Never Google Heartbreak (8 page)

Max turns to me, eyes shining. ‘What’s up?’

‘Can you just stop, please?’

‘What?’

‘Trying so hard to be the life and soul. Why do you have to become more Irish when you’re telling a joke, anyway?’

‘I don’t know . . . it makes it funnier.’

‘It doesn’t, actually; it makes you look like you’ve got special needs.’

‘I have special needs!’ he declares to the table. ‘I specially need a drink!’

Dawn acknowledges him with a wanton smile. He points a party popper in my direction and the silver streamers catch in my hair, falling over my face. I look over to Rob’s table, noticing with a pang of envy that everyone on it is young and mostly good-looking. He leans close to Sam and places his hand tenderly over hers, speaking in her perfect little ear. She looks down, smiling coyly, then answers something like, ‘Me too.’

Max clicks his fingers in front of my nose. ‘And come back. Don’t look over there – your eyes go like an evil fairy godmother. Here, have more champagne.’ He pours it into my red wine glass. There’s a pause while I watch the bubbles rise and pop; then he tenderly pulls a few streamers from my hair.

‘God, you’re a gorgeous creature. Haven’t we met before?’ He grins.

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I think I would have remembered.’ I yawn.

‘Yes, I’ve got it. Didn’t you graduate from Liverpool University in ’01?’

‘Might have.’

‘Me too! Didn’t we . . . ?’ He makes a rocking movement with his hips.

‘No!’ I snap.

‘D’you wanna?’

‘What, dry hump?’

‘No, you know . . .’ He repeats the hip thing. I stare at him for a moment.

‘You know, I’d love to, especially since you put it like that, but I’m a bit busy.’

The salmon mousse starters are arriving thick and fast. Our waitress, a plump adolescent with incongruous black bunches, dumps them down. A plate rocks in front of me, the cucumber decoration tumbling over. I feel hungry and sick at the same time. I glance at Rob and our eyes meet! My heart flips as he smiles briefly; then he leans to answer a question from a Swedish-looking girl to his left. Sam sits demurely beside him, her hands on her lap. She radiates good manners and taste. Rob often complained about me at parties – I’m too raucous and talkative, apparently. Sam smiles politely as her plate is thrown down and waits for the bride and groom to start eating before she takes a bite. That’s good breeding, that is, and I can’t compete. I spent my formative years being passed between adults like a relay baton; how was I to learn etiquette? I swallow down the huge glass of champagne and fail to suppress a burp. Max squeezes my knee as he explains the beauty of the Cliffs of Moher to old goat-eyes. She’s practically wetting her pants with excitement. To my left is a man called Richard, who’s something to do with Granada Television. He turns his long face towards me and attempts to make conversation.

‘So, Viv, do you have any children?’

Particles of salmon mousse glisten on his moustache. He smells like a penguin.

‘No, because my fiancé went off with someone else.’ He pulls back his head as if he’s been bitten on the nose. ‘Yeah, he just went off with her before I’d had time . . . you know, to . . .’

Richard is at a loss. He starts speaking into the flower arrangement. ‘Oh, right. Well, we have three. Our oldest, Josh, is fourteen; he’s into music.’

I look around the room, smiling inanely. Jane really looks beautiful and relaxed. Hugo just looks like an overenthusiastic knob, but as I gaze at his razor-burn face and sausage fingers, weirdly, I feel a surge of pity for him. Rob is now feeding Sam with a bit of cucumber from his plate. I feel like he’s taken his butter knife and skewered me through the heart. When I move my head, I get a sensation of being at sea. I smile at Richard, who’s still talking, seemingly to an imaginary friend.

‘Then there’s Ruby, who’s four now . . .’

‘Are you talking to me? See, I’m not interested.’ I beam.

‘Beg pardon?’

‘Not interested in your kids.’ As his face crumples in horror I suddenly feel uncertain and a bit giddy, so I butter a roll. Richard turns his back on me.

I eat the bread as the starter dishes are cleared and replaced by plates of roast beef. I chew thoughtfully and examine the plate. There’s a slice of meat looking like the leather tongue from a shoe, limp yellow spring greens and a Yorkshire pudding adrift on a pool of gloopy gravy. I grab the waitress.

‘I’m a vegetarian.’

She looks puzzled. ‘Oh, we haven’t got you down. Did you order a vegetarian meal?’

‘No, but I want one.’ I hand the plate of beef to her and turn back to my bread roll, suddenly starving. I haven’t eaten bread for over a week. Actually, I’ve hardly eaten anything for over a week. I take Richard’s bread roll as well.

Max is getting on my nerves with his ‘Oirish’ act, so I interrupt him. ‘He’s been living in England for the past sixteen years, you know.’

Max clamps his arm tightly around my shoulders, squeezing me into him. ‘Ah, but you never lose it, though, do you?’

Dawn laughs and Max looks down at me.

‘And how are you doing?’ He glances at Richard’s back. ‘I see you’ve managed to ingratiate yourself with everyone.’

‘Let’s get more champagne.’

‘Are you sure?’ He holds up his hand. ‘How many fingers?’

‘Eleven. Get me a drink.’

People are scraping their plates towards the end of their meals when mine is plonked before me. It’s half a red pepper filled with rice topped with a drizzle of mushroom soup. Richard glances at it with distaste. I poke it with a knife and wonder if I can change back to the roast when the lone piper appears beside the top table. Knife hits glass and he is ‘praying silence for the father of the bride’. Jane’s dad gets to his feet. It’s uncanny how much he resembles Hugo; more than Hugo’s own father. I examine Hugo’s mum –
could
she have had an affair with Jane’s dad? Because, if so, surely she should declare it now, and stop Jane continuing a sham marriage to her half-brother. Maybe I’ll point that out to Jane later; she’ll thank me in the long run.

Jane’s dad speaks lovingly of his daughter. I refill my glass. Slides are shown of Jane sitting on a bike and smiling with gappy teeth while he tells an amusing tale of how he taught her to ride a two-wheeler. There’s Jane as a teenager with electric-blue eyeliner and braces. Jane’s dad tells us how he chauffeured her around town. I wonder if my father would have loved me, or if he ever even knew I was born. I think of my granddad, and how he used to let me steer the car while he pressed the pedals and changed gear. I suddenly wish I could see Granddad just one more time, and feel a bit teary. I glance over as Sam cuddles up to Rob, his arms draped casually around her, his hand gently patting her hip. I close my eyes and take a good few gulps of champagne. Jane’s dad is telling us how much he loves his daughter, how proud she makes him, and warning Hugo that she will never back down in an argument. He proposes a toast to true love, and we all stand. Rob and Sam clink glasses and look into each other’s eyes. Then everyone sits down and I’m left standing, swaying like a tree in the wind. A hush falls over the room. I hear a sort of crashing in my head as faces gawp. Rob looks straight into my eyes, alarm clanging across his face.

‘I would like to say something!’ I feel surprised to hear my own raised voice. I glance across to Jane; she looks a bit worried. ‘About true love . . . Because sometimes you don’t realise . . .’ Max grabs my hand, but I pull away. ‘You don’t realise you’ve found true love till it’s too late, and then . . . it’s disappeared.’ I look at Rob with what I hope is an expression of deep meaning, and speak directly to him. ‘It’s not too late for us.’ Sam looks as if an old tramp has just flashed her. ‘I really miss you, Rob.’ There is a horrible silence; then suddenly Max is standing beside me, raising his glass.

‘We’d like to propose a toast: to true love! It’s never too late!’ The relieved guests leap to their feet with their drinks held high as I lock my eyes to Rob’s. Voices rise around us.

‘True love! It’s never too late!’ He gazes at me for a few seconds with such awful sadness before slowly shaking his head, and I sink down into my seat.

The excited chatter takes ages to quieten. Hugo stands tinging his glass for all he’s worth, but is ignored. Whole tables turn round, straining to get a look at me. I sit motionless, staring straight ahead. My scalp tingles and I feel a heated blush rise around my ears.

Max puts his arm around me. ‘You okay?’

I sniff and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘No.’ I stare at Sam; she’s nodding vigorously with the man next to her; then, catching my eye, she smirks. I stand up suddenly and there is a collective gasp before the room goes silent. She leans back in her chair with a kind of amused expectation on her face. You could hear a pin drop as the room waits for me to speak.

‘I . . . I’m just going to the loo.’

The gasps and giggles start up as I walk out, trying to hold my head up amid murmurs of ‘That dress!’ and ‘Ridiculous!’ As the doors close on the wedding breakfast I whimper and stagger across the hall to the toilets. The ladies’ is tiled in marble, with a brightly lit mirror running the full length of one wall. I see myself walk by, a strange bedraggled ballerina, a doll left out in the rain. I gaze at the reflection: the black eyes stare; the red mouth dominates. I put my hands to my hair, smoothing out the ends and trying to fluff up the helmet-flattened top. I lean my elbows on the little shelf under the mirror and rest my forehead on the heels of my hands. I’m suddenly totally exhausted. I try some vocalisation.

‘Oh God. Oh Gooooood.’ It feels good, so I try, ‘Oh no, oh nooooo.’

I hear the toilet door swish open and quickly lift my head, pretending to apply make-up. It’s her! I look at her reflection as I slide on more red lipstick.

‘Was that you I heard crying just now?’ she asks in mock sympathy.

‘No.’

‘Oh, I thought I heard someone crying, “Oh no,” or something.’

‘Not me,’ I say chirpily.

She doesn’t go to the loo; instead she stands next to me at the mirror and slicks on a little lip gloss. Our faces are so different – she’s honey-coloured and natural; I’m ghostly pale and made up to the nines, and next to her my head looks strangely large. I try not to look. She washes her hands.

‘It’s difficult, isn’t it? I mean, you need to use soap to wash your hands, but you don’t want it getting into the setting,’ she says, gazing at her perfectly tanned hand. There’s something sparkly there and I turn my head slightly to get a better look. She stretches out her fingers a little. She’s wearing a gleaming engagement ring – pink solitaire diamond, platinum band. I look from the ring to her face and she smiles. ‘So . . . it would appear, my dear, that it
is
a little too late for you and Rob after all.’

My insides retreat like a wave before swelling up unbearably.

‘You’re engaged?’ I croak. She opens her beautiful eyes wide and nods. ‘You’re getting married – you and Rob are?’ The shock of it hits me like a bucket of iced water. I’m frozen, lipstick in hand, mouth open in horror.

‘I’m afraid so.’ She looks in the mirror and slides the band from her ponytail, tossing her silky chestnut hair to one side like she’s in a shampoo advert. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Everyone’s saying it’s so sudden, but he’s insisting, so we’re off to get hitched in Bali next month.’ She spritzes a little perfume behind her ears and turns to me, head on one side. ‘So I guess it’s time for you to get over him and move on . . . After all, he has.’ She sashays to the door, turns round and gives a little wave. ‘
Ciao!
’

I’m left gawping at her back. My veins run icy; I can’t take this in. He’s getting married? Not two months ago he was engaged to me. He’s getting married to her after less than two months, but he couldn’t marry me after five years? What is he trying to do to me? It’s not enough to break my heart, he has to shatter it and then shit on top? Jesus! I’m pacing, making stiletto marks in the beige carpet and shaking my head, trying to comprehend it all. It can’t be true, he wouldn’t do this . . . but that ring! I can’t let it happen; she
can’t
steal my future husband. I feel a bit queasy and need to sit for a moment, but I’m even dizzy sitting down. I can hear someone calling me, but the strange thing is, my vision keeps going in and out of focus. I’m peering into the room and then Max is standing there.

‘Ah, so this is where the cool set hangs out!’ He slides his back down the full-length mirror until he’s sitting next to me. He smiles. ‘How you doing?’

I squint at him. ‘It’s the ladies’. What you doin’ in here?’

‘Just trying to pick up women.’

‘Oh.’ I grin manically, then remember that bitch. ‘They’re engaged. She’s got a fuck-off ring.’

He looks down at the carpet and pats my leg. ‘Why don’t I get us a taxi?’

‘Engaged.’ I shake my head, sending the room sliding. ‘She is engaged to Rob!’

‘Ah, it’ll be a rebound thing.’ He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘It’ll never last. Have you seen the arse on her?’

‘Max! She’s about a size eight.’

‘Around the tits.’

He looks at me, grinning, willing me to laugh, and I can’t help it. We sit on the toilet floor, giggling. The room seems to shift and spin. I stagger to my feet and stand there, wobbling. I offer him my hand.

‘Let’s get a drink!’ He smiles and I suddenly think he’s very good-looking.

I’m hoping to sneak to the bar, but we step out of the toilet into a throng of baying women. Jane stands on the staircase, holding her bouquet aloft. The gentle chatter and soft laughter at dinner have been replaced by something sinister; the women shriek and cackle as Jane waves the bouquet madly. A few men hover nervously around the edges. The photographer weaves through the women taking snaps.

‘Are you ready?’ Jane screams.

‘Yes!’ howls the pack, and they start to jostle for pole position. I lean on Max as we try to pick our way past – and then I spot Sam. Right at the back, raising her willowy arms up like a beach volleyball babe. Rob leans on the wall behind her, laughing. Something inside me snaps. Something that’s been worn down to the thinnest thread just gives way and I’m breaking free from Max and running. If I can just get that bouquet, it’ll prove to Rob it should be me he marries. I must not let her get it. She cannot get it – not while there’s breath in my body. If she gets it, all is lost. Jane throws the bouquet with a harridan’s cry and, airborne, it soars over the hairdos and the outstretched manicured fingers, gaining momentum, flying in a graceful arc and then falling almost directly into Sam’s grasp. I jump forward, straining with every sinew. She’s concentrating hard and doesn’t notice me. Her fingers just touch the stems before I close my hands around it and land on her. She yelps, and as we fall to the ground I feel a sharp pain in my nose as her bony elbow comes down on my face. For a minute there’s a struggle as she tries to snatch the flowers from my grasp, but I scrabble to my feet, waving the bouquet high and jumping up and down.