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?
Dan
Dan is splayed on his stomach in the rumpled bed.
‘Dan,’ Geri rocks him gently. ‘Don’t forget it’s the walk.’
‘Shit.’ He sits upright. Then holds his head. ‘Shit.’
‘So the expensive stuff still gives you a hangover.’ Geri smiles. ‘My wee dram tasted lovely, though. I can’t wait until I can drink what I like, eat what I like, sleep all night.’
‘Thank God I drank water before bed.’ The image of Seb Taylor hits him, followed moments later with a thought: perhaps I misread it. He turns to Geri. ‘Is it raining?’
‘No, it’s lovely. At breakfast it was lovely.’ She pulls back the heavy curtains, revealing a glint of sunshine on the bare branches of the trees. ‘See?’
‘Sorry. Was breakfast nice?’
‘Smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. I sat with Ian and the girls. No one else was there at first. Oh, except Nick’s brother. Patrick, is he called? A little … strange? Then that older couple appeared. The man who has a genuine Teddy boy quiff? His godparents, I think.’
‘Yeah, Nick’s rich Uncle Derek.’ He takes Geri’s hand, pulls her down onto the bed and gently rests his head on her belly. ‘Sounds like you were given an early call. Naughty boy.’
‘Or girl.’
‘Or girl. Can’t wait either way.’
‘I might give the walk a miss, Dan. I could do with closing my eyes and trying for a nap. Do you mind?’
Dan shakes his head. Sees Seb Taylor’s naked body. ‘Maybe I should stay with you.’
‘You can’t miss the walk! Think of Nick and Lisa, trying to get back on track, wiping out the blip of yesterday.’
Those Renaissance blank eyes bring him back. ‘Bloody hell, what a blip. Incredible.’
‘True.’ Geri looks at her watch. ‘Come on, Dan. Shave, shit and shower. In whichever order is the fastest. The walk starts in twenty minutes.’
Standing from the bed, he tests his head with a twitch. ‘Any painkillers in your handbag? And can we escape as soon as I’m back from the walk? I don’t want to hang around and I’d rather phone Will from home. Is that OK?’
Geri cocks her head and gazes for a moment as though reading his mind. ‘Suits me,’ she replies with a shrug.
He’s surprised to find bruises on his thighs and his stomach, and despite fumbling with the shower, the soap and his walking boots, Dan arrives in the hot reception just in time.
Newly married Mrs Quinn is handing out photocopies of the route. Her fine hair is still in its wedding chignon. She keeps lifting her hand as though to check it’s still there. She looks tired and her smile seems too bright. Like a jaded holiday rep, he thinks. And Nick seems distracted. He’s chatting and smiling too, but it’s as though there’s the slightest delay, like his mind is elsewhere. But then again, who can blame them? What Dan himself described as the blip must still feel fresh for them both. He just keeps temporarily forgetting.
He touches Nick’s elbow. ‘Everything OK? How was the bridal suite?’
A slight delay before the pale eyes focus. ‘Yeah, great. The room’s fabulous. It’s a shame there isn’t enough time to really enjoy it. Come and have a look later. Geri not walking?’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘Oh right. So a walk could bring on—’
‘God no, she’s not that close to …’ Nick’s guileless face makes him smile. ‘No popping for several weeks yet, Nick. She’s just tired. Needs a nap.’
‘Oh right.’ Nick grins. ‘No hot water and towels, then?’
‘Only for me when you’ve dragged me to the top of that bloody Welsh hill.’
Inhaling deeply, Dan tightens his laces. He pictures Geri’s sleeping face as he left. He’s looking forward to becoming a dad, he honestly is, but the whole idea of a real baby is nebulous. Being an only child, he’s never even had a sibling. He has no idea what to expect. Mostly he’s fine, but sometimes the thought of the responsibility leaves him breathless.
The walkers head off towards a rocky stile. The breeze cooling his cheeks, Dan hovers near the rear and discreetly glances around the group of twenty or so adults. Seb Taylor isn’t there, thank God. Popping a mint from his pocket in his mouth, he registers the weak sunshine.
