‘I really don’t know anyone,’ I tell him as we’re pulling into the sodden car park. ‘I hope you don’t get bored.’
‘It’s fine. I love singing hymns. They better have “Jerusalem”. I used to go to church all the time as a kid. That was always my favourite.’
I glance at him as we pay the cab and dash to the door. I didn’t know he grew up going to church. A further part of him is coloured in.
An usher hides under the heavy eaves of the church door, shivering slightly with a stack of papers. ‘Hi, welcome,’ he says, stepping out to greet us. ‘Here’s the order of service.’
‘Thank you.’ I take the tasteful, thick programme emblazoned with Chrissy and Mark’s names in calligraphy. ‘I still can’t believe this weather,’ I say to him.
‘I know.’ He peers out at the heavy sheet of rain from under the brim of his hat. ‘But we’ve organised a coach from the church car park to the reception, so we should all stay dry. And there’s a really lovely conservatory at the venue, too, so we’ll be nice and cosy.’
Joshua and I nod our thank yous and enter the flower-adorned church. Adults wearing fascinators and their best suits congregate at the back, shaking umbrellas, twisting to inspect how wet they are, women getting out compact mirrors to see what ghastly impact the moisture has had on their styled hair. Even with all the flowers strewn everywhere, you can’t quite shake off the smell of wet dog.
‘I didn’t know you were religious.’ I find a space near the back to shake out my own umbrella.
Joshua takes it from me to give it a more vigorous going over. ‘Only Easter and Christmas now,’ he says. ‘It keeps Mum happy. She’s half-Irish, a Catholic.’
‘You’re a Catholic!’ More parts of him are coloured in.
‘Yes, sort of. Not a very serious one though. As I said, Easter and Christmas. I don’t go to confession or anything.’
‘And you’ve definitely had sex before marriage.’
He drops his mouth. ‘I can’t believe you just said the word “sex” in church! I’m telling God.’
‘He already knows, mate. Omnipotent and all that.’ We both giggle.
‘Shall we find a pew near the back?’ I turn to move, but Joshua pulls me into a tight hug. He smells so good – aftershave mingling with dampness. I let myself close my eyes and enjoy the moment.
‘What was that for?’
‘Just because.’
Maybe I can tell him another day …
I mean, nobody really knows me here, and the hens were probably too drunk to remember my name. I certainly don’t remember most of theirs. And Chrissy will be too busy having the happiest day of her life to blow my cover. Maybe we can just have a nice day, a nice memory, a proper farewell to this weird situation I’ve created. Maybe, maybe …
We hold hands in our pew, waiting for everyone to dry off and settle down, ready for Chrissy’s big moment. I recognise a few of the hens and we nod to one another, but thankfully they don’t come over to say hi. People don’t tend to be friendly at weddings until after the ceremony. Mark’s at the front, chatting animatedly to all the people who approach him to pat him on the back and say good luck. He’s relaxed, smiling.
‘Do you know the groom?’ Joshua asks, his hand hot in mine.
‘Not really.’
‘Do you like him?’
I laugh.
‘That’s a no.’
‘No, he’s fine. Mark’s fine. I don’t really know him. He’s better than her ex.’
How many men win the love of women, simply by being better than her ex?
‘He looks happy.’
‘Well, he damn well should be. It’s his wedding day.’
‘Yes, I know. Sorry.’ Joshua drops my hand, sulky at my snap.
‘No, I’m sorry.’ I am all over the place. I am not the in-control Gretel I used to be. My nerves are vibrating, thoughts flurrying around my skull, all of them contradicting the other. I pick up Josh’s hand. ‘I just hope he makes her happy. I’m very protective of Chrissy, she’s a good friend.’
He kisses my cheek, happy to make up. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’
The church fills up. You can almost picture steam rising from the congregation as we collectively dry off. Chrissy’s mother is wheeled to the front by her brother – neither of whom I’ve ever met, just know from social media pictures. She’s got a lovely green hat on. She sits tall and proudly, daring people to stare at the chair.
‘Is that her mum?’
I nod.
‘Why is she in a wheelchair?’ Joshua asks discreetly.
‘MS.’
‘Oh, that’s sad.’
‘Chrissy’s just glad she’s well enough to come today.’
Joshua kisses my bare shoulder. We open the order of service and spot ‘Jerusalem’, and he looks so genuinely happy at the prospect of singing it that I’m overcome with affection and kiss him all over his face. Raining them down like the cascade of water falling outside, while he blushes and grins.
Maybe you could trust him? Maybe you could trust it? I mean, he’ll never be able to trust you but … never mind, let it go. Let him go.
The organ stops. We all know what this means. Everyone quietens. Expectation swells in the gaps between us. A signal’s given. The organ starts up again. We all stand, twisting towards the aisle, ready for Chrissy to make her grand entrance. My eyes fill when I see her walk past. She really does look lovely in her ivory gown, though maybe a little overdone and not truly like her – essentially how every bride looks these days with professional hair and make-up. Mark looks glad enough to see her too as she arrives at his side. They share a smirk, all, like, ‘well this is weird’ and my heart’s next beat is painful, and stays painful for half a minute or so. The vicar jollies up. ‘We are gathered here today …’
We stay standing to sing ‘Jerusalem’. Joshua surprises me by singing loudly, without embarrassment, face to the front, chest open. I grin to myself and colour in another piece of the Joshua jigsaw. More affection gurgles up and I can’t concentrate for the rest of the song. I keep looking over and feeling warm yet inappropriate feelings.
We’re told to sit. We do. The sermon starts. Vows exchanged. Tears spring up. I forgot how awkward it is to sit next to a boyfriend at a wedding. How it makes you confront the question of whether or not you two will one day be the couple at the front everyone else is watching.
Chrissy looks at Mark from beneath her veil and promises to love, honour, but not obey because she’s a smart, educated, feminist, lawyer type. I can’t help but revisit the anxiety spiral of wondering if this moment will ever happen to me. If I’ll ever stand in front of a room full of people I love, and promise to love someone else the most? I remember a quote from a movie I saw years ago, about how weddings are supposed to be about the couple, but they actually make you spend the whole day thinking about yourself. I glance over at Joshua. His head’s down, his hair falling over his forehead. Is he imagining our wedding? Is he picturing me at the end of the aisle and realising how happy that thought makes him?
I follow his gaze to his hands, where he’s checking the football scores under the pew on his phone. So, that’s a no.