the vicar looked a little bit like Mark Owen. Am I about to be struck down by lightning? Maybe I should cross myself.
‘So, you didn’t bring anyone then?’ Sarah leans across to ask. She kind of purses her lips in a sympathetic way. I don’t reply, but seriously, it’s okay to go to a wedding alone. It’s like these people don’t even know me, despite the fact we’ve been friends since Bridget introduced us over seven years ago.
When I first met these women, I’d just moved to London. I couldn’t bear to stay in our village after losing Kev. I needed a clean slate. My old life had finished, and I needed something completely different. It was almost a year to the day I’d lost Kev when I bumped into Bridget in the foyer at work. And I mean literally bumped into her, knocking her espresso out of her hand so hard that it flew over her shoulder, luckily without spilling so much as a drop on her cream suit. She worked for a different company in the same building, and being new to London, I was hugely intimidated by her. She laughed off the faux pas and said I looked like I needed a stiff drink. We met up after work, I told her my story, and the rest is history.
Viv and Sarah are Bridget’s close friends, but soon became mine too. At first, they took pity on me, listened to my endless stories about Kev and offered sympathy whilst I revelled in my new friendship group. But before long, they started to talk about me ‘putting myself back out there’. I’ve been defending my singlehood ever since.
I give her a tight smile and nod. It’s the same old story. Sympathetic glances when people learn you’re single in your mid (okay, late) thirties, and the comments are always along the lines of ‘you’ll meet someone soon.’ In some ways, I feel sorry for them, thinking you need a man to make your life better. A man can’t make your life better. Only a soulmate can even come close to doing that, and I’d already found mine.
The organ starts to play. The dull sound of pressurised air being forced through the pipes reminds me of death. Why they play this instrument at weddings is beyond me. Everyone turns to catch the first glimpse of the bride. Bridget looks stunning in a simple silk gown with capped lace sleeves and a diamanté-encrusted waistband. Her blonde hair is in a neat chignon with some loose curls framing her face. She smiles at us as she walks past, her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes radiating happiness. I remember that feeling too, and I cherish it.
***
Thank god. I swipe a welcome Pimm’s on arrival at the hotel reception, and it goes down rather too easily. Churches are tinged with the memory of Kev’s funeral. Whilst the funeral itself is a blur, I’ve never felt comfortable in one since.
‘Slow down, Sam, it’s only noon,’ Sarah says, taking mouse-like sips from her own.
‘You do you, okay?’ I say, before realising I sound harsh. ‘Sorry. I love weddings and I love seeing my friends happy, but they do bring back memories.’
Sarah strokes my arm. ‘We get it, hon, but if you get sloshed and make a prized tit out of yourself, you’ll regret it.’
‘That happened one time,’ I say with an eye-roll.
‘Yes, and I forgave you because everything was still raw and because I wasn’t letting anything spoil my big day. You need to be here for Bridget today.’ Her eyes bore into me, but their intensity is broken by the waiter offering more Pimm’s. I decline and look pointedly at Sarah, who wears a smug expression.
Across the foyer of the hotel, Bridget and her new husband Alex are posing for photographs. The photographer is shepherding miniature humans into a line. It’s like a comedy sketch: just as he manages to get one end of the line straight, he loses a child from the other end. His face is starting to redden.
‘We should find our table,’ Viv says, moving us on.
The tables are not numbered or named like usual. Instead, we have to find ours by working out the punchline of a joke. ‘Well, Mrs Killjoy, you’ll never find your table,’ I whisper to Sarah, who gives me a tight smile and shakes her head. The joke for our table reads: ‘What happens when Iron Man takes off his suit?’ Viv and Sarah exchange confused glances.
‘Oh, come on,’ I say. ‘Seriously?’
They both shake their heads. I look to John and Mark, their husbands, who are wearing equally blank expressions.
‘He’s Stark naked! Tony Stark?’ I say, chuckling in response to a few groans. I remember Bridget running that one past me and I thought it was hilarious.
We find our table, and sure enough, the centre plaque reads ‘He’s Stark naked’. As we sit down we watch several bewildered guests wandering around in confusion.
‘Are you struggling?’ I say to an elderly gentleman hovering by our table.
‘Just a little.’
‘What’s your clue?’
‘RIP water.’ Puzzlement is etched into his brow. ‘It doesn’t even sound like a joke.’
I stifle a smirk. ‘You will be mist,’ I say, gesturing to the table to my right. I turn to the others. ‘I think this is more fun than the actual wedding.’
‘I’m just glad Bridget and Alex found one another, because they’re the only two people who get these jokes.’ Sarah takes the wine from the centre of the table and fills us up.
‘So, I’m allowed to drink now?’ I say sarcastically.
Sarah rolls her eyes. ‘I was just looking out for you.’
I’m about to retort when Viv’s husband, John, interrupts me.
‘So, Sam, no handsome prince on the horizon yet?’
‘Nope.’ I take a long sip of wine in place of a groan.
He tilts his head to the side. ‘You’ll meet someone soon.’ And there it is. I notice Viv giving him ‘a look’, which I’m grateful for. Maybe Bridget has had a word.
A loud gong interrupts the slightly awkward silence which ensues. ‘All rise, for the bride and groom.’
There’s a loud cheer and a round of applause as Bridget and Alex enter and take their seats at the top table. The happiness radiates from the pair of them and whilst I’m finding this whole day a little difficult, the smiles they wear are infectious. Not all romances are doomed and the love they have for one another is real, it only takes a quick glance in their direction to see that. They look beautiful together and the solid block of ice in my chest starts to thaw with the warmth that breaks through from just looking at them. I genuinely wish them a long lifetime of happiness.
Pick up, pick up, pick up. I can’t contain my excitement and Bridget, who always answers her phone on the first ring, is taking an age to answer today.
‘Sam, hi.’ She sounds breathless when she does pick up.
‘Sorry, I haven’t interrupted anything, have I?’ It’s early evening and her honeymoon was weeks ago so I hope not, but they are still technically newlyweds (eurgh).
‘No,
