traffic is thick; it’s still raining heavily. Nick goes to touch the small scar on his scalp, but stops just in time before messing his hair. He’s surprised the caught ribbon hasn’t perturbed Patrick, a lot less often does; a speck of mud on his tyres, let alone on the mats. Thank God it hasn’t; they’re already running late after a shrill spat between his parents, then turning back for his dad’s reading glasses.
Finally arriving in the drenched car park, Nick spots Dan and Will’s cars parked together like kippers. Feeling a warm spread of comfort, he jumps from the car, flicks open an umbrella and opens his mum’s door. She slips out, neat and trim in her hat and tailored suit, and smiles reassuringly. Patrick does the same for their scowling father, but at a much slower pace. Harry’s hip replacement was a complete success according to the consultant, but he still struggles. ‘He’s got a new hip. He needs to use it,’ his mum says. But only in private.
The rain splattering his polished shoes, Nick walks briskly up the path towards the stone and cream church.
‘Are you nervous, love?’ his mum asks, tightly holding his arm. ‘Big day. Your big day. Exciting but nerve-wracking at the same time.’ At the door she pats the rain from his shoulders and kisses his cheek. ‘You look very handsome. You make me so proud.’
Similar to the words she used on his first day at school, he tries to answer with a mildly sardonic quip, but finds that he can’t. It’s as though the soft, steady smell of her perfume is stuck in his throat. Instead he focuses on the door, pushing it hard and almost colliding with the priest.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Nearly knocked you over, Father.’
Father Garry turns. ‘Just wiping my feet.’ He shakes Nick’s hand and Patrick’s, then his mother and father’s. ‘Welcome … Welcome all,’ he says, his eyes pale and rheumy.
Glancing at his mum, he’s not sure what to say. Father Garry has clearly forgotten their names, though the tense wedding run-through was only last night.
‘Nicholas the groom; Harry, Patrick and Dora Quinn,’ she says clearly. Then another guest arrives, bringing a fresh burst of rain. ‘You go ahead, love,’ she says to him. ‘Your best men will be waiting.’
Dan and Will are standing at the front, chatting to Seb. Striding towards them, Nick feels the rush of release as they grin. Dan, black-haired and handsome in his cravat and his tails, makes a show of looking at his watch. Will puts his top hat on his broad chest, miming a dance.
When he reaches the transept, Dan cocks his head, his eyes dark and watchful. ‘Everything OK, Nick? Feeling ready?’
‘Yeah, apart from the monsoon, a divorce over Dad’s glasses and the priest having dementia, everything’s fine. Bloody hell, this is scary—’
‘Piece of piss,’ Will says, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. ‘Saying the vows is the easy bit. Wait until you’re twelve months into the life sentence.’ He looks at Nick’s expression and laughs. ‘Only kidding, mate; everything will be fine and Lisa’s a smasher.’
Watching the priest light the candles, Nick tries to loosen the breath which feels jammed in his lungs. Coming back to the conversation, he turns to Seb Taylor. He’s studying Dan with a mild frown. After a few moments he speaks. ‘So, not just one best man, but two,’ he says, nodding to his older brother.
‘What I lack in hair, Dan makes up for in eyebrows,’ Will replies with a grin.
‘Had them blow-dried especially,’ Dan quips. ‘Thing is, Seb, everyone knows that I’m the best man. Batman’s Robin—’
Will pulls a droll face. ‘More like The Joker—’
Nick interrupts, the trapped air bursting out as he laughs. ‘I couldn’t choose. But with the grief that I’m getting from these two, I should’ve spread the net wider. In fact, seeing as you’re here, Seb—’
‘Hurtful,’ Dan says with a mock-sad face. ‘Don’t you think so, Will?’
‘Yeah, Dan.’ He puts his fist on his chest. ‘Gets me just here. Maybe we should leave.’
Listening to their wisecracks, Nick’s heart finally slows. His mum’s perfume has gone, replaced by a dank smell of old paper and wet clothes. He tunes into the low hum of conversation and turns to his guests. His parents and Patrick have settled in their places on the front right pew, Uncle Derek and Auntie Iris immediately behind them. Not actual family, but almost. His dad and Derek have been friends since school. Like him, Dan and Will, the ‘A Team’ as his mum always called them. Not forgetting Jen; honorary sister-cum-protector pal, all-round good egg.
Suddenly remembering it’s his day, he lifts his hand towards friends, mates from school and university and work, who wave back, giving thumbs-up and grins. Lisa’s Swansea contingent, he supposes, are the dozen or so chatty faces on the left, and there’s a choir of five grey parishioners in pews to one side. A row of differently coloured umbrellas are drying at the back of the church, making small pools of water on the floor. They slightly lift each time the door opens, as though they’re breathing.
Surprised Jen hasn’t arrived yet, his attention returns to his best men. They’ve moved onto nurses’ uniforms and big breasts, the usual when they rib him about Lisa. ‘He was looking for nympho nurse porn but accidentally found a wife,’ Will is saying to his brother. Nick smiles, thankful for his friends, their steadiness and their laughter. At a sudden rush of sound, he turns again, but it’s another two pearly parishioners noisily removing their wet coats. The umbrellas relax, like a false start, before lifting their ribs again, but it isn’t his bride or her taciturn chunky brothers.
Catching his mum’s soft smile, he nods and looks away. The imperative is there, clenched in his jaw. As much as he loves her, he has to break free, has to do it today. Glancing again at the entrance, a thought suddenly hits him. Suppose Lisa doesn’t come? Bloody hell. Suppose she changes her mind? What then?
Jen
‘The sea, Daddy! The sea.’
Though the grey ocean merges with the dirty sky, Anna has spotted it from the back seat of the Kenning family car.
Ian glances at the clock, then takes a left turn towards the seafront. ‘Let’s take a quick look,’ he replies.
‘Oh God, we’re going to be late,’ Maria groans loudly.
Jen counts to five, then tries for her even voice. ‘No we’re not; and don’t say God, Maria, you’re only thirteen, not thirty.’
‘We’re always late and it’s so embarrassing. If it was me—’
‘Enough, Maria,’ Ian interrupts from the driver’s seat. ‘It’s Nick and Lisa’s wedding day. Mum’s school friends will be there, so let’s try to be happy and have fun. OK, love? We’re nearly there now. Just enough time to see the waves. See how they crash against the promenade.’
Jen glances at her husband. ‘Think someone came to Aberystwyth as a boy,’ she comments dryly. Maria is right; they will be late, but there’s no use arguing. Though mostly
