am massively unhinged.’ Chris smiles and his gaze connects with mine as he puts his phone away.

‘I guess I’ll never know now,’ I say.

He’s so nice, so attractive, so funny, so warm and I’ve just said no to the most romantic offer I’ve ever received. Am I making a mistake? I could have borrowed some money from Scarlet maybe, again. I don’t know much, but I do know this: Chris is right. Normal people don’t ask women they’ve known for less than a day to get on a plane with them. But maybe this isn’t a normal situation … I groan inwardly. Oh, finances be damned, because practicality tells me saying no has to be the right decision. Or else why am I doing it?

His phone rings again. Chris pulls it out of his pocket as we stand on the steps.

‘It’s my taxi again,’ he says, looking round for a vehicle that isn’t there. ‘I wonder if he’s in the car park. I should go and find him.’

‘Can I walk with you?’

He nods, picking up his luggage. ‘I’d like that.’ The warmth never leaves his dark-brown eyes.

Oh, what am I doing by not going with him?

‘Can I just say …’ I start, as we enter the large gravel car park, with the house behind us. The taxi is in the distance and pulls out of a front-line space on seeing us. ‘That I am genuinely really annoyed you live in New York.’

He laughs. ‘So am I, at this moment in time.’

Gravel crunches underneath as the taxi pulls up. The driver pings the boot open and Chris loads his luggage into the car. I feel strangely bereft with every passing second.

‘Can I get your number? Just in case …?’ he asks, closing the boot and turning to me, although his defeated expression says everything. We’ll swap numbers, sure, but we won’t message each other. Why would we?

‘Just in case I ever move to New York?’ I tease.

‘You never know,’ he replies and, because he’s so lovely and now so utterly unavailable to me, I torture myself, cave in and give him my number. Chris saves it into his phone and then says, ‘This isn’t the way I saw this day going at all.’

‘Me neither,’ I reply, and I make myself a little taller and kiss him on his cheek, lingering for a moment, two moments. I hear Chris breathe. I close my eyes, for a second, lingering in this moment. It’s so joyous, but bittersweet. I could turn and kiss him properly. He could do the same. I’d let him. I want him to. His skin is warm and soft and he smells of eucalyptus, lime, sunshine. But neither of us makes any kind of move and I open my eyes and step back.

Eventually he says, ‘Bye, Lexie. Another time, another place.’ He smiles again and my insides melt.

‘Bye, Chris,’ I reply softly, screaming internally for letting him go like this. But what else am I supposed to do?

And then he’s in the taxi, the door closes and it pulls away. The gravel scatters underneath the tyres until the car disappears through the open gates and turns the corner. I watch it until I can’t see it any more and then, when Chris has gone, I look up at the sky, trying to process what has happened.

It’s only just beginning to get dark and a hazy, twilit-blue colour enters the atmosphere ever so slowly. Through all of that I hadn’t even noticed the evening fade away. Soon the sky will turn a shade of black and will be full of stars.

My mind is full of regret. In a matter of hours Chris will be up in that sky, passing overhead on a flight back to New York. And as fireworks start behind me, there’s a huge part of me that wonders if, by not going with him, I’ve altered the course of my life in some way.