4
“Who is that?”
Julia and Mark have been milling around outside the church, Julia finally making her way over to the smokers, a small band of women, as soignee as they come, apart from the fact that they are all puffing away furiously, determined to inhale enough nicotine to see them through the ceremony.
The cigarettes bond these women together, and they close in a tight huddle as they admire one another's outfits and pass the lone lighter around, as passers-by—so dowdy by comparison—smile at the crowd of wedding-goers, all wanting to share in a little bit of the hope, the possibility, and of course, the glamour. Because this wedding is nothing if not glamorous, each woman outdoing the last in hat size and high heels.
Julia drops her cigarette and rubs it out with the sole of her strappy Jimmy Choos.
“Great shoes,” says a tall red-headed woman standing with the smokers, the woman, in fact, in possession of the lone lighter (Mini-Bic, hot pink).
“Thanks,” Julia says, smiling, and offers up a compliment in return. “I love your hat.” A moment of awkwardness, and one of them is about to ask how the other knows Adam and Lorna, when Julia hears a shriek.
“Julia! Darling!” She turns round to find Lorna's mother bearing down on her. “You look wonderful!” Mrs. Young launches herself upon Julia, leaning forward attempting to air kiss, holding on to her vast hat. They both laugh as the brims of their hats clash.
“You look amazing.” It is what Julia is expected to say, and of course it is true, because despite Julia not keeping up to date with Lorna about her marriage plans, one look at Sandra Young is enough for her to know that this is not Lorna's wedding—it is her mother's.
“Really?” Sandra Young does her eightieth twirl of the day and cocks an eyebrow as Julia repeats it. It is apparent to all that she loves being the center of attention, that her outfit—low-cut, intricately beaded, screaming designer—was chosen, consciously or not, to upstage the bride.
Sandra Young twirls round again before spotting more new arrivals. “Uncle Jimmy!” she cries, waving above the crowd, tripping off to perform yet another twirl, as the woman with the hat grins at Julia. “Now that's not a case of the mother trying to upstage the bride,” she says.
“But you have to admit she does look fantastic.”
“She should do, the amount that dress cost.” She looks around to check no one's within earshot, then leans forward conspiratorially. “More than the wedding dress.”
“No!” Julia's shocked, because, knowing Lorna, the wedding dress is going to be one-off, designer, and a fortune.
The woman nods her head. “I'm Maeve,” she says, smiling. “You're Julia, aren't you?”
Julia nods. “How did you know?”
“I heard Mrs. Young, but I recognized you anyway from Lorna's old photographs.”
“How do you know Lorna?” The question was inevitable, and they both smile.
“I live next door to them in Brighton.”
“So does she drive you mad borrowing cups of sugar?”
“Borrowing bloody condoms, more like. She and Adam haven't got their contraception sorted out, and being the single woman on the street, I'm the one who's become their secret condom supplier.”
Julia laughs, completely unfazed by this woman's honesty. Julia has always had this ability, to make people feel comfortable around her, to make them feel, within minutes, that they have known her forever, and know her well enough to disclose intimate information without a second thought.
“You're single? That surprises me.”
“Why? Because someone like me ought to have a boyfriend? Because I'm attractive and successful so if I can't get a man I must be failing at something?” Her tone is trying to be light, but the words are not, and Julia apologizes.
“I just realized what I sounded like,” Julia says ruefully. “Like one of my elderly relatives. I used to go to family dos and they'd ask me if I had a boyfriend, and when I said No they'd pat my knee and say things like: Don't worry, you're still young. Or, Mr. Right is out there, you'll find him, you'll see. God, I can't believe I came across like that, I'm so sorry.”
“Don't worry about it. It sounds like we have the same family. And I'm sorry for jumping down your throat about it. It's just that I'm single through choice, but nobody seems able to accept that.”
“So would you be happy if you were to spend the rest of your life all alone?”
Maeve shrugs and offers Julia another cigarette, which she takes, and there is silence for a while as both light up. “I try not to think too far ahead, to live my life in the present,” Maeve says finally, exhaling loudly, “but quite honestly, although I don't exactly relish the idea, it doesn't panic me either. I have a great life. A job that I love, my own home, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to compromise anymore.”
“I envy you.” The words are out before Julia has a chance to think about what she's saying. And as soon as they are, she stops in shock. She didn't mean to say it. Christ, she didn't even mean to think it, and she falters, not knowing what to say next.
“Nah.” Maeve shakes her head. “Different horses for different courses, and you know what? The grass is usually greener. I spent years thinking that maybe my life would be complete if I had a man, but when I did I wished I was single again. And you know, it can get lonely at times, but I think this just suits me better. Oh my God, is this Lorna? I thought they'd hired a white Daimler.”
A long black Mercedes limousine pulls up outside the church, and everyone around them starts hurriedly stamping out cigarettes and rushing inside to sit down before the gray-suited chauffeur opens the door.
Julia's about to follow Maeve into the church, but not before catching a glimpse of the dress, because even though she knows marriage probably isn't in the cards for a while, she still finds it difficult to resist the fairy tale.
The door opens, and the collective sigh of relief is audible. It's not the bride. It's a lone woman in a sharp pink suit with a mass of pink and black organza masquerading as a hat, sparkling pearl and gold earrings, and opaque black sunglasses that hide her face almost entirely, with just a slash of pinky-brown lipstick.
She steps out of the car and walks up the steps, and it is only as she passes her that Julia screams.
“Oh my God!”
The woman turns round, and lowers her sunglasses to see Julia properly, then grins as she opens her arms.
“Bella!” cries Julia, and flings her arms around her friend, so glamorous now, so New Yawk, that Julia would barely have recognized her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Surprising you?” Bella disengages herself and they hold each other at arm's length, examining one another in delight. “And don't you look gawgeous!” They both laugh.
“What the hell's with the car?”
Bella hoots with delight. “Jesus, can you believe it? I'm so used to ordering limos in New York, I didn't even think twice here, and I've spent the whole journey watching people stop in their tracks and try to guess which celeb's inside.”
Julia shakes her head but she's smiling. “Only you,” she laughs. “Only you.”
Bella looks around the crowd, now starting to filter back out of the church again. “So where the hell is Sam?”
“So pregnant she can hardly walk,” Julia laughs. “She RSVP'd yes, then decided that her bladder wouldn't be able to survive the ceremony, so I think she's just coming to the meal.”
“God, what a complete nightmare. Tell me I'm never going to have children.” And then, with a glance at Julia's face, she realizes what she's said.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You know how I feel about children. But not the children of my friends, so how's it going?”
Julia sighs. Of course she doesn't mind her asking, she'd probably be more offended if she hadn't asked, Bella being one of her familiars, but she wishes she hadn't told quite so many people when they first decided to try for a baby.
Mark kept warning her. Just in case it doesn't happen, he said. Don't tell anyone, he said, but of course she had to tell Sam. And Bella. And Lorna. And all the girls at work. Soon everyone knew, and every time she saw people they'd say: Any luck? With eyebrows raised and hopeful expressions. To be honest she was becoming really rather tired of shaking her head. She wished she'd listened to Mark because every time someone asked, it only served to drive the point home and she felt more of a failure than ever.
But this is Bella, and so she will talk, rather than just smile sadly and shake her head.
“It's a bugger,” Julia says. “It's just not happening. Every month I think this might be it, every month my period arrives like bloody clockwork.”
“Have you thought about seeing someone?”
“Well, interestingly, I was reading a magazine article last week about a woman who couldn't get pregnant until she went to see a healer. She had one session with this woman and bam. She fell pregnant immediately. I've saved this healer's number and I think I'm going to call her.”
“Actually I didn't mean that. I meant a doctor. Fertility expert. Someone who could actually tell you whether there's a problem.”
“No. Not yet. And anyway, I don't think Mark could handle it if he found out he was, well, you know . . .”
“Firing blanks?”
“Exactly. Imagine how horrific that must be for a man. God knows the last thing I need is for him to be completely emasculated. But more to the point it hasn't been that long. I don't think either of us is ready for that step yet.”
“So you think the problem lies with Mark, then?”
“Put it like this,” Julia says. “I've been pregnant, remember?”
“But that was years ago. God, anything could have happened since then. And let's face it, the well-woman clinic isn't exactly a place you visit regularly. When was your last smear, anyway?”
“Don't want to talk about it.”
“Okay, okay, sorry. But I know you, and you really should go more often. Plus, if you really think that, that's terrible. You're obviously blaming Mark and you don't have any reason to.”
Julia can feel the tears fighting their way up to the corners of her eyes, but she will not cry here. She refuses to cry here. “Bella, we're at a wedding. I haven't seen you for months and I just can't get into this right now, it's not the time or the place. Tell me about you.” She forces a smile and squeezes Bella's hand. “How did you manage to keep this secret and how in the hell do you manage to look so damn gorgeous?”
Lorna always said that she'd be walking down the aisle wearing a grin the size of Brighton Pier, but in the event she looks fantastically demure and truly more beautiful than she has ever appeared in her life.
She tries to stare straight ahead, but she can't quite manage it, and her eyes open wide with delight when she spies Julia and Bella, oohing and aahing at the end of the pew now that they can see her properly.
“Christ.” Bella dabs the corners of her eyes. “If I wasn't me, I'd be desperate to get married just to look like that.”
“You could always buy a dress just for the hell of it. Save it for a rainy day. And what do you mean, if you weren't you, you'd be desperate? Don't tell me you're antimarriage now as well.”
“No, but the married man's been lurking again. Phone calls. Flowers.”
“Bella, don't!” Said firmly, and in slightly too loud a whisper. Julia smooths her hair behind her ears and gives an apologetic smile to the middle-aged woman in front who turns round to glare at her menacingly. “Later,” she mouths to Bella, and they all shuffle up to sing “Jerusalem.”
“What about you?” Bella whispers when the hymn is finished, ignoring the half-turned head of the woman in front. “Any closer to marriage with the delectable Mark, or is that a no-go area too?”
“Happy as we are.” Julia leans in so that Mark, on her other side, doesn't hear. “You know us. Happy as we are.”
Mark is slowly starting to relax, copious amounts of wine helping considerably, added to the fact that he is sitting next to Bella, whom he has always found rather scary, but rather attractive at the same time.
Bella is not stupid. She can see that Julia and Mark are not happy, and, although her allegiances are undoubtedly with Julia, will always be with Julia, she sees no reason why Mark shouldn't have some attention paid to him as well.
She has quizzed him about work, showing genuine interest and asking clever, pointed questions, and she has amused him with some anecdotes about the navigation of office politics in America, all the while ensuring his glass is topped up.
Julia is delighted that someone other than she is watching out for Mark, making sure he is okay, and more delighted to be sitting next to Jason, an extremely attractive friend of Adam's who split up with his most recent girlfriend six months ago, is playing the field, and is still under the mistaken impression that weddings are a good hunting ground (these people are in their thirties and really ought to know better).
“I'm Jason,” he says, shaking her hand as he sits down next to her. “And I'm on my own today so I'm afraid you might have to look after me.”
“I'm Julia.” Her eyes light up. For a second she considers introducing Mark, but he's deeply engrossed in conversation with Bella, and anyway, why should she have to explain Mark? They'd never been a MarkandJulia type of couple anyway. “I'm an old friend of Lorna,” she continues, angling her body slightly so it faces Jason, and is away from Mark. “What about you? How do you know them?”
They sit and talk for a while, the usual small talk, and Julia can't help but notice that every time he shifts in his seat, be it to place a hand on the table, or uncross his arms, or cross his legs, she echoes it. She must have done it for a while unconsciously, but when Jason rests his chin in his hand, with a start Julia realizes she has just done the same thing. She quickly removes her chin from her hand, and makes a conscious note not to keep copying him. She has read The Naked Ape, she knows what echoing body language means.
Suddenly Jason stops, in the middle of an anecdote. “Oh, long and boring story,” he says, “and I can't possibly start off making small talk with you, you're far too attractive.” Julia feels a blush rise, a thrill that she hasn't felt for years. “Tell me instead . . .” He leans forward conspiratorially, and Julia can't help it, her body moves forward too, until his face is merely inches from hers. He speaks intensely. Carefully. Looks deep into her eyes. “Do you . . .”—he pauses—“or do you not”—pauses again—“think the Clangers should be brought back?”
Such an intimate gesture teamed with such a childlike question, but Jason knows that small talk gets you precisely nowhere, and that nostalgia is a far better emotion with which to pave the way to a woman's heart.
Julia starts laughing. Relieved. A touch disappointed.
“I think they very definitely should be brought back,” she laughs.
“And do you or do you not think the Soup-Dragon ought to be seen far more often?”
“Oh my God,” Julia's eyes widen in delight. “I haven't thought about the Soup-Dragon for years.”
“But I bet you haven't forgotten her conversational prowess.”
Julia relaxes back in her chair, thinks for a few seconds, then leans forward again with a few Soup-Dragonish noises.
“Nope,” Jason shakes his head. “That doesn't sound like the Soup-Dragon at all.”
“Go on, then, you do it.”
“Can't. I can, however, do a rather good impression of a Clanger.” And with that he says in a singsong voice, “Du du? Du du du du du du. Du. Du du.”
“That's rubbish!” Julia starts laughing. “They whistled. Like this.” And she purses her lips together and whistles a conversation as the rest of the table stop talking and look at them.
“Clangers!” shouts Maeve, who has been sitting reasonably quietly on the other side of Jason. Evidently the plan was for Maeve and Jason to get together, but Jason's never been one for redheads, and thus far he's left it to Charles, one half of Charles and Claudia, to keep Maeve amused. “See?” Julia turns to Jason triumphantly. “Told you it was a whistle.”
“But it wasn't quite a whistle,” says Maeve.
“See?” Jason's turn to be triumphant. “Told you it was my du du.” He du du's a bit more for the benefit of the table, all of whom agree that it definitely wasn't a du du, was more like a whistle.
“Okay, okay,” Bella interrupts with a hand up in the air just as the main course is being placed in front of her. “What about Hector's House? That was always my favorite.”
“Hector's House!” the whole table chorus in delight, all being roughly the same age, all having grown up with the same television programs.
“What was Hector's House about, though?” asks Jason, as everyone starts laughing, convinced that they loved it, despite no one fully remembering it.
“Mr. Benn!” Julia shouts, aware now that this has become a nostalgia free-for-all.
“Now there was someone who really should have come out of the closet years ago.” Jason raises his glass in a silent toast to Mr. Benn.
Everyone has something to offer. Crystal Tipps and Alistair; Mary, Mungo and Midge; and then the pièce de résistance: Pipkins.
“Oh God,” groans Julia. “I loved Pipkins. Remember what a snob Octavia was?”
“And what about Hartley Hare?” Nobody has noticed Sam and Chris making their way round the table to their seats, and everyone starts laughing. Hartley Hare. Who has even thought about Hartley Hare for years?
Bella stands up to give Sam a hug, although it's not easy with the ever-growing baby.
“Twins?” Bella cannot resist, and Sam hits her.
“Oh f*ck off,” she laughs, because she knows that Bella knows how fed up she is with being told she must be carrying an entire rugby team.
“You look exhausted, Chris,” Julia says, turning to Sam's husband, who reaches over to kiss her on the cheek, then raises his eyebrows.
“Not bloody surprising, given that Sam is either lumbering out of bed to go to the bloody loo about thirty times a night, and not even trying to keep the noise down in the bathroom, or tossing and turning and making the whole bloody house rock.”
He looks terrible. Exhausted, but as he says this he gives Sam's shoulder an affectionate squeeze all the same.
“Why should I be the only one to suffer?” Sam huffs, sitting as close to the table as she can while pulling a giant-sized bottle of Gaviscon out of her bag, thumping it on the table next to her wineglass.
“What the hell is that?” Bella points at the green bottle with a look of horror on her face as Sam undoes the cap and takes a giant swig straight from the bottle.
“Heartburn,” Sam explains, sighing with obvious relief as it hits the spot. “Everyone says that if you have terrible heartburn—which I have—then you're having a very hairy baby.”
“Is that true?” Mark is fascinated.
“Apparently so, but it wouldn't surprise me. Like mother like daughter.” She catches Chris's eye. “Or son, but all I can tell you is at this rate I really am going to be giving birth to a monkey.”
Sam and Bella are soon catching up on all their news, and Julia is only slightly pissed off that she is not sitting with them, but then she is sitting next to Jason, who is proving to be the perfect wedding companion, and she is having such a lovely time, feeling so sexy, and flirtatious, and alive, that for a few moments she genuinely wishes she were single.
But she isn't. She is living with Mark, trying for a baby, and this thought sobers her up for a few seconds. Jason sees her pull back and tries a new tack, and soon Julia is laughing again as they try to recall the words to one-hit-wonders from their youth.
“Whatsa matter you, hey,” Julia sings. “Why you looka so sad. Whaddya think you do, hey, itsa nicea place, da da da da da, ah shuddupa ya face.”
“What exactly does da da da da da mean?” Jason is smiling.
“Probably the same as”—Julia affects his Clanger voice—“du du du du du,” and they both laugh. If you didn't know better, you would think they were the perfect couple.
Mark sits back in his chair and watches Julia. He knows she is flirting, but he doesn't mind. He likes to see her have fun—he trusts her—and he likes to watch her like this: animated, sparkling, alive. The Julia he first met four years ago. With a stab of pain he wonders why he can't make her feel like this anymore.
As soon as the meal ends, the bride and groom take to the floor for their dance. “It Had to Be You” comes on, and the men at the table groan at the cheesiness of it, while the women smile even as their eyes well up at this first flush of love and the romanticism of it all.
And then it's back to the seventies for Adam and Lorna, and Mark stands up and pulls Julia to the floor during the Jackson Five's “ABC”; they continue throughout Patti LaBelle's “Lady Marmalade,” on through “White Lines” by Grandmaster Flash, finishing with “Night Fever” by the Bee Gees, by which point they're so exhausted they need a water break.
Jason has moved on by the time they get back to the table. He has realized that Julia is with Mark, and is currently busy prowling the other tables, looking for suitable prey. Julia and Mark sit back down and smile at one another.
“I'm having a good time,” Julia says, managing to keep the surprise out of her voice.
“I know.” Mark touches the end of her nose, an affectionate gesture he hasn't made for many, many months. “So am I.”
It is near the end of the evening, and only the hard core remain. Lorna has spent almost the entire time glued to her seat at Top Table, clearly terrified that the moment she leaves her throne she will stop being queen for the day, but now she is able to let her hair down, and she and Adam are intertwined on the dance floor, both gazing into one another's eyes as they sway gently, softly talking and kissing, laughing at the fact they are now man and wife.
Most of the elderly relatives have gone, and a few people stop, on the way out, to turn and watch Adam and Lorna, remembering their own wedding days, thinking how very long ago it all feels now.
As the people file out, the room starts to look frayed round the edges. Several flower arrangements have already disappeared, guests managing somehow to whisk them home unseen, and crisp white damask tablecloths are now shown up as grubby and slightly gray.
Chris and Sam went home hours ago. Sam ran out of Gaviscon, and after three pints of milk and a vanilla yogurt that one of the waiters was kind enough to run out and buy for her, she realized that this was one fight she was not going to win. They left, Sam easing herself up from the chair with trouble, one hand supporting the small of her back as she groaned with effort.
Julia watched her with love. And envy. Bella, now sitting next to her, looks at Julia's face and takes her hand.
“It must be tough for you,” she says.
“You can't even imagine.” Julia forces a smile, followed by a sigh. “I would give anything, anything, to be in Sam's place right now. I love her, and I'm thrilled for her, but I can't even think that there is a living breathing baby inside her. I can't believe that I haven't got one too.” Tears fill her eyes as she finishes this, and a huge sob, fueled by champagne, hangs in the air as Julia runs out of the room, engulfed by disappointment and loss.
Mark stands up to follow her, but the look on his face is one of weariness, and Bella shakes her head and says that she will go; that it's okay; that Julia will be fine. Mark sits back down, grateful for not having to deal with this display of emotion, for not having to deal with the blame, because of course he knows that Julia blames him.
All Mark wants is to be happy. If Julia wants to have a baby, if it will make her happy, Mark wants it too. If Julia wants to see a fertility expert, Mark wants it too. If Julia wants to not have children for the rest of their lives, that will also be fine.
The problem is that Mark has never sat down and thought about what he wants. Perhaps it's time he did.