Written on 2 March 2019
Tim
I kind of, sort of, a little bit hope she doesn't show up. I mean she's threatened it enough times, and I've calmed her down, assured her it will be fine, but honestly I sometimes think I'm just trying to save face. Would it be so bad if she didn't show up? I mean, I’d get all the sympathy, and I'm sure there was something in the wedding insurance about getting your money back in the result of a jilting.
I've been ready for a while now, removing and replacing my jacket as the summer heat and the air condition jostle for supremacy. The room is pretty hotel-like, not to say it's bad, it’s just a bit, you know, hotel-like. I'm not sure what I was imagining for my wedding day. I guess something more special. Mind you, I'll be in the honeymoon suite this evening, with its copper bathtub and four poster bed. Shit, I'm staying in that room even if she doesn't show up.
I stayed in this twin last night with Tom, my best man, who is currently treating himself to a little massage. Apparently he was nervous about the speech, the bastard. Here I am wondering whether my fiance is already on a plane to Turkey, and the twat is concerned about how his attempts to humiliate me are going to go down. Tim and Tom. Best pals. Abandoned less than an hour before my wedding.
There is a knock at the door, and I'm absolutely convinced it'll be Sadie or Ruth or her Dad here to tell me it's off. My heart jumps.
“Who is it?”
“It's Mum. I want to see my little boy in his lovely new suit.”
Brilliant. Just what I need. I open the door and she immediately starts blubbering at the site of me. She keeps telling me how proud of me she is, as if convincing someone to marry me was, at one point, an almost unthinkable prospect. I try to move my shoulder so her running mascara doesn't get on my suit, checking my watch as she hugs me.