GRETCHIN
I want to be desperately honest from the start. I didn't even want to come to this wedding. I've met the couple, what, three times? The girl, Katy, seemed sweet, but God only knows why she's with Tim, a man so bereft of personality he makes my partner seem like Freddy flipping Mercury in comparison.
We've only been together 17 months. Honestly, I don't know why I'm with him either. He often feels like a panic buy, like my mother's crusade to have grandchildren finally ground me down and I latched myself on to the first bloke with half-decent looks and a steady job. Admittedly, our kids would be pretty gorgeous, but if they're anything like him they'd also be bores. They'd dress as Harry Potter on world book day.
We drove up with Alice and Arthur. Arthur had his license suspended for running one too many red lights, so I sat up front with Alice listening to her drone on about Love Island, whilst Arthur and my beau sat in the back “pregaming” all the way to Devon. We had to stop three times for them to take a piss and to top up their supplies, leaving us minimum time to actually get ready.
We’re staying in a ‘quaint’ B&B with plenty of ‘character' meaning it hasn't been refurbed since the 70’s, and nothing works. The receptionist so obviously despises us she doesn't even bother to hide it, casting Arthur and my partner stern glances whilst they struggled to stand and Alice waffled on about how ‘gorgeous’ the place was, in that grinding home counties accent.
Our taxi is in a couple of minutes and things have taken a turn for the worse for my fella. He's lying face down on the bed butt naked snoring like an absolute champ. Honestly I want to be just about anywhere else. I think about retiring to the bar, buying the grouch behind the counter a couple of sherries and watching her rant.
But even if he's a fucking idiot I don't want him to miss his friends wedding, so I slap his bear ass as hard as I possibly can, and point his drunk, angry carcass to the shower.
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.
KEITH
This whole thing is a farce. £23 grand, plus whatever the flipping bar tab is. My future son-in-law insisted on paying half. No, I said, I'm the father of the bride. That's the tradition. He paid for the flipping food and it still cost me £23 grand. All that money, yet here I am sat on the flipping floor in some grubby flipping hotel whilst my daughter cries away a grand’s worth of make-up.
It came from nowhere. One minute we'd popped round to see how she's doing, maybe have a glass of the Prosecco I paid for. She was fine, happy, laughing, I'd even call her giddy. Then she suddenly popped a leak, out of nowhere. Now Janet is trying to calm her down, and I'm staining my trousers because it's a ‘girl chat’. I can't even go back to my room, the wife's got the flipping key card. Oh good, now apparently I'm not allowed to swear even in my flipping head.
Knew something wasn't right. Flipping knew it. They've been weird since Christmas. The courteous thing to do would be to cancel with plenty of time to spare so I could claw back some of my flipping cash, but no. Flipping millennials.
“She's going to be okay. Just a few jitters.”
My wife emerges from the room. With the dignity of someone who's just left the bedside of someone terminally flipping ill. I drag myself off the floor and follow her back to our room. What a fucking brilliant fucking fuck up of a flipping day this is going to be. Fuck.
KELLY
Oh my god, I really hope my wedding day isn't so. . . Complicated.
Katy's mum has sent me to get more Prosecco, even though the fridge is absolutely stacked. In my dressing gown no less! Poor Katy, I think the nerves have got the better of her, but I'd really rather not be going to the bar when my hair isn't done and my dress is under strict lock and key.
People are looking at me funny. I hope there are some friendly faces at the bar. Might be a little too early for guests, but you never know. This is a bit out of order of Katy's mum, to be fair. I am her oldest friend. Sure, I've only met Tim a handful of times, but I'm positive that they're absolutely made for each other. I should be there to tell her so.
The bar is empty but for the barman and a dapper looking older gentleman, dressed eccentrically, with a pint in his hand. He smiles at me, checking out my gown. I smile back.
“Bridesmaid?”
“Yeah, I've been sent on the prosecco run.”
He laughs, running his spare hand through his thick, salt and pepper hair. He is rather gorgeous. I order the bottle and he asks me if Katy is ready. I would never betray my best friend, so I nod yes.
“Any nerves?”
“The usual amount.”
He laughs again. For some reason it doesn't occur to me to ask who he is. The barman plonks the bottle in a bucket, and I scoop it up, smiling again at the gentleman.
“See you out there.” He winks at me. Gross.
I smile in spite of myself, and head back towards Katy's room. Poor girl. I'm going to make sure I'm ready for my wedding. One hundred per cent.
GRETCHIN
I've got him as far as the shower, but he's decided to take a little nap in the tub. Nothing for it, I switch on the shower. Amazingly, he doesn't wake up. I tilt his head down so his mouth doesn't fill up. I mean, he deserves to drown, but I could do without a manslaughter charge. Not a great look for paralegals.
There's a knock at the door. I shake my head at my idiot boyfriend, and open it up. Arthur and Alice are ready to go.
“You guys good?”
“He's not. Passed out in the shower.”
“Ha. What a fucking lightweight.”
Alice starts fretting about being late. She's convinced Katy doesn't like her already, and that we have to be on time. I tell her he can't go in the state he's in unless we want to make a rather inappropriate impression on the wedding party.
So I. . . We. . . make the executive decision to leave him to his inebriation. I switch the shower off and Arthur and I carry him to bed, Arthur giggling at his limp penis, lolling absurdly to one side. We leave him a note, some taxi numbers, some cash and also drop him a text on his phone.
And as I leave him there, spread eagle and snoring, I wonder whether he's going to be more angry with me or himself?
If it’s me, then I'll cut his saggy balls off.
MITCH
Cleanse me you beautiful West Country water. Drive away any impure thoughts. You are a happily married man. Well, a married man, and I'm darned if I'm going to end up like my Dad.
The hair dryer is going. Do I have time to crack one off? I feel like if I crack one off then my physical and emotional energy will be placated and I won't say or do anything stupid. The door is unlocked, though, and it's just like Emily to walk in unbidden. She'd give me shit for the rest of the day. ‘I caught Mitch pulling himself off in the shower earlier. Apparently, he is revolted by my pregnant body’. She'd say that to fricking everyone.
All I can think about is Katy in her dress. The one that got away. My lost love. The girl I have cracked off thinking about more than anyone in the world, bar that picture of the tennis girl my brother had on his wall. I imagine ripping off her wedding dress and. . .
“How much longer are you going to be?”
“Almost done.”
I'm not, but fuck if she's going to allow me this one pleasure on my long lost love’s wedding day.
I could tell her how I feel? Katy, not Emily.
Dangerous move.
Text her now.
Don't be an idiot.
I decide to think about sport instead. When my imagination is getting a bit carried away I always think of a field goal in American football. Play clock runs down. Centre back to QB2. Place. Kick. Net. Arms go up. I'm soft again.
Don't do anything stupid today Mitch.
TIM
Okay, still no best man, still no usher, Dad is on his fifth pint at the bar and Mum is having a self-congratulatory breakdown about what an amazing job she did bringing me up. So far so absolutely fucking disastrous. Guests should be starting to arrive, and I need to meet the celebrant. These are the times I miss Katy the most.
Still, no point in me sitting here and hoping it all sorts itself out. Plus, if I just sit here I'll start wondering whether I actually want her to show up. I really can't think about that anymore.
Mum has barricaded herself in my bathroom to “fix her makeup” (I can still hear her sobbing) so I shout to her to let herself out when she's ready, and to maybe avoid Dad at the bar, and I head to the foyer to meet the celebrant and maybe bribe the receptionist to do some ushering.
The celebrant is wearing a crushed velvet suit. He's wearing a fucking crushed velvet suit. He told us, he was explicit, that he'd wear something formal. This suit wouldn't even be formal at a playboy mansion coke party in the 70’s.
“Ah, young Tim. Ready to go?”
“I guess. Is that what you're wearing?”
“It is. Can you believe this is the suit I wore to my own wedding?”
“Yes.”
We talk through the order of service, he checks the correct pronunciations of the reader's names, and I ask him politely to wait while I find my usher and best man.
“If you've lost them already, then you're going to really struggle with young Katy.”
I mean, he said it as a joke, and I fake laugh, but I also want to push him down some stairs.
KATY
Maybe it'll be alright
Maybe not
I need a drink.
MILDRED
I've been to some stinkers, but I reckon this might take the rosette. The best man turned up after I arrived, wearing jeans! There was no usher, some poor lamb from reception showed me to my seat. Plus, the groom looks like a chuffing blueberry, the priest, celebrant, whatever, wore a suit my boy used to wear to discos 40 years ago. Everyone looks miserable. I suspect our Katy isn't too happy about all this.
Still, I'm the matriarch, I've earned the right to have a moan. I've also earned the right to a drink. I thought these godless affairs were supposed to feature a tipple from beginning to the end? I wish she was getting married in a church. What a drab little room this is. How is she supposed to glow when there are no windows?
The worst one was definitely cousin Pru. Her third husband wanted to watch some damn football match, but the reception at the reception (ha) wasn't good. So the daft tosspot decided to climb the roof and have a fiddle with the aerial. Still, I'm sure she got a good deal on the church for the funeral. A special two for one offer for idiots who break their necks on their wedding day.
What is this drivel? It sounds like an orchestral version of Let it Be. Oh cripes, that's exactly what this is. What's wrong with the original? I'll never understand millennials.
That must be Tim's father. Dapper chap. He absolutely reeks of whiskey, which must mean he has some. Yes, I can see the bulge of the flask in his jacket pocket.
“Mind if I have a wee tipple?”
“Not at all young lady.”
What an outrageous flirt.
PETE??
Umma wur um ee??? Ez des my beeed??? Pour ickle blend ist looks oll sad. Werz Gretchin??? She gotta no y da boi ist oot. Flapping abowt oll shrivey. Shivery. Clotes?? Why ar moi clotes?? Gretchin tookem!!!
Soot?? Why soot?? Hehe looks lyk person. Flat person. Iz deez ma clotes? Y suit tho?? Wotz today? Y m I in zis room?? Today today today. Pens iz still out. Lol. Floppy floppy.
Wayt. Wayt. Usher. Ma nam iz Usher. Ya remond me ov a gal. My gal. Gretchin. Usher nd Gretchin. Wayt. Usher. Y usher? Gusher hehehehe. Cmon floppy get into it. Wayt. Usher. K so hotle? This iz hotle? And soot iz ladeled nect to me? Usher. We'd. Wed. Weed. Weeding. Tim. Usher. SHEEEEEET.
Soot goes on. Bye bye floppy. See yooz later, floppy. K, so, drive? Could do? Need keeeees. Keeeez at recepton. Oooh Land Rover. Usher wants Land Rover.
Where to go. Git ur sheeeet togeter Usher. Wots real name? Gretchin? No, Gretchin girl. Shez so lovely. K. Pete? Letz go wit Pete. To a hotel for wed. Take me ta Tim, trustee st3eeed.
TIM
Please show up, please show up, please show up. I don't want to be alone. Does Dad have his hand on Aunt Mildred's knee? Stop getting distracted. Please show up. Urgh. Snow Patrol. I hate this song. But she loves it, and I love her and that's all that matters. Don't listen to what I said earlier, I'm desperate to marry her. Fuck knows I'm not going to do any better.
No, don't think like that. I'm not settling. I love her, I love her, I looooove her! Wasn't she supposed to have come in by now? This is Pete's fault, he was supposed to work the music. Where is the twat? Gretchin is there. Mind you, she looks pretty pissed. And attractive. God that dude is punching above his weight. FOCUS! YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET FLIPPING MARRIED FOR GOD'S SAKE.
The doors are open. Here come the bridesmaids. It's going to be alright, it's going to be alright. Okay, Kelly definitely checked out my Dad then. FOCUS!
And here she is. She looks amazing. Amazing. Why can't I think of a word other than amazing? She's smiling, sort of. It's going to be okay. It'll be fine. Here comes my wife. . .
. . . Wife
. . . Wife
. . . Wife
KEITH
She looks absolutely breathtaking. Wow. I look like an enraged potato. Her mother isn't bad, except for the dumbo ears and the bulldog overbite, but flipping heck our daughter did alright for herself. Wow.
To be honest, I was dreading this part. How do you look dignified next to a beautiful young woman in white when your suit barely fits the extra stone you've put on in the last 3 weeks and it's 34 degrees outside. The shirt is already basically a swimming pool. Flipping disgusting, this getting old mallarcy. I have to go to the chemist for my deodorant now. shameful.
But I must admit, I'm so proud of her. So so proud. She's always been headstrong, to a blooming fault when it came to partying, but she's never been much hassle, really. She's just been our Katy. She is a beautiful woman. So wonderful. Am I flipping crying? That's curious.
There's her groom. Tim. Nice but dim. Is his best man wearing jeans? And what the fuuu. . Flip is the celebrant wearing? What, is he going to pimp my daughter out?
There is an unbelievably strong part of me that wants to grab her and run away from this shambolic altar. It might just be father's pride or whatever the flip, but she's too good for this. Too good for this dingy little room, too good for the plain-as-paper fella sheepishly grinning at her. Too good for all of these gawping morons I'm paying for to be here. She's too good for me, and my wife, and England and this universe really.
But she's smiling. Smiling at Tim. It's time. This is what she wants. Kiss her on the cheek and let her go.
KATY
Oh, I do, do I? Why am I already thinking about annulments? I do, apparently, so let's spend the rest of our lives together. Seal it with a kiss. Suck his tongue down. Make great aunt Mildred blush. Maybe I should pull him off right now. Nothing says happily married like the groom busting at the altar. Smile. Smile. Smile.
MITCH
Do I say something? I mean, it's not a lawful reason for why the two of them shouldn't be wed, per se, but how about destiny being a good reason? How about fate? Can you at least pose a question? Shouldn't she be with me? I could channel my inner Hugh Grant. I strongly believe we've all got a little Hugh Grant in us. Why not use that? My word she looks beautiful. He looks like a mess. I mean, a blue suit? Have you never heard of tails? She shouldn't be with him.
Emily is watching me intently. She can't know, can she? Women always seem to know everything when it comes to matters of the heart. Best way to throw her off the scent is to cry. Then it just looks like I'm happy for her. Though, isn't it too late? If I let them sign that register that's it, right? Or is it? Annulment? The day is young? Cry. Cry for your friend. You're just so happy for her.
Wait. Wait. They're kissing. It's over. People are whooping like a bunch of flipping monkeys. Oh, this is a little too much. Clap. Clap you moron. Here come the tears. There go the hands. Here she comes, the one that got away, with her new husband.
Emily looks pissed.
KELLY
I think I nailed the walk. The smile. I really hope I captured the importance of the situation.
The wobble is over, and Katy is where she needs to be. By Tim’s side having confetti thrown over her. What a perfect ceremony. I mean, I wouldn't have had a man wearing crushed velvet officiating, and I definitely would have had the bridesmaids stood up with me. Girls together.
What do I do now? We had such a tumultuous morning she didn't tell me what I needed to do. Tom is beckoning me. Why the heck is he wearing jeans? And where is Pete? Poor Tim, he's chosen his groomsmen so poorly.
Photos! Of course photos. And the dapper man is coming with us. Oh my, he's got his arm round Tim! It's Tim's dad! No offence to Tim, but how is his Dad so attractive?
All the classic combos. Bride's family. Groom's family. Both families. Bridesmaids. Groomsman (singular) bridesmaids and groomsmen. The whole wedding party.
I don't know how I end up next to Tim’s Dad, but I know he smells like old spice and whiskey, which sort of works, and I know that throughout the final few photos he's rubbing my lower back. I also know that, in spite of the creepiness of the situation, I quite like it.
MILDRED
The handsome rogue, who turns out to be Tim’s father, also turns out to have rather wandering hands. He spends the entirety of the photography rigmarole with his hand on my ample derriere. Interesting. Interesting.
GRETCHIN
Pete's phone is going straight to voicemail. I can't figure out if that's ominous or not. Idiot probably got sick of me calling. These sausages are depressing as shit. All shrivelled and lukewarm. Everybody knows that cocktails sausages should either be very warm or very cold, not this weird sweaty mess. Here comes Tim. That's a grimace and a half. I could nip to the toilet. It's probably a bit late.
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks very much.”
“Seriously, what a beautiful ceremony. You both look amazing. Wow.”
“Thanks. Where's Pete?”
Arthur snorts. A man so proud of his ability to drink he has to boast about it no matter what the situation.
“Couldn't handle the pregame, could he.”
Tim looks like he wants to hit Arthur. Alice leads him away, whacking him over the shoulder with her clutch bag.
“I'm really sorry. He's a fucking idiot.”
“He's alright.”
“No, I mean Pete. He got too drunk. We couldn't wake him up.”
“Right.”
He looks so sad.
“It was a really nice service. And I promise we'll make it up to you.”
We'll? More like he'll. I'll make him buy Tim and Katie a fucking holiday. Tim walks away to talk to a relative. Katy is on the other side of the lawn chatting to some douchebag wearing a bloody morning suit. Neither of them look particularly happy. But, shit, at least they both showed up.
KATY
“We're going to Nice. Got a little villa overlooking the Med.”
And I can't even stomach the thought of spending a week with him, let alone the rest of our fucking lives.
“Wow, sounds lovely. I mean, personally, I would've taken you to Monaco.”
Mitch is cracking on to me again. I kind of want him to carry on just to make me think better of Tim. Tim my husband. Not this faux posh fuckhead who I only invited because my Mum insisted.
Emily looks like she's going to throttle me with my own veil. How do I communicate to her that I find his boyfriend absolutely repulsive and she's welcome to him.
These sausages are lukewarm. I need another drink.
PETE!?!?
Okay, feel teensy bet bitter, though bleeding alot from head. This car sure is smoky. Vomit, now, vomit all over my, over my, what happened to my troosers? He, troosers. I'm Scottish. I don't wear troosers. Actually, am I? Plus, still kiltless. The smoke is still well smokey, and I'm now a bit confused. Wasn't I just in a car with Gretchin? Where is she? Is she safe? Where's me troosers? Did she take them.
So, usher, what happens now?
Probs get out.
Not sure it's safe here.
Plus I need to Ush.
Door is hanging off anyway. Heh, who's car is this? Why are the doors hanging off?
Should probably get away from the smokey. First, another little vomit. Hehe, just puked on a dead pheasant. Actually, that's gross. Maggots. Further vomiting.
Okay, now walk walk walk. Have a feeling I could be in trouble. Blood all over my shirt. Hopefully not too late. Just walk until you see a sign.
BOOM
Jeez, what on earth was that? It's well smokey again. Why am I on the ground? Ah well, just get up. Keep walking. You usher, and usher can't be late.
Is that a balloon? White balloon on sign. Hotel. Tim! Tim and Kat. Kattttt. I'm gonna make it. Although, where's me troosers? Legs are bleeding. Blood not wedding colour. Ah well. I'll make it. Hotel Tim Kat. Good name. Hotel Timcat.
KEITH
Let's see what Tim's money has bought, shall we? If I was a betting man, which I flipping used to be, my guess would be salmon for starters, lamb shank for main, Eton Mess for pudding. The salmon will be under smoked, the lamb will be tough and the mess will be 90% cream. If those horderves are anything to go by, Tim has skimped on the food, just like he has on his groomsmen. One no show. One wearing jeans. Meanwhile, I provide the daughter that is far too good for him, and literally everything else at the wedding.
To make things worse, I'm sitting opposite his flipping father, a man I think so little of I can't even remember the flipping plonker's name. This was probably by design; create a scenario where we have to talk. Honestly, when this is done I plan to never speak to the man again.
Besides, he's currently chatting up Katy's friend Kelly, who is at least 35 years younger. He also seems to have his hand on my wife's aunt's knee. Pretty flipping disgusting.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It is my great honour to introduce Mister and Missus Havers.”
Jeans cut through the bustle introducing my daughter under a different flipping name.
But instead of the couple, we have a psychopath stumbling through the doors to the function room, trouserless and bleeding, yelling about “Ushing”, before crashing head first through one of the tables.
Flipping fucking what the flup!?
TIM
Let's just have a rundown of everyone and everything that has been a giant disappointment on the day of my fucking wedding, shall we?
A now-wife who I don't think wants to be here.
A best man that ruined his wedding trousers getting a hand job from a cleaning lady.
An usher who is currently being treated by paramedics who ran passed us on his way to spectacularly reducing table 7 to match sticks.
The same Usher also has a half dozen policemen waiting to question him outside.
A Dad who currently has his hand on a bridesmaids ass.
A celebrant who wore crushed fucking velvet.
A caterer who can't even cook a cocktail sausage.
I feel fucking fantastic. Absolutely giddy with joy. I can't wait for the meal. The salmon will probably still be alive, flopping around on the table.
Katy is looking at me like this is my fault. I'm keen to remind her that she agreed to all of this, including marrying me, however begrudgingly.
GRETCHIN
This guy. This fucking guy. What was I thinking? He's sat in front of me, having his gushing head wound tended to, handcuffed to the ambulance, no trousers. It's 5pm for fucks sake. What was I thinking?
“Gretchin, why'd you take ma troosers?”
“Why are you talking in a Scottish accent?”
The paramedic and policeman jump back as he vomits again. I'm not quick enough, and much of the vomit covers the open toed heels I spent £70 on especially for this fucking wedding.
“Why am I usher? I didn't usher? Tim mad?”
“No Pete he’s fucking thrilled with you.”
“Oh good.”
He puts his head against the side of the ambulance and closes his eyes. The police need a statement from me, so I explain where we left him. They tell me he stole a car whilst heavily intoxicated, and crashed it into a ditch. The vehicle then proceeded to explode. That's exactly how the policeman said it in his thick west country accent, like the poor bloody car had a choice in the matter.
“Probably not advisable to go back to the guest house tonight. The owners aren't too happy.”
“No shit.”
I think about dumping Pete then and there, before they took him to the police station, or the hospital or wherever, and hitching a ride into town, hopping on the first train home and changing my locks. But, fuck it, I now have to pretend to care about any of these people. Might as well have some fun.
I grab Pete by the hair before heading inside.
“You're a waste of skin.”
“Where's me troosers, Gretchin?”
I let his head droop, and go back inside to enjoy some stale, room temperature Eton mess.
KELLY
I probably shouldn't have had that fifth glass of wine, because this is starting to sound like a really good idea.
Tim's Dad has his hand on my knee, and his other hand is rubbing Katy's aunt's back, and for whatever reason I'm massively into it.
“You're still young and beautiful Kelly. You should experiment. Find out what you're into.”
Mildred now has her hand on my knee as well.
MILDRED
Bless her. Such a pretty young thing. She thinks I'm Kate's aunt, not her great aunt.
“There's a disabled loo near reception. That should give us plenty of room.”
Myself and Tim's stupendously handsome father delicately take each of Kelly's hands, and pull her to her feet.
His ex-wife is eyeing us suspiciously as we lead her towards the toilet.
“Kelly's feeling a little unwell. We're just going to help her feel better.”
Kelly gives us away a little bit by giggling, but who cares. I haven't felt this alive in years.
KEITH
Tim's best man just made a joke about my moustache. He called it a muff duster. The wife finds it hilarious. I don't. its all pretty flipping rich coming from someone who, if rumour is to be believed, ruined his trousers due to a sex act.
Still, it could be worse. Tim's other groomsman is currently on his way to either the local lock-up or a hospital.
This flipping generation. I remember my father-in-law making a few choice jokes about my golf handicap, gave me a firm handshake and we were done at our wedding. This isn’t even his speech.
After the meal I've just had, I've made a few choice adjustments to my speech. The boy in jeans is done making fun of me. Let's show these little flipping shins how it's done.
“Thank you for that introduction, Tom, and may I compliment you on your fashion sense? Jeans at a wedding? What is this, Miami Vice? I'm just joking of course. Now, before I talk about my wonderful daughter, I'd like to talk about her new husband.”
Some whoops. When did people start whooping?
“I knew Tim was cheap from the first moment I met him. Katy bought him home to meet us on her mother's birthday. After a rather boozy dinner at home, we decided to decamp to the local for a night camp or four. Tim was suspiciously absent every time the drinks were empty. Who takes work calls at 10pm on a Sunday?”
Laughs, titters. He looks a little annoyed. Ah well.
“Then there was the week we spent together in Turkey. Not just complacent to have the flights and accommodation paid for him, Tim didn't offer to pay for a meal until the final night. Cheese toasties from Pret a manger on the way back from the airport.”
Oh yes. It's about time young Tim.
“When he asked for my daughter's hand in marriage I naturally offered to pay for everything. Such is our relationship.”
He looks like he might hit me.
“But Tim said ‘no, we can't ask you to do that.’ So we came to a compromise that he would pay for the food and drink and I would pay for everything else. Having tasted the food and wine, I can confirm that it was Tim who bought them. I wouldn't want you to think I'd cut corners on my daughter's wedding. How can fish be dry?”
Everyone is loving this except Tim. Katy also looks a little displeased. Well, I only get to do this once.
“If I'd left it to Tim, I have no doubt my beautiful Katy would have walked down the aisle in a potato sack.”
I am killing this.
“But seriously. We love our Katy. And as long as Tim makes her happy, then he's okay with us. So if you'd all like to raise your glasses. To the bride and groom.”
My wife is frowning at me as well now. Fudge it, I got some serious laughs.
TIM
Cheap. Cheap, is it? From the man who retired at 50, and gives his wife fucking pocket money? I'm a fucking Junior Marketing Executive at a mid weight fucking PR firm. I'm not cheap, I'm just fucking skint. What an asshole. I'll fucking show him. Him and his stupid fucking moustache. I hate him. My fucking father-in-law.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I give you. . . The Groom.”
Tom stumbles a little bit from drunkenness and his jean-clad crotch brushes my cheek as I go to stand up.
“Oop. While you're down there.”
They're all laughing at you Tim. Give me that fucking microphone.
“Thanks Tom. But I don't want to ruin another pair of trousers with your ejaculate.”
Fuck you Tom.
“£250 on a tailored suit for my best man, and he spaffs it up the wall. Literally.”
Fuck you Tom. Why are you laughing?
“Could be worse though. You could be my usher who I'm now not going to see for an entire year. 6 months if he's good.”
Fuck you Pete. I wish you were inside the car when it blew up.
“Or you could be my father, who is currently missing his son's wedding speech. Or my father-in-law, who only respects me enough to call me cheap in a speech and not to my face like a real man would.”
Fuck you Dad. Fuck you Keith.
It's getting a little tense in here now.
“At least I have my darling wife. My beautiful Katy. I love you Katy so much.”
Awwws. Back on track.
“Mum, you're weird, but I love you. And to everyone here, thank you so much for coming. It means a great deal to me. . . Us. So a toast. To you guys.”
Katy looks pissed, but Tom's already taken the microphone away. He's been waiting for this moment forever. To “roast” his best friends. He signals to a waiter who wheels out what must be a 75 inch TV screen.
“Tom, before you begin, I'd like to make a speech. . .”
MITCH
Tom looks at Tim, who shrugs. Katy has her head in her hands, and who can blame her? After those speeches? Who are these men in her life. I take the microphone, my face a mask of burning passion. My Hugh Grant moment at last.
“I've known Katy since we were both nippers. We used to play doctors and nurses, we used to wrestle and roughhouse, and I remember so vividly one time in her back garden when I was 10, we suddenly realised if we rubbed up on each other it felt really good.”
From the heart, Mitch, from the heart.
“Fast forward four years, and we are going to a school disco together. We kissed. It was the most glorious kiss I've ever had. Still is. I tried to cup a breast, but Katy is far too classy to do that on a first date.”
Emily is crying. This isn't about you, Emily.
“Honestly, Katy, I've been in love with you ever since. And, really, deep down, I think you've been in love with me too. These men don't understand you like I do. Their speeches bloody show that.”
Tom approaches.
“Alright that'll do.”
“Tom, please. This is from the heart.”
“No, come on now, that's enough.”
“Katy, I love you. Let's leave this God awful wedding. We can go anywhere. Anywhere you want.”
Tim has got to his feet, but I only have eyes for Katy.
“What do you say?”
KELLY
Oh my God, the hands. All of the hands.
I need to get back to Katy.
“Quick, I think the speeches are happening.”
In the pandemonium I put on Tim's dad's trousers, Mildred puts on my dress, and for whatever reason there is another pair of trousers in here, that Tim's dad pulls on. I think the guilt is hitting us all.
Not the guilt about what just happened, though, honestly I think we all needed it. This wedding has been so stressful.
We all run into the dining room. Tim is holding that creepy guy Mitch by the throat. Katy looks up from her hands and looks our way. We all freeze.
This probably doesn't look great.
“Dad, why is Kelly wearing your trousers?”
“And why are you wearing my trousers?”
Tom is pointing at Tim's dad's crotch. There is a gigantic white stain on it. This looks bad. This looks really bad.
Katy stands up.
“Give me the fucking mic Tom.”
KATY
“First of all, to anyone who hasn't made a complete twat of themselves, thank you for coming. I'm sure you'll get a gigantic kick out of telling anyone who will listen what an absolute car wreck it was. Go, with my blessing.”
“Secondly, my husband. Thank you for trying today. I do mean that, you're an incredibly nice guy, and one day you will make some dull, inoffensive, sweet girl very happy. But i really should have listened to my gut on this. My mother talked me out of it. Thanks mum. Also, that speech? I was a fucking footnote in that speech. I am not going to be in a marriage where I'm anyone’s footnote.”
To my father. Fuck you. Honestly, you've done nothing but bitch and moan about this wedding, about the costs, about the arrangements. You are obsessed. Thanks for starting off the trend of making me a footnote with your speech pointing out the flaws of a man who emptied his bank account to make today happen. You are pitiful, and it's a mystery to me why mum has never left you. Her talking me into getting married makes an awful lot of sense. She wanted someone else to be just as unhappy as she is.”
“To Mitch. You are repulsive. Utterly repulsive. There is literally no one in this world who I'd want to run away with less. Emily, I know we haven't spoken much, but you can do a lot better than this fucking wannabee toff asshole.”
Kelly. Mildred. Tim's father. If that's what you're all into, fill your boots. Just maybe not at the wedding of your son, best friend or great niece. It might be considered inconsiderate.”
“Tom. You are gross. So is your currently incarcerated pal Pete. Don't solicit a blowjob from a fucking cleaner ever. Poor woman has to clean up your shit for minimum wage, you scumbag. I am kind of digging the jeans and jacket combo, though.”
“Anyway, I'm going to leave you all to it. Kelly, you can get back to your intergenerational threesome. Tim, you can crack on with beating the shit out of Mitch. Lord knows he deserves it. Tom, the floor is yours. Hammer out that speech you've spent seven months preparing.”
I shove the mic into his chest and walk away. I better be able to find someone outside with cigarettes. Bit of a lack of pockets with this dress.
TOM
I don't think my speech would be appropriate now. Fucking livid. It would have slayed.
I wonder if the cleaning lady is still around?
GRETCHIN
They're keeping him overnight, which I'm sure he won't shut up about. This will just turn into another story for him and his fucking idiot mates to laugh about. We're in rural Somerset, and he's white, so the worst thing that will happen is him losing his license and getting a bit of community service. Absolutely no way I'm going to be there to support him though.
I've just got off the phone to his Mum to tell her as much. Typically, she somehow intimated that this was my fault, and that me leaving him was dereliction of my wifely duty to look after him. But I'm not his wife, and in fact the clarity I now feel about the importance of never ever marrying the moron makes me feel pretty great.
Im smoking one emergency cigarette after another outside the hotel, wondering whether to hire a car and drive home. This being rural Somerset, though, the chances of finding a car are slim.
Katy comes out of the hotel. I haven't actually apologised yet.
“Can I get one?”
“Sure.”
I pull out a cigarette and hand it to her with a lighter. She sits down on the pavement next to me, looking rather frenzied, breathing deeply.
“I'm assuming you're not staying with Pete?”
“You assume right.”
“Probably a good call.”
She keeps her eyes fixed on the hotel entrance.
“Are you sober enough to drive?”
“Just about.”
“Cool. Let's go then.”
She stands up and strides towards a battered hatchback. I get up and follow her. She reaches the passenger door, tosses me some keys and gets in. I look round at the entrance. Tim comes dashing out.
“Get in.”
“KATY!”
“Gretchin, get in. Let's go. “
Honestly, I want to be as far away from this wedding as possible. My plan is to never see any of these people again. Katy evidently has the same plan. I get in the driver's seat.
“KATY PLEASE.”
I turn the ignition.
“KATY DONT GO!”
She winds down her window.
“Tim, I've said all I'm going to say.”
“Please, I can't deal with this.”
“You'll be fine.”
I reverse out of the space before he can block us off. He runs after the car.
“Go go go.”
I put my foot down leaving a scrabbling groom who I'd later find out married the bridesmaid who also fucked his Dad.
We drove through the night back to London. Smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee or whiskey, talking little. We became friends that night. Best friends, really. Both needing to leave our houses, we moved in together. Tim and Pete never found out where. We both eventually settled down with actual people. Nice people. And we were bridesmaids at each other's weddings.
That night, we didn't really know what to do or where to go. She only had her wedding dress, I only had the stupidly expensive dress I'd bought especially.
We thought “fuck it.”
We carried on down to Dover, hopped on a ferry and headed down to Nice.