Читать книгу You Can’t Hurry Love - Portia MacIntosh - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

After a long and heavily religious church service (which I definitely don’t want), and a trip to a hotel outside town on an open-top bus (which was not nice in October), we finally arrived at the reception. We’re pretty much done with dinner now and I already have a long list of things I absolutely don’t want for my wedding.

Rosie looks beautiful, as always – she’s just got this kind of easy beauty about her, whereas I have to spend hours putting make-up on to look alive – but two things I absolutely don’t want for my big day include having my hair piled up on top of my head like a Mr Whippy, held in place with a tiara, and wearing a big, white dress, with loads of ruffles and shit hanging off it and bits connecting to other bits in places that will limit my movement. Yes, Rosie looks great, so long as she stands still. The second she starts moving she looks so terribly uncomfortable, I feel sorry for her. Apparently she’s got some kind of contraption under her dress that she can use to help her use the loo without assistance, but unless it’s a hoist, I’m not sure it’s going to help her all that much.

This wedding is exactly what you’d expect a wedding to be – and it’s exactly how I’d write it, if I were trying to include every wedding cliché I could think of.

All in all, I wouldn’t say it was a bad day, just not my taste. The speeches were relatively painless, if a little cringeworthy, and the food was OK – I pretty much just picked at my roast dinner. It was just way too much food given I’m wearing such a tight dress.

‘You really do look amazing,’ Leo tells me, holding my hand over the table. ‘Your hard work has paid off.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘Kind of makes all those times I had to spectate you eating pizza feel worth it.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please,’ the DJ booms over the PA. ‘The bride and groom are about to take to the floor for their first dance.’

I’m sitting at a table with my parents, my grandparents, Leo and Belle – Dan’s the best man, so he’s up at the top table. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of being chill, given my surroundings. As soon as my gran clapped eyes on me, she told me I was too thin, like I knew she would – my granddad told me I looked great, though, like I knew he would, the sweetheart.

My mum and Belle immediately turn their chairs to face the dance floor, excited for what’s about to come. It’s not that I lack confidence, but the thought of having everyone watching me as I ‘perform’ my first dance makes me cringe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a first dance that didn’t make me want to punch myself in the face until it stopped. As Mike and Rosie take to the floor, I allow myself to feel a little hope, that this time might be different, that this dance might impress me. But then a chimney sweep walks out onto the stage. He’s wearing a wireless mic, attached to his ear, which he adjusts into a favourable position just before the music starts.

‘Is that…?’ I start, but I don’t need to finish my question. It’s ‘Chim Chim Cher-ee’ from Mary Poppins.

‘Oh, what a beautiful waltz,’ my gran coos as she watches.

I look at Leo and pull a face. He looks just as confused as I am.

Mike and Rosie slow dance until the song is finished.

‘Step in time,’ the chimney sweep calls out. ‘Everyone, join the bride and groom on the dance floor.’

As people get up and make their way to the dance floor the chimney sweep bursts into a version of ‘Step in Time’ that he expects everyone to dance to. Many people oblige.

‘Oh, I so want to join in but Dan is dancing with his mum,’ Belle moans.

‘Shall I?’ Leo asks me quietly.

‘Go for it,’ I tell him with a laugh.

‘Come on, Belle, I’ll dance with you,’ he says, taking her by the hand and leading her onto the dance floor before linking arms with her, ready to step in time with everyone else.

I turn to face my granddad, who is sitting at the other side of me.

‘Whaaaat is happening?’ I ask him.

My granddad laughs.

‘It’s tradition to have a chimney sweep at your wedding – it’s for good luck,’ my granddad explains. ‘The groom shakes his hand and the bride gives him a kiss, and then they’ll be together for ever, supposedly.’

‘That’s pretty stupid,’ I say.

‘You’re not wrong, kid,’ my granddad replies.

I have so much love, adoration and respect for my granddad, Jack – he’s just so kind and funny. He knows exactly what the women in our family are like; in fact, he jokily refers to my mum, my gran and my Auntie June as the three witches. My granddad is absolutely hilarious, constantly cracking jokes, winding up my gran and playing little pranks on people. I like to think I’ve inherited my granddad’s warmth and his wicked sense of humour, which is why I haven’t turned out like the other women in the family.

My granddad is 84 years old, and until recently he never really seemed it. His arthritis is getting quite bad now, which is making it harder for him to move around and do things like he used to. He still enjoys pottering around in his shed, though, and I still love to go and sit out there with him and help out with his tomato plants or whatever he has on the go. I think he uses his shed as an escape from my gran, but even though she nags him and thinks he’s a bit silly sometimes, I can still tell that they love each other. I absolutely adore the story of how my gran and granddad met, but I’m not allowed to talk about it because my gran gets cross – I’ve always said I’ll put it in a book one day, though. My gran was in her early twenties, working as a cashier in a bank. She was this glamorous, kind-of-snooty type, but she was model-gorgeous, so of course she was engaged. My granddad was a painter, working in the bank for a few weeks while the place had a makeover. He instantly took a shine to my gran, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day because she thought he was just some scruffy, dirty painter, whose hands were always covered in too much paint, and who was far too cheeky for his own good. But even though she was never anything but cold to him, my granddad saw something he liked and persisted in asking my gran out, until one day she gave in and said yes, just to shut him up, and in little more than a fortnight she left her fiancé for him. They actually got married for a really unromantic reason four months after they met – a tax rebate – but I guess they were just meant to be, because here they are, still married more than 50 years later.

‘You having this at your wedding, kid?’ he asks. ‘Or are you going for something a bit more modern like Frozen?’

‘My granddad knows what Frozen is,’ I laugh.

‘Oh, little Angel makes me watch it with her 20 times a day, so I know all the words,’ he laughs.

Angel is my cousin Hannah’s little girl. I was actually there when everyone found out Hannah was pregnant because it was at Belle’s wedding, and when my auntie found a pregnancy test in the bin, she assumed it must have been mine – an assumption based on nothing but my hemline, I’d imagine. So you can just imagine my Auntie June’s face when it turned out to be her fifteen-year-old daughter who was up the duff. Hannah is 19 now, and she’s taken to being a mum really well, I think. Angel seems like a sweet kid, but, like I said, I don’t really spend too much time with my extended family, unless we’re at family events.

‘Speak of the literal devil,’ I say as the Edwards family arrive for the evening do.

My granddad chuckles.

‘Hello,’ June says, puffing air from her cheeks. ‘Sorry we’re late. Someone was acting up.’

She turns and shoots her son, Josh, a filthy look. My fourteen-year-old cousin has no fucks to give, though.

‘Have you been a naughty boy?’ my gran asks him, but Josh doesn’t hear her voice. I can see his wireless, in-ear headphones poking out of his ears from under his long-ish, messy hair, but no one else has realised he’s listening to music yet.

‘If you’re not Fifa, he’s not interested,’ my Uncle Steve jokes, taking the seat next to me. ‘Looking good, Mia.’

‘Thanks, Uncle Steve,’ I reply.

‘Do you have an eating disorder?’ my auntie enquires as she sits down.

‘Only when it comes to your cooking,’ I joke. June isn’t impressed.

‘I’m off to the bar,’ Josh says, wandering off, staring at his phone every step of the way.

My Auntie June doesn’t like me. I know, that sounds like something a whiney teenager would say, but she doesn’t. My Uncle Steve does like me, and so do my cousins, which I think makes my auntie dislike me all the more. She thinks I’m a bad influence, because her kids think I’m cool.

‘I actually don’t know what I’m going to do with him,’ June says as she wrestles her cardigan off.

‘What’s he done now?’ my mum asks.

‘So…’ my auntie starts, lowering her voice a little, but not so much that she can’t be heard over the music, which has been consistently awful since the first dance finished. ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’ by Rednex is currently playing. ‘He’s always got his phone in his hand, he’s never off it. So, the other night, he’s playing some shooty game online – oh, what’s it called, Stephen? Lots of swearing and violence. They were on a pier, by a big wheel…’

‘GTA Online,’ I tell her. ‘Man, that’s a sweet game. I play when I’m not working, or when I’m putting off working,’ I laugh.

‘Mia, you’re a woman in your thirties,’ my auntie reminds me.

‘Well, at least we know you’re not losing your memory,’ I tell her. She might not remember the name of the game, but she knows how old her niece is. I imagine that’s what she was trying to make clear by stating my age, and not implying that I’m too old/female for video games.

‘Anyway…’ she says, getting back to her story. ‘I took him some crumpets up to his room – he doesn’t even say thank you, he’s too busy calling someone a mother-effer through his earpiece – so I do what any responsible parent would do and take his phone downstairs to check.’

‘Does she do that with yours?’ I joke to my uncle, giving him a nudge with my elbow.

‘Only sometimes,’ he replies solemnly.

‘So, I find this picture of him and he’s only smoking a marijuana cigarette!’ she squeaks, the disgust catching in her throat.

‘Where on earth did he get that? He’s only 14,’ my mum says, horrified.

I know my auntie is dull and way too uptight with her kids, but that is actually terrible. I can’t believe my baby cousin is doing drugs. I really never would’ve thought he’d be the type. He might be your typical, video-game-playing, adult-ignoring, horrible teenager now, but he’s always been such a sweet kid. I can’t believe it.

‘Oh, it wasn’t real,’ my auntie explains. ‘It was toilet roll. I asked him why he took such a photo and he said it was “just a joke for Snapchat” – it had some kind of number code on it, maybe a hidden message.’

I swallow my cocktail the wrong way, spluttering as I laugh to myself.

‘Was it 420?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she says quickly. ‘What does that mean?’

‘420 blaze it,’ I laugh. ‘No? Its just a joke, he’s just trying to be funny.’

‘I don’t think it’s funny,’ my auntie says seriously. ‘I suppose you do?’

‘I mean, I get the joke,’ I tell her. ‘He’s just being a silly kid, don’t worry. You can’t get high rolling up an Andrex.’

My auntie shakes her head.

‘Look, I hate to say this,’ she starts, and I just know that, if she’s saying it, she’s happy to say it. ‘But I seem to remember a certain someone letting him watch a Quentin Tarantino movie when he was just ten years old…’

‘Oh my God, you’re never going to let that go, are you?’ I say. ‘So I let the kid watch Pulp Fiction – I don’t even think anyone smokes a joint in that film. It’s mostly cocaine they’re doing. If he starts snorting lines of talcum powder in the bathroom, then you can blame me.’

No one is amused by this, apart from my granddad who chuckles subtly.

‘I’m going to go and find Leo,’ I announce as I push my chair back, carefully readjusting my dress to make sure I don’t flash anyone. Well, that’s one of the things about strapless dresses – one false move and there’s nothing to hold them in place.

Tonight I’m wearing a black Alexander McQueen dress with mesh panels that I think is beautiful, but which my mum deemed inappropriate for a family wedding. I bought this dress back when I was living in LA, when I could afford dresses like this. So, sure, it’s like five years old, but it’s couture and it fits, so I’m happy. I feel a little bit like the old me – just enough to make me happy.

‘Mind if I borrow him?’ I ask Belle, who is still dancing with Leo.

‘Sure,’ she replies. ‘I could do with a drink anyway.’

‘You cutting in?’ Leo asks me.

‘Erm, more like cutting you out,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s find somewhere to sit, that isn’t near anyone I’m related to, and chill out?’

‘Sure,’ he replies.

The dance floor is in the centre of the room, under a large disco ball, pinging off different coloured lights in all directions. Making a ring around the dance floor are the tables we all sat at to eat; then, around the edges of the room, a few sofas are dotted. Leo and I find one away from everyone else and sit down. Leo sits back with one arm stretched out along the back edge of the sofa, so I cuddle into him, resting my head on his chest.

‘So, promise me we’re having a chimney sweep at our wedding,’ he says.

‘Oh God, wasn’t that weird? My granddad says it’s tradition, for luck.’

‘The funniest bit about it is that, during the song, when we were all pretending they were chimneys and dancing around them, he gave Rosie a kiss – but because he had all that black stuff smeared on his face, he left her looking like she had a black goatee. They mustn’t have had a dress rehearsal, because she was fuming when she realised.’

‘So, we’ll probably give that a miss on our big day,’ I laugh.

‘They make a cute couple, right? I mean, he’s a dick, but he makes her happy,’ Leo muses.

‘Yeah. Mr and Mrs Ryan – Rosie Ryan,’ I say, to see how it sounds out loud.

‘Sounds like a superhero… or a porn star… or both,’ he laughs.

‘It does,’ I giggle. ‘But it works.’

‘Does Mia De Luca work?’ he asks.

‘Erm, it just sounds like something an Italian would say,’ I laugh.

‘Well, it’s something this Italian is going to be saying for the rest of his life.’

Leo smiles, until he notices the look on my face.

‘What’s up?’ he asks.

‘Nothing,’ I lie.

‘Mia, I know when you’re lying, your voice gets much higher.’

I bite my lip as I wonder whether now is the time or the place to tell the truth.

‘Well, I’ve been thinking, and I’ll probably just keep my name.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s my name,’ I say.

‘Your real name or your fake name?’ Leo asks.

I grew up Mia Harrison, but when I moved to LA and reinvented myself, I legally changed my name to Mia Valentina, because I thought it sounded more the part. Now that I’m writing novels for a living, Mia Valentina makes a great pen name too. I just feel like it’s my name. It’s my identity and I’ve worked hard for the achievements and reputation that go along with it.

‘My “fake” name is my real name, you know that,’ I remind him.

‘Hmm,’ he says, taking his arm from around me.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘I just think it’s interesting… it seems to me like you haven’t thought about getting married at all – other then deciding you don’t want to take my name.’

‘Hey.’ I turn my body to face Leo, placing my hand lightly on his cheeks. ‘Leo, I love you so much, and I’m so hyped to marry you. And I know you think I’m not thinking about our wedding but… I’m going to a wedding fair next weekend.’

‘Really?’ he asks, looking visibly relieved.

‘Yeah, Belle came over last weekend and brought me a stack of wedding magazines, and told me about the fair, so I’m gonna go.’

‘That’s awesome,’ he replies. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Are you sure you want to? Aren’t you working?’

‘Nope,’ he replies. ‘And I’ve love to come. I’m just so relieved. For a second, I was worried you hadn’t been thinking about the wedding at all.’

I grab Leo and kiss him to reassure him that I love him. I do love him, so much. I’ve just been so busy and so distracted, but I will go to this wedding fair and I’ll make a start on planning the wedding, and it’s all going to be great. I just need to make more of an effort, to show him I’m serious.