Читать книгу My Husband’s Lies: An unputdownable read, perfect for book group reading - Caroline England, Caroline England - Страница 15

Nick

The tension finally squeezed from his face, his limbs, his whole bloody body, Nick winds his way around the balmy room, chatting to university friends and their partners, to people from work, to his aunties and uncles and cousins on his dad’s side. Everyone offers him a drink, but there doesn’t seem to be time to accept. The evening has rushed by; he and Lisa stayed close at first, holding hands tightly as they greeted their guests. Then the coven descended and Lisa was whisked away, enveloped in their noisy cachinnations at one end of the room. He hasn’t spoken to her since their first dance, but every now and then he watches for a few moments, taking in her laughter and friendly grin as she chats to the guests, still incredulous that the smiley girl he first saw on a dating site is now his wife. There was always a sense of something missing from his life, but that void has been filled like a foot in a snug-fitting trainer. The feeling of possession surprises him. ‘She’s mine,’ he says inwardly. ‘She belongs to me now.’

He approaches his godparents. ‘Sorry it’s taken so long to say hello. Exhausting, this groom business,’ he says with a smile.

Uncle Derek stands. ‘Let me get you a drink,’ he says. ‘You can’t be at your own wedding without a glass in your hand. What would you like, son?’

‘Pint of lager would be good,’ he replies, suddenly realising how thirsty he is. He takes Derek’s seat and turns to Iris. Although now into her seventies, her features are pretty and petite, and with her softly curled hair she looks much younger. But her knuckles show her age as she clutches his hand.

Her eyes shine and she beams. ‘Hello, lovey. Don’t you look handsome. You and Lisa make such a beautiful couple. We’re as proud as punch.’ She digs into her handbag and pulls out a horseshoe-shaped trinket. ‘Course we’ve got you a proper present and a nice large cheque from Derek, but here, love. It’s for good luck. Remember to keep it upright.’ She slips it into his pocket. ‘Matt and Jamie send their love and congratulations.’

‘Thanks, Iris. How are they both doing? How many grandchildren is it now? I think Mum said five at the last count.’

They chat for a few minutes about her sons and their children. ‘What’s she called again? Jamie’s wife?’ Iris asks, sliding her hand into his.

Startled by the question, Nick has to think back to information gleaned from his mum. The younger son Jamie had married again, but what was her name? ‘Judith? Jude?’ he asks.

‘No, the other wife. The one who kept our Jamie too far from home. He wanted to come back from Bristol, but she wouldn’t let him. That one.’

Ruffling his hair, he tries to remember the name of Jamie’s first wife, but Iris appears to have lost interest. She’s nodding towards Patrick, sitting apart from Lisa’s brothers who’re propping up the bar. ‘We need to find someone for Patrick now. But I don’t know who’d take him on at nearly fifty. Even when he was little and played with my boys he was a funny little bugger.’

The description takes Nick by surprise, but as he looks into Iris’s bright eyes, he realises she’s tipsy, very tipsy.

‘He’d have these uncontrollable tantrums over nothing and the only person who could bring him round was your Susan,’ she continues. ‘She just had a way with him, even though she was so much smaller. He’s talking to someone now, mind. They say people often meet a new love at a wedding. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

Nick turns to look at his brother, then comes back to his godmother’s peachy face. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me. Who is Susan?’ he asks. But her shining eyes have moved to her husband. He’s standing behind Nick, holding two pints of beer and a glass of wine in his hands.

‘Can you take this wine off me before I drop it, son?’ he says to Nick. And then to Iris: ‘Harry is sitting over there on his tod. We can’t have that on his son’s wedding day. Shall we walk over and join him?’

Nick watches Derek and Iris wander off. Then he stands alone for a few moments, sipping his pint and glancing around. A girl from uni and a lad from work are smooching on the dance floor to ‘I’m not in Love’. The disc jockey is packing up, the St Mark’s table is empty, the number of guests has worn thin. The coven have stopped dancing and they’ve joined Lisa’s brothers at the bar.

His drink almost spilling, Lisa catches him around the waist from behind. ‘It’s OK, we can go now. They’ll be here all night.’ Her voice is slurred and he realises that although he’s completely sober, he’s more tired and achy than he’s ever felt before. But he’s married now, he’s done it! He’s finally broken free; he has a perfect-fit-trainer lovely wife.

They bid goodnight to the Swansea clan. Lisa’s father says a few words in his ear. Of advice, he supposes, he can’t decipher a word. But at least his new father-in-law laughs, unlike the bouncer brothers who stare at him steadily from their whisky tumblers as though they haven’t drunk a drop.

‘Push them with a little finger and they’ll both fall off their perches,’ Lisa whispers, reading his thoughts. She holds out her hand. ‘Come on, husband. Time for bed.’

As she stops to negotiate the short flight of stairs to the bridal suite, Lisa wobbles. Feeling a surge of emotion, Nick collects her gown from behind and steadies her by the waist. It’s their first few moments completely alone as man and wife and he wants to freeze-frame them: the feel of the crisp silk in his hands, the innocence of her small stockinged feet on the carpet, the whispery curls of hair on the nape of her neck, the sleepy smile on her contented face.

Perfumed by a huge bouquet of white flowers, the warm room feels foreign when they go in. The lights are muted, the soft linen turned back.

‘Can you help me with my dress, dearest hubby?’ Lisa asks.

He fumbles with the tiny buttons as she chats. She’s happy, her voice drowsy, and he’s glad, relieved the blip hasn’t spoiled her special day.

‘I would like to consummate our marriage,’ she’s saying, struggling with her words. ‘But I’m too pissed. As Dylan said, “Someone’s boring me. I think it’s me”. Thomas, not Bob,’ she mutters, before collapsing onto the bed, still wearing something old and something new.

Turning to his wedding tails, Nick slips his hand in the pocket and pulls out the silver horseshoe trinket. Keeping it upright, he traces the engraved names with his finger. Good luck for him and Lisa, he thinks with a smile. A little naff, but sweet of Iris. Then, with a frown as he pictures her face: but who the hell is Susan?