all troop through the hotel into a large reception room. I’m rather relieved to be going indoors as it’s a cool April day and my arms and legs are bare. Alex and I have to pretend to cut the cake for the final photo, and then the photographer leaves.
I look around the room. There are only a few guests. Alex has more than me, but not that many more. His mum, grandfather, aunt, uncle and cousins are there as well as some of his friends from the triathlon club.
After the food and the speeches, a local band starts playing. Alex was able to book them at short notice because he goes running with the lead singer and one of the guitarists. They’re really good, and I’m impressed. As Alex leads me onto the wooden dancefloor, everyone watches from their seats at the tables. I look around at the sea of smiling faces. All the guests look relaxed, including Alex’s mother.
Alex holds me tight as we dance to ‘All of Me’ by John Legend. It was his suggestion. I don’t particularly like the song, but he was so pleased when he came up with the idea that I didn’t have the heart to say so. And even I have to admit that with the lead singer’s voice, it sounds wonderfully romantic.
Then it is my dad’s turn to dance with me, and my face feels like it will split from grinning at Alex as he twirls his mum around. My mother-in-law has drunk several glasses of Prosecco and it seems to have agreed with her. Daniel and Julie join us on the dancefloor and out of the corner of my eye, I see one of Alex’s cousins ask Hannah to dance.
After a while, the band plays more classic rock and roll songs and I’m enjoying myself in a little group with my sister and Hannah. As one of the musicians plays the opening chords to Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode on his electric guitar, Alex comes to fetch me.
‘Do you know how to rock’n’roll?’ he asks me.
‘No,’ I answer, a little nervously.
Alex shows me a few steps, but I have no sense of rhythm and I feel very self-conscious. I struggle to follow his lead. I bump into him at one point, and I hear him sigh. He gives up before the end of the song.
‘You’ve got two left feet,’ he comments, his face as impassive as his voice. ‘I’ll leave you to bop with the girls.’ He nods towards my sister and my best friend. I walk away, but I don’t feel like dancing anymore. Instead, I make my way to the toilets.
When Hannah and Julie find me, I am bawling like a baby, trying ineffectually to dab at my mascara with a piece of toilet roll. I can’t really see what I’m doing in the mirror – the dim light keeps changing from purple to green to blue.
‘What’s the matter, Kaitlyn?’ Julie asks at the same time as Hannah says, ‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’
I find myself crying loudly in my sister’s arms as Hannah rubs my back. Eventually, even though my breathing is still uneven from my crying fit, I manage to tell them what happened.
‘Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,’ Hannah says, adding, ‘although that’s not a very nice thing to say, the bit about you having two left feet.’
‘Well, it’s an accurate assessment,’ my sister says jokingly. ‘You would have been in the dance-off on the very first round on Strictly.’
This makes me smile. I used to go round to Julie’s to watch Strictly Come Dancing on Saturday evenings. Kevin always hated the show and went to the pub with Daniel, but Julie and I are fans.
Hannah opens her handbag and takes out a packet of tissues. She hands me a tissue and takes out another one, which she wets under the tap and uses to wipe away the smudged brown lines running down my cheeks. ‘I knew you’d cry on your special day,’ she says.
‘You probably just got overwhelmed by all the excitement,’ Julie says and I feel myself nodding. ‘You have a wonderful husband, and you’ll have a beautiful baby,’ she continues. ‘Don’t let a throwaway comment get you down.’
‘You’re right,’ I say. It had felt disparaging, that remark about my clumsiness, but now I feel childish and silly. I’ve overreacted. And, as my sister pointed out, I’m no Ginger Rogers or Darcey Bussell.
‘It was probably the Prosecco talking,’ Hannah agrees. ‘Strange place,’ she says, changing the subject completely, for which I’m grateful. She looks around her as if seeing the room for the first time. I follow her gaze. The washbasins are built into what appears to be the outside rock face.
‘It’s very unusual,’ I say.
‘Yeah, the toilets really know how to rock,’ Julie says.
That makes all three of us laugh.
As we head back to the others, I identify the tune of ‘Hound Dog’. I cringe, hoping I won’t be called on again to demonstrate how bad I am at dancing.
But as we enter the reception room, I spot Alex dancing with Mike’s girlfriend, whose name I don’t even know. They’re the only two people on the dancefloor, and clearly, she knows how to jive or gyrate, or whatever they’re doing, as well as he does. Everyone else has their eyes riveted on them.
I study her. She has quite long, layered blonde hair, which she’s flicking about all over the place like a model from a Head & Shoulders advert as Alex guides her through her steps. In my mind, I’d like to describe her as whippet-thin, but if I’m honest with myself, I envy her for her hourglass figure, which her short blue sheath of a dress shows off to perfection. Watching her with Alex, I feel a stab of jealousy.
I scan the room for Mike. He’s sitting at a table talking to some of the other triathletes and as I catch sight of him, he throws his head back and releases a hearty guffaw, which even lifts my mood a little. If he’s not jealous, then I don’t need to be.
As the band finishes their Elvis cover, Mike and his friends start clapping, and everyone else joins in. My new husband and his dancing partner take a little bow. Then Alex comes over to me and kisses me on the lips.
‘Where have you been?’ he asks. ‘I was getting worried.’
‘I was talking to Hannah and Julie in the loos.’
‘Yeah, they’re well worth a visit,’ Hannah adds.
Alex puts his arm around me. He squeezes my shoulder a little too hard, or maybe it just seems that way. It occurs to me that he may have drunk a bit too much. Perhaps he’s using me to hold himself up after spinning around on the dancefloor. But he’s hurting me and I pull away.
After that, Alex stays glued to my side. He’s caring towards me, and charming with everyone else. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else lying beneath his behaviour; that the animated expression on his face is a veneer, stretched thin and about to crack.
I can’t say exactly what gives me that impression. Maybe it’s as we sit down when I imagine I see a flash of fury in his eyes as they lock onto mine. But if there was any anger there, it’s gone in an instant and I wonder if I saw it at all.
At around midnight, Alex and I bundle the guests into taxis. As I give my dad a big hug, I notice Jet licking Alex’s hand. He snatches his hand away and wipes it on the trousers of his smart suit. Jet has a habit of licking people’s hands and he does it for all sorts of reasons – he seems to sense when you need to be comforted or pacified, and, of course, he licks Dad’s hand when he wants to remind him
